you are my light

seong ♡ hwa

it happens at a cafe near the venue, late at night when he thinks it’ll be safe.

seonghwa’s sipping tea, tucked in the corner, when you approach. you hesitate before speaking, polite enough to keep your distance. “you must be tired… thank you for performing anyway. you looked really happy up there.”

the way you phrase it makes his chest ache a little. he’s not used to strangers noticing how much he smiles on stage or caring if he’s tired afterward. he thanks you, gentle but cautious, expecting you to ask for something in return. but you don’t. instead, you recommend a pastry — your favorite at the cafe — and leave without pressing further.

seonghwa ends up ordering it, and when he takes the first bite, he finds himself smiling. later, he thinks about how small but meaningful the exchange felt.

the reminder that people notice him beyond his flawless idol image lingers, and he wonders if fate brought you to that cafe just so he could feel human again, even for a moment.

yun ♡ ho

yunho’s towering height makes him recognizable even in casual clothes, and when you run into him at the mall, he braces for the usual fan reaction.

but instead, you glance up at him, eyes wide, and quickly say, “sorry, i don’t mean to bother you… i just wanted to say your energy tonight was contagious. it made me feel lighter.”

there’s a spark in your voice that matches what you’re describing, and yunho laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. he tells you he’s glad you felt that way, and you grin before moving on, not taking up more than a minute of his time.

but yunho feels like he should’ve said more, because your joy was so genuine. later, when the members are joking in the dorms, he finds himself zoning out, remembering the way your face lit up when you spoke.

it feels rare, being able to affect someone like that offstage too. yunho starts wondering if he’ll ever see you again, and the thought makes him smile without realizing.

yeo ♡ sang

yeosang isn’t used to fans noticing him as much as the others, so when you recognize him at the bookstore he sneaks into after the concert, he expects you to look past him or hesitate.

but instead, you approach with careful steps and say, “your stage presence was incredible tonight. i think people don’t give you enough credit for how much you hold everything together.”

yeosang blinks, stunned. those are the exact thoughts he sometimes wishes someone would voice. he stutters out a thank-you, his ears turning red, while you just nod and excuse yourself, giving him space.

yeosang ends up staring at the book in his hands, barely processing the words. your comment replays in his head endlessly. it feels like validation, like someone saw through the quiet exterior and caught a glimpse of how hard he works.

he leaves the bookstore with the book still unreadable in his mind, replaced instead with the memory of a stranger’s words that reached deeper than most compliments ever have.

san ♡

san slips into a convenience store late at night, hood pulled up, figuring no one will notice him. he’s choosing snacks when you appear down the aisle.

you recognize him instantly but instead of making a scene, you greet him with a small bow and whisper, “you were amazing tonight. i could feel how much fun you were having.” san laughs softly, surprised at how your words mirror exactly how he felt on stage.

“thank you,” he replies, his voice quiet but warm. you don’t linger. you just grab a drink, smile, and leave him to his shopping.

san’s hand tightens around the snack he’s holding, a wave of emotion catching him off guard. he spends the rest of the night replaying that tiny moment, the way you saw his joy and acknowledged it without any fanfare.

for someone so often called “energetic,” hearing that his happiness reached someone personally feels different.

he writes about it in his journal, marking it as a reminder that sincerity always finds a way to connect, even in the most unexpected places.

min ♡ gi

mingi’s energy usually makes him stand out, but tonight at the cafe, he’s quiet, headphones on, zoning out.

you tap him gently on the shoulder, hesitant, and say, “sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt. i just wanted to tell you your rap in wonderland gave me chills tonight. it felt like you meant every word.”

mingi blinks, startled, because most people talk about his stage presence or deep voice, not the emotion behind it. he thanks you awkwardly, but you just smile and tell him to enjoy his evening before walking away.

mingi sits there, headphones forgotten, staring at the table as your words sink in. he’s always worried about whether his sincerity reaches people when he performs, and suddenly here’s proof that it does.

the memory sticks with him the next time he records in the studio, pushing him to dig even deeper into the emotions behind his lyrics. he tells himself he won’t forget the stranger in the cafe who reminded him that music really does connect.

woo ♡ young

wooyoung’s used to attention. so when you approach him at a mall after the concert, he expects excitement or flustered rambling. instead, you give him a soft smile and say, “you looked like you were really enjoying yourself tonight. it made me happy too.”

the simplicity catches him completely off guard. he chuckles, teasing, “really? just seeing me enjoy myself was enough?” but you nod earnestly, and something in his chest squeezes tight.

you don’t push for more after that. you just say you hope he rests well and then you’re gone.

wooyoung stands there for a long moment, uncharacteristically quiet. later, he thinks about how rare it is to be seen so plainly, without layers of idol image or expectations.

he can’t stop replaying your words, the sincerity behind them, and it makes him want to perform even harder. because knowing that his joy can spark someone else’s is exactly the kind of connection he craves.

jong ♡ ho

jongho rarely goes out after concerts, but tonight he follows a craving for ice cream.

he’s sitting by the window when you approach, cautious but steady. “i don’t want to disturb you,” you say, “but your vocals tonight… they made me cry in the best way. thank you.”

jongho freezes, spoon halfway to his mouth. people compliment his voice all the time, but the way you say it, like it genuinely touched you, it hits different.

he mutters a soft thank-you, and you just bow politely before leaving. he stares out the window for a long while, the ice cream melting in his cup.

usually, he brushes off compliments, but yours lingers, burrowing deep under his skin. he thinks about it during vocal practice the next day, pushing himself harder, because if he could reach even one person that way, it means he’s doing something right.

it’s strange, how a short encounter with a stranger at a quiet shop can stick with him longer than a thousand screams from a stadium crowd.

The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him. 

To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. 

He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.

. . . . . . 

“Are you excited?”

“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”

She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons. 

The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”

What didn’t she say? 

She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party. 

You thought you had a good argument at the time.

“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”

“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.” 

“Yeah– probably,” you murmured. 

“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!” 

“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded. 

“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.” 

As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families. 

The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one. 

It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them. 

You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options? 

The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked. 

You know what you like, don’t you? 

No, not really.

You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while. 

Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.

Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due. 

The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen. 

Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it. 

Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too. 

But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again. 

You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders. 

It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special. 

It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.

Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position. 

The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee. 

Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well. 

The decision took months. 

In that time, he realized a few things. 

One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches. 

The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker. 

He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency. 

You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp. 

Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it. 

You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe. 

You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about. 

It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way. 

Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone. 

You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful. 

Maybe it’s better off that way. 

Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire. 

You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs? 

Maybe you were the unlucky one here. 

You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on. 

Toji chose to get married and have a kid. 

You can’t even choose yourself on most days. 

“You have arrived at your destination.” 

Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn. 

Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves. 

The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it. 

One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival. 

You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend. 

He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.

“Hey stranger.”

Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.” 

“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug. 

He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”

“Where’s mine?!” 

You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole. 

Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one. 

It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face. 

If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice. 

Today should be enough to prove that.

“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”

“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off. 

“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago. 

No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up. 

Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did. 

Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here. 

At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today. 

“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”

Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you. 

“See? Surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after. 

“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!” 

“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!” 

And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on. 

“I said no!”

“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.” 

“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath. 

You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm. 

He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.

“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw. 

“Sukuna’s here?!” 

“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”

“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence. 

“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”

“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”

“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go. 

“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”

. . . . . .

Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long. 

Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well. 

At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.

His eyes nearly widened. 

And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.  

The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way. 

Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head. 

Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place. 

Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him. 

So yeah, she blames Sukuna.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building. 

“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.” 

She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.

Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko. 

The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”

“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day. 

“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.” 

“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?” 

“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”

Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive. 

“What? Is looking at her a crime now?” 

“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”

“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”

“Well Shoko—”

“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.” 

“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”

There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”

“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”

“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.” 

“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“That’s–”

“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”

“I don’t want her n—”

“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”

click.

Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby. 

He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart. 

He hates that he remembers it. 

He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be. 

. . . . . .

In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work. 

His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.

You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more. 

It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far. 

He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm. 

The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point. 

Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with. 

There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand. 

You were barely smiling. 

Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.

Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number. 

He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number. 

It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away. 

You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.

It’s just dumb.

Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.

. . . . . .

You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that. 

He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least. 

It’s been years. 

And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?

All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day. 

It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them. 

This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso. 

The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either. 

Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle. 

The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls. 

Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know. 

Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away. 

Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view. 

Yuji didn't go very far. 

“...es’cuse me?”

You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had. 

“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”

“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?” 

He pouts. “Yes, please.” 

Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”

Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end. 

“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”

Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it. 

Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?” 

The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”

“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.” 

“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making. 

“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.” 

“Oh no, not my shoes!”

“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.

“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.

“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!” 

Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!” 

“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.” 

Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.

“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?” 

“No!!!”

“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.” 

“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles. 

“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”

“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”

“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.” 

“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”

“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”

“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.” 

The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna. 

If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.

“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out. 

“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.” 

Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance. 

“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life. 

“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”

“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique. 

Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out. 

“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”

Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”

“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile. 

Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”

“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”

“KAY’.” 

Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna. 

He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him. 

What kind of a sick game is this? 

Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.

By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.

Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff. 

He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday. 

You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe. 

In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo. 

“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”

“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.” 

You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that. 

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”

He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”

“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on. 

You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”

“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”

“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers. 

“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.” 

“You’re working for the company?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah.” 

It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company. 

“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”  

“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”

“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.” 

Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal. 

He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too. 

That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing. 

“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”

He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”

“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”

“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed. 

“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.” 

He nearly barks out a laugh. 

You look at him with confusion. “What?” 

“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”

“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”

“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”

You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her. 

“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”

“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”

“Is Dave a new hire?” 

Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.” 

You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.

“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”

She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:

“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.” 

Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.

“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”

On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.

You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.

Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is. 

You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.

“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you. 

In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you. 

You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side. 

You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it. 

“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.” 

It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit. 

Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—

“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks. 

“No.”

“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.

You smile. “I did.” 

He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.” 

“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”

“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”

Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.” 

Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”

“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about. 

The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it. 

“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.” 

Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him. 

Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some. 

. . . 

Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people. 

Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream. 

He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone. 

“Bye.” 

It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way. 

Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—” 

His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets. 

He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number. 

“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”

He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down. 

“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

. . . . . . 

‘You’re not doing too bad.’

It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them. 

It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones. 

The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t. 

You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.

You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.  

Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t. 

It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny. 

“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”

“Nope.” 

He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.  

“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?” 

He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that. 

“Nope, not a trend.” 

He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag. 

You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter. 

“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?” 

You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.” 

“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it. 

You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets. 

“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?” 

You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge. 

The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in. 

He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be. 

It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house. 

He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.

Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.

He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call. 

It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.

“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors. 

You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?” 

He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.” 

You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”

“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.

He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”

“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch. 

He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.

“What do you mean you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”

“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.” 

“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.” 

You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should  be split between two people, maybe even three. 

“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do. 

“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.” 

“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“

His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” 

“What?” he smirks.

“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.” 

He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”

“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”

He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”

“Don’t judge me,” you grumble. 

“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”

“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”

“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.” 

"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.

“You’re awake right now, though.” 

“So?” you scoff.

“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.

“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out. 

At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.

You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.

Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.

“What are you d—”

“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.

“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”

“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is. 

“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”

Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.” 

“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?” 

“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”

“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes. 

He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too. 

An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other. 

He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards. 

You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience. 

Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation. 

And it’s fucking hard. 

Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one. 

They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last. 

The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.  

“Bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate. 

“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom. 

He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go. 

You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are. 

“Shit— look at you,” he groans. 

Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself. 

“Told you this was fun.”

“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down. 

He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.

The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit. 

Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.

The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.” 

“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum. 

You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”

“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”

He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going. 

“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants. 

And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.

“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it. 

He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one. 

“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”

“Atta girl.” 

He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip. 

And of course, you stare for longer than you should.

“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be. 

Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick. 

“Yeah— I just— holy shit.” 

“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”

He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.

He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”

You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him. 

“Mhm.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”

You’ll get used to it.

He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance. 

He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing. 

Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls. 

“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.

“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.” 

“How much is there left?”

“You’ll be fine.” 

He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl. 

It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this. 

Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away. 

Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth. 

“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.” 

You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear. 

“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”

Thrust. 

“Fuck— okay,” you whine back. 

“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.” 

At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”

“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”

He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.

“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”

He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”

“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”

“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?” 

It’s a full blown mating press at this point.

“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”

“Good,” he hums. 

He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.

The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.

“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—” 

“What? Too much?”

“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“

Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”

“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks. 

“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?” 

You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you. 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”

He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry. 

You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock. 

“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation. 

“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”

He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out. 

He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you. 

It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it. 

“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?” 

Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”

. . . . . . 

Six Months Later 

You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face. 

“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.” 

“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now. 

Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”

Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”

Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness. 

“So you made him cry?” 

Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.” 

The apology being, ‘No, PLEASE! I’m sorry, I'm SORRY,’ and, ‘I LIED— huhuhuhu my tummy hurts, yuji gonna frow up— I’m sorry’.

You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time. 

He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?” 

“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter. 

He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you. 

“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake. 

“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.” 

He stops chewing and just stares at you. 

“I’m gonna stay with them.” 

“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”

“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”

“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”

“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.” 

That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours. 

“Are you listening?”

“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food. 

“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”

“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?” 

Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.

“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”

You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.” 

“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”

He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him. 

He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? You can’t wait until we're at home?”

“I’ll make it quick.”

You are married to a man the whole kingdom reveres.

They call him brave. Unyielding. A sword that never dulls, a shield that never breaks. 

His name carries weight in the royal court, in the barracks, in whispered stories told by lantern light.

General Choi San.

Your husband.

But to you, he is a man who rarely comes home.

The first time you see him, he is not yet a legend.

Just a young soldier standing in your family courtyard, dust clinging to his robes, eyes sharp but uncertain. He bows too stiffly when your father speaks, hands clenched at his sides like he’s holding himself together.

You remember thinking.

He looked lonely.

The marriage is arranged quickly.

Efficiently.

Without love.

You are told he is honorable. Loyal. 

A man who will rise high.

A good husband.

And he is.

In all the ways that can be measured.

He provides. He protects.

He never raises his voice at you, never speaks cruelly.

But he is… distant.

Like a mountain you can see, but never touch.

On your wedding night, he sits across from you, still in his formal robes.

The candlelight flickers between you.

“I will not mistreat you,” he says.

His voice is steady. Practiced.

“I will fulfill my duties as your husband.”

You nod.

Because that is what wives are meant to accept.

Duty.

Not love.

But still, you had hoped.

Just a little.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Years pass.

And San becomes exactly what everyone said he would.

A general.

War calls him away more often than not.

The palace summons him at dawn, at dusk, at hours when the sky itself feels uncertain.

You learn not to ask when he will return.

Because the answer is always the same.

“I do not know.”

At first, you wait for him.

You sit by the door long after the lanterns burn low, listening for footsteps that never come.

You keep his meals warm.

You prepare tea that goes cold.

When he does return, it is always quiet.

The door slides open. Boots step inside.

And there he is—

your husband.

You greet him with a small smile.

“You’re home.”

He nods.

“I am.”

And that is all.

No embrace. No warmth.

Just… presence.

Still, you try.

“Did you eat?” you ask one evening, carefully placing dishes before him.

“I ate with my men,” he replies.

A lie.

You can see it in the way his chopsticks hesitate, in how quickly he finishes everything you’ve made.

But you don’t call him out. You simply refill his bowl.

Because loving him means learning the language he does not speak.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

When your son is born, something in you shifts.

Hope blooms again, fragile but persistent.

San stands beside you, holding the child awkwardly in his arms.

He looks… unsure.

Like he’s afraid he might break something so small.

“It is a boy,” you whisper, smiling weakly.

He nods.

“A strong one.”

You wait.

For more. For something softer.

Something that belongs to you, not the battlefield.

But it doesn’t come.

Though you see the way he lingers just a moment longer before handing the baby back.

The way his gaze follows the child as you cradle him.

It’s small.

But it’s there.

So you hold onto it.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Your son grows quickly.

Too quickly.

“Appa!”

The child runs through the courtyard, laughter ringing through the air.

San has returned early—rare, unexpected—and for once, the house feels alive.

Your son throws himself at him.

And for a moment, San freezes.

Then, slowly, he kneels.

Awkwardly placing a hand on the boy’s head.

“You have grown,” he says.

It’s not what the child wanted.

Not what you hoped for.

But your son beams anyway.

Because children don’t yet understand the weight of what is missing.

You watch them from the doorway.

Heart aching.

“He drew something for you,” you say gently later, handing San a piece of parchment.

Crude lines. Uneven ink.

A family of three.

San looks at it.

Really looks.

“It is good,” he says.

But he sets it aside.

Later.

Always later.

You stop waiting by the door eventually.

Not because you don’t care.

But because it hurts less when you don’t expect anything.

But you still leave a lantern lit.

Every night.

Just in case.

One evening, you gather the courage to speak.

“I waited,” you say softly, fingers tightening around your sleeve.

San doesn’t look up from removing his armor.

“I told you not to.”

The words land harder than he intends.

You know that. You always know that.

But it doesn’t make them hurt any less.

“I only wished to share a meal,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence stretches between you.

“I am tired,” he says finally.

And that is the end of it.

You bow your head.

Because you have learned— love, for him, is something unspoken.

Something buried beneath duty.

Something that never quite reaches the surface.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Years pass like this.

Quiet. Lonely. Endless.

Until the day everything breaks.

Your son falls ill.

It starts small.

A fever. A cough.

Nothing alarming.

But it worsens. Quickly. Relentlessly.

You send word to San.

Again.

And again.

But the kingdom needs him.

The war does not wait.

“I tried calling for you…”

Your voice trembles when he finally arrives.

Too late.

He stands in the doorway, breath uneven, armor still on.

“I was in a important meeting,” he says.

You nod.

Of course he was.

“He kept asking for you,” you whisper.

San’s expression cracks.

Just slightly.

But it is enough.

He rushes to the bedside.

Takes the small, fragile hand in his own.

“I am here,” he says.

And the first time, his voice breaks.

But your son does not respond.

The silence is unbearable.

San falls to his knees.

And suddenly—

all the words he never said come pouring out.

“I should have come sooner.” “I am sorry.”

“I love you.”

Too late. All of it.

You sit beside him. Tears falling quietly.

You don’t blame him.

You never have.

But something inside you—finally—gives way.

After that, the house becomes unbearably empty.

San is there more often.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because the one who waited for him the most is gone.

One night, you find him sitting alone.

Holding that old drawing.

The one he said was “good.”

His hands are shaking.

“I did not know how,” he says.

To no one.

To you.

To himself.

“How to love without losing everything else.”

You sit beside him.

Quiet.

“You did not have to choose,” you whisper.

But he did. He always did.

Duty over love.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until there was nothing left to choose.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Years later, when illness takes you too—

San stays by your side.

He does not leave.

Not once.

He holds your hand.

Like he should have done all those years ago.

“I will stay,” he says.

You smile faintly.

“You always did,” you whisper.

“Just… not in the ways I needed.”

His grip tightens.

“I loved you,” he says, voice breaking.

You nod.

“I know.”

And that is what makes it hurt the most.

Because love was never the problem.

Only the silence of it.

The absence.

The later.

And when you close your eyes for the last time, San is still there.

But this time, he understands.

That love, unspoken, is love that fades.

Love that leaves.

Love that becomes regret.

And regret—

is the heaviest thing a man can carry.

Even heavier than war.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

© lcvejjoong, 2026

Since you were in the water, you could only watch him. You didn't dare bring a book in or near the water, and your phone was sitting safe and sound in the locker room, so you literally had nothing to do. Well, you did have your imagination to keep you entertained, which was running wild the longer you watched Jongho swim around.

He swam over to you and fully submerged himself in the water before resurfacing and brushing his hair out of his face. You watched his biceps flex as he slicked back his hair, and you saw his chest move somewhat heavily as he let out a deep exhale. Your insides flipped and tumbled when you saw how fucking sexy he looked, and you yourself felt winded just beholding his devilish good looks.

"Honey, aren't you hot just sitting here?" Jongho asked as he leaned against the edge of the pool, his arm resting on the ledge. "The water is so nice and cool— you should at least try swimming."

"I'm okay..." you barely managed to say. "Just watching you is enough."

"I know you're in the shade, but I feel like it's just hotter sitting here," Jongho continued to try and convince you to swim.

"It is really hot..." you murmured.

You spaced out, your eyes lingering on his refined muscles and his broad shoulders. Jongho seemed to still be talking to you, but all you could really focus on was the way the water lapped around his naked torso. How you wouldn't give to be pressed right against him, his arms wrapping securely around you, his waist pressing against yours. You desperately needed him against you, but there was no way you were going to be able to tell him that with a straight face.

"Honey?"

"Uh-huh..."

"What's going on with you?"

"Uh-huh..."

Jongho had it at that point. He stood right in front of you and snapped his fingers in front of your face, finally bringing you back to reality. Seeing him that close to you made your entire body jolt, and your fingers and toes tingled the closer he got to you. You were so ready to just fall over when he brought the back of his hand to your face.

"Oh God, your face is flushed, but you don't seem to have a fever... Maybe we should head back inside. I think the sun may be getting to you."

"It's not the sun getting to me, though," you whispered when Jongho grabbed your arm and turned around to drag you out of the pool.

He froze and he faced you once more. He walked forward quickly, making you scurry backwards until your back was pressing against the wall. Jongho pinned you in place, his chest extremely close to yours.

"What's going on, honey?" Jongho asked in a low voice.

You nearly shivered— Jongho sounded so hot whenever he dropped the octave of his voice. You were practically drowning in horny hormones at that point. Shifting uncomfortably, you whispered, "I... Uh..."

You felt your face get hotter as you thought about the things you wanted to ask him shamelessly.

I want you to fuck me senseless. I want you to use me and abuse me until I can't stand anymore. I want you to remind me who I belong to and make sure I never forget.

However, those crude words would never leave your mouth— at least not sober. Thankfully, Jongho seemed to finally catch onto what was going through your mind, a smirk, crossing his face. He closed the distance between you and actually pressed his chest against yours. He leaned into you, his lips near your ear.

"If you want that, you can just ask, honey."

"You know I can't shamelessly ask like that... I'm too shy..."

"Sure, that's why you were staring at me like a piece of meat or something. Don't think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me while I was swimming."

Jongho's hands moved down to your waist. He held you with a firm grasp as he nuzzled his face into the nook of your neck, his lips occasionally pressing against your flushed skin. You held onto his shoulders and let out soft sighs as you felt his kisses trail along the curve of your neck down to your shoulder.

"If you knew, then why didn't you say anything?" you whined slightly.

"I wanted to see you squirm, honey. It's not fun if I don't get to tease you."

Jongho's hands went from your waist to your ass, his fingers pressing into your skin and making your bottoms ride up a little as he pulled upwards. You let out pleasureful sigh after pleasureful sigh the more he peppered kisses all over your upper body and the more he felt you up. Your grip on his shoulders got weaker when you felt his waist press against yours, electricity running through your body when you felt his hard on prod through his swim shorts.

"Now, honey, do you want to tell me what you want me to do to you, or would you like me to order you around like the cum slut you are?" Jongho whispered gruffly into your ear once his lips made their way back up.

"The latter please."

Jongho pulled away from you, and you saw his eyes darken. His jaw momentarily tensed before he pressed his lips feverishly against yours, sweeping you away into a world of bliss. Your fingers ran through his hair as you moved your hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck. The two of you kept making impatient sighs and grunts in between each sloppy kiss, the water around you beginning to move a little more as you both got antsier. It was when Jongho's fingers pushed the waistband of your bottoms down did you break off the infinite chain kisses and look at him with helpless, half-lidded eyes.

"Get out of the pool now," Jongho ordered.

You did as he said as quickly as possible, the man following closely behind. You didn't know where to go, so you stopped and looked around, only for Jongho to grab your arm and lead you to the lounge chairs near the edge of the pool. He sat down first before pulling you towards him, making you straddle him. You held onto his shoulders and lowered your ass onto his knees as he held your neck and pulled you back in to shove his tongue down your throat.

Jongho's fingers pressed into your neck, making you slightly light-headed as he continued to kiss you so rashly that you had absolutely no time to breathe. You felt like you were going to pass out, but you knew that there was no way Jongho was going to take it so far.

At some point, Jongho did have to let go of your neck so that he could remove your bikini. He untied your top first, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he released the strings. Your top flopped forward as Jongho ran his finger down your spine, making you arch your back slightly. He made quick work of the remaining strings, the top completely falling with a slosh. He then ran his hands along the curve of your waist before pushing down the waistband of your bottoms once more. He was only able to move the wet fabric over your ass and tuck it under since you were still kneeling on either side of him.

"Take them off."

You nodded and stood up. Both your top and bottoms fell to the ground, Jongho quickly slipping his own swim shorts off in the process. Before you could go back to straddling the man, he leaned forward and grabbed both of your arms. Your back continued to face him as he pulled you backwards, your ass landing on his thick thighs as you sat down, your legs still firmly on the ground.

That's when you realized Jongho read your fucking mind earlier.

"Sit on my cock, honey," he told you as you felt his cock twitch and press against your back.

Jongho still had both of your arms behind your back, so while you moved up, Jongho held his thick cock in place. You felt the tip rub against your wet folds, and once he was right at your entrance, you sat down slowly. You felt your walls spread wide as you lowered yourself on him, a deep sigh escaping your lungs as you felt him fill you up.

"Mmm, fuck," Jongho groaned blissfully. "Now move for me, why don't you?"

With shaky legs, you managed to start moving on his cock. At first, you were worried about Jongho fucking you on the poolside out in the open where anyone could see; luckily for the two of you, there wasn't a single soul around, nor was there a camera in sight— plus, with the added protection of the umbrella above you, you had no reason to worry. That being said, you still tried to keep your erotic noises to a minimum while Jongho, on the other hand, didn't give a tiny rat's ass about how loud he was.

You seemed to be moving too slowly for him— you could only move so fast because every time you sat down on his lap, you wanted to remain seated because your legs could barely support you at that point. So, Jongho thrust his hips upwards suddenly, making you cry out.

"F-Fuck, Jongho!" you choked out as he continuously rammed his hips upwards into yours without mercy, your voice wavering when you felt him reach over your thigh and between your legs to brush his fingers against your sore clit. "Y-You're going so fast!"

"Don't you dare tell me to slow down," Jongho chuckled. "I thought you wanted this."

"I do! Fuck me harder, Jongho!"

Jongho released your arms from his grasp and pushed you up, making you whimper as his cock left your body. He quickly moved you so that you were kneeling on the lounge chair before shoving his cock quickly inside you once more. His waist slammed into yours hard, making you go from your hands to your elbows immediately.

Your sanity completely left you as Jongho quite literally fucked your brains out. You were moaning and crying loudly with every thrust while occasionally yelping whenever you felt the palm of his hand make intense contact with your ass.

"You like that, don't you?" Jongho teased you as he slapped your ass again.

You nodded and hummed in approval before you pressed your lips together and dropped your head down. However, Jongho didn't like that. He grabbed the back of your head and pulled, making you move your head up. He forced you to keep your head up as he continued to rut into you powerfully, the slaps of his waist against yours starting to get drowned out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears.

"J-Jongho!" you sobbed as you felt his cock brush against your G-spot so many times that you felt your orgasm building. "I'm c-close!"

Jongho immediately pulled out, two of his fingers going in their place. He fingered you quickly and roughly, the curve of his fingers inside you too much to handle. You cried out loudly as his fingers fucked you just right, making you cum hard. Your legs trembled, and your ass shook in the air as you squirt all over Jongho's hand, legs, and the lounge chair beneath you.

Without giving you a chance to properly recover, Jongho slid his cock back inside you, and he continued hammering away into your sensitive cunt. You could hear his own groans getting higher in pitch, and you could feel his pace begin to slow down but his power remained the same.

"You want me to fill you up, don't you?" Jongho grunted out. "You're just my little cum slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, Jongho," you whined. "Cum inside me, please."

Jongho didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing your waist, he thrust into you several more times quickly before groaning loudly. You felt his cock twitch and throb inside you as his cum spurt out quickly, filling you with his white seed. When Jongho pulled his cock out, he spread your ass wide to watch his cum leak out and trail down your leg, making his shiver and slowly get hard again.

"Fuck, honey," Jongho chuckled. "Wear your suit, and let's get out of here. I'm not done fucking you just yet."

you exhale, trying to ignore the way your pulse is already picking up just from the situation itself. this just couldn't be happening. if it were a condom, no problem, as if you didn’t prefer to do it raw. or whatever small thing like forgetting to buy eggs or chocolate. that's more forgivable than something like a remote control for the very expensive toy he bought to torture you with.

“woo, that’s basically the same thing.”

“not really.”

“there’s no point in me even wearing this if you can’t control it.”

“maybe it’s in my car.”

“maybe?”

“guess we’ll find out.” and just like that, he puts on his shoes and grabs the car keys, heading for the door, leaving you standing there, stomach twisting with the uneasy feeling that he’s not nearly as clueless as he’s pretending to be.

you and wooyoung aren’t dating. you don’t see anyone else, he doesn’t, either. it’s… whatever this is. something in between, exclusive, but unlabeled. days that blur into nights harder to walk away from. kisses that linger, hands that don’t know when to stop because with him, everything always leads somewhere, tension that never really fades.

he calls you angel when you’re trying to be a sweet devil. baby when you’re glaring at him, princess when you’re about to snap, and brat when you behave like one. you call him annoying, dickhead, little shit, sometimes baby slips out, when you’re not thinking too hard about it. 

it’s inevitable. he likes control, thrives on it. pushes until you push back, just to see how far you’ll go before you give in. and you pretend you don’t enjoy it, but you love and appreciate him more than anything; he is your soulmate, perhaps, or at least that's what you like to tell yourself. people don’t ask questions anymore. to them, you’re just wooyoung’s girl, and whether that’s made official or not, you don’t correct them.

the thing is, it’s not just teasing and tension. he knows how to take care of you, too. soften after he’s been rough and give just as much as he takes. he keeps you on your tippy toes, yes, but he also knows exactly how to spoil you and make it feel like you’re the only one he’s paying attention to.

maybe that’s why you stay. and maybe that’s why, even after checking the car and coming up empty, you’re still standing there with him, wearing the damn thing like it wasn’t a mistake to begin with.

“baby, relax,” he says, closing the car door with a soft thud as he locks it, shrugs like it’s nothing. “it’s not the end of the world.”

you stare at him as you wait for him to get on your side so you can walk together to the building. he smirks, stepping closer, just enough to mess with your already delicate balance. you open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“if you’re that desperate,” murmuring as he doesn’t look bothered. if anything, he looks more amused. “i can always take care of it myself.”

“how, exactly?” you ask, and his gaze stops at your face, taking in your beautiful features once again.

“my fingers,” he adds, like he’s listing options. “my mouth. whatever my princess needs.”

you swallow, trying to hold your ground, even as heat creeps up your neck, then he leans in just enough, voice brushing past your ear, “but don’t even think about asking for more. not with that attitude you had earlier.”

your breath catches for half a second before you recover, shoving lightly at his chest. you hate how his words settle somewhere under your skin, because as much as you want to think otherwise, you know he means it.

the place is quieter than you expected. you and wooyoung are the first to arrive early, for once. when you checked the time, you realized you’d be here almost twenty minutes ahead of everyone else. you’re usually right on time, or at least not the first through the door.

“hey, don’t think too much about it,” he murmurs as you stand in front of the door after ringing the bell, his hand settling at your lower back, warm against your bare skin. “just relax and try to have fun.”

right on cue, the door swings open, and there he is — the man of the hour.

“wooyoung, (name), didn’t expect you to come that early,” YUNHO says, greeting you both with that charming and welcoming smile.

“congratulations on the ten million, yu!” you say, handing him the small gift bag. “this is from me and woo, something small, but from the heart.”

“you shouldn’t have, your support was already enough,” he cuts in, taking it with a grin. “but thank you. now come in.” 

he lets you both inside, already talking about the milestone and how unexpected it was. he figured it was worth celebrating with the people closest to him. ten million subscribers on youtube, a diamond button, and a whole career built off a screen, and somehow still the same yunho you’ve always known.

you settle onto the couch, nodding along as you listen. beside you, wooyoung drops down without a second thought, legs spreading to take up more space than necessary, his arm draping over your shoulders, a little territorial. yunho moves around in front of you, back turned as he fixes up drinks, adjusting things here and there. then he reaches for the remote on the table. 

“let me just put something on while we wait for the others.”

you barely notice it at first, until you do. a faint vibration, subtle enough to miss if you weren’t already on edge. but then you feel it a little stronger now, your entire body goes still. next to you, wooyoung doesn’t move, but you catch the slight tension in him before he relaxes again. he knows something you don’t. 

yunho keeps clicking absentmindedly, frowning at the tv. “why isn’t this turning on?”

your fingers curl into the hem of your skirt, trying your very best to stay calm and not to move so much, because the tv isn’t the thing he turned on.

the realization hits wooyoung first. his gaze flicks to the remote in his friend's hand, then back to you. so that’s where it went, huh? a few days ago, you were at yunho’s again, along with san and mingi. hanging out and trying a new game while the youtuber showed off his new tv, whose remote looked almost identical to the other one for the vibrator.

because if that remote is in yunho’s hand, then that means — yes, the tv remote is at wooyoung’s place, tucked away somewhere after he probably took it by mistake. and he had been wondering why the toy wasn’t working, thought the batteries had died or that it needed charging. clearly, he hadn’t bothered to check. he told you he lost it to avoid nagging from you about breaking expensive things again.

wooyoung leans back into the couch, the initial surprise fading as amusement settles in. his hand squeezes your shoulder gently, almost reassuring, if it weren’t for the situation. you’re trembling slightly at first, your lips press together tightly, but a soft moan slips out. your hand flies to your mouth too late, and that’s what makes yunho turn, glancing at you with concern. 

“are you okay?” you’re not.

“y-yeah, i’m o-okay,” you manage to answer somehow, voice unsteady, but he’s already clicking the remote again, and it speeds up. your voice betrays you again, as wooyoung tilts his head, leaning in so only you can hear him. “sure about that, angel?”

you shoot him a look from the corner of your eye, but he only gives you that same cocky grin. 

yunho presses another button. the sensation spikes stronger this time, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to hold it in. it hits deeper now, the vibrations hit your core, your thighs press together, and you can feel how wet you are getting already.

“yunho,” your so-called ‘boyfriend’ says in that playful tone of his you grew up to despise, “maybe try the other button.”

your eyes snap open instantly. yunho hums, doing exactly that. you clamp your hand over your mouth when a little louder moan than before slips into the quiet room. he looks over again, brows pulling together, lips parting slightly.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, slower this time, but you nod too quickly.

“y-yeah, i–” another press and your answer turns into a breathy gasp, “ahh–”

yunho’s gaze flickers between the two of you. he turns it off, watching as your body relaxes, your shoulders dropping, then turns it on again, and you immediately jolt, squirming against the couch. oh, is that... he is curious now as he keeps pushing button after a button, and every instinct in your body is telling you to move, to stop this, maybe get up and grab that forsaken remote from his hand, only for wooyoung to hold you in place.

“shh, keep it down,” he murmurs near your ear. “wouldn’t want to make it obvious.”

“you–” you whisper, barely getting the word out, he watches the flutter of your eyelids, the minor tremors in your thighs. 

“should i stop?” yunho asks, and wooyoung answers before you can.

“hmm… i don’t think she wants you to.”

“i wan–” your hand flies back to your mouth once the vibrations hit you right at that spot.

“see? she’s not saying no.” wooyoung hums and your glare. why does he have to be so mean? give men a little power and watch them ruin beautiful things.

“tell me what you want,” the taller says, thumb hovering over the remote, attentive, but not stepping back. while the shorter is watching you struggle, enjoying every second. to be honest, he's always been a sadist, but when someone else is around, he just becomes absolutely insufferable. he never allowed anything like that, for someone else to interfere, not even permission is given to san.

“princess, if you don’t answer, he might just keep guessing.” and even through the tension and the overwhelming pressure building in your body, you still manage to be difficult.

“or,” you breathe out shakily, glaring up at your boyfriend, “you could both stop being annoying and figure it out yourselves.”

wooyoung blinks, then lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. “there she is, the brat in you has been hiding for so long now. i was wondering when it will come back.”

the first few minutes were a low setting here, a pulse there. you’d squirmed, biting your lip, trying to endure it and to show them that you, in fact, can handle it. then the vibration settled at a steady, mid-level grind. it’s enough to keep you perched on thin ice, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly but never releasing. you’re panting softly against your own palm, sweat dampening the back of your neck where wooyoung’s breath fans.

“look at her. she’s trying so hard to be quiet. she the prettiest angel, right yunho?”

yunho doesn’t answer immediately. he just turns the vibration off completely. the sudden absence creates crushing emptiness that feels worse than the stimulation. a whimper of pure loss breaks from your throat as your hips seek the pleasure that’s gone.

“oh, she doesn’t like that,” wooyoung coos, laughing softly. his hand slides down from your waist to splay possessively over your lower stomach, pressing down. “she wants it back, doesn’t she?”

“please,” you rasp, the word torn from you in a blissful whimper.

“please, what?” yunho becomes more precise and fully engaged, almost analytical. where did the sweet and kind golden boy disappear to? he stops asking, are you okay? and starts deciding what to do, probably influenced by the devil next to you. “use your words.”

“please… turn it back on.” you're so cute when you beg, that they just want to ruin you more.

“but you were getting too excited,” wooyoung chides, his fingers digging in slightly. “we can’t have you finishing without permission. that would be rude.”

yunho nods, as if considering this. he presses the button and it doesn’t return to the previous peaceful level. it comes back at the highest setting, followed by a violent, immediate buzz that feels less like pleasure and more like an electrical assault. you cry out, the sound strangled, your body seizing. it’s too much, an overwhelming flood that tips straight into overstimulation in a heartbeat when your vision whites out at the edges.

you’re screaming inside at the sensation, a relentless drilling into your pussy that offers no peace. your muscles are locked, shaking with the effort of containing it. you can feel the shameful slickness that has nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with helpless and brutalized arousal.

“so sensitive,” wooyoung bites your earlobe gently, holding you through, his embrace now less a restraint and more a comfort as you grip his forearm. “one little toy and you’re completely gone.”

yunho lets it run for what feels like an eternity. just when you think you might genuinely shatter into a million pieces under the onslaught, he drops it again. not to nothing, but back to that maddening and low speed. the drop is cruel as you sob. the makeup you spent so much time on is probably ruined, no matter how waterproof it is. slumping back against wooyoung, the low hum he lets feels like a taunt now, a reminder of what you can’t have.

“i think she’s learned her lesson,” he says, but his tone suggests the lesson is far from over. yunho walks over to the couch and crouches in front of you, the remote still in hand. he reaches out with his other hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a tear from your cheek, you didn’t even know had fallen.

“you’re doing so well,” he says, his gaze holding yours, and you can’t even recognize him. “but you don’t get to come unless we say so, you understand?”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. he turns the remote over, shows you the tiny led light indicating it’s active, and the persistent, low-grade vibration continues. wooyoung kisses your cheek to keep you there with him, at least physically, as yunho rises, his shadow falling over you both.

you don’t know how long you have been denied an orgasm; you couldn't, there was no way, and you weren't allowed. those were their rules. it feels like you have been sitting on this couch forever without a second's rest. overwhelmed by the sensation coursing through your body, moaning softly, then whining as you trembled with need, turning to yunho with wide and pleading eyes, who is just observing you coldly like a predator.

“almost there, hm?” he whispers, his deep voice sending shivers and goosebumps on your half-naked body. considering the outfit you chose to wear, the cool air hits you like a tornado. the tension in the room thickens as you feel the pleasure and the denial, the toy pulsing against your every response to the pleas of your body. you are desperate, but the thrill of the chase is what they both seem to enjoy and bond over.

“too much? not enough? what is it, baby?” wooyoung mocks you with a playful question. you feel trapped between them, one holding you in place, the other controlling something you can’t. their voices overlap, layering over each other in a constant push and pull of teasing and coaxing, a taunting rhythm that makes it harder to think straight, let alone speak.

yunho, in all his life, never thought he’d enjoy something like this so much. you’re wooyoung’s — everyone wants you, but you only ever want one man. even so, a selfish thought slips in: he wishes he could take wooyoung’s place, be the one making you react like this and pushing your buttons, pulling you apart piece by piece.

lost in that thought, he doesn’t even realize how far he’s taken it, but the setting has shifted, turned it up to its limit. wooyoung’s sharp voice cuts through first, worried now, snapping him back. he blinks, startled, heart catching as he registers wooyoung’s tone over the sound of your broken breaths and desperate little sounds.

“yunho, turn it the fuck off, you psychopath.”

without hesitation, his thumb moves, dialing it down to something gentler. 

wooyoung is already there, hand threading into your hair, slowly soothing you, fingers combing through as his other hand brushes your cheek, soft despite the smirk still playing on his lips, enjoying this just as much as he’s pretending not to.

“it’s okay, breathe.” you’re still shaking slightly, but wooyoung glances at yunho with narrowed eyes, ones that could easily stop whatever is happening. “see what you did?”

“i didn’t think it would go that far,” yunho exhales, running a hand through his hair, and your man just laughs under his breath.

“sure you didn’t.” then, softer when he turns to speak to you, fingers continue to soothe through your locks, “i’m sorry, angel. but you see… even he can’t resist making a mess out of you.”

despite the toy being set on a lower intensity, you still feel it building, wooyoung does too with the way your legs press tighter together and your back arches slightly. he lets you, easing his hand out of your hair before sliding it beneath your skirt again, pressing the toy a little firmer, shifting it all around to give you what you’ve earned. with his other hand, he signals yunho with two fingers, silent but clear: give me the remote back. enough is enough, he wants you back with him now. 

“come on, baby. yeah… feels good now, no?” his voice softening into something almost sweet as your eyes fall shut. your breathing is uneven, but steadier now than it was minutes ago. yunho can only watch, while wooyoung handles you with care.

and then the sweet release crashes through you all at once. finally, after being denied for so long, your body trembles, a soft whimper escaping as overstimulation follows right after. you feel the slick warmth between your thighs and you don’t even care about making a mess on the couch. all you can think about is breathing again, your body going slack as you lean into wooyoung without thinking. 

that’s when the doorbell rings, snapping all three of you back to reality. for a second, yunho just stands there, the remote still in his hand, and your uneven breathing still echoing in his ears. this is not new — at least, not for you and wooyoung. things like this, blurred lines between private and almost public, have existed long before yunho ever got pulled into it. the rest of the group has no idea, and they’re not meant to; it’s not anyone else’s business.

even if wooyoung carries that careless, sharing is caring kind of attitude, it only goes so far. perfumes and scents, those things he’ll scoff at, roll his eyes over, let slide without much thought. you, though? you’re not something he shares lightly. and yunho can understand it now, because he just stepped into territory that was never his to begin with.

“take her to the bathroom,” he says, clearing his throat as he hands the remote back by turning it off, nodding toward the hallway. “i’ll handle it.”

wooyoung nods once, already shifting his focus entirely to you, guiding you up with a hand at your waist as yunho heads toward the door. and just like that, the scene resets. the rest of the guys arrive, the apartment is filled with laughs and loud music, everything looks normal again. but at some point, someone notices the couch. 

“uh… why is there a stain?”

wooyoung doesn’t even hesitate to answer, you in his lap. “sorry, i spilled some juice. don’t worry, it’ll dry.” yeah, juice… your juice.

the party starts all drinking and having fun to celebrate their friend. however, yunho isn’t thinking about the guests or about his achievement in the virtual and social world… he thinks of how much he can achieve by making you cum on his cock instead of the cushions earlier without the usage of some stupid toy. of course, only if wooyoung lets him… tho doubts he would mind, you are not officially together after all.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

so, hello this is my shortest smut fic yet, and i just wanted to experiment with the formatting and the storytelling ! please, keep in mind that this was my first time writing anything focused on the usage of toys and i know it may be bad and not perfect, since i'm not familiar with this type of nsfw content, but i hope you enjoyed <33

The walk to the apartment was short. Too short for the thoughts building in his chest. By the time he reached the apartment building, he was already keyed up for no reason, like something was off, like the air had shifted and he just hadn’t caught up yet.

He took the stairs two at a time, unlocked the door and stepped inside and immediately froze. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. No music. No TV. No you yelling at some random TikTok or calling his name from the kitchen. Just a soft broken sound that made Mingi’s head snap toward the living room.

“Y/N?” He dropped his keys somewhere by the door and moved fast, rounding the corner and there you were. Curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, face buried in your hands like you were trying to hide from your own thoughts. Crying. Not the loud kind but the kind that slips out when you’re trying not to be heard. And something in Mingi’s chest snapped.

“Hey…. hey, what happened?” He was already in front of you, already crouching down, trying to catch your face as you turned away. Your eyes were red. Your cheeks flushed. Embarrassment written all over you in a way he didn’t understand yet but he felt it. “Talk to me,” he said, softer now, reaching out but stopping just short of touching you. Always careful. Always giving you space, even when it killed him.

You wiped at your face, clearly trying to pull yourself together, which only made his stomach twist harder. “It’s stupid,” you muttered.

“Then tell me anyway.”

“He broke up with me.”

“What?”

You let out a shaky breath, staring somewhere past him like you couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. “It’s not…. he just said we weren’t… compatible.” You hesitated before explaining. And suddenly, you looked smaller. Not physically. Just… folded in on yourself in a way Mingi had never seen before. “He said…” You swallowed. “Alex said it was weird that I’ve never….” You cut yourself off again, face burning.

Mingi leaned forward slightly, voice low, steady. “Never what?”

You shook your head, not looking at him. “I’ve never… done that before.”

“Done what?”

Your eyes squeezed shut like saying it would make it real. More embarrassing. “Given head before.” The room didn’t just go quiet. It stopped. Mingi blinked once, twice, trying to process what you just confessed. “You’re serious?”

You nodded, mortified now, shoulders curling inward. “I just…. I don’t know how, okay? And I didn’t want to be bad at it and make it awkward and…..” your voice cracked, frustration spilling in now, “and he made it seem like I was broken or something for not knowing how to do it already.”

Mingi stood up so fast the coffee table rattled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Mingi…”

“No, I’m serious,” he snapped, pacing now, hands dragging through his bleached blonde hair. “That’s what he broke up with you over? That? Like you owe him that? Like that’s something he’s entitled to?”

You sniffed, wiping at your face again. “I just feel stupid. It’s not…. like I won’t do it. I just…. Never have and now… I don’t know how.”

He stopped and turned back to you. And whatever was in his expression now, it wasn’t anger. Not at you. Never at you. It was something deeper. Softer. Almost… hurt. “Hey,” he said, quieter now, stepping closer again. “Don’t say that.”

You laughed weakly. “It’s true. I’m twenty five and I don’t even know how to suck dick!”

“You don’t need to know how.” His voice cut through yours, firm as you looked up at him. “What?” Mingi exhaled slowly, like he was trying to get his thoughts in order, but they weren’t behaving. Not when you looked like that. Not when someone had made you feel this small. “You don’t need to know how to suck dick.” He repeated, softer now. “Not unless you want to.”

You frowned slightly. “That doesn’t really fix the problem.” Mingi didn’t look away from you. He just stared… like he was thinking too hard. Like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t take back. “You trust me, right?” Your heart stuttered. “Always.” His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, jaw tight, like he was fighting himself.

“Then you wouldn’t have to feel stupid about it.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The fluorescent lights above you buzzed faintly. Not loud enough to be annoying. Just loud enough to be… there. Like everything else in this place. The office was small, temporary, forgettable, rows of desks, half filled cubicles, the low hum of keyboards and printers blending into one dull, endless rhythm. The kind of job you took because it was easy. Because it paid. Because it didn’t require you to think too hard.

Which, ironically, was exactly the problem. All you could do was think. Your cursor blinked on the screen in front of you, a blank document. Unfinished work. Ignored emails.

“Then you wouldn’t have to feel stupid about it.”

Your fingers stilled over the keyboard. God. You pressed your lips together, trying to focus, trying to force your brain back into something productive, but it was useless. Completely useless. Because the way Mingi had said it…. it hadn’t sounded like a joke. Hadn’t sounded like teasing. Hadn’t even sounded like him trying to make you feel better.

It had sounded… serious. Careful. Like he’d thought about it before he said it. Your stomach twisted as you leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes flicking around the office just to ground yourself, coworkers typing, someone coughing, the distant whir of a copier, a little glare sent towards Alex across the office, but it didn’t help.

Because all you could see was Mingi. You dropped your gaze back to the screen, swallowing. What did he mean? No…. you knew what he meant. You just didn’t know if he’d really meant it. That was the problem. Mingi had always been… comfortable. Safe. The one person you never had to overthink with. The one person who’d seen every version of you, from awkward thirteen year old to… whatever you were now, and never made you feel like you had to be anything else. You trusted him completely.

Your foot tapped lightly against the floor, restless energy building in your chest. What if he had meant it…. what if he meant…. to… your breath caught slightly and your face warmed instantly, heat creeping up your neck as the thought settled in deeper than you wanted it to. Not because of what it was. But because of who it was. Mingi, your best friend. The person who knew how you took your coffee, who stole your hoodies like they were his, who had a permanent dent in the couch from how often he sprawled across it like he owned the place since he moved in.

The same Mingi who had looked like he was ready to commit a felony over Alex. The same Mingi who…. your stomach flipped and you groaned softly under your breath, dropping your head into your hand. This was ridiculous. You were reading too much into it.

He was just being… him. Trying to make you feel better.

Right?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard again, forcing yourself to type something, anything, but the words blurred together meaningless. Because another thought slipped in. Quieter. More dangerous. If he didn’t mean it… why did it sound like that? You knew the difference between when he was joking and when he wasn’t……

“Fuck.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The walk up to the apartment felt longer than usual. You’d replayed Mingi’s words all day. Every tone. Every pause. The way he’d looked at you when he said it. Your keys jingled softly in your hand as you reached the door, pausing for half a second before unlocking it like you needed to brace yourself. The door creaked open and there he was stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely against his chest. The TV was on, something playing low in the background but he wasn’t really watching it.

His head turned the second you walked in, eyes landing on you immediately as he pushed himself up slightly, sitting forward. His brows pulled together slightly, head tilting as he watched you just… stand there. “You good?”

“What did you mean?”

His expression flickered. “What?”

You stepped further into the room now, heart already picking up, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Yesterday,” you said, voice tighter than you meant it to be. “When you said….” Your throat felt dry. “Then you wouldn’t have to feel stupid about it.”

Mingi didn’t answer right away. And that told you everything. “You didn’t mean it like that, right?” you pushed, words coming faster now. “You were just…. you were trying to make me feel better, or…”

“I meant it.” The words cut clean through yours and you stopped talking. Mingi sat there, elbows resting on his knees now, hands loosely clasped together as he looked at you, not avoiding, not backing down.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

The room suddenly felt smaller. Too small. Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag. “Mingi…” you started, but you didn’t even know what you were trying to say. Because what was there to say? “You’re talking about…”

“I know what I’m talking about,” he said quietly making your heart race now, thoughts tangling over each other. “Why would you even…. why would you offer that?” you asked, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed. “That’s not… that’s not something best friends just….”

“Because I trust you. And you trust me,” he added, softer now. “Or at least… I thought you did.”

“I do,” you said quickly. “Always…. But that’s not…. this is just…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, like the answer was floating somewhere in the air and you just couldn’t grab it and Mingi just watched you struggle for a second. Then leaned back slightly, dragging a hand over his face. “He made you feel like you were lacking something,” he said. “Like you were behind or wrong for not knowing how to do something you’ve never even done.” Your chest tightened again. “That pissed me off,” he continued, quieter now. “Still does.”

You didn’t doubt that. Not for a second. “But I meant what I said,” he added, eyes flicking back to yours. “You don’t have to feel like that. Not with me…. I could help you. No judgement.” The words settled heavy between you. “You’re saying you’d just…. what?” you asked, voice softer now. “Let me… practice sucking dick on you?”

Mingi’s jaw flexed. A small tell. One you’d only notice if you were really looking. “Only if you wanted to,” he said.

“Mingi,” you said again, quieter this time. But it wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t a rejection. It was something else. Something unsure and curious. Something that made his shoulders tense just slightly because he heard it too. That shift. The one neither of you were naming yet. “You don’t have to decide anything,” he said. “I’m not…. pushing you into anything. I just don’t want you thinking there’s something wrong with you.”

Your chest ached a little at that. “And this wouldn’t make things weird?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer and Mingi let out a quiet breath…..

“It doesn’t have to be.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Your room felt too small. The only light came from your laptop, casting that soft glow across your bed, your walls, your face as you sat there, legs tucked under you, back against the headboard, staring at the screen like it might magically fix everything. You’d told yourself this was a good idea…. just watch some porn. Told yourself that if you watched enough, paid attention, maybe you wouldn’t feel so….

You pressed your lips together, eyes flicking across the screen again, trying to focus, trying to understand what you were supposed to be learning from this as some girl started gagging, tears in her eyes, face a little red….

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face before letting your head fall back against the wall behind you with a quiet thud. “This is useless,” you muttered under your breath. Because it was. None of it helped. Your eyes drifted away from the screen…..

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of your blanket. God. You shut your laptop a little too fast, the click loud in the quiet room as you shifted slightly on the bed, pulling your knees closer to your chest, resting your chin against them as you stared at the closed laptop…..

You didn’t remember deciding to move, getting up. One second you were sitting on your bed, then standing in your room, staring at your door like it held all the answers. The next you were crossing the hall, heart beating way too fast for something that should’ve felt simple.

Your hand hovered for half a second before you even had the chance to knock on his door because his door was already open, gapped enough to see inside. You pushed it gently, the soft creak barely noticeable over the quiet hum of music playing low from his speaker.

He was ditting on the floor, back slightly hunched, one knee up, the other leg stretched out as he leaned over an old pair of shoes, paintbrush moving slowly in his hand, careful strokes of black and purple. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked without looking up.

You leaned lightly against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely, not to close yourself off, but because you didn’t know what else to do with them. “Something like that.” He hummed softly, still working, still not looking at you until you pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room slowly, the soft music wrapping around the silence between you. “I tried to… figure it out,” you admitted, eyes flicking briefly to the shoes he was decorating. “On my own.”

Mingi’s jaw shifted slightly. “And?” he asked. You huffed a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head as you took another step closer. “It didn’t help.” You stopped a few feet away now, the space between you suddenly feeling… very noticeable. “Mingi….”

“Yeah?”

You swallowed, fingers fidgeting lightly at your sides before you forced them still. “If I said yes,” you started, voice softer now, more uncertain than you liked, “to what you said earlier…” His breathing shifted. “would you actually…” You trailed off, your chest tightening slightly as the words got stuck. “teach me?”

The room went quiet. Even the music felt distant suddenly. Mingi didn’t answer right away. He just… looked at you, taking you in like he was trying to read something deeper than your words before he shifted, pushing himself up from the floor. “Only if you’re sure,” he said, voice lower now. Careful. Controlled in a way that felt deliberate.

Your heart was pounding. “I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.” His gaze flicked over your face, searching. For hesitation. For doubt. For anything that would make him stop. “You can stop anytime,” he added. “The second you’re uncomfortable. I mean that.” You nodded quickly. “I know.”

“Ok.” He stood, grabbing his shoes and paint, placing them by the wall like it was any other night. Like this wasn’t the most charged the room had ever felt. Like you hadn’t just asked him for something that had been sitting, buried, in the back of his mind for longer than he wanted to admit. He straightened, exhaling through his nose before turning and moving toward the edge of his bed, lowering himself down slowly, elbows resting on his knees for a second like he needed to ground himself.

He didn’t realize what you were doing until it was already happening, hadn’t realized you moved until you sank down onto your knees in front of him. His head snapped up instantly, eyes locking onto you. “Y/N….” he started, voice lower than before, rougher, like it had to push past something. “You don’t have to….”

“I know.” Your hands rested lightly on your thighs, fingers pressing into the fabric of your pajama pants like you needed something to hold onto as your gaze flicked up to his face. “Just…. tell me if I’m doing something wrong,” you said quietly as Mingi stared at you. “I’m not gonna sit here and judge you,” he said, softer now as your lips pressed together briefly. “I know…. that’s why I’m here.”

That almost broke him. Because that wasn’t just about this. That was everything. Every year. Every moment. Every time you chose him without even realizing you were doing it. Mingi’s hands flexed slightly where they rested on his knees and he forced himself to breathe. To slow down. To not let this turn into something it shouldn’t. “We go slow,” he said, voice quieter now, steadier. “Ok?” You nodded, heart racing.

“I’m gonna….” he started quietly, glancing down for a second before looking back at you, making sure you were still with him. You nodded. Every little movement felt amplified, his hands brushing his waistband, the slight shift of his sweatpants, the way his fingers hesitated for just a second like he was giving you one last chance to stop him.

You didn’t though so he slowly pulled his sweats down, not breaking eye contact for long, like he was still checking in with you even without asking. You watched, eyes following his him because you couldn’t not. He paused for a second. Not out of uncertainty. But out of awareness. Because this was the point of no return. Mingi’s jaw tightened slightly as his gaze flicked down, then back to you again, searching your face one last time before shoving his sweats and underwear both down.

And that’s when you froze and your eyes widened slightly before you could stop yourself. Because yeah. You’d thought it. Joked about it. Wondered, once or twice, in the back of your mind over the years….. yeah…. your best friend was big.

His breath hitched slightly, his body going still as his eyes snapped back to your face. “Hey,” he said, voice softer now, a little more cautious. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I just….” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together as heat rushed up your neck and Mingi’s expression shifted. Concern… mixed with something else. Something a little more vulnerable than before.

“It’s just….. I had no idea you were packing,” you joked trying to lighten the mood, shaking your head, your hand instinctively reaching out before you even realized what you were doing, lightly touching his knee.

He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe, to not let his own nerves take over now. “We can stop,” he said quietly. “Seriously.” You shook your head again. Firmer this time. “No. I don’t want to.” Your hand was still resting lightly on his knee. “Hey,” he said quietly, drawing your attention back to him before your thoughts could spiral too far. “We don’t have to jump into anything,” he said, voice softer now, more grounded. “You don’t have to… go straight to that. Just…. start with your hand,” he added, “Get used to it first. There’s no rush.”

Your fingers twitched slightly before hesitating for just a second before moving up his thigh, your hand slowly reaching to gently grip him in your hand. Heavy and throbbing. Mingi’s breath caught but he didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush you. He just watched as you stared at the length of him, thumb lightly tracing a vein….. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly, more to reassure you than anything else. “That’s good.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the sound of his voice and how deep it had gotten. A little rougher than you’ve ever heard him before and that made your confidence spike a little. Your fingers adjusted slightly, more certain now. Mingi’s hands tightened slightly against the edge of the bed, knuckles pressing into the fabric as he focused on breathing evenly. On not overwhelming you. On not letting this turn into something it shouldn’t…..

You started slow, working your hand down, thumb swiping over his tip when you came back up, thinking how…. how he’d feel somewhere you really should not be thinking so you quickly focused. To the way his breathing changed. To the way his shoulders tensed and then forced themselves to relax again. To the way his hands gripped the edge of the bed just a little tighter every time you adjusted.

And that told you more than anything you’d watched earlier. Mingi, on the other hand, was fighting for his life. His jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as he focused on breathing through it, chest rising a little sharper than before despite how hard he was trying to keep it even. Because you weren’t just… you were you. And that made everything worse.

Your hand shifted slightly again, more confident now, more in tune with him than before, stroking faster, lingering a little towards the spot closer to his balls because you caught how his eyes rolled back a little. And that’s when it almost slipped. A moan. Barely there. But not quiet enough. Mingi’s head dipped immediately, his free hand coming up to drag roughly over his face like he could hide it, like he could take it back. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, voice rougher now. “I’m….” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head once. “I’m trying not to….”

You paused, not pulling away, just… stilling. “You can….. you can moan you know… it’s normal.” Mingi’s head snapped up instantly. His eyes met yours again and there it was. That look. Not just focused. Not just affected. Something deeper. Something that made your stomach flip. “Ok.”

You adjusted again, more certain now to try and get those sounds from him again. More grounded in what you were doing instead of overthinking every second of it. Mingi’s grip on the bed tightened again, shoulders tensing as he let out a slow breath through his nose, trying to keep himself in check as you started stroking him again, his dick fully hard and aching now.

Your movements were still careful, still learning, though you have give a couple band jobs before, but no longer unsure. You were watching him now. Not just doing something, but paying attention. His breath caught, chest rising a little sharper as his eyes locked with yours again. And this time he didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Because there was something different in your expression now. “Hey,” he said, voice lower now, rougher than he wanted it to be.

You stilled slightly, eyes flicking up fully to his face. “Yeah?” He swallowed, trying to keep his head straight. Trying to keep this where it was supposed to be. “You can…” he paused, breath uneven for just a second before he steadied it. “You can slow down a little. You don’t have to rush it.” It wasn’t a correction, just guidance. Gentle and grounding. Your hand adjusted instinctively at the sound of his voice, easing just slightly, testing the difference and Mingi’s jaw tightened. “Yeah….” A moan left him. “like that….”

And that moan set something off in you. You pulled your hand back, both hands resting lightly on his thighs now, grounding yourself for a second as you looked up at him again, really looked this time. “I want to try my mouth now,” you said quietly and Mingi froze. His head tilted back for a second, eyes closing as he exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself before looking at you again. “You sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rough around the edges in a way he couldn’t hide.

You nodded, voice a little breathless. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said quietly but his hands moved this time, settling lightly against your wrist for a second before his head dipped forward slightly, his hand tightening just briefly before he forced it to relax again, jaw clenching as he tried, really tried, to stay steady for you the second your lips brushed against his tip.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice strained but controlled. “You’re okay. Don’t overthink it.” Your breath hitched slightly at the sound of his voice. Because even now he was focused on you. Not himself. You cleared your throat, tongue darting out to lick at your lips before finally opening your mouth and slowly taking him in.

Your movements weren’t perfect. Not practiced. But they didn’t need to be. Because Mingi wasn’t reacting to perfection. He was reacting to you and it showed. In the way his breathing broke slightly when you gagged. In the way his head tipped back again, his hand coming up to drag through his hair as he exhaled a quiet, uneven breath when you pulled all the way back and sucked at his tip.

In the way he said your name, “Y/N…” Soft, like it slipped out before he could stop it. And that’s what got you. “You’re…..” he stopped himself, jaw tightening again as he swallowed the rest of whatever he was about to say when you took him back in, starting get a rhythm, head moving up and down and fuck he couldn’t stop watching you.

His hand hovered for a second like he wanted to touch you but he didn’t. Because this wasn’t about him. “You’re doing good,” he managed instead, quieter now and that little praise…. the shift was immediate. You adjusted slightly, your movements easing into something more careful, more exploratory, like you were actually listening now instead of overthinking. Relaxing your throat, hollowing your cheeks a little.

And Mingi felt it. Every bit of it. His breath caught sharply, shoulders tensing before he forced them to relax again, jaw tightening as he tried to keep himself grounded. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice lower now, strained but still trying to stay steady. “Slow… yeah, like that.” Your stomach flipped at the sound of his voice. Because it wasn’t just guiding. It was affected. Real. Almost whimpering. You followed it instinctively, easing your pace just slightly, paying attention to the way his breathing changed in response, the way his fingers curled tighter against the edge of the bed.

Your movements shifted again, more fluid now, less hesitant and Mingi….. Yeah. He was struggling, especially when you moaned once and he felt it vibrate through his dick. His head tipped back slightly more, eyes squeezing shut for a second as he let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw clenching harder, enough to make it obvious he was holding something back.

“Fuck,” he exhaled quietly, barely audible, his hand dragging down his face again as he tried to pull himself together as you glanced up. And that’s when it hit you, really hit you…. the way he looked. Completely undone in a way you’d never seen before. “You’re okay,” he said again, voice rougher now, like it was getting harder to keep it even. “Just…. you’re doing good.”

Your movements slowed again, more deliberate now, more in tune with him than before, head bobbing back and forth, sucking at his tip before taking him back in and Mingi’s reaction followed immediately. A sharp inhale. His hand gripping tighter. His jaw clenching harder. Because if he let himself react the way he wanted to…. If he let himself say what was sitting right there, on the edge of his tongue…..

You shifted again. More confident now. Or at least… trying to be. Because you could feel it, how much he was reacting, how every small change you made pulled something different from him and that gave you just enough courage to push a little further, pushing yourself to take all of him, to let your mouth stretch the entire length of him and when you gagged, holding yourself there…… “Hey,” he started, voice already rough, already slipping.

But you kept going, tears started well up in your eyes as you choked a little bit still didn’t stop until you needed air. A sharp inhale left you as your body tensed and you pulled back suddenly, coughing lightly, your hand coming up instinctively like you needed to steady yourself.

“Hey…. hey,” Mingi said quickly, leaning forward, one hand coming up to hover near your shoulder without grabbing you, like he didn’t want to startle you more. “Don’t…. don’t push yourself like that.” Your face burned, embarrassment hitting you all at once as you tried to catch your breath. “I…. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut in immediately, softer now, more grounded. “You’re fine…. it felt good.” His thumb brushed lightly against your arm for a second, reassuring and steady before he pulled his hand back, giving you space again. “You’re trying too hard,” he added, quieter this time. “You don’t have to force anything you can’t take.” You swallowed, still a little flustered, avoiding his eyes for a second before glancing back up. “I thought I was supposed to…”

“You will,” he said, gently interrupting you again. “Just… not like that.” He paused for a second before, a little more hesitant, “You have to relax,” he said, voice lower now, more careful. “Don’t tense up like that. It’s…” he stopped himself, jaw tightening briefly before he tried again, softer. “It’s easier if you take your time.” Your heart was still racing. But the embarrassment started to fade, replaced by something else. Because he wasn’t judging you. Wasn’t frustrated. He was… helping.

“Okay,” you said quietly and Mingi nodded, encouraging. Patient in a way that made your chest tighten again for entirely different reasons. “Try again,” he said, softer now. “Just… slower. Don’t think about it too much…. don’t take what you can’t right now.” You let yourself breathe first. Let yourself settle before moving again, relaxing your jaw, realizing you liked the weight of him on your tongue.

Mingi’s head tipped back again slightly, jaw tightening again, hand wanting to tangle in your hair when you started slowly using your mouth to fuck him, more relaxed now, taking him almost all the way before pulling back and doing it again, fingers flexing like he has no idea what to do. His breath caught, shoulders tensing before he forced them to drop again, his hand gripping tighter against the bed as he tried to keep himself grounded.

But then you gripped his thighs, changed rhythm, hollowed your cheeks again, used the hold you had on him to help move, head bobbing faster, taking him all the way again, no gagging this time… and that’s what finally broke him. A sound slipped out before he could stop it. Low. Rough. Completely unplanned. Mingi’s head dropped forward for a second, his free hand coming up to cover his mouth like he could hide it, like he could shove it back down his throat before you heard it. But it was too late because you did and now you needed to hear it again as his thighs started twitching under your hands.

You started moving faster, sucking harder, letting him hit the back of your throat, eyes watering a little. His jaw clenched hard, his hand dragging down his face again for the hundredth time as he tried to steady himself, chest rising unevenly now despite how hard he was trying to keep it under control. “Hey…” he started, voice strained, catching slightly. “Y/N…”

His eyes squeezed shut for a second, head tipping back as he exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to pull himself back from the edge he was getting dangerously close to but then you looked up again. Mouth stretched around. Eyes watering. A fucking mess for him. A quiet, breathless sound left him before he could stop it, his hand tightening again as his composure faltered completely. “You…. fuck…” he muttered under his breath before he reached his hand and finally tangled his fingers into your hair. “you’re learning too fast…”

His fingers threaded through, tightening slightly like he needed something to hold onto before he completely lost his grip on everything else. “You feel so good…” his voice broke, low and uneven, his head tipping back as his chest rose sharply. “so fucking good.”

His praises made you suck harder, made you moan around him again and his grip tightened just for a second before he forced himself to loosen it, his breathing uneven now, his composure cracking in ways he couldn’t hide anymore. “I’m gonna…” he tried again, but the words fell apart halfway through, replaced by a sharp exhale as he dragged his free hand over his face again as you took him all the way and held him there.

His hand stilled in your hair. Not pulling. Not guiding. Just… there. Grounding himself. Feeling the way his dick twitched against your tongue and the back of your throat. His body tensed all at once as whatever control he’d been clinging to so he wouldn’t come finally gave out, his hand tightening instinctively for just a second before he forced it to still again. “Wait….” he tried, voice strained, already too late because his stomach tightened, his grip in your hair pulled as he felt it hit him. Hard. Really fucking hard.

He came with a broken whimper of your name, “Fuck…” he gasped as you swallowed every drop of him, not moving until you were satisfied you took it all. Mingi sat there, chest rising and falling hard, when you pulled back, his dick popping from your mouth, twitching.

“Did I do good?” you asked quietly. And that nearly wrecked him more than anything else. Mingi just stared at you, mouth parted slightly, like he had something to say but nothing came out. Because what could he say? That you had no idea what you just did to him? “Yeah,” he said finally, voice rough, quieter than before. “Yeah… you did.”

He leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees again, his gaze dropping for just a second before lifting back to yours as he quickly pulled his sweats back up. “We should probably….” he started, then stopped. Because he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. What were you supposed to do after this? Go back to normal? Pretend nothing changed?

“I think…” You stood, wiping at your mouth. “I’m gonna go shower.” Mingi could say nothing as he watched you walk out of his room, you thanking him for letting you practice with flushed cheeks before disappearing down the hall and the bathroom door shutting behind you.

He finally exhaled, letting out a breathless laugh. “I think she just sucked my soul out of my dick.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The bell above the door chimed softly as you pushed it open and the familiar warmth of Mingi’s parent’s restaurant hit you immediately, oil, spices, something savory simmering in the back. The low hum of conversation, dishes clinking, the occasional shout from the kitchen. You stepped inside, scanning automatically and there Mingi was behind the counter.

Blonde hair slightly messy, sleeves pushed up, moving back and forth between orders like he’d done a thousand times before. You swallowed, pushing the thought of what you done the night before down as you walked further in, slipping into one of the empty stools at the counter. Mingi didn’t notice you right away, too busy taking an order, handing off a plate, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder.

But then his eyes flicked up and landed on you. And just like that he froze. “Hey,” he said, trying for casual as he stepped over, grabbing a glass and filling it with water just so he had something to do with his hands as you gave him a small smile. “Hey.”

“You eat?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“I’ll make you something.”

You nodded as he turned away again, back into motion, back into routine but every glance lasted a little too long. Every time he passed by, you felt it. That awareness. That memory sitting just under the surface. You watched him for a second, then another. The way he moved. The way he worked. And all you could think about was….. you wanted to do it again. You wanted to do it again and let him…… your fingers tightened slightly around the glass of water. Hes your best friend…. best friend who you might have been…. kind of into for a while now.

Mingi set a plate down in front of you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You good?” he asked, watching you a little more closely now and you hesitated. “I have this thing coming up tonight,” you said and his brows pulled together slightly. “What thing?”

“Office party.”

He made a face immediately. “Yeah, that already sounds terrible.”

You huffed softly. “It would be fine if…” you stopped and Mingi noticed your hesitation. “If what?” he pressed as you glanced down at your food for a second before looking back up. “Alex’s gonna be there. We work together remember?” Mingi’s expression dropped instantly. “Of course he is,” he muttered, jaw tightening as you leaned back slightly on the stool, arms crossing loosely. “I don’t want to go alone,” you admitted.

“So dont.” Mingi shrugged like it was obvious. “I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t even like those kinds of things,” you pointed out and he shrugged lightly again. “I don’t like Alex more.”

You snorted as his mom walked behind him, asked you how your day was before saying you need to come by more and heading towards the kitchen. “Ok. You have to wear something nice though.”

Mingi smirked. “Oh absolutely.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi was already dressed, leaning back against the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other resting loosely on his thigh. The patterned shirt fit him a little too well, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, the tie slightly loosened like he’d already given up on pretending he cared about the whole formal part of tonight. He’d been ready for twenty minutes and he hadn’t checked his phone once. Didn’t need to.

His attention kept drifting to the hallway. To your door. To the quiet behind it. His jaw shifted slightly as he exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand briefly over the back of his neck before letting it drop again. This was stupid. It was just an office party. Just you getting ready. Just….. the sound of your door opening cut that thought clean in half.

Mingi’s head turned instantly and he froze. The soft fabric of your dress caught the light just enough, lace hugging in all the places he absolutely should not be looking and still somehow… flaring out in a way that made it feel almost innocent. Your hair pulled back, earrings catching softly when you moved, the whole thing put together in a way that didn’t scream for attention but made it impossible not to look.

Mingi blinked once, then again. Like his brain needed a second to catch up to what he was seeing. “You ready?” you asked, voice casual, like you hadn’t just completely knocked the air out of his lungs. He didn’t answer, not right away. His gaze dragged, slow, unintentional and honest, from your face, down, then back up again like he was trying to correct himself and failing. “Yeah,” he said finally but it came out rougher than he meant it to.

His hand shifted slightly against his thigh, fingers flexing once before stilling again as he pushed himself up from the couch, straightening just enough to close some of the distance between you. “You look…” he started, then stopped. His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek, like he was choosing his next word carefully. “Nice.” It was a terrible word for it and you knew it. Your brow lifted slightly, something teasing flickering in your expression. “Nice?”

Mingi huffed quietly under his breath, shaking his head once like he was annoyed at himself now. “You know what I mean.” But he didn’t fix it and didn’t try again. Because if he did, it wouldn’t come out safe. His eyes lingered for half a second too long again before he forced himself to look away, grabbing his keys off the counter like he suddenly needed something to do. “We should go,” he added, a little too quickly.

You didn’t move right away and he felt it as his grip tightened slightly around his keys before he glanced back at you, brows pulling together just a little. “What?”

You hesitated for a second. Eyes flicking over him now in a way that mirrored exactly what he’d just done to you. The rolled sleeves. The loosened tie. The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. And then your gaze lifted back to his face. “You clean up nice too,” you said and Mingi stilled again, eyes locking with yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable settling behind them before he looked away first, jaw tightening slightly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, quieter now before clearing his throat, shifting his weight as he moved toward the door, opening it and stepping slightly to the side, letting you walk past him first. But as you did his hand twitched. Like he almost wanted to reach for you. Instead, he stepped out behind you, pulling the door shut with a soft click, the sound echoing just a little louder than it should’ve.

And neither of you said it out loud. But it sat there anyway. Quiet and unavoidable. Tonight wasn’t going to stay simple.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The music hit before the door even opened. Low bass, muffled voices, laughter spilling out into the hallway as you and Mingi stepped up to the venue, lights flickering faintly through the glass. It wasn’t anything fancy, just one of those rented out lounges your office liked to pretend was upscale for events like this.

Mingi reached for the door first, pulling it open and stepping slightly to the side, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back as you walked in. The warmth of it lingered longer than it should’ve and he moved back, letting it rest there. “Where do you wanna start?” Your breath hitched just a little at how close he was. At how normal that should’ve felt. “Bar,” you said, a little too quickly.

He nodded once, hand dropping from your back again as he stepped beside you, but the absence of it felt… noticeable now. Like something missing. You barely made it three steps before someone called your name. “Y/N!” You turned instinctively, spotting a couple coworkers waving you over, already eyeing Mingi like they were trying to piece him together in real time.

“Oh my god, who is this?” one of them asked immediately, eyes flicking between you and him and Mingi raised a brow slightly, glancing at you as you sighed softly. “This is Mingi. My best friend.”

“Best friend,” another one repeated like she was testing it on her tongue. “Right,” you muttered as Mingi gave a small nod, polite but not overly friendly. “Hey.” And that was all it took. Because now they were really looking. Not just casual glances. Full on scanning. The rolled sleeves. The tie. The way he stood just a little too close to you without thinking about it.

“Oh wow,” one of your coworkers said, not even trying to be subtle anymore. “We’ve heard you mention him before but you did not mention he looked like that.” You felt heat creep up your neck instantly. “Okay, relax….”

“I’m serious,” she continued, laughing lightly. “You’ve been gatekeeping.”

Mingi huffed quietly under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to react, but his eyes flicked sideways toward you as another coworker leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice just enough to pretend it was subtle. “So you two are just friends?”

Mingi’s gaze shifted to her. “Yeah.” But his hand came back to your waist. Like it had every right to be there and you felt it instantly, your body going just a little more still under his touch, heart picking up in a way that had nothing to do with the crowded room or the music.

Your coworker noticed too, her eyes flicking down then back up. “Oh,” she said softly and suddenly she looked a lot more interested but Mingi didn’t move his hand. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just let it sit there, grounding, steady, like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. You swallowed slightly, shifting your weight just enough that your arm brushed his side, your voice coming out a little tighter than you meant it to. “We’re gonna grab a drink.”

“Yeah,” Mingi added, already stepping slightly forward, his hand guiding you with him again, pulling you out of the conversation before it could stretch any further, him leaning in slightly as you reached the bar, voice low, just for you. “Your coworkers are bold.” You let out a quiet breath, grabbing onto the counter like you needed something solid. “You have no idea.”

He hummed softly, glancing over his shoulder once, catching another lingering stare before looking back at you and there was a shift in his expression. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m starting to get it.” You both ordered a drink, you something that tasted like a margarita but a lot more stronger and Mingi just ordered an iced bourbon. Your coworker still watched, gazes lingering but Mingi ignored them. His attention was fully on you until he felt it.

His hand slipped from your waist as he leaned in slightly, voice low by your ear. “I’m gonna hit the restroom. Don’t let anyone kidnap you.” You huffed softly. “No promises.” His mouth twitched like he almost smiled, but he didn’t linger. Just gave your side a light tap before stepping away, disappearing into the crowd like it was nothing.

And in his absence your thoughts started running. The way his hand refused to leave your waist. Last night. Your best friend literally in your mouth and now here you were, your best friend your date to your work party. It’s like everything shifted and you hadn’t caught up yet.

You shifted slightly on the barstool, fingers curling around your drink as you took a slow sip, letting the burn settle just enough to take the edge off the way your thoughts kept circling back to him. You exhaled quietly, forcing yourself to look away from where he disappeared, scanning the room instead. Your eyes landed on your boss across the room, his voice cutting sharp through the music as he snapped at two of your coworkers over something you couldn’t hear.

You snorted softly under your breath as you lifted your glass again, taking another sip, letting your shoulders relax just a little as you leaned back against the bar and then froze. Because you felt it before you even looked. That presence. That specific kind of tension. “Hey.” You closed your eyes for half a second at the voice before you turned your head slowly, already knowing exactly who you’d see before your eyes even landed on him.

Alex.

He was sliding into the stool next to you where Mingi had just been like he had every right to be there. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t leave you on your couch feeling small after calling you pathetic for not knowing how to give head. Your grip tightened slightly around your glass. “Hi,” you said flat, sharp and completely full of distaste as Alex leaned his elbow on the bar, angling toward you, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle. “You look good.”

You didn’t react right away. Just took another sip of your drink then set the glass down a little harder than necessary. “Thanks.” Alex huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight.”

You glanced at him briefly. “It’s an office party.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still on you. “Just figured you might want to avoid me.”

Your jaw tightened slightly, but you didn’t look away from your drink. “I’m not rearranging my life over you, Alex.” He leaned back slightly at that, brows lifting just a little. “Damn. Okay.” But there was something in his expression now. Something curious. His gaze flicked over you again, slower this time. “You’ve been busy or something?”

You frowned slightly, glancing at him. “What does that mean?” He shrugged one shoulder, casual. “Just… different.” You almost laughed. Instead, you shook your head slightly, turning back toward the bar. “I’m exactly the same.”

“Mm,” he hummed, clearly not convinced. “You here alone?” Your stomach twisted slightly. Not because of the question. But because of the answer. Your fingers tapped lightly against your glass before you replied. “No.” Alex’s brows pulled together slightly. “Oh?” He paused for a second before grinning. “Don’t tell me it’s Mingi. I mean…. are you trying to mess with me? Make me jealous?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you downed the rest of you drink and ordered another as Mingi across the party pushed open the restroom door and stepped out, rolling his shoulders once like he was trying to reset. His mind hadn’t been quiet for a second since you walked out of your room earlier. His jaw shifted slightly as he dragged a hand over the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose as he stepped back into the main room and immediately got intercepted.

“Hey.”

Mingi barely had time to register what was happening before two of your coworkers stepped into his path like they’d been waiting. “Bathroom line insane?” one of them asked, leaning slightly closer like she already knew him. Mingi blinked once, caught off guard for half a second before he nodded. “Uh… yeah. Something like that.”

Another one slid in just slightly to his side, tilting her head as she looked him over again. “We didn’t really get to talk earlier.” Mingi shifted his weight, already uncomfortable, eyes flicking briefly past them instinctively trying to find you in the crowd. “I’m…. uh… I was just heading back…..”

“To Y/N?” one of them cut in quickly, smiling like she’d caught something and Mingi’s attention snapped back to her. “Yeah,” he said like that was the only answer that mattered. “Oh,” she said again, softer this time, exchanging a quick look with the other girl. “You guys are really close, huh?” Mingi huffed quietly, not quite amused. “Yeah. We are.”

The second girl leaned in just a little more, voice dipping like she was trying to be subtle and failing. “So… you’re single?” Mingi’s brows pulled together slightly, his patience already thinning as his gaze flicked past them again, still looking for you.

“I mean,” she continued, smiling, “we were thinking maybe after this….”

“I’m not available.” It came out before he even thought about it. Flat, immediate and final. The words hung there for a second as both girls blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Oh,” one of them said, a little thrown off now as Mingi shifted slightly, like he was just now catching up to what he’d said, his jaw tightening for a second before he looked past them again and this time he saw you. You were still at the bar but you weren’t alone.

His eyes locked onto you instantly. Then shifted. To him. To Alex sitting way too close and something in Mingi’s expression changed, dark, protective and maybe just a little possessive. “Yeah,” he added, quieter this time, almost to himself as his gaze stayed fixed across the room. “I’m good.” And before either of them could say anything else he stepped past them.

He moved through the crowd, shoulders brushing past people without a second thought, his jaw tightening slightly with every step closer to the bar. He didn’t even register the way people shifted out of his way as he cut through the crowd, his focus locked straight ahead. On you. On him. Mingi stepped in beside you, not abrupt, not aggressive. but present. Solid and unavoidable, hand coming to the back of your stool. “Hey.”

Your head turned instantly, breath catching just slightly when you saw him. Mingi didn’t look at you first. His eyes were already on Alex who blinked once, then leaned back slightly, that slow grin spreading across his face like he’d just been handed something entertaining. “Mingi…” he said, dragging your best friend’s name out like he was testing it. “So you are her plus one.”

Mingi didn’t answer right away. Didn’t react to the tone. Just held his gaze, fingers flexing once against the back of your stool, knuckles whitening just slightly before he forced them to relax. “Yeah,” he said finally and Alex hummed like that confirmed something for him, eyes flicking between the two of you before settling back on Mingi, still smiling.

“Look…” he started, voice softening just enough to sound reasonable, gaze moving back from Mingi to you. “I thought maybe after the party I could come by.” Alex leaned in just a little again, like he was trying to pull you back into something that didn’t exist anymore. “We could talk.”

Mingi’s jaw tightened again, his gaze finally shifting, slowly, from Alex to you, hand sliding from the back of your stool, hovering just slightly behind you now, not touching but close enough that you could feel the heat of it. Ready just in case. In case of what? He didn’t even know. He just knew he didn’t like this. Didn’t like Alex. Didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Didn’t like the fact that he even thought he could just come over like nothing happened.

Mingi exhaled slowly through his nose, voice low when he finally spoke. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.” Alex’s eyes flicked back to him, grin faltering just a fraction before he let out a low laugh. Not amused, not really. More like he’d just figured something out. “You know…” he started, shaking his head slightly as he looked between the two of you. “You think I never noticed?”

Mingi’s expression didn’t change but something in his shoulders did as Alex leaned in just a fraction, voice dropping, not quieter, just more deliberate. “When I was over. The way you watch her.” Alex caught the way Mingi’s eyes widened just a bit instantly, that grin snapping back into place like he’d just found exactly what he was looking for. “Oh,” he laughed softly, pointing between you, “Yeah… there it is.” You felt your stomach drop. “Makes sense now,” he continued, dragging his gaze over Mingi, then back to you. “You want her.”

Mingi didn’t respond but he didn’t deny it either as Alex huffed out another laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it as he looked at you again. Really looked this time. Something colder settling into his expression. “You know what?” he muttered, almost dismissive now, like he was already done. “You can have her.” Your chest tightened instantly as Mingi stood frozen next to you. “Might be a better fit anyway,” Alex added, glancing back at Mingi, that edge coming back, sharp and intentional. “Maybe you can teach her how to suck dick.”

That one hit like a slap. Not loud. But loud enough. Mingi moved before he even thought about it. His hand came down on the bar beside you with a quiet thud, not enough to draw attention but enough to make the point. “You want to say that shit again?” His jaw was tight and his restraint was hanging by a thread.

“Actually…” Your voice cut through both of them, sharp, as you stood up. Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you turned fully toward Alex, your expression no longer frustrated… no longer embarrassed. Something else now. Something steadier as Mingi’s ead snapped toward you, brows pulling together slightly, caught off guard by the shift in your tone.

“Actually…” you repeated, tilting your head slightly like you were considering your words, even though you’d already decided as Alex frowned faintly, clearly not expecting you to jump in. “What?” he asked. Your lips pressed together for just a second before a small smirk tugged at them. “He already has.”

Alex blinked like his brain refused to catch up to what you were saying. “What?” You didn’t rush to explain. Didn’t soften it. Didn’t take it back. Your gaze flicked to Mingi for half a second and that was enough. “You heard me.” You looked back at Alex and his mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out as his gaze snapped between the two of you again, trying to piece it together, trying to find something that made sense…

Alex let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like he was trying to recover. “Wow,” he muttered. “That’s….” He didn’t finish it. Didn’t have anything to finish it with. Because whatever power he thought he had in this conversation was long gone now as Mingi finally shifted beside you, his hand sliding off the bar as he straightened slightly, his presence settling next to you again. “You done?”

Alex didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He just stood there, staring, like he was still trying to catch up, still trying to figure out when he lost control of the conversation. “Yeah…” you said, quieter now, but not weaker, just… decided as you reached for your bag, fingers a little steadier than they had any right to be, considering your heart was still pounding against your ribs. “Let’s go.”

You stepped away from the bar, not waiting to see if Alex said anything else, not giving him the chance to pull you back into whatever that was and Mingi didn’t hesitate to follow you. He moved with you immediately, falling into step beside you like it was instinct, his presence closer than it had been earlier. Every step toward the exit felt louder than it should’ve. Like the room was watching. Like the moment had followed you out of that conversation and wrapped itself around both of you.

The door came faster than you expected, the cool air outside hitting your skin immediately as you stepped out into the night. The city hummed quietly around you, distant traffic, faint voices from inside, but it all felt far away compared to the silence sitting between you now.

Mingi exhaled slowly through his nose, his hands settling at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like he was trying very hard not to reach for you again. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said and you let out a small breath, shaking your head slightly, eyes still forward. “Yeah,” you muttered. “I did.” His head turned slightly toward you, like he was trying to read your face again, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it the same way he heard it. “Y/N…” Your fingers curled slightly at your sides as you finally turned your head, meeting his eyes. “Let’s just go home.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The ride back was quiet. Not awkward. Just… full with the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, it was crowded with everything that hadn’t been said yet. Mingi drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh, fingers tapping once, then stilling like he caught himself doing it. His jaw shifted every now and then, like something kept trying to come out and he kept pushing it back down.

You stared out the window as the car slowed, then stopped. “Come on,” Mingi muttered, already pushing his door open. The walk up to the apartment felt shorter than usual. Or maybe everything just felt faster now. Like you were catching up to something that had been building for a very long time.

Your apartment door clicked shut behind you after Mingi unlocked it, tossing his keys onto the counter, the sound sharper than usual in the quiet as he dragged a hand through his hair. You stayed by the door for a second watching him. The same guy who sprawled across the couch and watched anime for hours. Who cooked for you. Who always listens when you have something to rant about. Who stuck a skunk in your first boyfriend’s car when you were 17 because said boyfriend had tried to pressure you into sex.

The same guy who had always been… easy and safe.

“Mingi…”

He turned towards you, his adam’s apple bobbing a little as he gulped like he was bracing for some kind of impact. “Yeah?” Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. “What he said…” You trailed off for a second but pushed through it anyway. “was it true?” The question hung there. Heavy and clear. No way around it.

Mingi didn’t answer immediately. His gaze dropped for a second, like he was weighing something, like he was deciding how much to give you. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders rising and falling once and when he looked back at you it was different. Less guarded and more real. “What part?” he asked and your heart stuttered. “The part where…” you hesitated, heat creeping up your neck despite yourself. “you want me…..”

Mingi’s jaw tightened once before he shook his head slightly, almost like he was annoyed at himself more than anything else. “You really wanna have this conversation right now?”

You didn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah.”

He huffed out a quiet breath, turning fully toward you now, his hands settling on his hips for a second before dropping again. “You think I’d let him say that,” he started slowly, “in front of you… and not shut it down if it wasn’t true?” He stepped closer. “I didn’t say anything,” he continued, quieter now, eyes locked on yours, “because I didn’t want to make it worse for you in there.” Your breath caught. “But yeah,” he added, shrugging like he was giving up, tired of pretending. “Yeah, it’s true.”

The room suddenly felt smaller and your heart louder as Mingi watched your reaction carefully, like he was waiting, like he was ready to pull back if you needed him to. “I didn’t plan for it,” he said after a second, voice rougher now, like this part was harder to admit. “Didn’t mean for it to… go there.” His eyes flicked over your face briefly before settling back. “But it did.”

Your stomach flipped, your brain stopped working for a second because the way he was looking at you now wasn’t new. You just hadn’t seen it before. Or maybe you hadn’t let yourself. Mingi swallowed, his hand flexing slightly at his side like he was holding himself back again. “And last night didn’t exactly help.” That sent a rush of heat through you instantly as your voice came out softer this time. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Mingi let out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking his head once like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Because you’re you. You’re my best friend,” he continued, gaze steady but heavier now. “You trust me. I wasn’t gonna mess that up just because I….” He cut himself off, jaw tightening again as the silence stretched and his chest rose slowly, like he was trying to keep everything steady, keep everything where it was…..

“Why do you think….” he started, then stopped again, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at you, eyes sharper now, more exposed than you’d ever seen them. “Why do you think all I do is one night stands? Nothing serious. Nothing that lasts.” His voice dropped even more, honest in a way that felt almost reckless. “Because the only serious thing I want is you.”

Your breath caught, your body went completely still as the words settled into the space between you and Mingi took a step closer. “Fuck, Y/N…” he exhaled, like your name alone was something heavy in his mouth. “I’ve been in love with you for years.” The room went quiet. Not just silent but still. Like everything paused just to let that land. You could see it now. All of it. Every look you missed. Every moment you didn’t question. Every time he chose you without saying it out loud.

“I didn’t say anything,” he continued, quieter now but no less intense, “because I didn’t want to lose you.” Your chest tightened painfully. “Didn’t want to make it weird. Didn’t want to be that guy who ruins everything because he can’t keep his feelings in check.” His jaw clenched briefly before he forced it to relax, his gaze flicking over your face like he was trying to read something, anything, that would tell him how this was going to go. “But then last night…” he stopped again, exhaling sharply, shaking his head once like even thinking about it was too much. “And tonight…”

He let out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath as his hand twitched slightly at his side like he wanted to reach for you, like he had been all night, but he held himself there. “If you don’t want this,” he said, finally, softer now, but somehow heavier than everything else he’d said, “you need to tell me now. And I will pretend like none of this happened. I will drop it. Because I’d rather have you in my life as just my best friend than not have you at all.”

You moved, tossing your bag down blindly. Because there was nothing you could say to all of that. You didn’t know what to say, you just knew action. You closed the space between you in two quick steps, your hand coming up, grabbing the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like you needed something solid to anchor yourself and Mingi barely had time to react, eyes widening just slightly as you looked up at him. “I don’t want you to drop it.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him before he could think about what you just said.

It was everything that had been building, every look, every almost, every second of tension finally snapping into place. Mingi froze for half a second before his hands were on you. One at your waist, the other coming up to your jaw, holding you there like he needed to make sure this was real, like you might disappear if he didn’t, kissing you back hard. Like he’d been holding back for so long he didn’t know how to do anything else now.

Your grip tightened in his shirt as you leaned into him, the kiss deepening, shifting, neither of you pulling away even when you both needed air. His thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding and not at the same time, his other hand pulling you closer like the space between you didn’t make sense anymore. When you finally broke apart your breath was uneven but his was worse.

Mingi’s eyes searched yours, wide, a little stunned, a little wrecked, like he couldn’t fully process that this was actually happening. “You’re…” he started, voice rough, catching slightly before he tried again. “You’re serious?”

Your lips parted slightly, still too close, still holding onto him like you hadn’t decided to let go yet, breath catchy as his fingers traced along your waist, the fabric of your dress shifting slightly under his touch, his gaze flicking down for just a second like he was trying to keep up with what he was doing.

Your hands moved, sliding down his chest, gripping lightly as you pulled him back toward you, your lips finding his again and walking back past the entryway and into the living room. You stumbled with him, breath uneven, your fingers gripping at his shoulders as he kissed you harder. “Mingi…” his name barely made it out before it dissolved against his mouth. Your back brushed the edge of the wall, then the couch, then he pulled away and you barely had time to process it before he dropped straight to his knees right in front of you.

“Mingi?”

His hands were already sliding up your thighs under the fabric of your dress, fingers warm, firm, gripping like he needed to hold onto you, like he’d thought about this moment too many times to pretend otherwise now. His head tipped back just enough to look up at you. “I get to return the favor now,” he said, voice low, and you about moaned at the sight. “Mingi…” you started again, but it came out weaker this time, breathless, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders like you didn’t know whether to steady yourself or stop him.

He leaned forward just enough that his forehead almost brushed your stomach, his hands still resting firm against your thighs, thumbs shifting slightly like he was grounding himself. “I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, quieter now as your fingers tightened against his shoulders and his jaw flexed once, eyes flicking up to yours again as his hands slid a little higher, slower this time, giving you time, watching your face, waiting for any hesitation, any sign that you wanted him to stop.

Instead, you leaned into him and Mingi exhaled sharply through his nose, something almost like a quiet laugh slipping out, disbelieving and overwhelmed. “Yeah…” he muttered, more to himself now. “Okay.” His grip steadied again, more confident now, less careful as he shifted closer, pulling you just enough toward him that you had to brace against him to stay balanced and your breath hitched at the closeness, at the way his hands held you like he wasn’t letting you go anywhere.

Your fingers slid into his hair, a quiet, instinctive answer that made something in his expression break open completely when you tugged at the dyed blonde strands and then he was on his feet, hands firm on your hips as he guided you back, the back of your knees hitting the couch before you dropped onto it with a soft breath. He dropped back down to his knees, hands sliding along your legs, lifting, guiding, slow enough that you could stop him, steady enough that it didn’t feel uncertain until your legs settled over his shoulders and your breath caught hard at the shift.

“Please,” he said. It came out like something pulled from deep in his chest, like he’d been holding it back for too long and it slipped out before he could stop it as you fingers moved back and tightened in his hair, your chest rising faster now as you looked down at him and his grip shifted slightly, thumbs brushing against your inner thighs. “Tell me something,” he said, voice rough, quieter now.

“What?”

He hesitated for half a second. “Please tell me you’ve had someone eat you out before?” Because he knows you’ve had sex but after finding out you had never given head before, he wasn’t sure how experienced you were.

Your face heated instantly. “Not good,” you admitted, your voice coming out softer than you intended and Mingi let out a breathless laugh, head dropping for a second before he shook it slightly, like he didn’t know what to do with that information. “Good…” he muttered, almost to himself. “because no one else will after me anyways.” You felt yourself get wet at that, could feel your panties starting to dampen because his words hit you with so much promise.

His hands slid slightly higher along your thighs again, slower this time, like he was reminding you, checking you, making sure you were still with him. “You tell me if anything feels off,” he said quietly. “I mean it.” Your heart flipped for what felt like the hundredth time because even now, he was thinking about you first. You nodded, breath uneven. “Okay.”

Mingi exhaled slowly, his forehead brushing lightly against your leg for just a second before his grip steadied again and he leaned in, nose brushing against you over your panties before he pulled back just long enough to slip them down your legs. He looked back and stared for a moment, taking you in, still not fully processing that this really happening.

The second he moved forward and his tongue started licking over your clit making your breath hitch instantly, your back pressing slightly into the couch, fingers tightening in his hair… “fuck…” you moaned as he moved, thrusting his tongue into you now, “Mingi…” his name left your lips and he responded immediately by gripping your hips and pulling you closer practically burying his face into you.

Your legs shifted slightly around his shoulders, your fingers threading deeper into his hair as the tension in your body started to unravel in a way that felt new as he rotated from suck your clit into his mouth to moving his tongue back to thrust into you, fucking you with his mouth like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

Your breath hitched hard, back arching slightly off the couch, fingers pulling at his hair now like you needed something to hold onto, like you were riding horse and had to grip extra hard on the reins. “Right there…..” your hips started moving, grinding against him, his tongue now trapped in you as he growled holding onto you and letting you take control. “fuck…. You…. God…. you eat my pussy so good…”

That did something to him, you felt it in the way his grip adjusted, steadier now, more certain, like your praise gave him exactly what he needed. He practically pulled you onto his face, making you sit forward, your hands holding his head as he moved it back and forth, tongue working in and out of you before he moved his mouth back up to suck your clit back into it and bring one of his hands down, two of his fingers testing at first before he thrust them into you.

Your breathing lost any rhythm it had left, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you tried to ground yourself, but it was pointless as your walls clenched around his fingers, your legs now locked around him as you rode his face. The sensation of his fingers pounding into you, the obscene noise of them echoing along with his moans as he rutted against the couch and flattened his tongue out against you had you close, orgasm building faster than you’ve ever had one before.

You watched him, eyes half lidded, legs starting to shake. “Look at you….” he moaned again, curving his fingers in you, just rubbing them against your walls, just holding them there as you clenched around them and you felt it, felt your legs give out, your hands on his head move to yank at his hair as you came, a gasping broken moan of his name leaving you as your orgasm tore through you. You felt lightheaded as Mingi just held you there, licking at everything you gave him and when he felt you gush, squirting around his fingers, pushing them out of you…. he could of came with you right there untouched.

He didn’t move away until he felt you yank him back by the hair, and fuck if that didn’t drive him crazy. Your body was still twitching, your breathing completely uneven as you pulled him up, your grip tight in his hair and when he looked up at you, he looked wrecked, almost more than you. His breathing was heavier, lips parted slightly, hair a mess from your hands, his eyes locked on you like he was trying to take in everything all at once. Then his brows pulled together slightly, something sharper flickering through his expression as he exhaled.

“Please tell me you never squirted for anyone else….”

You blinked down at him, still trying to come back to yourself, your chest rising and falling fast as your grip loosened slightly in his hair. “I…” you swallowed, still a little stunned, your voice soft. “I didn’t even know I could do that.”

Mingi’s expression shifted, something deeper settling in behind his eyes, something possessive. “Yeah…” he muttered, quieter now, more to himself. “Good.” His hands tightened slightly where they still held you, grounding, steady, dragging them lightly along your thighs as he stood, breath still uneven, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t quite look away yet.

Before he could say anything else, you moved. Fast. Sliding off the couch, your legs a little unsteady at first, but you didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate as you sank down in front of him on your knees and Mingi froze. “Y/N?” Your hands were already on him, fingers gripping lightly at his thighs now, grounding yourself as you looked up at him. “You don’t have to…” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I told you, you don’t….”

“Shut up.” It came out sharper than anything you’d said all night catching Mingi off guard as your fingers tightened slightly, pulling him just a little closer as your eyes stayed locked on his. “Shut up and let me,” you added, quieter now, but somehow heavier. Mingi’s breath hitched, his head tipping back for just a second like he was trying to process that you were saying that to him, breath catching the second your fingers moved to his waistband. “Y/N….”

Your hands started unbuttoning, pushing the fabric of his pants down like you weren’t second guessing it anymore. Like you knew what you were doing. Exactly what you wanted now. Mingi’s jaw tightened as he watched you slide his pants down to his ankle, his dick hard in his boxers, a small stain on them from where he rutted against the couch, chest rising a little sharper now, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides before finally settling lightly against the back of your head again like he needed somewhere to put them as you slipped his boxers down next.

Your hand wrapped around him, thumb brushing the precum leaking from him and his head dipped forward for a second like his body didn’t know how to process that, how quickly you’d gone from unsure to… this. Your hand moved, steady, controlled, like you were paying attention now, not guessing, not overthinking, just doing what felt right. “You gonna let me milk you, Mingi?”

The words came out softer than the moment but they hit ten times harder making Mingi choke on his next breath. His head snapping back slightly, a disbelieving laugh breaking out of him, rough and breathless. “Jesus…” he dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what you just said. “You can’t just say shit like that.” His eyes dropped back to you immediately, like he couldn’t help it, like he was trying to figure out when you flipped the script on him.

Because this wasn’t him guiding anymore. This wasn’t him in control. This was you. And he had no idea what to do with that as your hand steadied him, your other brushing lightly along his thigh as you looked up at him, really looked this time, like you knew exactly what you were doing now as you brought him to your mouth and tapped his tip against your tongue, once, twice and again before finally dragging your tongue down the length of him, tracing at the veins like you were trying to map out an outline of his dick.

“Y/N…” it came out low, almost a warning but there was no strength behind it. “Jesus…” he muttered under his breath, one hand dragging through his hair before settling back at the nape of your neck again, not pushing, not controlling, just there as your grip shifted slightly and you pulled back, looking up at him. “I want you to fuck my mouth.” A sharp breath left him as his grip tightened just slightly, not rough but tight. “You sure?” He had to ask because once he started he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. Not when you were like this. Not when you asked for it.

You darted your tongue back out, licking at his tip. “Use me.” Mingi’s breath hitched, sharp, his grip tightening at the back of your neck for just a second before he forced himself to loosen it again. His chest rose unevenly, eyes locked on you like he was one second away from completely losing whatever control he had left. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, voice rough, barely holding together as you didn’t look away. “I do.”

His hand slid from your neck to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, slower now… intentional. “Hey…” he murmured, softer this time. “Look at me…. say it again,” he said quietly and your brows pulled together slightly. “What?”

“That you want this.”

Your lips parted, breath still uneven, but your voice came out firm. “I want you.”

“Yeah…” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “I heard you.” He moved his hand to your chin. “You don’t get to take that back,” he added, quieter now, eyes searching yours one more time. “Not after you say it like that.”

“I’m not going to,” you shot back, breath still uneven as his grip shifted, sliding from your jaw back into your hair, fingers threading through it as he tilted your head just slightly before guided his tip to your mouth and he groaned as you opened, his dick resting heavy on your tongue. Be moved slow at first, just letting you adjust, relax your jaw, as he took his time getting all of him in. You gagged a little when bottomed out, holding your head there and just taking in the feel of himself in your mouth for a moment.

His head dipped, his body shifting forward, and you felt the change instantly in the way his breathing broke, in the way his grip tightened just a fraction before he forced himself to ease it again. “Fuck…” he exhaled quietly, voice already rough, already slipping as he started moving, guiding your head, hips rutting starting to thrust. “Look at you…” he muttered, almost disbelieving, his voice low and uneven as his gaze flicked down for just a second, catching your expression. “so good with my dick in your mouth.”

Your grip tightened at his words, your body shifting instinctively closer, chasing the feeling, chasing him, and that nearly broke him all over again as you dug your nails into his thighs and started bobbing your head back abs forth, using his thighs as leverage to fuck your mouth on him. His breathing grew heavier, less controlled now, shoulders tensing as he exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to keep some kind of hold on himself but his restraint didn’t last.

“Yeah…” he moaned, hand gripping at your hair. “That’s it…” His control didn’t disappear, it changed. His grip adjusted, steady at the back of your head while his other hand dug into your scalp. “Fucking take it….” His thrusts grew, his dick throbbed on your tongue as he did like you said and started to use you. “You feel that? Yeah… just like that…” You gagged again as he started hitting the back of your throat, his hand moving around to wrap around said throat, thumb pressing at where he was fucking you. “Stay right there.”

The rhythm deepened. Slower for a second. Then chaotic. His shoulders tensed, fingers flexing again in your hair as he let out another uneven breath, his voice dropping lower, more wrecked with every second. “Fuck, Y/N…” His head tipped back for a second, jaw clenched hard, rhythm faltering before he picked up again. Deeper. Faster. Less careful as you looked up at him through wet lashes, mouth stretched around his dick that was thrusting in and out of your mouth, the sight dragging a whimper from him and that’s when he stopped.

His hand pulled you back just enough, not rough, but firm, his breathing wrecked as he shook his head once, like he was trying to clear it. “I…” he exhaled sharply, dragging his free hand over his face. “No…” Your brows pulled together slightly, breath still uneven as you looked up at him. “Did I… did I mess up?”

“Fuck no!” He exclaimed, swallowing, jaw tightening. “I just need to be inside you when I come this time.” His hand slid from your hair to your arm, pulling you up in one quick motion, your balance tipping into him as his other hand caught your waist instantly, grounding you before you could even think as he kissed you. Hard and messy. Both you tasting yourselves on each other’s tongues.

Your hands grabbed at him just as fast, fingers tangling in his shirt, yanking him closer as your mouths crashed together, breath mixing, uneven, rushed. “I need you naked…”

“Yeah…” he breathed against your lips, voice wrecked. “Yeah, you too.” Your fingers found his tie, yanking it loose in one sharp motion, pulling him down into another kiss as he let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh against your mouth. “Fuck…” he muttered, letting you pull at him, his hands already moving, sliding down, finding the zipper of your dress. The sound cut through everything as his fingers slipped under the fabric as it loosened, pushing it down your shoulders while your hands worked at his shirt, buttons pulling free under your grip, impatient, uneven.

Neither of you slowed down. Couldn’t. The space between you disappeared completely as fabric shifted, hands moving, pulling, tugging like neither of you could get close enough fast enough. Your dress slipped, his shirt fell open, his tie hanging loose around his neck as your fingers dragged it the rest of the way free. “Mingi…” you breathed again, softer this time but no less desperate and he stilled for half a second. Just long enough to look at you. “You sure?” he asked one more time, voice low, still rough, but steadier for that one second.

Your answer came in the way you pushed him down, him stumbling to the carpeted floor caught off guard, his back hitting the floor with a dull thud, breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. “Y/N…” But you were already on him. Climbing over him before he could even recover, your knees settling on either side of his hips, your hands braced against his chest as you looked down at him, fingers sliding up his chest, gaze locked on his face, watching every reaction, every shift, every crack in his composure.

His hands tightened slightly at your waist, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was grounding himself, like he was barely holding onto anything at all as his head tipped back against the floor as you reached down, gripping him, his dick twitching in your hand as you guided him to you, your soaking pussy taking greedily as you sank down into him. Your breath broke instantly, a sharp inhale catching in your chest as your head tipped back at the stretch of him until he bottomed out.

Mingi had a full body jolt, his grip tightening on you, fingers digging into your waist as his head dropped back against the floor again, a broken sound leaving him before he could stop it. “You’re so fucking tight….” The words came out wrecked and completely gone as you slid your hand up his chest, fingers trailing over his collarbone, then higher until your palm settled at his throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the way his breath stuttered under your touch.

Your fingers tightened slightly at his throat, your other hand still gripping his chest as your voice came out softer, almost disbelieving. “Mingi…” You shook your head slightly, breath uneven. “You’re….” you huffed out a quiet, overwhelmed laugh, your forehead dipping for a second before you looked back at him again. “I knew you were big but… I didn’t know it’d feel like this…… like my pussy was made for you…”

That did something to him. His jaw clenched hard, his grip tightening again as his hips shifted instinctively under you before he forced himself to still. “Don’t say shit like that,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face for half a second before it dropped back to your waist. “You’re trying to kill me.” Your hand stayed at his throat, your thumb brushing lightly against his adams apple as you adjusted again, slower this time, testing, feeling before you leaned back and started moving.

“Look at you…” he muttered almost in disbelief. “You’re really…… fuck yeah….. your pussy is made for me.” Your hands steadied against his chest, fingers pressing into him as you found your rhythm, slow at first, testing, adjusting still, your breath catching every time you shifted just right. And then you didn’t hesitate anymore. You took it.

Your pace built, hips moving with more certainty, more intention, like your body just… understood what to do without needing to think about it, slamming your hips down, rotating them a little as you started pounding yourself on him. “Yeah….” his voice broke, his hands tightening hard at your waist, fingers digging in. “Yeah, just….. fuck…. take it…. it’s yours…” he watched his dick disappear in and out of you, the sight of you costing him, creaming on him, completely ruining him. “Don’t stop… don’t…”

You leaned forward, one of your hand finding his, fingers threading together before you pressed it down above his head, holding it there, anchoring him beneath you and Mingi’s breath caught instantly. His eyes snapped to yours, something almost dazed flickering through them as your face dipped closer, your lips finding his again. His chest rose hard under yours, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers dragging along your back like he didn’t know where to settle, like everywhere felt like too much.

Your movements slowed a little, more deliberate now, less frantic, your body shifting in a way that made his grip tighten again despite himself. Because slower didn’t make it easier. It made it worse. Your lips stayed on his, your breath mixing with his as you kept that steady rhythm, your hand still holding his above his head, keeping him right there, right under you. “Fuck…” he muttered softly, his head tipping back for half a second before coming forward again, chasing your mouth like he didn’t want to lose it but you pulled back, sitting up again a little.

His free hand slid down your back, guiding you closer, his head dipping instinctively, lips brushing along your collarbone before lower, tongue circling one of your nipples and bringing it into his mouth. Your breath hitched, moaning his name as his grip tightened at your side, his breathing uneven again, broken in a way that matched yours now as he stayed close, like he didn’t want to give you even an inch of space.

Your fingers tightened in his hand above his head, your other instinctively finding his hair again, holding him there, keeping him latched on your nipple as his arm wrapped around you, firm and immediate, pulling you closer as he pushed himself up off the floor just enough to meet you halfway.

Your breath hitched at the change. The closeness. The way his body pressed into yours now instead of beneath you. “Mine…” he muttered, voice rough against your nipple, his grip tightening just slightly as he held you there, letting you take and take until he felt you clench him hard, your legs starting to shake. It hit you all at once, sharp and overwhelming, your breath catching hard as your grip tightened on him, your body stuttering mid motion like it just… gave out. “I… I can’t….”

Your voice came out breathless, uneven, your movements losing any kind of consistency as you tried to keep going, tried to stay in control but you couldn’t. Not anymore. The second your body faltered, Mingi’s hands were on you, steady, grounding, his grip tightening just enough to hold you in place before you could collapse forward completely. “I got you…” he murmured, voice low, rough, but steady in a way yours wasn’t anymore.

His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer for half a second, just long enough to catch you and then he moved, guiding you down, the world tilting as he flipped you beneath him, your breath catching all over again as your back met the floor. Your hands found him instantly, gripping, holding as your legs wrapped around him without thinking, pulling him closer like your body already knew what it needed.

His hands came down on either side of you, bracing, caging you in, his breathing just as wrecked now, just as uneven but his control was back. His gaze dropped to you, slower this time, heavier, taking you in like he needed to see you like this. Under him. Looking at him like that. One hand slid down, gripping your thigh, holding it in place, keeping you close as his forehead dipped forward, almost brushing yours as sank back into you. “Eyes, baby…” he murmured softly and when you looked at him something in him snapped all over again.

His grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there, grounded, held as his control slipped into something deeper. He didn’t waste time, you were close and he knew he was too. He thrusted deep, pace fast, hips slamming against you and when your nails dug into his back, scratching across his shoulder, voice broken, “Please… baby… harder… come with me…” Mingi lost it.

His movements lost that careful edge, turning desperate, chasing that high just as much as you were now, his breathing breaking with every second as he held you there, kept you close, didn’t let you pull away even for a moment as he pounded into you, the squelching sounds of your wetness loud in the room as you clenched around him, a scream of his name poured out of you as you came and he could feel you squirting, pulsing around him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and followed you, hips stuttering as you did what you asked him earlier, milked him for every drop he had in him, spilling inside you with a broken whimper.

Everything slowed quickly and Mingi stayed right where he was, buried inside you, like moving wasn’t even an option, his weight settled over you, his breathing still uneven as his forehead dropped against your shoulder and for a second… neither of you said anything. Just the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath, the faint hum of the apartment around you, and the quiet realization settling in between everything that had just happened.

Your hand moved first, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing through it slow, grounding, the complete opposite of everything from just a minute ago. Mingi let out a soft breath at that, almost melting into the touch, his grip loosening where his hands still rested against you, not holding tight anymore, just… there. “You good?” he murmured, voice low, still a little wrecked but softer now.

You nodded against him, your fingers still moving through his hair, slower, more absent minded now as you exhaled quietly. “Yeah… you should’ve told me.” Mingi shifted just slightly at that, enough to glance up at you, brows pulling together faintly. “Told you what?”

You huffed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything, your fingers catching briefly in his hair before smoothing through it again. “That you felt like this,” you said. “We could’ve been doing this the whole time.” There was a beat of silence before Mingi let out a breathless laugh, his head dropping back down for a second like he couldn’t believe you just said that.

“Yeah?” he muttered, amusement threading through his voice now. “That your big takeaway from all of this?” You nudged him lightly, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t fully see it. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” he said, still half laughing under his breath, his hand sliding lazily along your side like he’d finally relaxed into the moment and another quiet second passed before he shifted slightly, just enough to glance around the floor beneath you both and he huffed. “We’re definitely gonna have to steam clean this carpet.”

You snorted, a laugh slipping out before you could stop it, your hand dropping from his hair to lightly smack his shoulder. “Mingi!”

“What?” he shot back, barely holding in his own grin now, looking up at you again, completely unbothered. “I’m just being realistic.” You shook your head, laughing softly as you pushed lightly at him again, but neither of you actually moved away. Because even with the joke… with everything…. he stayed right there.

And so did you.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You stuck to your brother like glue, clinging to Jongho as he showed his family around the training rooms the first time. You had this bright smile on your face when Hongjoong introduced himself, like you were amazed by someone older than your older brother.

Hongjoong kept running into you after that. At the convenance store with your friends, out on a run with your club, cafe's in between classes. Over the years the groups you went with dwindled away until it was jus you two, meeting up for these odd mini errands.

Grocery shopping, coffee runs, hell he helped you build that cheap bookshelf in your living room.

He didn't notice how often he waited for you to text him the next time you would be out.

Until you missed one.

Then another.

And other.

And before he knew it, he hadn't seen you in nearly 2 months.

He didn’t notice at first, didn’t fully understand why he would jump at every notification only to feel an odd pang of disappointment.

Now he was working on his laptop working on a song when Jongho came up and sat next to him.

"New song?" he leaned over his seniors shoulder.

"Just something I got stuck in my head, thought I'd get it down before I forgot it," he muttered, adding another line of notes and looking to the notebook next to him with some lyrics scribbled down.

Jongho grabbed the book, scanning over the lyrics and eyebrows rising.

"Well jeez, and I thought this comeback would have less songs about this stuff," he laughed, looking between the lyrics and the melody on his laptop.

Hongjoong seemed to come back to the present, blinking and pushing his headphones off and taking in what he’d done so far.

Jongho was right, the song was going a bit... far. Still it was a little different. Less about straight sex and more about the experience.

It was more intimate, like it was about someone specific and not just about the action.

But still, it was pretty... explicit, even for them.

He sighed, finger tapping against his leg as he leaned back.

"Is this for us or for another group?" Jongho's question made him think for a second. "I can't imagine another group going this hard," he laughed. Hongjoong didn't really have an idea for where this one would go, more that it would end up in his voice memos and left to sit till someone wanted something similar.

"Well I-" he stopped at Jongho's phone vibrating next to him, your name flashing on the screen. Jongho casually picked up, not noticing how Hongjoong froze up next to him.

"Hey... oh yeah are they over?... Yeah come on over I'll leave the door open..." he hung up and got up to unlock the door, looking back to Hongjoong to finish. All he saw was Hongjoong looking at him expectantly. "What?"

"Y/n called?" he felt his chest twisting with anticipation, like he was some kid that just got told he was going to a toy store. Jongho let out a laugh as he sat back down.

"Her exams just finished, she was wanting to come over to hang out for a bit since she's been locking herself in her apartment the last couple months for prep," he dropped back onto the couch looked to the laptop. "So you were saying, the song is for who?"

You and the song being put in the same breath made him think.

Maybe he didn't want this song out in the world now that he thought about it. It felt almost personal? Like it was just a little to specific to something or someone to let others listen in on.

"It's not for anyone, just a fun project," he got out before another question panged in his mind.

Why was it personal? It was a "love" song but he wasn't in any sort of relationship and they had sung these types of songs plenty of times before.

Your face flashed in his mind.

Since every line was written with you in mind, maybe that's why.

That realization hit him like a truck, sending his thoughts spiraling as he ran through the song again.

How could he write something like this about you of all people?

About the girl that's been so happy and sweet with him that he felt off without her smiling at him at least once a day.

About the girl that brightened up his day with just a look his way.

About Jongho's little sister for gods sake.

And yet… god what was he even doing.

He doesn't know how long he sat there messing with the lyrics and his mic before he moved to his room, and he doesn't know how long he was in there before you popped in.

You smiled as you knocked quietly and opened the door. Any residual nerves from your finals left you, the sound of his voice chasing the feeling away.

You fell for Hongjoong the first day you saw him, the whole reason you followed your brother so closely that day being so you could see him again during the tour.

He was just so cool, he could do everything from writing to rapping to dancing. You put him on a pedistool that first moment and he hasn't moved in your mind since.

When those run ins started happening you were completely over the moon, your friends started telling you to go out by yourself purely out of observing your excitement at seeing him.

You don't know when it started that you would just text him where to meet you and he would be there but you did know it was the best thing to happen to you ever.

Of course something had to come along and ruin it all. These damn exams have been killing you these last two months and the first thing you could think of when they were over was to see him.

You felt a little guilty, using your brother as an excuse to peep on Hongjoong wasn't something you were incredibly proud of. But to be fair it wasn't just you, Jongho did just run out after forgetting a dinner he promised Yunho he would be at.

Now you slipped into the dark room, seeing Hongjoong back lit from his lap top as he hummed into his mic. You stepped up right behind him, looking at the screen as he sung the next verse.

You were used to hearing these types of lyrics for him, Jongho having to send a warning to your family when he knew one was coming so your poor mom didn't have a heart attack. But this... good lord it was something you would expect from a more western artist but not never from a kpop group. You listened to his voice quiet, his head shaking as he ran a hand over his face. He moved the mouse, clicking at the pause button before sighing like he was disappointed at something.

You followed his mouse as he clicked a few more times before starting the verse again, not recording this time. Some of the notes switched as he slowly moved to change tabs.

You took in a breath when he did, taking in what you were seeing too quickly for your brain to catch up.

It was a social media profile... your profile to be specific. He scrolled through your photos for a moment, his voice dropping to an octave you've never heard from him before. He shook his head, laughing to himself and going back to the recording screen.

The last minute played back in your mind as you tried to process it.

You took a step back.

And then maybe the most mortifying chain of event to ever happen to you started.

Your foot caught on the edge of his rug, sending you stumbling back before you hit his bed frame. The wood groaned loudly, Hongjoong's head snapping back at the sound as he pushed his headphones off. Both of you stared at each other in silence as the muffled track played out through the room.

That lasted for maybe two seconds before you started moving again.

"So-sorry I just uh-- I," you felt how flushed your face was getting as you tried to make it to the door, but that damn rug caught you again. You yelped, closing your eyes and throwing your arms out to catch yourself.

Hongjoong hopped up, trying to catch you. The headphone wire caught before he could even move away from his seat, him tripping over his chair before they disconnected.

You heard him yell and a hand wrap around the back of your head before you hit the ground.

It was quiet for a moment, only the sound of heavy breathing and that damn song floating around the room before you slowly opened your eyes.

Hongjoong's face was barely and inch from yours, eyes wide as he stared at you.

"I-" you stuttered again, trying to find something, anything to say.

"I like the song," you managed, an awkward laugh coming out as you did.

You wanted him to smile, to say thanks and laugh like this was all just a funny accident that you could both laugh at later. Maybe think you were just being a clutz and didn't see anything besides the song, didn't see the pictures he was looking at.

The panicked look in his eyes and lack of laughter told you that wouldn't happen though.

"When did you get here?" you took in a breath, you couldn't lie for shit and he knew it. His brows furrowed. "You saw didn't you?"

He started to get up, hand slipping slowly from the back of your head as his rant started.

"It's not what you think, I promise I wasn't being weird. I was just checking on something and your page was up. I swear it wasn't an--" he was half-way up when you felt something spike in your veins.

You had a feeling if you let him get up you wouldn't ever get this close again.

Hongjoong felt like his world was about to implode.

From how you looked when he turned around he knows you saw what he was looking at. If you were freaked out there was no argument he had on why it was totally normal and not weird that he was looking at your photos while singing an extremely explicit practically sex song alone in his room.

He could feel himself falling into a delirious rant as he fought to explain somehow that he wasn't being a weirdo.

And then your hands tangled in his shirt and you were yanking him back down.

His first thought was how soft your lips were on his.

He didn't even know he wanted this until a couple hours ago, but now this felt like all he's wanted for years. He blinked, feeling how your hands shook in their grip.

"Y/n wait," his words muffled against your lips but you didn't let up.

Maybe this was what he’s been wanting for years.

It sure would explain the way his chest twisted and head spun with anything you did or say to him.

He let himself relax, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. Your back arched, taking a sharp breath as his grip moved your side. You let out a whine and Hongjoong froze up.

He pushed up and off you, scrambling up as fast as he could.

"Joong?" you were breathless as you sat up. Hongjoong shook his head, kneeling to help you up before backing up again.

"I'm sorry, I got caught up. I didn't mean to--"

"Kim Hongjoong stop apologizing for something I started," you cut him off, stepping closer.

It was moments like this that he was reminded who you were related to, when you were direct and giving him that look like he was in trouble. You took a step forward, him stepping back until you had him backed against his own bed.

Your eyes shifted from that hard look to something a little more nervous.

“Is the song for me?” You bit at the inside of your cheek, heart rattling in your chest as you took another step closer.

He fell to sit on his mattress, letting you stop between his legs.

His eyes fell from your face to how your hands started to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

When he tried to look at you again he found you looking away to his computer, face bright red in the dim light.

Oh.

You were just as flustered as he was at this situation, just better than him at trying to get past it.

You felt his hands slip behind your thighs, pulling you closer till your knees hit the mattress right in front of him.

Your attention snapped back to him, eyes wide as his touch slowly grazed up he was right under the seam of your shorts.

"It didn't start out that way, I didn't even realize what I was writing honestly but, yeah... it is," he looked up at you nervously. You couldn't stop your own smile at his words. This whole thing -- as embarrassing as it started -- was like a dream come true.

You slid your hands over his shoulders, looking over his face. You didn't notice his fingers slipping under the denim of your shorts.

"I liked it," you whispered, "I don't think the company will let it be released though, its a bit," you cleared your throat, face getting even redder, "detailed."

A smile spread on his face and you finally felt where his hands were, sliding further and further up your shorts before hitting the thin fabric of your underwear.

"I wasn't planning of showing them," he tugged at you, trying to get you on him again without saying anything.

"Then who were you going to show it too? Obviously not me until now," you laughed, giving into his silent ask and climbing on top of him. Your legs straddled his hips, his hands leaving your shorts and going under the back of your shirt. You felt him slide to the hook of your bra, casually playing with it for a moment.

"Myself? Can't I express myself through song?"

"Oh is this how you express that kind of feeling?"

"There are other ways," you felt him unhook the clasp as he smiled playfully at you.

"There were a lot of different things to 'express' there," you leaned down, lips grazing his as you smiled. "You sure you can live up to it?"

You yelped as your back hit the mattress, feeling him press into you as he pressed an oddly gentle kiss to your cheek.

"Well I did write it."

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

You were woken up by a lot of different voices.

The main one being Hongjoong's, a gentle whisper against your hairline.

"Y/n wake up," you hummed, stretching and feeling his soft sheets against your bare skin. You smiled at him, blinking away the sleep in your eyes.

Thats when you took in the slight panic on his face.

"What's wrong?" you wrapped around him a bit, taking in his warmth in his cold room.

"Everyone's here," he whispered, voice stiff. You hummed in acknowledgement, silence stretching for a second before you shot up.

"You don't mean," your head snapped to the closed door, muffled laughs and conversation coming through.

He nodded, something like amused panic in his eyes.

Like the devil himself heard you, a knock came through the door.

"Hey Hongjoong, you up? Did you walk Y/n home last night? She's not picking up her phone," Jongho's voice filted through.

You looked at Hongjoong wide eyed.

Oh god you were fucked.

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

She’s officially done🥹

I have a lot more fics waiting in the wings I just didn’t want to post them till this guy was out sooo I will be back soon🤭

Thank you guys for the support of this series it was quite fun to figure out how to write the same trope 8 times over differently

See you soon

-Kay ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡ current taglist: °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

“Poor thing, don’t tell me I look this pathetic when you’re teasing me?” You laugh, mocking, addictive, the sound sending a shiver down Zayne’s spine as his cock jumps in your hand. 

He’s flushed from the tips of his ears you nibbled on, down to his sweat-slicked chest, your nails digging bright pink lines on his abs as you double check his restraints, smiling at the way Zayne doesn’t even try to fight you when you tighten the knot just a little. 

You shift your hips, grinding down against him, and the moment your clothed core drags against his throbbing length, he lets out a sharp, breathy moan. God, he can feel just how wet you are getting from this too, and it's driving him insane.

Zayne lurches forward, “Kiss me.” Pulling until the rope stops him, lips just shy of your chin as he begs up at you. 

“I don’t know, baby, usually you don’t kiss me until I’m crying.”

You pretend to mull it over, staring down at him as Zayne groans in frustration, tugging and pulling and yet leaking precum pathetically on your thighs all the while. It’s almost merciful when you wrap your hand around him, a single stroke enough to rip a muffled moan out from the man beneath you, his hips bucking up until you pin him back down, sitting up on your knees to stop him from moving. 

“Kiss me,” another moan, breathy and more desperate than you’ve ever heard, “Please, please kiss me.”

You don’t stop your merciless rhythm, your other hand forcing his jaw up towards you as you lean in just enough to mock his beautiful pout, his breath hot on your lips.

“No.”

And shit, Zayne thinks he might like giving you control just as much as you do. 

dear diary, i still question why in the hell was i transferred from football to soccer? i loveeeed working with the linebackers.

they were such a bubbly group (besides their neediness) i was pulled aside like i did something wrong, the staff knew i needed these credits for grad school. but nobody explained the real reason why i was switched, and that’s what pissed me off the most.

at the time, i thought it was a punishment. remember thinking i did something wrong. offend someone? but here’s the thing…after my frontal lobe development and all, i should be grateful for it. right? i didn’t understand a damn thing back then but i truly get it now.

i became reckless, breaking rules like it was in my nature, grades falling fast. someone i couldn’t recognize. i lied, abandoned things, things i swore i’d never do. REARRANGED MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE.

the person i became after that transfer shaped my whole college experience and it still lingers with me from time to time. & i think that’s why im writing this all down, really trying to piece together how all this shit happened.

i was young and naive, but young me didn’t deserve that. but i let it happen anyway. over and over again. so time to lock in. im drunk asf ngl, my tears are about to ruin my notebook paper but who the fuck cares.

thank you to kq university athletic department for changing the trajectory of my entire life.

—

It was a Friday when you started your work study job. August, the start of football fall camp, the hottest time of year.

You were afraid, nervous, excited, all the feelings flooding, you could barely sleep the night before. The job orientation did nothing to calm you down.Your bosses’ motto was always “keep your head on a swivel.” You wanted to throw up on the conference room table right then and there.

There was no formal training, you were thrown to the wolves. You were put under an intern for guidance, she assigned you to the linebacker group, so you were always near her for any questioning. You were already on edge because the shirt given to you for the day was so ill-fitting, you were in front of over 130 people, and your boyfriend is celebrating his birthday today, hundreds of miles away from you.

The energy of football was so intense from the training room all the way outside to the field. You could smell the fresh paint on the grass, constant whistles from different directions, the excitement players felt getting ready for the season.

You watched as your group, the linebackers, warmed up. They were intimidating to say the least, you always had to be attentive to them.They drank water like camels, running across the field for bottle fill-ups was the majority of your practice.

Coming into freshman year, you chose biology as your major. A good entry for going into grad school for athletic training, this work study experience was important. Everyone knows this would look good on your resume after graduation, it would be dumb to jeopardize that in any way.

You keep up while internally crying inside. You learn jersey numbers, names, and you try to understand the full dynamic of your small group.They also try to learn you. You are the person who is their main point of contact if something goes wrong after all.

But there’s one linebacker that sticks out amongst the seven of them, one that makes being surrounded by men a little less overwhelming. He approaches you on the sideline, about two weeks into fall camp. You're not expecting attention, you've trained yourself to move through the space without taking up room, keeping your eyes on the water rack, on the next player who might need you. 

You position yourself at the edge of things, always ready to step back. Your whole purpose is to be efficient and invisible, and you've gotten good at it, shoulders slightly hunched, voice smaller when you speak, always the first to move out of the way when someone needs space.He smiles, it's big, genuine, you think. "Ready for the term to start?" He takes a bottle from your rack, squeezes some in his mouth, then on his cleats.

I hate when they do that. I literally have to go refill now.

"Uh, yeah, first year. Little nervous."

"Don't be, I've got you if you need anything." His dimples show, you take a peek at the back of his jersey, number ten.

You mentally run through your list. His last name is Choi. You can't remember which Choi, though. You nod as a thanks. It was odd because throughout the rest of practice, he would find every excuse to talk to you when players were supposed to be focused. Every practice, he became a regular presence, you eventually figured out which Choi he was, San.

You can tell he amped up his flirting, you were fresh meat to fall camp eyes. He started to compliment your clothes. Your work uniform was school shirts and shorts, with some beat-up sneakers. So impressive, really your best fit.

You look a mess most of the time due to working in the heat all day. Hair plastered to your face, pit stains, shirt sticking to you.Despite all of this, practice became something you were looking forward to in the mornings. Looking forward to seeing San.

Were my boyfriend's worries valid? I haven't brought him up once since I've been here. He's going through his own fall camp, nah, he's fine.

The fall term was going to officially start soon, which meant the first game was coming up. The energy became even more real as the date got closer.Your stress also skyrocketed, Mingi claimed his first game would be a week after your school's, so he was going to fly into town to watch you work since he had the free time.

Seeing him throughout the semester would be scarce, as he went to a different school and had a hectic student-athlete schedule.You were so scared for the week leading up to gameday. Mingi sat in the row closest to the sideline. He had a perfect view of you and the inner workings of you and the other staff.

You spotted him before he spotted you, and you knew he was coming, but it still made your stomach drop.Your shoulders tense the moment you see him in the stands. You force yourself to keep moving, keep working, but your body knows he's watching. You catch San's eye across the field and something in your chest tightens. He's watching you watch Mingi. 

You are behind your group for their pregame warm-ups, as you do a quick turnaround to wave up to Mingi, San approaches you for water.San immediately clocks it. He doesn't say anything in passing, just drinks, drops it back into your rack, and runs off to join the others.

I think forgetting I have a boyfriend is about to backfire on me.

The game finally commences, you stand for three hours, running up and down the sideline. Little glances up to Mingi now and again.Working your first game, you feel such a rush, you don't try to decipher any emotions from Mingi or San, if you don't pay attention, you will get plowed down.

San makes a really good play, and you realize you clap a little too hard. Immediately make yourself busy, know that’s how rumors start, and it’s only your first year.

KQ takes the win, everyone in the stands comes to the field to congratulate their loved ones, and more. This also included Mingi coming down to greet you. He grabs a hold of your waist to spin you around. He has bulked up since last seeing him, football body and all. Dyed his hair too, dark blue, not sure of the sudden change.

You smile up at him, move some of the hair out of his face. The dork you’ve been with since junior year of high school, your rock, your bestie.

I hate breaking your heart.

“Baby, you worked your ass off. Wasn’t even paying attention to the game.” You laugh, the one that makes his smile go even wider. “I’m glad you came to see me in action.”

“Me too, wish you were my trainer. Your group is lucky to have you.”

You tap his arm playfully, you know it’s a loaded sentence, you don’t know if that weight holds the same for him.“Before I catch my flight tomorrow, wanna grab some food? Sleep in a hotel bed instead of a dorm for the night?”

“Yea–yes. I’d like that.” You’re hesitant, the air has shifted, the smell of gatorade powder is filling your nose, but the man in front of you is taking up your line of sight.

That night was filled with giggles, memories, moans, and everything that you wouldn’t get to experience with him until the fall semester was over.

The fall semester was hard but rewarding, you’d love your job and the people you worked with. But your grades and your relationship were tanking in front of your eyes. He is out of state, and I’m here.

You’d been doing the long distance, but it only got harder as time progressed between you. When he calls, you don’t have much to say. You’d try to tell him about work, about school, your day, but it all felt so small compared to what he was dealing with. I didn’t realize it yet, but I was already checked out.

Finals were a bitch to go through. You were so ready for winter break, just needed a moment to decompress. But you were still confused about the status of your relationship. Winter break went by fast, you went through the motions of catching up on sleep. Mingi wasn’t able to come visit you until spring break.

You almost don’t recognize him. He exudes a completely different energy when he shows up at your single dorm with flowers and that smile that holds the world.

You're in pjs and slippers, awakened from your nap after taking a study break. You’re close to being on academic probation, and you’re trying to be better.

You don’t even get a word out before he starts apologizing. “I’m sorry. Just fucking sorry for putting you on the back burner. You’re a priority, football shouldn’t have changed that.” Everything feels empty. His words feel empty. I feel empty.

Fall semester was months of you growing without him. Something in you has shifted. You don’t know if it’s for the best or the worst. But when he leans down to kiss your unchapped lips, crust still in your eyes…you don’t feel a thing.

It feels like saying honey I’m home! When it’s only your name on the lease.

You kiss him back, because you’re trying. Really trying to understand the mess of feelings you found yourself in. You love Mingi, that was never the issue. He was easy to love, to fall into. You spend the whole break together. Favorite movies, home-cooked meals that give you food poisoning, his hands on every part of your body.

Making up for the months that you’ve both missed together, but the disconnect is still there. The elephant in the room that no one is acknowledging.

You’re having surface-level conversations, the yearning in his eyes is gone.Your eyes match his. You don’t know if he can tell because he still proceeds to talk about the future, but it’s his future.

You’re both still young-minded, ambitious, navigating life despite him being by your side and being your first for everything. When Mingi talks about his plans, where he wants to go, you realize you have no idea what your place is.

You ask questions, be attentive, trying to grasp at straws that are inevitably going to bend.What are we really building toward? You want to be excited about him, like you were in high school, you want the puppy love that used to gush out of you like a river.

But all you can think about is being back on the field with players, the energy, the people. Finding yourself outside of Mingi. The whole week, you’re running on fumes.

On his last night before flying back out, he pulls you close in your car. It’s quiet, no one else around.The only thing accompanying you is the birds, who don’t notice that the sun hasn’t risen yet. It’s starting to feel like nails on a chalkboard instead of a melody.

“I miss you,” Mingi whispers, as if you’re not right beside him. Like he’s telling a ghost. And shit, maybe I am one.

He leans in to kiss you, and you freeze. Your body doesn’t reciprocate, your hands don’t go to the nape of his neck, your eyes stay open, you don’t give him entrance. His lips feel wrong, not bad. Just wrong, and he knows it.

His cap hides some of his features, but you can see the realization and hurt etched all over his face. He pulls back, puts his hands back in his lap, faces the windshield instead of you.

“What’s wrong?”

You’re trying not to let the water works show as you explain—or try to explain. Hell, you don’t even know what to explain. It sounds like patheticness coming out of your mouth, you feel like a bitch. You fidget with your fingers, mess with the seatbelt, drink out of a 3-day-old water bottle you find in the door.

Everything but looking him in the eye. “I don’t—don’t know. I just. I can’t.”

He sighs, doesn’t push for further explanation, you see his neck and ears getting red, the outside lamp light shining on the side of him.

You can tell he’s getting emotional, he’s about to cry, and you hate it. You hate it. I fucking hate it.

You’re the reason he’s crying, you’re breaking him, but you’re breaking yourself while trying to stay. He leaves on that note, doesn’t say a thing else. When he leaves, you feel relief more than sadness.

Being back at school, with him away, everything turns upside down. You stop waiting for his calls, you stop checking if he’s texted. You make yourself busier than you already are. Chem labs are kicking your ass, your grades have become your main priority. Your work study is more lax during the spring, but you spend half your days there.

Everything else feels more urgent than keeping a relationship that feels like it’s destined to fail at this point. You need to graduate, need to be okay. I need to fix myself.

You don’t break up with him yet, it’s going to hurt, you know it is. So you decide to just stop trying. You spend the rest of the spring semester fixing everything except your relationship as summer break approaches.

 Then Summer comes, and Mingi doesn’t give up, he keeps trying. He continues to call constantly, leaving long messages on your voicemail, plans about wanting to see you, how much he misses you. You go through the motions because ending things feels harder than just existing in the space you’ve created.

You agree to hang out, agree to meet up. Maybe seeing him again will fix whatever broke inside me. But when he shows up at your house, you feel dread instead of excitement. You feel the urge to perform instead of just being yourself.

He talks about how his scholarship isn’t covering his tuition, talks about transferring schools again, maybe taking a break, and coming back home. You nod, sit there, pretend to care. I should care, but I don’t. Why don’t I CARE?

You both end up at dinner, conversation fizzles out. He’s trying hard to make it feel normal, asking about any summer classes, friends, plans for the fall semester.

Your answers are all short, check your phone at the table more than you should. He reaches for your hand across the table, and you let him take it.

You're holding a stranger’s hand. This is so so fucked up.

You drive back to his place and sit in the car for a minute, engine running, ac blasting. He’s looking at you like he’s waiting on something, a kiss, a sign you still want this. You can’t give him that anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say. It feels like the first honest thing you’ve said in months.

Confusion is all over, like he thought he was fixing things by going the extra mile. “What do you mean?”

You gesture between you, “This–us. I can’t keep this facade going.”

“Facade?” His voice cracks a little, you hate it when it does that. Makes you want to almost take everything you said back. “What did I do wrong?”

Fuck.

“It’s not you,” you start, you know how fucking cliche it sounds. It’s the most common breakup sentence ever created. But it’s the truth.

“I just–I don’t feel the same way anymore. I tried, really did. But I can’t get myself back to where we were.”

He’s quiet, thinks for a bit, stares at his hands that were just holding yours. “Is there someone else?”

“No.” There’s no one else, truly, just the absence of him.

“Then what changed?” His voice is strained, desperate. “I can fix it. Whatever it is, I can–”

“You can’t fix this. Fix me.” You’re trying to keep your voice steady. “We’re not the same people we were in high school. I’m not the same, and I don’t think I love you the way I’m supposed to anymore.”

I don’t love you the way you deserve.

Tears are pouring from his face, he doesn’t bother to wipe them. “I love you,” he says through sobs like it will change everything.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I’m so sorry.”

He opens the car door, doesn’t look at you. “I don’t understand this. I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t either.”

He gets out, slams the door harder than needed, your Ghibli ghost shakes on the rearview mirror. You sit in the car for a long time after he’s gone.

You wait for the guilt to flood, the tears, for the crushing weight of what you just did. But it doesn’t come. There’s lightness instead of grief. 

Like the feeling you got when you discovered stepping on a crack didn’t really break your mother’s back.

I broke up with my first love, and I feel okay. I feel fine.

You call your friend, you’d recently been getting close to in chem lab, Anore. “I just broke up with him.”

You tell her, trying to sound sad, trying to sound like you’re “supposed” to.

“You okay, hun?” She’s all concerned, knows by the brief rants you’d go on while trying to get your titrate perfect.

“Yeah, I think I am.” For once, you sound like you really mean it.

She offers to come over, bring ice cream, movies, all the breakup essentials. You tell her you just need good sleep.

You don’t sleep. You lie in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation, still waiting for that regret.

Will someone ever get you as he did? But the regret never comes.

Summer goes on, you spend more time with Anore, friends from other classes. You get in the gym, read so many books, and get a better sleep schedule.

You spend the summer slowly rebuilding yourself.

I don’t miss him.

When your mom asks how Mingi is, you tell her about the breakup. She looks sad for you, asks if you’re alright. You explain that you’re fine, but you know she doesn’t believe you.

By the time August rolls back around, you’re excited about fall. Not trying to move on, not forcing yourself to be okay, you just are.

Fall camp arrives again. You’re single for the first time in years, you show up to practice without the thought of a relationship hanging over your head.

You bought new sneakers for the season, got work clothes that actually fit. The small things that feel important, like you’re starting fresh.

You don’t know it yet, but you’re about to meet someone who will make your Mingi era feel like a lifetime ago.

I’m ready, I think. Fully ready.

And when the director of sports med pulls you aside during the second week of fall camp to tell you about a transfer from football to soccer, from the linebackers to a different world, you’re shocked but take it in stride.

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

They didn't sugarcoat why you're being moved.

"You're being moved," clipboard in his hand, not looking up. "Football's not working out. Coaches have flagged some concerns—you're becoming a distraction, and frankly, there's been chatter about 'optics.' We need to manage this before the issue gets bigger."

He finally looks at you, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach drop. "The linebacker situation didn't help," he continues, "but it's bigger than that. Staff's been noticing patterns. You're good at your job, but you're also…visible. And visibility with players is a liability we can't afford right now."

You think about all the times you caught coaches watching you, the way conversations would stop when you walked into certain rooms. You thought you were paranoid. Guess not.

A distraction…right. How about telling the players to grow the fuck up?

But then he leans back in his chair, and his tone shifts. 

"We have a responsibility to maintain professional boundaries," he says, and it sounds scripted, like he's said this before about other girls. "Soccer's a better fit. Bigger group, more structure, less…individual attention."

Less focus on you, less opportunity for you to become a problem they have to manage.

"You'll transfer effective immediately. Defenders, back line. They'll be expecting you."

Football was fun, you won’t lie. It was loud, chaotic, and easy to disappear into. But by the end of freshman year, it started to feel suffocating.

I had to constantly prove I wasn’t there just to flirt.

Soccer feels like a reset. The first day with the defenders is very…very different.

They are loud as fuck, but in a good way. The linebackers were more quiet, more in their own head most of the time. The defenders were the opposite, constantly talking, trolling each other, laughing between drills.

You stand on the sideline with your rack of six water bottles and a towel thrown over your shoulder, watching them run through formations. They move with so much cohesion, like they’ve been playing together for years.

One of them is lean, a little tall, with longer dark hair put up in a ponytail. He glances over at you during a water break. He doesn’t say anything, just nods at you, then jogs back to the line.

Okayyyyyy, that’s definitely new.

You’re used to being ignored or hit on. The casual nod feels normal, like he’s a regular, sane person. Like you’re just part of the staff, as you should be.

It’s refreshing.

You're back where you belong. Hands filled with water bottles, eyes down, existing in the margins.

His name is Seonghwa.

You don’t learn it until about the third or fourth practice, you can’t exactly remember. When he walks over during a break and asks, “You’re new, right?”

“Transferred from football,” you say, handing him a water bottle. “Sophomore.”

Sophomore? What the fuck is wrong with you? He didn’t ask???

“Ahhh.” He takes a long drink, sweat trickling down his neck, wipes his mouth off. “ Yeah, we just got a new transfer too. Keeps to himself, though. I’m Hwa. Well, Seonghwa, but everyone calls me Hwa.”

“Cool. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts, not in a weird way. More like he just truly already knows. “You worked with the linebackers last year, saw you around.”

Duh, football and soccer do use the same training room.

You didn’t think anyone really paid that much attention, you were always all over the place, it seemed.

“Oh well, yes, that was me.”

He nods, looks at you for a second as whistles and cleats scuffing up the dirt become background noise. “You like it better here?”

“So far.”

“Good–I’m glad.” He grins, his smile is pretty–it’s genuine. “Defenders are way more fun than the mouth breathing linebackers. Trust.”

You chuckle, then he’s gone, jogging back to the line before you can properly respond.

Every practice, Seonghwa finds a reason to talk to you. Not in a flirty way, just platonic, like he’s curious about you.

He asks about your classes, your major, what you’re doing after practice. It’s small talk that doesn’t feel forced, it makes practice bearable.

One day, he’s sitting on the bench during a water break, and you’re refilling your water bottles at the water cow nearby. He glances over and does a double-take.

“Wait—are you in orgo chem 433?

You blink, “mhm, why?”

“I’m in that class.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How did I not notice you?”

“It’s a big lecture hall,” you say. “I’m super early so I can find a seat in the back.”

“I sit in the middle rows. We should sit together.”

Really? Is that a good idea? No fraternization and all.

“Sure. If you wanna.”

“Cool.” He stands, stretches. “I’ll save you a seat so you don’t lose any more sleep by showing up early.”

He stands by those words.

Sitting with Seonghwa in class changes things. You have someone to compare notes with, someone to complain about the professor’s way of explaining molecular geometry, someone to go to the dining hall with after lecture.

He’s easy to be around, no pressure, no expectations. Just his friendship.

I didn’t realize how much I needed this.

After a class, you’re walking across campus together, and he just asks, “You doing okay? Like for real for real okay?”

You glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just checking in with you. Never hurts.”

You think about Mingi, that relationship, the relief after it ended. “I think so.”

That’s good enough for him, he doesn’t push. “You deserve that.”

Do I, though? You don’t know how to respond, so you just smile.

The defenders are growing on you. They probably came out of the womb screaming, but it’s the good kind of loud. Playful and supportive.

You start learning their names, their personalities, the ones who prefer pickle juice over gatorade. The ones who come to you first to have their fingers and ankles taped.

There’s one guy who’s always quiet. Built, beautiful arms and calves, brownish hair. He doesn’t talk much during practice, but focuses on drills with such intense energy.

You’ve seen how he lingers in the back, observes more than anything. Doesn’t engage with the group the way the others do.

No clue who that is.

October, you’ve found your rhythm. Classes with Seonghwa, practice, study sessions in the library. Your grades are improving, sleep is so much better. Your screentime has gone down, your phone doesn’t consume you anymore.

I’m doing okay.

After practice, Seonghwa walks you to your car. It’s become a ritual, he parks near you every day

“You coming to the game this weekend?”

“Um, yes. I’m working it.”

He leans against your car, arms crossed. “You should come to the team dinner after. The bar that’s close to campus.”

“I don’t know..” You hesitate, “I’m just supposed to be staff.”

“So? You’re part of the team. We’d be dehydrated and breaking ankles without you.” He grins, “C’monnn. It’ll be fun.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll come.”

He pushes off your car, pats your head, and starts walking towards his. “See you tomorrow.”

The game is so intense. You’re on the sideline, doing your job with ease. Water bottles, towels, keeping track of substitutions, helping with minor tape jobs. But you’re also watching, actually paying attention to the game in a way you never did with football.

Your group is fast, coordinated, and aggressive. Moving like a unit, it makes you proud in a way, even though you do very little in their capacity of competing.

Seonghwa is in the middle of it all, calls out plays, directs the traffic. He’s a leader in many ways, the kind of player everyone looks to when things get crazy.

Then there’s mr quiet guy.

He’s playing today. On the field, he’s not quiet at all. He’s very vocal, commanding. You find yourself fumbling with bottles, watching him more than you should.

You still don’t know his name, you still don’t ask.

During a water break in the half, you’re refilling bottles on the sideline when you glance up. He’s standing with his hands on his hips, catching his breath, and his eyes are already on you. Not scanning the sideline, you. You shake it off, tell yourself you imagined when he looks away, but now apparently you don’t know how to hold bottles.

The team ends the game with a win, which makes for a chaotic team dinner. The defenders group takes over half the bar, shoves tables and barstools together, order so much food.

Seonghwa saves a stool for you, and you sit down feeling a little out of place, but still feel welcomed. The quiet guy is sitting at the far end of the shoved-together tables. He’s talking and laughing.

First time I’ve seen the guy smile.

You look away before he notices you staring.

Except, the whole time, he was tracking your movement throughout the crowd without you noticing him first. Seonghwa nudges you. “You good?”

You grab a wing from the many baskets that were ordered. ‘“Yeah. I’m enjoying myself!”

Spring season is um…unique. The schedule is more chill, but more training as far as strength and conditioning goes.

Your boss asks if you can pick up extra shifts, you say yes without thinking. You need the money, and honestly, you need the distraction.

That’s when Kallan shows up. She’s the new student hire, assigned to work with the forwards, offense, opposite of you.

First day, she walks onto the field, wearing oversized glasses, messy bun. You know, I just rolled out of bed look.

“Hey,” she says, dropping her medkit next to yours. “I’m Kallan. They said I’d be shadowing you?”

“Um, likely just shadowing me during setup, we will be on opposite sides of the field once practice actually starts.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

You show her how to set up the water station, how to stay out of the way during drills, track players who need special attention. She picks it up quickly, asks good questions, and doesn’t complain about the early mornings.

By the end of the week, you grab lunch together after practices, and by the second week, she’s texting you memes at 2am. She quickly became your best friend.

“You need to go out more,” she says one day, sprawled on the grass during a break. “Like, actually go out, get cute. Not just team dinners.”

“I do go out.”

“Studying with Hwa doesn’t count.”

You throw a towel at her, she laughs as she rolls over to dodge it. “I’m serious–We’re in college, we gotta live a little.”

She’s not wrong, you’ve been so focused on fixing grades, staying out of boy trouble, that you forgot what it feels like to just exist and have fun.

Spring break comes and goes, you go home for a few days, sleep in your old bed, eat your mom's cooking after living on fast food. But you’re weirdly relieved when you get back to campus.

After break, everyone’s rusty, drills are sloppy, coaches yelling a lot more than usual. The feeling of staring starts. You’re organizing tape and supplies when Kallan nudges you hard enough to make you drop a roll.

“Ow, what–”

“Don’t look now, but that guy. Been starin’ at ya for like five minutes straight.”

“He’s not—”

“He is. I'm watching him watch you right now. It’s actually kinda intense.”

You roll your eyes, don’t look. But you feel your face heat up, and you focus hard on rewrapping the tape you just dropped.

“Ok ok, he’s looking away now,” Kallan whispers, “but girl, he was looking.”

One afternoon practice you’re refilling bottles when someone taps your shoulder. You turn around, it’s him, mr quiet guy.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is warm and deep, smooth like honey. “You’re back.”

“Uh…Yeah. Break’s over and all.”

"How was it?"

Is this dude actually making small talk….?

"Boring, nothing exciting. Yours?"

He shifts his weight, glances away for a second like he's deciding what to say. "It was fine. Quiet." He pauses, "Needed the break, I guess."

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks back at you, assessing."Glad to be back, though. The field's been boring without you."

He smiles, and it's the same smile you saw at the team dinner, but it's in your face now, and it makes your stomach do something weird.

“I’m Yeosang, by the way.”

“I know,” you say, even though you didn’t know until this very moment.

He laughs, “Do you?”

“I mean—I do now.”

He grabs a freshly refilled bottle from your hand, fingers brushing yours for half a second. “See you.”

“Kang Yeosang back on the line now!”

He drops the bottle on the ground as he sprints away. Kallan appears next to you, handing you the dropped bottle.

She has the most sinister smile on her face. “What was that?”

“Dunno.”

“He’s never talked to you before.”

“Wholeheartedly aware of that, K.”

“Now he’s what, introducing himself? After a whole semester?”

“Guess soooo.”

She squirts water on your shoe. “He’s cute.”

“K–”

She puts her hands up in defense, “I’m just saying!”

Hey Siri, play Don’t by Bryson Tiller.

But the talking doesn’t stop, over the next weeks Yeosang had become a chatterbox. Mindless things, really, but it’s consistent.

Then the hugging starts. Not full hugs, quick side hugs that seem universal for every d1 college athlete. The one that shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does mean something when he does it, he lingers, and when he pulls away, he’s always smiling.

Kallan notices it. “He’s def into you, girly.” She says after watching him jog away.

“He’s not.”

“He is.”

“He’s just being friendly, just like the rest of them.”

“Friendly.” She snorts. “Right, because all the other guys hug you like that.”

They don’t, and I know that.

You’re packing up after practice when your phone buzzes.

unknown: what’s up it’s yeosang

unknown: got ur # from one of the guys, hope that’s cool

He got my number without asking. Kallan leans over your shoulder, reads the texts and squeals like a kid in a candy shop.

“Oh my god!!!”

“Shut up.”

“You have to respond.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” But you do respond, feels rude to leave him hanging.

you: hey, yeah that’s fine

yeosang: u doing anything after practice tmr?

you: depends, why?

yeosang: wanna grab food?

Kallan is about to jump out of her clothes, watching this unfold. “Say yes. Say yes.”

“I don’t know—”

“Just do it.”

You hesitate. This is a bad idea, know it is. There are rules about this, fraternization policies, staff–player boundaries, all the things written in your contract, and the things your boss drilled into your head when you started.

But…

you: sure.

You’re a mess. You packed clothes for after practice, for lunch since you have a break before your classes start for the day. You put so much thought into the outfit, you have no clue why.

Kallan laughs at you as you explained your whole morning and she can see clothes spilling out of your bag.

“Relax, it’s just food.”

It’s not.

Practice dragssss. Every time Yeosang looks at you, your stomach does somersaults, every time he smiles you’re about mix up player meds.

Oh shit. Let’s not mix pain meds with laxatives ma’am.

When it’s over, he walks up to you, still in his practice stuff, hair damp with sweat.

“Gonna shower fast and change. You’ll be ready?”

“Yeah. Let me just—”

“Take your time.”

You grab your bag, drag Kallan to the staff room to change, and so she can help you. She gives you a thumbs up in the mirror once you both figure it out and gives you that knowing look.

You end up at a small family-owned burger joint off campus, which lots of students frequent. He orders a burger, you order a salad, and for a few minutes, it feels normal.

Then out the blue he says, “so what do you want?”

“Huh?”

“Like, what are you looking for? With this?” He gestures between the two of you.

Ohhhh, wow, okay, yeah, totally.

“Um–I wasn’t really looking for anything.”

“But if you were?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. The whole…staff—player thing.”

“I’m aware.” He leans back, spreads his legs, shoes slightly tap yours under the table. Looks at you, eyes hiding under his hair. “But I’m asking anyway.”

So many damn but’s.

"Why?"

He glances away for a second, jaw tightening like he's deciding how much to say. He's testing whether you're worth the risk. "Because I want to know."

You take a breath, a visible exhale, goosebumps rising on your arms. You’re trying not to fidget. “I don’t do casual. If that’s what you’re asking.”

He smiles, and it’s so perfect. “Neither do I.”

“I’m interested in you despite what the fuck the contracts says.”

“I–”

He puts his hand up, pauses you. “You don’t have to have an answer now, just think about it.”

I’m already thinking about it.

The rest of the meal is easier with that sitting in the back of your mind. When he drops you off at your car, he doesn’t hug you, just shoves his hands into his pockets, looking at you like you’re as pretty as a winning number on a scoreboard.

“What are you doing this weekend?” He asks.

“Probably nothing.”

He smiles again. “Text me.” Then he opens your door for you and leaves without another word.

You sit in your car, hands on the steering wheel. Look how disheveled you look in your rearview mirror. Your phone buzzes.

K: tell me everything, neowwwww

You laugh, you’re so beside yourself right now. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but you know you’re going to say yes.

The spring game finally comes around. Families everywhere, recruits touring, coaches barking like it’s a conference game.

You’re running all over the place, trying to not to trip over equipment bags scattered across the sidelines.

Yeosang plays well, you watch his every move. How his calves pulse when he pivots, the way he wipes sweat with his jersey, the way he adjusts his shorts, or bends over to retie his cleats.

Fucking weirdo, stop staring.

The final whistle blow, you pack up as usual, folding stuff, breaking down the rest areas, shoving ice bags into coolers. Most of the team is gone, heading to the locker room or meeting family in the stands.

Yeosang lingers.

He’s standing near the bench, unwrapping his fingers, talking to one of the forwards. His eyes keep flicking toward you, you feel it every time.

When you finish loading the last cooler onto the golf cart, he walks over.

“Hey.”

You look up. He’s so close, you see the grass stains on his shorts and legs, scratches on his arms, sweat still dripping from the tips of his hair.

“Hey yourself.”

He grins, pulls out his phone, types, shows you the screen, and it’s an address.

“Come hang.” He pockets his phone, starts walking backward toward the locker room. “Stop thinking so hard, just come. I’ll be there in like an hour.”

You stare out onto the field, everything is a recipe for disaster.

you: yo yeosang just invited me to hang tn, wtf wtf.

K: BITCH GO. im busy with my own situation rn but text me after

You shake your head, get on the golf cart, and start driving towards the equipment shed. You try to rush so you have enough time to shower and change beforehand.

Fine, I’ll go. Shit.

The address leads you to an apartment complex on the west part of campus. The nice ones, the ones where you can park without being towed.

But as you’re driving, something really nips at you. He just gave an address, not my place, or my roommate’s, no context at all. You’ve never been to his apartment, or know where he even lives. You’re just trusting his words and the gps on your dash.

You park, check your reflection. You look decent. It’s a casual hang, you put on a hoodie and some sweats.

At least I don’t smell like sweat.

You text Yeosang that you’re outside, he responds right away to come up on your own since the door was already open.

You take the stairs, because you’ll shit yourself because the elevator is so slow—too much time to second-guess your decisions. When you reach the fifth floor, you follow the apartment numbers until you land on the right one.

The door is cracked, music playing, vape-like smoke flowing out. You knock anyway.

“Come in!” Someone shouts.

You push the door open and freeze. Because standing in the kitchen, pouring a drink, is Seonghwa.

Wait a damn minute.

Your best friend. The person you see every day. The person you’ve been confiding in about everything. He’s here, in this apartment–which only means one thing.

He looks up, sees you, and his face does that slow smile that makes your stomach drop. A smile that says he’s been waiting for you. “Oh shit,” he says, setting the vodka bottle down. “You’re here.”

He fucking knew.

“I–” You glance around the apartment. It definitely is his. You’ve never visited his apartment despite how close you’ve been, but you notice the artwork and furniture from your FaceTime calls with him. “This is your place.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, still smiling. “Yeosang didn’t tell you?”

No, why would he?

Before you can respond, Yeosang walks out of the hallway, freshly showered, wearing gray sweats with a black tank that clings to him in the best way.

“You made it.” He’s grinning.

You stare at him, then at Seonghwa. Then back at Yeosang.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. He engineered this. He brought you here knowing it was Seonghwa’s place. Knowing you didn’t know they were close like this, knowing your two separate worlds of being staff and the one of being this secret were about to collide in a way that couldn’t be undone.

“You live here too?”

“Nah, only Hwa. I’m just here a lot.”

Seonghwa snorts, “A lot is an understatement. I should start charging you rent at this point.”

You didn’t realize your best friend was this close to him. You knew they were teammates, obviously, but this is different. This is best friend level close. I have a key to your place close.

The kind of close where they talk about things, where Yeosang probably mentioned you, and Seonghwa already knows.

Now you’re standing in the middle of this apartment, and Seonghwa is looking at you like he’s not just figuring something out, but confirming it. The way his eyes move between you and Yeosang, the way his smile hasn’t dropped.

He’s not confused or surprised, he’s waiting to see what you’ll do now that the secret is out. It was out the moment you walked through that door.

“Want a drink?” Seonghwa asks, grabbing another solo cup.

You nod, and he pours some more clear and hands it to you. You take a sip and regret it, he offers you no kind of chaser.

Lightweight.

“This shit burns Hwa.”

“You’ll survive.”

Yeosang laughs, grabs his own drink, sits on the couch. You follow, perched on the edge of the cushion, trying to be as normal as possible.

Seonghwa keeps glancing at you, Yeosang keeps sitting too close, and you’re very aware of how small this apartment feels with the three of you in it.

The hours blur, you talk about the spring game, the latest girl Seonghwa is messing around with. Then Seonghwa begins to talk about how Yeosang got lost on campus during his first week, and Yeosang throws a pillow at him.

Underneath all this, there’s this sense of awareness that Seonghwa knows something is happening, even if it hasn’t been said out loud.

Around 1am, Seonghwa pours another round. “To spring season coming to an end!”

“To not getting run over,” you add. Yeosang just grins and drinks.

By the time you check the clock again, it’s past 2am. Seonghwa is yawning, stretching, making noises about needing to sleep.

“I’m kicking you both out,” he says, standing. “I have a thing in the morning, and last I checked, this isn’t the Marriott.”

“What thing?” Yeosang asks.

“A thing. Go home. Make sure she makes it back safely.”

You stand, grabbing your keys, and Yeosang follows you to the door. Seonghwa catches your eye as you leave. He doesn’t say anything, but the look is clear as day. We’re talking about this later.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Yeosang walks you to your car. The parking lot is quiet, a little eerie, every sound is like a boom box in your ears.

You unlock your car, but don’t get in right away. “Thanks for coming,” Yeosang says.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

He steps closer. “Can we talk for a second?”

“Mhm.”

You both get in the car, you in the driver’s seat, him in the passenger. You leave the engine off, the windows cracked, letting the spring air seep in.

He turns to you, leg propped up in his seat. Leaning on your middle console. “I meant what I said.”

Your heart is pounding, it’s about to hop out and do donuts in the damn parking lot. “About what?”

“About wanting this. With you.”

You swallow. “Yeosang—”

“I know it’s complicated. I know there are rules. But I really couldn’t give a shit.”

“You should care.”

“Why?” His eyes are locked on yours now. “Because some contract says we can’t? Because people might talk?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t give a fuck what people think.”

He kisses you, he moves his hand to your jaw, taste of vodka and strawberry smoke on his lips. You gasp, and he deepens the kiss, his other hand roams to your neck.

Oh my.

This is what you’ve been missing, what every other kiss has been trying to be.

Your hands pull him closer, and he groans. Then his hand moves down your neck and across your collarbone, going under your hoodie. His fingers are calloused, his hands veiny, when they brush against your ribs you shiver.

“Is this okay?” He whispers before continuing.

“Very okay.”

He kisses you again, rougher this time, and you’re obsessed with how he’s making you feel in the moment.

Your hands slide up his chest, into his hair. He’s breathing hard as he pulls back to look at you, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“How long?”

“Since the first time I fucking saw you.”

Liar. But you kiss him anyway. Being horny, confused, and slightly tipsy never led to good decisions.

His hand slides higher, thumb brushes your bra and you arch into him.

“We should stop,” but he does the opposite, his mouth moves to your neck, sucks there for a moment.

“We should.” You whisper.

You don’t stop still, you stay like that for god knows how long, all you feel is him and the way he whispers in your ear.

“I want more,” he says quietly. “I want all of it.”

You close your eyes, you’re scared deep down. You want to trust him, lean into him.

“Let me give it to you.”

You nod because you can’t speak, your throat is closed shut, and your chest hurts. You start to understand why liking someone makes you do dumb things.

God.

He kisses you one more time and pulls back. “Drive safe,” he says opening the door.

“You too.”

He does that grin. “I’m walking, not far from here.”

“Right.” He closes the door, taps the roof, and walks away. You sit there, shaking, replaying every little second that just transpired.

The can of worms I just opened…

You look at yourself in the mirror, and you’re a mess. Emotionally and physically. You start the engine and pull out of the parking lot. The drive back and all you can think about is his lips on yours, his eyes.

Eyes you can feel yourself drowning in.

You show up to practice a few days later and immediately regret everything you’ve done in any capacity.

Kallan is already setting up the med kit when you arrive, and she gives you a look that says bitch we’re talking about this later. You avoid eye contact, fill water bottles while spilling, doing your actual job, anything that doesn’t involve looking at the grassy field.

Yeosang is stretching near the middle of the field with a few other defenders. Your hands shake while you’re cutting the pre-wrap, drop the scissors twice. Your resort to just ripping it with your hands.

“You okay?” Kallan whispers, leaning close.

“Fine.”

“You’ve always been so bad at lying.”

You shrug your shoulders, move on, because she's so right. Practice starts, and you slip into autopilot. Your body knows what to do without your brain having to think about it. Players call for you and you're already there, already moving, already anticipating what they need before they ask. 

It's the only thing keeping you together right now. Your hands steady when they're working. Your breathing levels out. You exist only in the task in front of you.

The way I’m supposed to be.

Except you’re not invisible, not when it comes to him.

You’re crouched down next to a midfielder, wrapping his ankle when you feel that awareness. You glance up, and Yeosang is standing a few feet away, water bottle in hand, staring directly at you.

He doesn’t look away, just stares at you. You break first, drop your gaze back to the ankle you’re working on, fingers fumbling the tape.

Please get your shit together.

“You sure you good? I never see you fumble like this,” the midfielder asks, looking down at you.

“Yeah yeah, sorry. You’re set.”

He jogs off, and you stand, brushing dirt off your knees. When you look up again, Yeosang is back in the drill, but Kallan is staring at you with her mouth a little open.

“What?” It comes off pretty sharp, you’re on edge.

“What?” She repeats, eyes wide. “Dude. He was literally just—”

“Stop.”

“Oh, my god. Something did fucking happen.”

“Kallan.”

“We’re talking about this tonight. My room, order wings or something, and you’re spilling your guts.”

You don’t argue, you want to tell someone before you pull your hair out. Practice ends and you pack up quicker than usual, keeping your head down. You’re loading the med kit into the storage closet when you hear footsteps, cleats hitting the floor.

“Hey.”

You freeze, turn around. Yeosang is standing in the doorway of the training room, still in all of his practice stuff.

“Hi.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, it’s called working.”

“Sure.” He steps closer, “You okay?”

Everyone keeps asking me that. No, no, I’m not.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He nods, turns to leave. “Text me later?”

You know you shouldn’t. “Okay.”

He grins just a little and walks out. You stand there for a few minutes, heart banging, before Kallan appears in the doorway.

“I’m ordering cinnamon rolls too,” she says flatly. “You need it.”

Kallan’s dorm smells like fried food and acetone. She’s sitting criss-crossed on her bed, two boxes of wings open between you, cinnamon rolls still warm in the container. You’re on the floor with your back against her bed frame, trying to eat celery even though you hate it.

“Okay.” Kallan says, wiping lemon pepper off her fingers. “Start talkin’.”

You take a short breath. “We kissed.”

She doesn’t even blink. “I need details.”

You tell her everything. The apartment, the hours of drinking and talking, Yeosang walking to your car. The way he kissed you, how his hands made you shiver, the way he said I want more.

By the time you finish, Kallan’s jaw is dropped. “Wow, shit–That’s...” She pauses, reaches for another wing. “That’s really fucking romantic and also completely insane.”

“Like, you get that you could lose your job, right? If anyone finds out–”

“I know, Kallan.”

She’s quiet for a second, chewing. “Does Seonghwa know? Like, know know?”

“I’m sure he has a clue, he’s not stupid.”

“And you haven’t talked to him since?”

You shake your head. Your phone has been on DND since you left that parking lot. You’ve been too scared to even look at it.

Kallan leans forward on her knees. “Okay. Real talk, do you actually want this? Not just the kissing and the he’s hot part. Do you want him?”

You don’t hesitate one bit. “Yes.”

“Even if it means sneaking around? Lying to everyone, your boss? Possibly blowing up your credits?”

Yes. I hate to say it. Yes.

“I think so.”

“Then you need to get ahead of this. Talk to Hwa before he comes to you and figure out what the hell you’re actually doing with Yesoang, because ‘we made out in a parking lot’ isn’t going to cut it.”

“What if Seonghwa hates the idea, hates me?”

“He won’t. He’s your best friend, dude. He’ll be pissed, maybe, but he won’t hate you. Just needs to hear it from you first.”

You nod, pull out your phone and your heart sinks. Texts from Seonghwa.

hwa: you okay?

hwa: we should talk

hwa: let me know when you’re free please

Kallan reads your screen, hands you a cinnamon roll. “Eat this, then text him back.”

you: tmr after orgo?

hwa: yeah. my place

Kay, gonna go cry now.

Seonghwa’s apartment looks the same as before, a little bit more lived in, a less mysterious place this go round. You jiggle the knob, door is already unlocked.

He’s sitting on the couch when you arrive, legs stretched out, arms crossed. He looks tired.

“Hey,” you say as you close the door behind you. He nods, and you sit on the opposite end of the couch. You both don’t speak for a while.

Seonghwa finally sighs, gets straight to the point. “So. Yeosang.”

Your throat tightens.

“How long?”

“It’s not–” You stop yourself, knowing not to lie to him. “Since spring break, officially. But he’s been…I don’t know, watching me since fall.”

Seonghwa nods, like he knows already. “He told me.”

“He told you?”

“After you left, he came back up.” He rubs his face with both hands. “He said he kissed you, said he’s been trying to get your attention for months, and finally got it.”

I–I don’t even know what to feel, say. What the fuck.

“Look,” Seonghwa continues, “I’m not mad. I’m not going to lecture you about rules or whatever. You’re an adult, but I need you to be real with me right now. What are you doing?”

“I dunno.”

“Bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.”

You flinch a bit, Seonghwa doesn’t swear at you, not ever.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” his voice is firm. “You’re risking your job, your reputation. The thing you worked your ass off to rebuild after the football transfer. And for what? A guy you’ve known for what, two months?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Please enlighten me on what the hell it’s like.”

You try to grasp for the words. "He makes me feel…like I matter? Like, actually matter. Not like I'm just the water girl or the trainer or someone's girlfriend. He looks at me like I'm—"

"Like you're worth that risk." Seonghwa finishes for you.

You nod slowly. The risk.

"I get it. I do. But you need to understand what you're walking into. If your boss finds out, you're done. If the team finds out, it's a whole thing. And Yeosang—" He pauses. "Yeosang doesn't do anything halfway. If you're in, you're in."

"I watch you protect yourself with everything, and I'm worried you're about to blow up the life you just got back."

Your eyes start to sting, and everything he’s saying holds so much weight with you. You’re scared, and he knows it.

He reaches over to squeeze your hand. “Be smart about this, dude, don’t get sloppy. And for the love of god, don’t let anyone else see what I saw between you last night.”

You laugh a little, “Oh, what did you see?”

“You looking at him like you’d drink his backwash if he asked.” Seonghwa shakes his head, smiling. “It was gross, never inviting you both over again.”

He lets go of your hand. “Just be careful, please.”

You stay for another twenty minutes, talking about class and practice and anything that doesn’t involve the name that starts with Y. When you leave, Seonghwa hugs you at the door.

“I’m still your best friend,” he says into your hair. “Even when you’re being so so dumb.”

“Love you too, Hwa.”

Days pass, and it’s late April when your lovely roommate tells you she’s leaving for the weekend. Claims it’s a family emergency, you nod, wish her well, but your brain is already calculating next steps.

Empty room…two nights…no interruptions.

You don’t text Yeosang right away, you wait until she’s actually gone and you hear her physically leave the parking lot.

you: roommate’s gone for the weekend

yeosang: be there in 20

You spend those twenty minutes in a full spiral. You know the ritual every college girl knows when a boy comes to their dorm.

Cleaning every crevice, you even think about cleaning the grout in the bathroom. You change your sheets, light your favorite candles, check your reflection ten times. Realize you’re wearing the same hoodie he’s seen you in before.

Wait–who cares?

When he knocks, you open the door, and he’s standing there with a grin and two large qt slushies and a bag of lifesaver gummies.

“You brought snacks?”

“Duh, thoughtful like that.” He steps inside, hands you your drink. “How was your day?”

Asks such a basic question, but you read so much into it like you’re not about to cross every line to ever exist.

“Long,” you admit, “Had a demonstration in physics. Pretty sure I bombed it. The ta gave me not so good looks.”

“You didn’t bomb it…maybe they were just expressive?”

You giggle, like the optimism, even though he has no clue. “You’re too hard on yourself.” He sets the lifesavers on your desk, turns to face you.

You take a sip of the slush, pretty sure you gave yourself a brain freeze it almost creates a headache. He watches you as you hold your temples.

“C’mere,” he says quietly.

You set your drink down to avoid responding. His hands find your waist, pulling you in until you’re standing between his legs, where he’s leaning against your desk.

“Hi pretty.”

You shy away, feeling all the butterflies, but he grabs your chin to face him and kisses you. His hands slide up your sides, under your hoodie, tracing your spine.

He pulls back. “Can I stay?”

“You may.”

“You sure?”

You cup his face, squeeze his cheeks. “Yeosang. I’m sure.”

He goes in to kiss you again, hands move to pull your hoodie over your head. You know where this is about to go, and you’re not scared.

You move to your bed, thankful your university supplies fulls instead of twins. The mattress dips under your weight as you lie back, and he hovers over you, eyes searching for answers on your face.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

You shake your head no.

“Words, I will stop this second, I swear.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

He kisses you more, his lips find every point on your body. Caresses your body like silk, being so gentle. The opposite of how he is on the field.

He removes his own shirt, and your hands run over his chest, his biceps, his shoulders. His arms are my favorite.

“Touchy,” he says, amused.

“You’re built so prettily, what can I say?”

He laughs, dips his head to kiss you again. “I’d argue you’re prettier in this case.” The rest of your clothes come off slowly. When you’re down to your underwear, the reality of it all hits you.

Your body and mind are aware of every touch, the roughness of his hands, his mouth, the way your little bed frame creaks when he shifts.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m nervous.”

He lifts his head to look at you. “We don’t have to–”

“No, I want to.” You pull him back down. “I’m just…it’s different.”

He knows what you mean. Different from Mingi, different from the only person you’ve ever done this with.

“We’ll go slow.”

His fingers hook into your panties, and you nod. He pulls them down, and you’re open like a 24/7 McDonald’s in front of him. He takes a second to just look, and your face heats up.

“Stop staring.”

“Can’t help it.” His voice is deeper, rougher. “You’re so damn pretty.”

He kisses you again, and his hand slides between your legs. You gasp when his fingers glide up and down, watching how your face contorts.

“This okay?”

“Yeah.”

He opens you up slowly with one finger, then starts scissor motion with two. You’re gripping his shoulders, trying not to make too much noise because the dorm walls are thin. But it feels good, better than you expected.

It feels so perfect.

then a flash. Your boss's face when he transferred you. EW.  This is exactly what he meant. This is the thing he was trying to prevent, and you're doing it anyway, in a dorm room with thin walls. 

Stop thinking. Stop.

But you can't. Because if anyone finds out, you lose your job. Your grad school applications. Everything you rebuilt. He pulls back slightly, sensing the shift in your body. "You good?"

You are making a choice you can't unmake. But his eyes are on yours, waiting, and you realize you don't care about any of it, not the job, not the rules, not the inevitable fallout. You want this more than you want to be safe.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Keep going."

When he pulls his hand away, you whine at the loss. He sits back, pulls off his boxers, your stomach flips when you look down.

There’s no way he’s that big. No way no way no way.

He catches you staring and smirks. “Like?”

“Please shut up.”

He laughs, leans over to his discarded pants to pull a condom out of the pocket. He tears the packet with his teeth, and you watch in awe.

“Come here,” he says as he settles between your legs.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down until his forehead hits yours. He lines himself up, and you feel the pressure, the stretch as he starts to push in.

“Breathe, you’re tensing.” He whispers.

You breathe through the discomfort, the fullness, trying to give your body time to adjust. He goes super slow, giving you time.

“Okay?” His voice is strained, you think he probably just wants to pound into you, but he’s showing so much restraint.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He pushes in further, and you gasp, nails digging into his back. It’s a lot, but it’s not painful. When he’s fully inside, he stops, lets you adjust again, presses kisses to your jaw and neck.

“Uhhh–you feel so good. So fucking good.”

You can’t respond, you’re too busy trying to process the sensation, the closeness of it, the way he’s laser-focused on you.

You feel every inch of him when he starts thrusting, his breathing, your breathing, the slickness of your bodies. The gasps you can’t hold back.

“Look at me,” he says.

You direct your attention to him, his gaze is intense. He’s really seeing me.

With Mingi, sex felt comfortable, familiar. You knew what to expect, the rhythm, how it would end. This feels opposite, every touch feels intentional and like a choice.

“So so beautiful.” He whispers. He shifts the angle and you cry out, so he hits that spot over and over until your shaking beneath him.

“Yeo–”

“I got you I got you.”

His hands slides between your bodies, finds your clit and your back arches as he continues to move inside you. The pleasure builds fast and you’re clinging to him so hard, he’s the only solid thing around you.

You come hard, and you feel him follow a little later as his body tenses and groans against your neck. For a moment, you’re both breathing hard and tangled together.

He pulls out, ties off the condom, tosses it in the trash by your desk. I need to take the trash out before she gets back.

Then he’s back, pulling you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.”Everything okay?”

You nod, water glossing over your eyes.

“Hey hey.” He tilts your chin up, wipes the tears with his thumb. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine…It’s just a lot.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good…really good.”

He kisses your forehead. Oh shit, not the forehead kiss. Then kisses your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

“You scared me for a second.”

“Sorry.”

He pulls you closer and wraps the blanket around both of you. “I meant what I said before, I’m all in with you.”

You lie there in the quiet, replaying every moment that just transpired. Treated you like you mattered, like you were more than just a body or a distraction.

You don’t know it yet, but you’ll replay this night obsessively all summer. When the texts stop coming, when the promises evaporate. When you realize that all in meant something different to him than it did to you.

Right now in this moment, his arms around you and the sound of his heart under your head makes you feel safe.

Moving into May becomes a rush of precious moments and navigation. Kallan, knowing the full truth, only adds to the excitement.

Kallan documents everything, down to secret photos like the two of you leaving practice separately but meeting up five minutes later in the parking lot, screenshots of his morning texts, candid pictures of him looking at you when you’re focused on something else.

She’s so giddy about it constantly, sends you the evidence with captions like he’s so downbad, and you’re such a simp.

And you are definitely such a simp for him.

Every morning begins the same. His text always comes first, never the cliche good mornings, but things like how’d you sleep? or what’s your schedule today? He always remembers how you get mean when you haven’t had time for your weekly sushi fix, so he shows up after every orgo lab with a tray of it. He learns your routine faster than anything else.

“You don’t gotta do this every time.”

“Don’t care, wanted to, schedule open.”

He’s thinking about me and acts on it.

You start to compare the difference with Mingi, everything felt like maintenance. Checking in out of requirement instead of it being a want, saying i love you out of expectation.

Yeosang feels like a choice, a purpose.

The physical stuff is 24/7 when you two are alone, kisses in your car after practice, hands on your thigh as you drive. Late night dorm visits when your roommate’s asleep, going to his apartment, learning the way his breath catches when you kiss his neck, the sound he makes when your hands slide under his shirt.

You learn every part of his body. The mole on his vline, the scar on his leg from being kicked during a game. The way his muscle tenses up right before he comes, how he pulls you close each time.

“Why are you staring at me in the pitch black?” he says sleepily, half asleep in bed.

You trace his birthmark near his eye, “Just appreciating what I’m lying next to.”

He laughs, eyes squinting, “You’re so silly.”

He’s just so different. I feel it.

But when you text him about summer, just asking if he's thought about what you two are doing when he leaves for training, and he doesn't respond. An hour passes, you check your phone, delivered and not read.

Three hours go. You're spiraling now. Did you say something wrong? Was the question too much? You reread your text for the hundredth time. It's a normal question to ask your boyfriend. Except, am I his girlfriend? He's never actually said it. You've never actually said it. 

Your stomach starts doing this thing where it twists and doesn't untwist, like you’re getting a literal stomachache. 

The guy who double-texts when you don't respond fast enough. Who sends you voice memos Who texts miss you after you've been apart for twenty minutes.

That guy does not go five hours without responding. Five hours, your phone buzzes and you nearly drop it.

yeosang: yeah we'll figure it out

It's flat. Like he's responding to a work email, like you asked him about a group project instead of about your entire fucking relationship. Like you're not someone he's been inside of, someone he promised he was all in for.

You scroll up through your texts, looking for proof that you didn't imagine the last weeks.

All of that and now you get yeah we'll figure it out like you're a problem he'll deal with later.

You don't sleep that night. The next day he goes through drills and when you hand him a water bottle during a break, his hand brushes yours and it feels like touching a stranger.

"Thanks," he says.

Just that, not your name. Not hey or thank you or the way he usually holds your gaze for a beat too long, that smile that says I know exactly what you look like under those clothes. 

He knows something's wrong. And he's choosing not to fix it. He's choosing to let you stand here, confused and spiraling, instead of just talking to you.

So you swallow the question, swallow the panic. Swallow the part of you that wants to grab his arm and demand to know what the fuck changed between yesterday and today. You hand the next water bottle to Seonghwa, trying to act like your chest isn't caving in.

The rest of practice is torture. When practice ends, he doesn't come find you. He used to always come find you. Even if it was just for thirty seconds, even if it was just to touch your hand or whisper see you later or steal a kiss when no one was looking. 

But today he just packs up his stuff and leaves with Seonghwa, and you stand there watching him go, feeling like you're watching the beginning of the end.

In the evening, he's texting you again. wish you were here with a photo of his food, and for a second you think maybe you imagined it, maybe you're spiraling over nothing, maybe he was just tired yesterday. You convince yourself that's true, need it to be true.

At practices, you’re careful, super professional. You hand him water bottles like you hand them to everyone else. You don’t linger, don’t stare, but the other defenders notice anyway. His eyes track your every movement, how you both show up early and leave late, the energy shifts when you’re in the same space.

They don't say anything, but you catch them smirking sometimes, exchanging looks.

Seonghwa watches, but he doesn't push, doesn't confront. You avoid being alone with him outside of class. He’s literally my best friend. What am I doing?

You think about why you’re avoiding everything, when the answer is clear as day.

You don't care about the staff-player boundaries or the optics or the fact that this could blow up in your face. You care about the way Yeosang texts you at 2am just to say can't sleep, thinking about you.

The way he remembers your favorite color is green, and how he always makes sure he’s taped up in green as a silent way of saying I'm yours. The way he looks at you is like you’re the soccer ball on the field.

Spring semester ends in a haze of finals and late-night study sessions where he quizzes you on organic chem and physics even though he already took it. You pass, barely, but he celebrates like you got a perfect score.

"Told you," he says, kissing your temple. "You're a smart girl."

The last practice of the semester feels bittersweet. Summer's coming, you'll both be around, he's going for summer training, you're staying for a second session of classes and work-study. But something about the end of spring feels like the end of something bigger.

I have an aching feeling in my chest, and I don’t know why.

That night, lying in his arms in your dorm room, feels like you've finally found the thing you didn't know you were looking for. Like the universe dropped this man in your lap.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, fingers tracing circles on your shoulder.

“Nothing…just happy." But I’m thinking about everything.

He kisses the top of your head, pulls you closer. "Me too."

You fall asleep wrapped up in him, in the certainty that this is real, that he meant what he said, that all in means the same thing to both of you.

You have no idea that spring showers will not bring you May flowers.

That the texts will stop all the way, that the promises will evaporate. That all in was only true when it was easy, but right now, in this moment, you believe him.

The first week of summer feels like you’re a flower absorbing the sun, but in reality, you’re wilting.

My color is leaving me.

Yeosang leaves for prep training, an intensive program on the west coast with scouts and coaches and other rising seniors trying to prove they're worth the investment. He texts you before his flight, sends a picture of his boarding pass with the caption miss you already.

You send back a heart and tell him to be safe.

I'm being so normal about this.

There's an ache in your chest that starts the second he boards that plane. You tell yourself it's just because you miss him.

The texts keep coming those first few days. Good morning messages that make you smile so hard, smile lines never leave your face.

Updates about how brutal the training is, how the coaches are riding him, how he's exhausted but it's worth it. He sends you a selfie post-workout, hair damp, face flushed, and you save it, screenshot it twice just to be sure.

you: good lookin kang yeo: you miss me yet? you: maybe a little yeo: just a little? damn

You smile at your phone like a dummy. Kallan notices and rolls her eyes.

"You're disgusting," she says.

"Shut up."

"I'm happy for you," she clarifies. "But also disgusting."

You don't tell her about the ache. About how you sleep with your phone on the pillow next to you, the heat making your pillow hot, volume turned all the way up, just in case he texts in the middle of the night.

About how the summer heat feels suffocating in a way it never did before, like the air is too thick.

He’ll be back, stop tweaking.

The second week, the texts are still there but slower. He's busy, you get it. You tell yourself this is normal, he's under pressure and focused.

I’m fine. Yeah. Fine.

Then his responses take hours again. Sometimes a full day. The good morning texts stop, you send him updates about your summer classes, about how you're dying in anatomy, about how Kallan almost set off the fire alarm, making a seafood boil in an air fryer at 1am.

He hearts the messages, doesn't reply, the bare minimum. A response that doesn’t really feel like one.

And those hearts, god, those hearts feel like crumbs. Like he's tossing you small little heartbeats just to keep you quiet, but always listening.

You stare at the little reaction, at the tiny acknowledgment that he saw what you said, and your stomach twists more.

At least he's reading them, at least he's thinking about me.

You try calling once, your hands shake as you press his name, as you listen to it ring until it goes to voicemail. You hang up immediately, heart pounding, body hot with shame.

What was I even going to say? "Hey, are we okay? Are you ghosting me? Did I do something wrong?"

You hate that thought the second it crosses your mind. Hate that you're becoming the person who waits by the phone, who checks for read receipts obsessively, who refreshes the message thread just to see if maybe, maybe, he's typing.

Kallan notices you checking your phone more. "He still being weird?"

"He's not being weird," you snap too quickly. "He's just busy."

"Uh-huh."

"He is."

You begin rationalizing everything. He's training, this is his career, his entire future. Of course he's focused. Of course, he doesn't have time to text.

you: hey, i know you're busy. just wanted to say i'm proud of you. you're gonna kill it.

He reads it immediately.

Wow. Read 11:30pm.

You watch the timestamp appear, watch it sit there. You stare at the screen until your eyes burn like they do with dry contacts. Until the letters blur. Until you have to put the phone down because the weight of it is so heavy.

No response is a response.

You don't text him again after that. Not for a few days. You tell yourself you're giving him space, but really, you're protecting yourself. Because every unanswered message feels like proof that you're not important, that you never were.

As summer continues, the texts have stopped completely. You're the only one reaching out, and even that feels pathetic now. The read receipts pile up like evidence of your own desperation.

Seonghwa asks if you're okay during a study session.

"Yeah, why?"

"You seem…off."

Off. That's one way to put it.

"Just tired.”

He doesn't believe you, but he lets it go. You're starting to realize that's Seonghwa's superpower, knowing when to push and when to just sit with you in silence.

You want to ask if he's heard from Yeosang. If Yeosang's mentioned you. If this is normal, or if you're being ghosted in real time.

You already know the answer, but hearing it out loud would make it real.

Your birthday is late July. You tell yourself, for an entire week leading up to it, that he's saving the gesture. That he's been distant because he's planning something. A surprise? A heartfelt message? Something I hope.

He knows when my birthday is, we talked about it in bed, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. He asked when it was.

He smiled and said he'd remember. He has to remember.

Kallan tries to plan something, dinner, drinks, a night out, but you're weirdly anxious about committing to plans. Because what if he shows up? What if he flies back early to surprise you?

"You're waiting for him," Kallan says flatly, two days before your actual birthday.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm just—"

"Babe." She puts her hand on yours, and the gentleness in her voice makes your throat tight. "He's not coming."

You pull your hand back. "You don't know that."

The day before your birthday, you break. You send him one more text, and your hands are shaking so hard you have to retype it three times.

you: tmr is my birthday. i don't know if you remember. i know you're busy, but…i miss you. i hope you're okay.

You watch the message deliver. Watch it switch to read 9:25pm.

You wait for nothing. You fall asleep with your phone on your chest, the screen facing up so you'll see the notification the second it comes. You wake up every hour, reaching for the phone in the dark.

You wake up on your birthday to messages from Kallan, from Seonghwa, from your parents, from friends back home.

Nothing from Yeosang, his absence hits you. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, phone clutched in your hand.

It's early, he's probably still asleep. Time zones and all.

You check your phone every ten minute. You're refreshing instagram, twitter, anything to see if he's posted, if he's active, if he's even alive.

At 2, he posts a story. A gym selfie, sweaty, post-workout, no caption. Your stomach drops.

So he's awake. He's just ignoring me.

He's alive, he's fine. He's posting on social media for everyone to see. He just doesn't care enough to text you.

On my birthday.

Kallan takes you to dinner that night. Seonghwa comes too, brings you a cupcake with a little candle. They sing happy birthday horribly in the middle of the restaurant, and you smile because you're supposed to. Because they're trying and because they care.

But you're checking your phone under the table, still nothing.

Seonghwa leaves after dinner. "One more drink," Kallan says, linking her arm through yours. "Come on. It's your birthday. Let's go back to mine."

You should go home, crawl into bed, let this day end, but in reality, you don’t want to be alone.

She's got bottles of cheap Fireball and buzzballs on her desk, half-empty already, and she pours you both drinks in plastic cups.

"To you," she says, raising hers. "To surviving another year of bullshit."

You clink cups. The cinnamon-like drink burns going down, you fucking hate it. She pours herself another, then another.

You're nursing, barely sipping, but Kallan's already loose, laughing too loud at things that aren't funny. She's talking about some guy from her literature class, some drama with her roommate, and you're nodding along, half-listening, checking your phone every few minutes.

"You're doing it again," Kallan says suddenly.

You look up. "What?"

"Checking your phone." Her voice has an edge now. "Waiting for him."

Your stomach tightens. "I'm not—"

"You are." She takes another drink, longer this time. "You've been doing it all night. At dinner, in the car, right now. You're obsessed."

"K, I'm not—"

"He's not texting you." She says it flat, matter-of-fact. "He didn't text you all day. He's not gonna text you now."

The words hit harder than they should. "I know that," you say quietly.

"Do you?" She leans forward, eyes glassy. "Because you keep checking. Like if you look hard enough, he'll magically give a shit."

"Kallan."

"What?" She laughs, sharp and bitter. "You want me to lie? Pretend like this isn't pathetic?"

"You're drunk," you say carefully.

"So?" She pours herself another drink, spilling a little on the desk. "Doesn't make it less true."

"You knew what he was," Kallan continues, voice rising. "You knew the rules. You knew he was a player, you knew the risks, and you did it anyway."

"K, stop."

"Why?" She stands now, swaying slightly. "Because it hurts? Because you don't want to hear it?"

Your hands are shaking, you set your cup down before you drop it.

"You broke every fucking rule," she continues, words slurring slightly. "You risked your job, your reputation, everything you rebuilt—for what? For some guy who can't even text you on your birthday?"

Your vision blurs. "You told me to go for it. You encouraged me."

"Because I thought you'd be smart about it! I thought you'd have fun, keep it casual, not fall in love like some desperate—"

She stops herself, but the word hangs there anyway. Desperate, it stings

"You thought you were special," Kallan says, quieter now. "You thought he'd choose you. That you'd be different. But you weren't. You were just another girl who broke the rules and got burned."

The tears come before you can stop them.

"And now you're sitting here, crying over some guy who didn't even care enough to send you a text, and I'm supposed to—what? Feel bad for you? Throw you a party and pretend like you didn't do this to yourself?"

"Stop," you whisper.

"You're pathetic."

You stand, legs feeling unsteady, but you force yourself to move.

"Where are you going?" Kallan asks.

You don't answer, you grab your phone, your keys, and walk to the door.

"Wait—" She reaches for you, but you pull away.

"Don't," you say, voice cracking. "Don't touch me." You leave before she can say anything else. Before you break completely in front of her.

You make it a few doors down before your knees give out, and you have to lean against the wall, gasping for air.

Pathetic.

You did this to yourself.

And the worst part,is that she's right. You broke the rules, fell too hard, believed him when he said all in.

Now you're standing in a dorm hallway at 10pm on your birthday, alone, because the guy you loved didn't care enough to text you, and your best friend just called you pathetic to your face.

By 10, you're back in your room,and it all finally crashes down on you. He just didn't care. This is worse than Mingi.

Because Mingi, at least, tried. Mingi was honest.

Yeosang just…erased you. No explanation, no apology. No I'm sorry I've been distant. Just nothing. You're not even worth a text.

You're not even worth happy birthday.

You fall for people who are intense, who make you feel like you matter, who promise you everything, until the moment it's inconvenient. Then they leave.

They leave, and you let them. You fall for pretty words even if they come from a snake's lips.

I hate that I let him do this to me.

You hate that you broke your own rules for him. You don't know it yet, but fall camp will start up again. Yeosang will be back on campus, and you'll have to see him again.

You'll have to work with him. Tape his ankles, hand him water, pretend you're fine, and he'll act like nothing happened. Like you were never important enough to hurt.

Right now, all you know is that the guy who said he was all in didn't even show up for your birthday, and you're starting to think that says more about you than it does about him.

August comes too fast, way too fucking fast. You're not ready. You tell yourself you are, you spent the rest of summer working out, reading, forcing yourself to be okay, but the second you step onto the practice field for fall camp again, your chest tightens because he's already there.

Yeosang.

He's standing with the forwards now. Not the defenders, the forwards.

You blink, confused for a second, because that's not where he's supposed to be. He's a defender. That's his position, that's where you've always seen him.

But he's bulked up over the summer, shoulders broader, arms thicker, moving differently. One of the assistant coaches is talking to him, gesturing toward the goal, and Yeosang nods, focused.

He transferred positions.He's not in your zone anymore. Defenders are your responsibility, forwards have their own trainer. You don’t feel relieved about it in the slightest.

Practice starts, and you're assigned to the defenders like always. Seonghwa's there, giving you a small nod from across the field. I'm here. You're okay.

But your eyes keep drifting, to the forwards. To Yeosang. He's thriving. And you're standing on the sideline with a water bottle in your hand, watching him like some pathetic extra in his story.

Stop looking at him.

You force yourself to focus on the defenders. Do your job, but you can feel the idea of the decision forming in your chest.

That night, you're lying in bed, and you can't stop thinking about it. You'll barely see him, barely interact. It'll be easier this way.But the thought of not seeing him every day is unfathomable to you. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You grab your phone, pull up the staff schedule, and stare at it for a long time.You're the lead student staff, you have privileges. You can request position group changes if there's a valid reason. This is not a valid reason, but your fingers are already typing the email.

subject: position group transfer request

Hi Coach,

I'd like to request a transfer from defenders to forwards for this season. I think the change would help me develop a more well-rounded skill set and provide better support across the team.

Let me know if this works.

Thanks.

You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it. Then you throw your phone across the bed and press your palms into your eyes.

I'm so fucking stupid.

The next morning, the transfer is approved. No questions asked, no kind of pushback. You're officially assigned to the forwards now.

Which means you're officially assigned to him. Seonghwa finds out within hours, he doesn't text, he calls. "What the fuck are you doing?" His voice is sharp.

You're walking to class, and you stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "What?"

"You transferred. To forwards."

Shit.

"Yeah. I just—wanted a change."

"Bullshit." He exhales hard. "You followed him."

"I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me." His voice softens. "He ghosted you. He didn't text you on your birthday. And you're following him to a different position group?"

You don't say anything.

"Why?" Seonghwa asks quietly. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I don't know," you whisper.

"I know him," Seonghwa says. "He's my friend, and I love him, but I know him. He's not going to give you what you need."

"I'm not expecting anything—"

"Then why did you transfer?"

Seonghwa sighs. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do. But I'm choosing you over him. You know that, right? If it comes down to it, I'm choosing you."

Your throat tightens. "Hwa—"

"Just be careful again. Please."

Be careful, seems like that’s a common phrase he’s uses with me. Yet, I still don’t fucking listen.

The first practice with the forwards is awkward. Yeosang sees you walk up, and for a second, something flickers across his face.

"Hey," he says casually, like you're just another staff member.

"Hey."

That's it, that's the whole interaction. But over the next few days, something shifts, he starts testing you.

Little things at first. Holding eye contact a second too long when you hand him a water bottle. Brushing past you closer than necessary. Smiling at you in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

Then he starts talking to other trainers. Flirting with them. Laughing too loud, touching their arms, making sure you can see. He's trying to make me jealous, and it’s working. You're in the training room after practice, alone, restocking supplies, and he walks in.

"Need help?"

You don't look at him. "I'm good."

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you. "You transferred," he says finally.

"Yup."

"Why?"

You set down the box you're holding and turn to face him. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It does."

You stare at him, and for a second, you see it. The same intensity from spring, the same pull. Don't do this. Don't fall for it again. But then he steps closer, and your breath hitches, and you know you're already fucked.

You can see exactly what's about to happen.  He's going to kiss you. You're going to let him. And then you're going to do this all over again, the hookups, the hollow feeling, the waiting for texts that won't come.

"I missed you," he says quietly.

He kisses you, and you fall into the rhythm of his lips all over again. You hook up after practices. In the training room, in your car, once in the equipment closet when no one else is around.

It's physical and hot, but it's hollow.

He doesn't text you between hookups. Doesn't ask how you're doing. Doesn't acknowledge you outside of when he wants something. By mid-fall, the whole team knows. One of the forwards, Yunho, asks Yeosang about it in the locker room, and Yeosang doesn't deny it.

"Yeah," he says casually. "We're…something."

Something. Not together, not dating. Just something.And when someone asks if you're his girlfriend, he shrugs. "She knows what this is."

Do I?

It's late fall when Yeosang corners you in the training room after everyone's cleared out. You're restocking ice packs, back turned.

You don't turn around. "What."

"Can we talk?"

"About what?"

He shifts his weight. You can feel him hesitating, "About…summer." Your hands freeze on the ice pack you're holding. You set it down slowly, turn to face him. "What about it?"

He exhales, runs a hand through his hair. "I just—I wanted to explain. I was under a lot of pressure, you know? Draft stuff, training, scouts watching everything I did. I didn't know how to handle it and I didn't want to…I don't know, hurt you more by being a mess."

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

"So you ghosted me instead."

"I didn't mean to—"

"You went radio silent for months, Yeosang."

He flinches at his own name. "I know. I fucked up. I just—I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

You stare at him. He looks like he actually believes this apology means something. "You're not just my water girl, you know that right?" he says, and the words hit you like a slap.

Water girl.

The term hangs in the air between you. It's what you were reduced to, a role, not a person.

Your jaw tightens. "Is that what you think this is?" Your voice is quiet, "You apologize and I'm supposed to what, forgive you? Feel better?"

"I—no, I just wanted you to know—"

"This apology isn't for me." You step closer, "This is for you. So you can feel less guilty about being a selfish asshole."

"That's not—"

"You couldn't even text me on my birthday."

He goes still. "You couldn't send me a single fucking text on my birthday, Yeosang. Not 'happy birthday,' not 'sorry I've been busy,' nothing. You forgot about me. And now you want to stand here and tell me you were under pressure?"

"I was—"

"Everyone's under pressure. That's not an excuse to treat people like they're disposable."

His hand reaches for your arm. "I didn't mean—" You pull back so fast he freezes mid-reach.

"Don't."

"I'm trying to."

"It's fine." Your voice is ice. "We're fine. It's done."

He blinks, confused. "What?"

"You apologized. I heard you. Now leave."

He nods slowly, turns, and walks out. The door clicks shut behind him.You stand there, alone in the training room, hands shaking. Your lungs feel small, like the ice pack you were just holding froze them.

You press your palms flat against the table, trying to ground yourself, but your hands won't stop shaking. He didn't apologize for ghosting you, he apologized for making himself uncomfortable. Your breath comes out shaky. You straighten up, wipe your palms on your shorts then your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

yeosang: i really am sorry

You stare at the text for a long moment then you delete it without responding.

You grab your bag, turn off the lights, and walk to your car. Your hands are still shaking when you grip the steering wheel.

He thought sorry would be enough.

Days pass. You don't text him. He doesn't text you. It feels like a real ending, the kind that sticks.

Then Thursday rolls around, and he's at practice like nothing happened. He's laughing with the guys, running drills, completely unbothered. He catches your eye during a water break. Holds it for a second longer than he should.

That's all it takes.

Later that night, your phone lights up, can we talk?

You know exactly what this is. You know you're going to say yes, and then you're going to let him back in, and then you're going to spend the next six months pretending this is what you want.

he moment you choose to repeat it all over again. Not because you believe him, not because you think it'll be different. But because the alternative, disappearing without him, becoming nothing again feels somehow worse.

You're complicit now. Spring semester is worse. You're exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally.

Yeosang is still hooking up with you, but he's also flirting with other girls on campus. You see him at parties, talking to sorority girls, touching their waists, and it doesn't even bother you as much as it should.

You're numb to it.

Seonghwa stops asking how you're doing because he already knows the answer. Your grades slip. Not enough to fail, but enough.

You stop going to office hours, stop applying to grad schools with the same focus. You're just going through the motions.

You're lying in bed after another hookup, and Yeosang's getting dressed to leave.

"You straight?" he asks, pulling his shirt on.

"Mhm."

He pauses, looking at you. "You sure?"

"Yup."

He nods, kisses your forehead, and leaves. And you lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how you got here. Wondering when I stopped recognizing myself. Don’t we love college.

End of junior year comes, and you're burned out. Next year, he'll be a senior. A draft prospect. And you'll be traveling with the team, watching him, watching scouts take notes, watching him become everything he promised he'd be.

You'll realize that you were never actually part of the plan. You were just something to pass the time.

Senior year fall camp starts and you're dreading it.You show up early. Set up water stations, organize the medical kit, tape ankles for defenders even though you're not assigned to them anymore.

Scouts show up, men in polos and hey dudes standing, writing things down. Coaches hovering during drills, nodding to each other, talking in low voices. You're setting up coolers when one of the assistant coaches walks past and claps you on the shoulder.

"You're traveling this year, right?"

You blink. "What?"

"Away games. We've got you down for forwards staff. flights, hotels etcetera."

"Yeah. I—yeah, I'm traveling."

The first away game is a few states over. You board the plane in the afternoon, duffel bag with your name tag over your shoulder. The plane is small. You can hear coaches talking loudly, people saying bye to their loved ones over the phone. Yeosang's a few rows back, headphones in, staring out the window like he's the love interest in a rom-com.

This becomes the routine, though. Friday flights, hotel check-ins, pregame walk-throughs. Games under lights that feel more important than anything last season.

You do this every week. You know the flight attendants by name, know which hotels have the breakfast buffet with french toast, which stadiums have the worst visitor locker rooms that haven’t been cleaned, which cities you'll land in just long enough to sleep and leave.

Hate those ones the most. My life operates on their— no, his schedule now.

Classes become something you fit around travel, you do work on the plane, in the hotel lobby, wherever you can squeeze in the time. Your roommate stops asking where you're going because the answer is always the same.

—

It's a Saturday night in Missouri. The team won. Yeosang scored, and the locker room was chaos, music blasting, guys screaming, coaches grinning like they'd already won the big one.

Your phone buzzes while you're packing up the medical kit.

yeosang: 615

Don't go. You know how this ends.

He opens the door shirtless, hair still damp from the shower. Doesn't say anything and just pulls you inside and kisses you with so much urgency.

You're gasping into his mouth, trying to keep up, trying not to think about how this feels different.

Feels like he needs you.

He walks you backward to the bed, and you fall together. He's kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering things he’s probably said to so many others.

"Missed you," he says against your skin. "Fuck, I missed you."

You ghosted me for months.

You don't say it, just pull him closer. After, you're lying in his arms, your head on his chest. "I don't know how to do this without you," he says suddenly. You freeze.

"What?"

"This. All of it." He exhales, and it sounds shaky. "The pressure, the scouts, the—everything. I don't know how to do it without you."

You just press your face into his chest and pretend you didn't hear the crack in his voice.

Morning comes too fast. You wake up to him already dressed, tying his shoes, checking his phone. He glances at you, and his expression is unreadable.

"You should probably head out before everyone's up," he says.

Not good morning, not about last night. Just you should leave. You nod and grab your clothes. He doesn't stop you, doesn't kiss you goodbye.You walk back to your room alone..

Two weeks later, you're on a flight to another away game. You're sitting near the back, reviewing notes, when Yeosang slides into the seat next to you.

He leans in, voice low. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Just—come on."

He stands, and you follow him to the back of the plane, past the bathroom, into a tiny storage area. He pounces on you immediately.

He presses you against the wall. You gasp, and he swallows the sound whole, kissing you, "Yeosang—"

"Shh."

His hands slide under your shirt, and you're losing it, losing track of where you are, what you're doing, why this is a terrible idea.

Footsteps, youou both freeze. Someone walks past, humming, and you hold your breath. Yeosang's hand is still under your shirt, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you shaking. The footsteps fade. He exhales, pulls back, and grins. "That was close."

You stare at him. "Are you insane?"

He kisses you again, softer this time, and then he's gone, slipping back to his seat like nothing happened. You stand there, hands trembling, wondering what the hell you're doing, as always. 

Until you meet the most wonderful person, feeling the gaping hole Kallan left. Her name is Nona, and she's a sorority girl with a perfect smile and zero tolerance for dumbshit. She's the new hire, assigned to work with the forwards, and within a week, you're inseparable.

You're sitting in the training room one afternoon, and she's organizing tape while you ice someone's ankle.

"So," she says casually. "You and Yeosang." You nearly drop the ice pack.

"What?"

"Come on." She doesn't even look up. "Everyone knows."

"I'm not judging." She glances at you, and her expression is kind. "But he's not going to commit, you know that right?"

"What?"

"He's a draft prospect. His whole life is about to change. And you're—" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "You're here. And he's leaving."

November comes, and he stops hiding it. He sits with you on the sidelines during warm-ups. Touches your back when he passes, finds your eyes across the field and smiles.

After a big win, he kisses you in the parking lot, in front of half the team.

You freeze, but he doesn't care. Just grins and walks away, leaving you standing there, heart racing, wondering what just happened.

The next day at practice, he barely looks at you.

I’m tired.

He'll hold your hand in the hotel lobby, then ignore you on the plane. Kiss you after a game, then act like you don't exist the next morning.

Nona notices. "You don't have to do this to yourself."

You don't answer. Because what would you even say?

—

It's late March when you find out.

You're in the training room when your phone lights up with notifications. Instagram, Twitter, the team group chat you muted months ago.

Congratulations to Kang Yeosang on being selected in the MLS Draft!

There's a photoof him in a suit, shaking hands with someone, holding up a jersey with his name on it. He's smiling wider than you've ever seen.

He didn't tell you, he’s just announcing even when draft picks happen the beginning of the year. You scroll through the comments. Teammates congratulating him, his family. Random people you don't know.

Then you see it, a comment from a girl you don't recognize. so proud of you babe <3

You set your phone down carefully, like it might explode. Your hands are shaking.He didn't tell me. You weren't part of this, you were never going to be part of this.

He got everything he wanted, the draft, the future, the girl who gets to comment babe on his posts, and you were just…here. Filling water bottles. Icing ankles, waiting.

You don't cry, you're too numb for it. He didn't choose you and he was never was going to.The rest of senior year happens in a blur. You show up to practice because you have to.

Yeosang leaves campus two weeks after the announcement. There's a team send-off dinner you don't attend. Seonghwa texts asking if you're okay. You say yes.

You see Yeosang one last time in the parking lot. He's loading boxes into his car, and you're walking to yours. He sees you, lifts his hand in a wave.

You wave back. That's it, no conversation. Goodbye, I guess.

You stop going to team events. Stop checking his Instagram, delete old texts without reading them. Your grades don't suffer because you throw yourself into studying. Anatomy, kinesiology, rehab protocols. If you're busy enough, you don't have to think.

Seonghwa brings you everything during finals week. Sits with you in the library without asking questions. Just exists next to you while you highlight textbooks and pretend you're fine.

"You're gonna be okay," he says one night.

Graduation creeps closer. You count down the days like a kindergartner waiting for summer break. April. May. The last game of the season, the last practice. The last time you have to walk into that training room and pretend none of it happened.

Then it's over, thank goodness.

Graduation happens on a Saturday in May. You walk across the stage, shake hands with people whose names you don't remember, smile for photos your mom takes.

Yeosang's not there, he's already gone, already started his new life in a city far away, with new and different people.

You don't cry at graduation, you don't feel much of anything. Few months later, you're in a new apartment in a new city with a new job at a different university. Different team, same smell of icey hot under your nails.

Late one night, when you can't sleep, you finally let yourself think about it.

About all of it.

—

dear diary, it's late and i can't sleep.

but that's my college experience ig. i became his water girl. the girl who existed for him, around him, because of him & i chose it every single time.

he ghosted me. kallan (she dropped out without a word btw) was right to call me pathetic. seonghwa warned me. i didn't listen. i'm older now and i still don't know how to want something without being terrified of it. i still build walls so high nobody gets in.

i don't want to be anyone's water girl anymore. not his, not anyone's.

i just want to be mine.

You were lounging in the living room of the AirBNB, feeling bittersweet about this being the last full day of the trip. Tomorrow you would return back home from school break and go back to classes. Back to reality. The entire trip had been one of unexpected pure sexual bliss. You had learned so much and had come out a completely new person. Not only did you have new skills but, a new appreciation for sex in general. Not having known anything about it before coming here, you were leaving with a real love for your own body and what you and others could do with and for it.

You also had grown fond of all 8 boys. Each of them had treated you so tenderly and made you feel so safe during the whole process. You didn’t know what it would be like or how they would be once you went back to reality, back to the real world. Would they still treat you normally? Would they pretend as if they didn’t know you well anymore? So much had changed for them as well. Life as you know it would be different and that scared you. So, you tried to cling on to every remaining second you had left in this house before you had to pack up and leave.

“Hey pretty.” Yunho found you spacing out while watching a show you had seen far too many times to count. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at him. “I’m just trying to make the best of the last day, you know.”

“I don’t think sitting here watching tv and pouting is the best you can do.” He chuckled, sitting next to you and pulling you next to him which made you squeak.

“Okay. I admit, I’m a bit sad.” You shrugged. “I don’t want to leave yet. Go back to school. I had way too much fun here.”

“I think we all did.” Yunho smirked but his eyes stayed friendly. “You learned a lot during this trip, huh? Do you feel you’re a pro now?”

“A pro? No. I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t had that much practice.” You giggle. “But I’ve had some good teachers.”

“I’m glad we were able to teach you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “And, you know, you can always ask for a refresh lesson once we get back. You know where my room is.”

“Really? So, this isn’t just a one time thing?” You ask him, a bit surprised.

“Did you really think that?” He almost looked insulted.

“Well, kinda. I thought this was all just.. a little fling. A one time thing. You all said we could pretend like this never happened when we got back so, I assumed when we got home tomorrow, that’s what would happen. We just wouldn’t speak of it again.” You explained, your voice falling quiet near the end.

“I see. I guess we did say that.” Yunho mumbled but looked at you curiously. “But, you don’t want that do you?”

You sat there silently for a moment and eventually shook your head ‘no’, not able to utter the word out loud.

“I don’t want that either.” Yunho admitted.

“Really?” You couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through your chest at his confession.

“Really. I’ll be available to you anytime, beautiful. In fact-“ Yunho suddenly reached over and pulled you over his lap to straddle him. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and nestled down onto him.

“I never really got to have you. Not like some of the others. I got to finger you which was quite the privilege but-“ he got closer to you, his lips brushing against yours. “-what I wouldn’t give to fuck you.”

“Then do it.” You told him, grinding down onto his growing erection through his pants.

“Right here?” He asked you and you nodded. “How brave you’ve become.”

Yunho kissed you fiercely and lifted you to lay you flat on the couch. He nestled between your thighs and rutted his erection into your core, his hard tip hitting you just in the right spot that had you moaning into his mouth. His hand pushed its way under your shirt and bra, grabbing your breast and giving it a squeeze. The soft skin feeling like silk against his calloused hands.

His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, past your throat, and down your collarbone. Using his hands he swiftly removed your shirt and bra. His lips traveling down further to pepper kisses down your chest until his lips made it far enough to wrap around one of your hard nipples. He sucked on the sensitive nub, his tongue flicking over it rapidly while his other hand pinched and played with the other.

On the other side of the room, Seonghwa stood watching as he leaned up against the wall. You didn’t notice at first as you were too caught up with what Yunho was doing to you. But, once you did, you tried pushing his head away.

“Yunho! Stop!” You whispered harshly, making him turn his head and look over. However, Yunho just smirked at Seonghwa who did the same back. You were confused, wondering why he was not embarrassed.

“What, pretty? You don’t want him to watch me make you feel good?” Yunho cooed at you with a fake pout. “Am I not doing a good job?”

“What? Oh-“ Things were finally starting to click. He was into this.

Yunho dipped his head down but this time traveling down your waist, navel, and to your waistband. He wrapped his hands in the waistband of your pants and tugged them town, taking them off and leaving you naked on the couch.

“So fucking pretty.” He told you. “Isn’t she, Seonghwa?”

“She really is.” Seonghwa said, slowly walking over to you both. Your heart started to beat a bit faster. “She tastes amazing too. I would know.”

“So I’ve heard.” He said, biting his lower lip. “I think I’ll have a taste.”

Yunho used his hands to gently spread your legs apart, your wet core spreading open like a flower for him. He groaned in delight at the sight. He dipped his head down without any hesitation, his heavy tongue hitting your clit with direct precision. He wasted no time lapping at the swollen bud, making you moan out loud in the open living room.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Seonghwa asked you, palming himself over his jeans. He was hard. Rock hard. “Is he making you feel good.”

“Yes.” You moaned, yes fluttering as Yunho wrapped his lips around your clit. “So good.”

“Good.” Seonghwa started to unzip his pants, releasing his throbbing cock and started to jerk himself off. “You deserve to feel good, baby.”

Without giving it much thought you reached out in Seonghwa’s direction, asking permission to touch. He stepped forward immediately and let you take his shaft in your palm. You jerked him off the best you could while trying to keep a steady pace. Yunho was still lapping at your pussy with his expert mouth. He was moaning into it now, vibrating your sensitive nerves with each lick and suck of his lips. Your hips bucked, pushing your pussy harder into his face as he licked your cunt.

Suddenely, you felt Yunho’s finger teasing your entrance. He had slithered his hand up between your thighs and pushed his fingertip against you. With slight pressure, he pushed his finger up inside of you with ease. His long digit curling up inside of you at the perfect angle that had you gasping with every push and pull.

“Fuck Yunho, you’re eating her pussy so good.” Seonghwa told him, his voice a soft moan. He rocked his hips into your hand as you were now frozen from the pleasure Yunho was giving you. “I think she’s about to cum.”

You felt as if your brain wasn’t working right. Your hips were on autopilot as they rocked back and forth across Yunho’s face, his tongue pushed out against your clit as you rode it. You whined absentmindedly from the pleasure, completely lost from it. You felt your climax building fast, ready to hit at any moment and both of them knew.

“Come on baby. You’re almost there.” Seonghwa cooed at you. “Cum on his tongue like a good girl for me.”

After a few more licks, you came dramatically. Loudly. Your legs wrapping around his head like a vice grip which he graciously put up with until you gradually came down from you high. When he finally was free from your clutches, he came up for air gasping, his hair a mess on the top of his head.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” You apologized, feeling embarrassed.

“Don’t apologize. That was so fucking hot.” Another voice said from the other side of the room. Wooyoung and Mingi were standing at the entrance of the living room now, pants tight with erections. You felt your whole body get hot in a bit of embarrassment but also.. excitement?

“So were you not going to invite us to the party?” Mingi asked the room with fake disappointment.

“We’re just getting started.” Seonghwa said, his voice full of a darkness that admittedly excited you.

“I like the sound of that.” Wooyoung said. “Hi beautiful.”

“Hi.” You said, your voice shy.

“Cute.” Mingi chuckled. “She’s been with all of us but she’s still shy.”

“That’s part of her charm.” Seonghwa said, sitting down by you. He took your cheek and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was soft at first but it deepened quickly. His hand rested on your knee but made its way up your thigh, parting it and finding your soaked and sensitive core. Once his fingers touched your swollen clit, you gasped into his mouth.

“Shit.” Wooyoung hissed, palming himself over his pants as he watched Seonghwa softly rub small circles over your clit. Mingi took a different route, sitting on the other side of you and placing his hand on your other thigh. His fingers drawing patters on your soft skin, his fingers going higher and higher on your inner thigh until you opened them up more and more, giving all of them a better view. You were spread wide for all of them now, your soaked pussy glistening and wet as Seonghwa rubbed your clit. Small whimpers left your lips and bled into your kisses with Seonghwa with every stroke of his fingers. Wooyoung and Yunho broke, taking out their cocks and jerking off to the view.

“Can I put my fingers inside of you, pretty girl?” Mingi whispered into your ear as his fingers kept climbing up your thigh. You broke your kiss with Seonghwa and looked over at Mingi with pleading eyes, frantically nodding your head and planting a kiss on his lips now. While he kissed you, you felt two of his long fingers slowly slip into your aching cunt. You moaned loudly into his mouth as you felt his fingers curve up into you, Seonghwa’s fingers still rubbing your clit as he sat on your opposite side.

Mingi started to drag his digits inside and out, his pace steady and precise, picking up over time. His fingertips started to rub right over your g-spot which made everything so much more intense, a familiar feeling rushing towards you. You pulled away from his mouth quickly.

“Fuck! I’m- I’m gonna cum!” You warned them, but they only quickened their speed. They wanted you to cum, and cum hard.

“Come on baby. Be a good girl.” Mingi told you in your ear. “Cum all over our fingers.”

You screamed, your orgasm gushing out of you and onto the floor. The boys didn’t let up. Mingi continued to push his fingers in and out of you, making sure to pull every gush of your orgasm out of you he could to the delight of the others who moved close in hopes to catch the droplets on their skin.

“Okay, let’s give her a break.” Hongjoong’s voice suddenly rang through the fuzziness. “I have some water baby.”

Hongjoong grabbed your chin and lifted the bottle to your lips, helping you sip down the liquid. As your heartbeat started to come down and your head stopped spinning, you were able to focus more on your surroundings. The people in the room had suddenly doubled and you realized that everyone in the house was in the room. Hongjoong, San, Yeosang, and Jongho had come to see what all the noise was about.

“All better now?” Hongjoong asked you after you finished your water.

“Um, yes.” You answered quietly.

“Good.” He said. “Now. What exactly is going on and why weren’t we invited?”

“Don’t take it personal guys.” Wooyoung said, dick still in his hand. “Just a little impromptu group session going on here.”

“Really? Well, I guess that really wasn’t on the lesson plan so, we’ll let it slide.” Hongjoong smirked. “I’m just glad we caught you just as it was getting good.”

“I see you brought a part favor Yeosang.” Mingi clapped his hands together once in excitement. You craned your head around and your eyes settled on the wand vibrator that his fist was wrapped around, ready to go. Your stomach twisted in a knot of anxious anticipation.

“Hold on guys, let’s check in first before we just jump into this.” San walked over to you and crouched down, lifting your chin up so you’d look at him. “How are you feeling baby?”

“I’m okay. I’m just.. a bit overwhelmed I guess.”

“Guys we need to give her some room.” Jongho ordered the others, using his hands to push them back a bit out of the way. You turned your attention back to San.

“That’s okay. We didn’t expect this to happen either, really.” San smiled kindly at you. “You are a lot braver than you were when you were first with us in this living room talking to us about your lack of experience.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I guess I am.”

“We just want to have some fun. It’s our last night here with you and I think the best way for us to celebrate is by spending it doing what we’ve been doing for the last few days. If that’s okay with you?” He said softly again, his hand gently rubbing your cheek to soothe your worries. “We’ll stop whenever you want us to. And we’ll be gentle.”

“Unless you don’t want us to be.” Wooyoung stated in the back which had his receiving an elbow in the ribs from Hongjoong.

“But how.. how would I sleep with all of you at once?”

“Don’t worry, pretty. We’ll guide you through it. Haven’t we done such a good job showing you everything else?” San smiled his dazzling smile. “You trust us right?”

“Yes. I trust you all.” You told them. “I’ll try it.”

“Good. Now, why don’t we start, hmm?” He reached out for you, helping you sit up better on the couch. “Boys? Who wants to take the lead?”

“You guys got the most of her.” Mingi said, walking forward. “This is my first time getting a real taste. Baby, can you bend over for me?”

You complied and turned around quickly on all fours, ass in the air. Mingi grabbed your ass and gave it one firm smack that made you yelp out in shock but not in pain, his hand massaging the area to soothe where he had just giving you the blow. As he kept one hand on your cheek, the other hand dragged its fingers down between your thighs and to your soaking wet cunt. When you felt his long fingers once again touching your heat, you let out a pathetic moan in desperation and pushed yourself back onto his hand.

“Look at her, already ready for him.” Yeosang mumbled, watching as you slid yourself back onto his fingers. He pushed and pulled his digits inside and out until he felt you were ready then nestled up behind you, taking out his hard cock and lining it up with your entrance. He pushed his tip against your hole and pressed forward but it was still a bit too tight against his size.

“Mingi..” you whimpered, the noise making the room go feral. The other guys had started taking off their clothes as they watched the scene unfold in front of them, their hard cocks twitching in their palms as they slowly jerked themselves off. Mingi was still trying to push himself inside of you, taking time to rub his dick between your swollen lips and against your slit to try and get you ready enough to take him.

“I think she needs some help, guys.” Mingi said, his voice a bit strained from his own pleasure.

Jongho stepped forward and placed a knee down on the couch next to your head and used his hand to lift your head upward. His cock was right next to your face, his tip dripping in precum from watching Mingi struggle to fit his giant cock into your pussy. He used his thumb to stroke your cheek and looked down at you with a fondness that seemed almost confusing for the erotic nature of the scene.

“Suck my cock. See if that will help you take him.” Jongho told you. You opened your mouth and took him inside, swirling your tongue around his purple tip once before dipping your head down to take his entire length into your throat down to his base.

“Shit-“ Jongho cursed under his breath which got murmurs of approval from the others, some of them getting more comfortable with each other out of your view. Hongjoong and Seonghwa pressing up against each other, rutting their erection together while they teased each other with their tongues. Wooyoung and Yeosang followed their lead, getting familiar with each other as well by taking each others cocks in their hands and pumping each others members slowly as they watched you take two cocks yourself.

The longer you savored Jongho’s cock the wetter you got. Finally, with one firm push of Mingi’s hips, he was finally able to slide himself inside of you. You groaned deeply around Jongho as Mingi settled deep inside of you, his hips pressing against your ass. Your head stopping its movements briefly as you adjusted to the stretch and sensation of being penetrated from both sides.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” Mingi cursed, pulling himself out of you slowly only to slam back into you with an intensity that had you falling onto Jongho’s cock, gagging you slightly. He continued this over and over, using his hands to spread your ass to get a better look at where your two bodies connected to watch how you gripped him. A ring of white cream collecting around his cock that collected more and more each time he thrusted inside.

You were a moaning mess, completely unable to focus on what you were doing with your mouth. You were trying your best to continue to suck off Jongho but, Mingi was so distracting. Too overpowering. Jongho had taken matters into his own hands, literally, taking your face gently in his hands and started to thrust into your throat.

Being fucked at both ends was something you would have never thought of being a possibility. But, experience it here in this moment, you couldn’t believe you had been shielded from this pure level of pleasure. It made you feel hot in all the best ways and, with how Mingi was stroking into you, it would only be a matter of time before you would cum again in this new way.

“Fuck, her thighs are shaking. I think she’s about to fucking cum.” San practically whimpered as he watched you, warning Mingi since he knew your body well. As well as any of them.

“Yeah? Are you about to cum baby?” Mingi cooed at you, deepening his voice and quickening his thrusts. “Somebody come rub her clit.”

Yunho stepped up and pushed his hand under your body and between your thighs, finding your swollen clit. You tried to scream but couldn’t, choking on Jongho who was close to cumming himself as he buried himself in the back of your throat. Yunho’s fingers rubbed quick circles around your bud, his fingertips brushing against Mingi’s cock as he fucked you ruthlessly.

“Fuck- I feel her tightening up.” Mingi said, his voice straining as he fought to not spill inside of you just yet.

“Come on pretty, give it up for us.” Yunho said, pushing down harder on your clit and rubbing side to side. “Fucking cum on his cock like a good fucking girl.”

You came in an obscene fashion, gushing all over the couch and floor while your body convulsed. Mingi held up your body to prevent you from collapsing while Jongho was not as strong, cumming deep in your throat from watching you squirt over Mingi’s cock. Thankfully you were coherent enough to swallow the salty load with only a tiny bit of struggle.

“Fuck- oh my god.” Jongho gasped, pulling out of your throat and allowing you to take your first full gasp of air. “Who the fuck taught her how to do that again?”

“She’s a natural.” Hongjoong said, walking over and placing a hard kiss to your quivering lips. He could still taste the saltiness of Jongho on your mouth. “I want her next.”

He laid you down and climbed on top of you, nestling himself between your thighs. He slipped into you with no problem after Mingi had stretched you with his girth. Still, you were just as sensitive from being filled by his cock regardless.

“Fuck!” You cried out. “Please be gentle.”

“I’ll take good care of you love, don’t worry.” Hongjoong whispered in your ear, rocking himself in and out of your sensitive cunt. While fucking you, he peppered kissed on your neck with small nips at your skin here and there. You turned your head to the side to savor the feeling and caught a glimpse of Wooyoung and Yeosang touching each other. The vision made you gasp but, not in disgust. Down below, you started to throb around Hongjoong’s cock intensely. He paused to take a look at what you saw and chuckled at the discovery.

“Do you like what you see?” He whispered to you. “Two pretty boys playing with each other?”

You nodded, your eyes glued to the two of them as they continued to play and kiss each other.

“You’re full of surprises still.” Hongjoong mumbled, still rutted deep inside of you. “Wooyoung. Yeosang. She really likes what you’re doing. I can feel her squeezing my cock watching you.”

“Really?” Wooyoung smirked, pulling away from Yeosang’s lips. “Then let’s give her a show.”

Wooyoung dropped down to his knees in front of Yeosang who very eagerly lined up his cock with Wooyoung’s awaiting mouth. Wooyoung took his pretty plump lips and kissed the tip of Yeosang’s swollen tip, smearing his clear precum on them like gloss, before slowly taking him inch by inch into his throat down to his base. Yeosang groaned, grabbing Wooyoung by the back of his head and pushing his hips into his face over and over. Wooyoung’s soft gags had your eyes fluttering along with the butterflies in your stomach. You had never seen anything so filthy. So intimate. You continued to watch him fuck Wooyoung’s throat as Hongjoong started to brutally fuck into your pussy, his cock hitting your g-spot just right.

“God, listen to her fucking whine.” San said, walking forward to jerk himself off right over you.

“It has to be from watching them.” Jongho said, referring to Wooyoung and Yeosang. “Two boys. Who knew?”

“Then I have the perfect idea.” Seonghwa said, coming over to the couch and getting behind Hongjoong. You pulled your eyes away from the boys just for a moment, to see what he was up to. He whispered something in Hongjoong’s ear, saying something you were unable to hear but; Hongjoong nodded and smirked.

Settling behind Hongjoong, Seonghwa spit on his hand and put his hand between Hongjoong’s cheeks. When Hongjoong pulled out of you on one of his thrusts, Seonghwa’s lubed up fingers slipped inside of his puckered hole, making him whimper in your ear. The sound was enough to almost make you cum.

Seonghwa fingered Hongjoong as he was fucking you. Each time Hongjoong pulled out of you, he pushed down and onto Seonghwa’s waiting fingers. His whimpers sending a shockwave of overwhelming erotic euphoria to your core. Seonghwa’s fingers hitting his prostate every time he pulled out of you, and every thrust into you was a direct rub against your g-spot.

“Fuck-“ you whimper, feeling another orgasm approaching quickly. You turned back to watch Yeosang and Wooyoung and found Yeosang flushed, mouth agape and panting. Wooyoung had his cock in his hand pleasuring himself wile Yeosang was seconds away from spilling himself into Wooyoung’s mouth. The anticipation began to build, Hongjoong’s moans in your ear making everything even hotter.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ Yeosang warned him, holding his head to push him away but Wooyoung doubled down. You felt your core tighten as Hongjoong’s cock slipped in and out as you watched and you began to whimper uncontrollably, your pussy tightening around his cock. Then, quickly after, Yeosang emptied his cum into Wooyoung’s mouth. His hips stuttering as he emptied every last drop onto his tongue, grunting as Wooyoung sucked down every last drop.

The scene sent you flying, your orgasm hitting you hard. Your walls collapsing around Hongjoong’s cock, creaming around him. Your cunt practically choking him, milking him, and making him cum as Seonghwa fingered his prostate while he whimpered almost pathetically in your ear. It was an orgasm even he was shocked by.

He pulled out of you, his cock dripping all his cum into your cunt. The boys craned their heads to get a glimpse of the view and practically licked their lips as they saw the white cum leak from your entrance and onto the couch.

“Fuck, you look divine.” San drooled. “Let’s see how much more you can fit in there.”

“Wait, Sannie- ahh!” You cried out as he pushed himself into you, Hongjoong’s cum pushing deep inside of you and squishing out around San’s cock.

“Remember your safe words baby.” He reminded you, then pushed your thighs back to your chest to rock into you. Your cunt was so sensitive you felt almost like it was not part of your body. Wooyoung came over and sat beside you, reaching out to rub his hand across your chest, his fingertips finding the hard peaks of your nipples and giving them gentle tugs over and over.

“I think it’s time.” Yeosang said, walking over with his wand he had brought and pushing it between you and San. He nestled it up against your red, swollen, clit which made you throw your head back and thrash around. Yeosang smirked, knowing what was to come, and clicked the first speed on the vibrator. Your cheeks and lips started to tremble and your mouth fell agape when you felt the toy come to life, the shaking vibration spreading all the way down through your core to San’s thick cock as he fucked you.

“Fuuuck. That’s it baby.” He groaned, feeling you tighten against around him. “Yeo, turn it up.”

Yeosang turned up the speed which had your back arching off the back of the couch. Wooyoung was still playing with your nipples, enticed with the view in front of him. He leaned down to kiss you, swallowing your moans in his mouth to his delight.

“Fuck, look at her.” Mingi mumbled to the others.

“He’s fucking the cum straight into her. That’s so fucking hot.” Seonghwa groaned.

“She loves her nipples being played with. Look how she squirms? Go suck on her other nipple Yunho.” Jongho said, urging Yunho to sit on the other side which he quickly did.

With San fucking you from the front, Wooyoung on one side, Yunho on the other playing with your tits, and Yeosang above you with his magic wand, you were completely overcome with pleasure while the others watched.

At some point, and you don’t know when, you lost yourself in the pleasure. Time beginning to fade and your mind seemingly disconnecting from your body. Your moans turned into mindless babbles and the wet sounds coming from your core almost became embarrassing sopping, your arousal dripping down San’s shaft and balls. Your thighs started to shake and your walls were practically choking his cock, letting him know you were close.

“She’s gonna cum, I can feel it.” He grunted, his hips fucking into you even harder.

“Are you gonna cum again for us?” Wooyoung asked you, his fingers still brushing over your sensitive nipple. But words failed you, your mouth opening but only silent gasps coming out. “Hmm?”

“Fuck, she can’t even speak.” Hongjoong said in elated delight as he watched.

“Come on baby.” Yeosang told you, hitting speed the button one more time. “Cum.”

You came violently, screaming as you gushed onto San and those close by. Your walls pulling his orgasm out of him prematurely from how hard you clamped down around him, milking his white ropes from him with a shutter.

“Holy shit-!” He yelled as he was soaked, his orgasm hitting him hard.

“Fuck, look at that!” You don’t know who even said it, you didn’t care. Your brain was off. Disconnected.

“I have to make her do that.” Another voice said and suddenly, another cock was inside of you, thrusting in and out. It was Wooyoung and, with Yeosang still holding the vibrator on your clit, it only took a few thrusts of his cock to make you squirt again. The sight making Wooyoung release his load inside of you, just like Hongjoong and San had.

One by one, each boy took their turn. Jongho was next. Then Yunho. Seonghwa. Mingi. And finally, Yeosang. When they were all done, you had cum dripping all over your thighs and cunt. Droplits of your squirt were spattered all over the living room and your face was completely flushed. Burning. You felt exhausted but also complete bliss. Every nerve-ending in your body felt alive, reborn. You were not leaving this place the same person you had come in. Especially not now. Not after this.

Seonghwa had one last craving for you. Leaning down next to you over the couch and extending his tongue over your clit to lap at your swollen bud. You cried out when the tip of it hardly touched you, wanting to run. But his hands held you hostage. Wooyoung joined him, kneeling in front of you and placing his tongue right next to his, lapping away the drops of cum from the others that dripped from your cunt. Both of their tongues intertwining over your clit periodically as if they were French kissing. It was far too erotic. Too sensual. Having these two pretty boys lick the cum off your overly sensitive cunt was far beyond anything your once innocent mind could comprehend.

Your body gave you one more orgasm, your clit cumming on both of their tongues as they kissed your cunt. But quickly, you felt yourself begin to lose consciousness. Seonghwa quickly caught on as your legs fell slack around his neck, making him pull away from you and grab your face in his hands.

“Hey. Hey, are you okay?” Seonghwa asked you, stroking your face with the back of his hand. You felt dizzy, head fuzzy, and you didn’t dare to sit up right now. “Can somebody go get her some water please? Maybe some Gatorade?”

“On it.” Yunho said, taking big steps to get to the kitchen faster.

“We may have overdone it.” Hongjoong said, a bit worried. “Put the throw pillow under her head.”

The boys all rushed to take care of you, helping you take sips of the drinks they brought and getting you propped up on the couch and covered up with a blanket. Finally, after a few minutes and a bottle and a half of water later, your brain finally began to make sense of the world again.

“So.. that was intense.” You giggled.

“Oh thank god! I thought we broke her for good.” Wooyoung said dramatically, hands on each side of his head as if it was about to explode.

“I’m glad you’re still with us.” Jongho patting the top of your head.

“Yeah, for a moment you had us worried.” San smiled in relief.

“I’m okay. I promise.” You reassured them. “But, did I do okay? Like, did you guys enjoy it?”

“Yes.” They all said in unison which made you laugh from deep in your chest.

“I’m glad. I guess that’s means I passed my final exam?”

“With flying fucking colors.” Wooyoung told you confidently.

“I still can’t believe I did.. that.” You giggled, replaying some of the moments of the last hour in your mind.

“You really have come so far.” Yeosang said proudly.

“Really. I mean, you started this trip as a virgin and you finished with an orgy. That’s definitely impressive.” Mingi told you, reminding you once again that tomorrow was the end.

“So, that’s it then?” You said, feeling a bit sad. “We go back tomorrow and it’s all over?”

“Like I said before, you know where I live. You can come knock on my door any time you need some company. Any type you want.” Yunho said, winking at you.

“Same here.”

“Yes.”

“Me too.” All of them say a mix of agreement, leaving you open to the option to go and see any of them if you wanted, whenever you wanted.

“So, it doesn’t have to be over after today?” You smile at the realization, your heart fluttering.

“You’re stuck with us. Plus, all schools have class reunions right? Think of it like that. But.. with sex. Regularly.”

“Shut up Wooyoung.”

And so the bliss continued long after the trip, along with your sexual education.

———————- The End ——————-

bf!Jongho who - usually only uses one nickname with you, and it is not a generalised one everyone uses. it's special to both of you, has a story - probably originating from when you met.

bf!Jongho who - isn't afraid to give you his honest opinion. it gave you a few heated arguments in the early days when you first told him about the tension with your coworkers, and he told you that the other person wasn't the only one in the wrong - but you learned to appreciate it, because not many would do this.

bf!Jongho who - loves sending you snippets of his studio works. He is in there hooting and hollering overtime just so he has extra clips he can send you and bring a smile to your face.

bf!Jongho who - loves to surprise you with cooking for you on his free days. He usually never even tells you when he is free, for just one day, so he can see that gentle, loving shock on your face when you see him in the kitchen. long sleeves roll up on his forearms, glasses sliding down his nose.

bf!Jongho who - is a big cuddler. he would never admit it, but he loves being cuddled by you. especially when you cling to him koala style while watching a movie. but there was that certain week you had to leave town because of work, and suddenly your old plushie is out. right behind him in bed when he facetimes you at night. "baby, is that my bear behind you?" you asked, and he flushed from collarbones to the top of his head, stumbling over his words.

bf!Jongho who - lets you choose his outfits, because he knows you would never put him in an uncomfortable situation. he puts all of his trust in you and other than that, he loves the expressions you give while he does a twirl, because you know these jeans don't really fit with that particular belt.

bf!Jongho who - will never be one of those guys who hurry their girlfriends. he always sits calmly in that self-designated armchair beside your vanity and watches as you get ready with adoration written all over his face. when he is feeling curious, he might ask, "what does that do?" or "what is that for?" but he never asks stuff because he wants to fill the silence, but because he is genuinely intrigued.

bf!Jongho who - doesn't call or text, he just magically appears. did he finish earlier at recording that day? he sits in his car already on his way to pick you up, sometimes runs into the store before to have something for you to drink or snack on on the way home.

bf!Jongho who - is the boyfriend who always has his hand on your lower back. he is not fond of public display of affection, but a protective yet possessive hand on your lower back is always an exception.

bf!Jongho who - has to have a hand on you while sleeping too - but it's beyond the cute way. while awake, his hand always finds its way to your lower back - unconsciously, it doesn't exactly work like that. there have been nights when you woke up with his hand on your forehead, as if he was checking your body temperature, but when he is really out of it - exhausted from practice beyond repair - his hand slides down to your mouth and nose, making your simple task of breathing a little harder…

bf!Jongho who - silently admires you. when you're out with friends - whether it's with his band members or your friends - he is drinking every little reaction or word they get out of you. he has heart eyes, which his band members hardly tease him for (he wouldn't have it any other way).

bf!Jongho who - buys you random objects as souvenirs from every trip abroad. they might be a little bit all over the place, starting from books to weirdly shaped candles and even kettles, but he only buys them because he knows it will make you laugh. (man's ultimate goal is to have you as a giggly mess tbh.)

bf!Jongho who - is so good with kids it hurts. at every family gathering, you have to suffer through watching your boyfriend interact with his nieces. sometimes, when his hair is overgrown, they braid it - he likes whining about how much it hurts, but you see the way his eyes glint. he always holds your hand a little bit tighter on the way home.

bf!Jongho who - is the typical guy that, reverses with one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of your seat. he is perfectly aware of the effect it has on you - hence that smug smile on his lips

bf!Jongho who - loves when you give him stuff to open. especially those tightly closed pickle jars - that he might or might not have closed a little extra tight the last time he opened it, so you would come to him, with that little defeated pout on your lips.

bf!Jongho whose - favourite dates are the ones spent in cuddling, watching movies, and cooking together. especially the part when you forget about the movie and just get lost in each other's tangled breaths and tongues.

bf!Jongho who - just loves kissing you. he will be french kissing you for at least a solid half a minute, even if he is late to the schedule, or has the whole team watching - he doesn't care. he just needs to feel your plush lips on his, stealing the last breaths from his lungs before he performs.

bf!Jongho who - makes sure you always have a mark on you. he is considerate about the placement, but is usually more bold in cold weather because you can hide it better. may it be one hand print from how he held you, or a hickey, maybe even a bite mark.

bf!Jongho whose - hands always find their way to your waist whenever you're bent over furniture. may it be because of cleaning, searching for something, it doesn't matter. it's comical, actually. he always just appears behind you, hands already on you as his mouth kisses it's way up on your spine with low, gravelly words escaping from his mouth, until he gets you pliant and soft.

bf!Jongho who - showers you with praise in bed, "that's my girl." or "you're doing so good, baby." he is a talker, that's for sure.

bf!Jongho who - is also a little... mean. you didn't do as he asked? he isn't scared to put you in your place or even punish you. he loves bending you over his knees and seeing those red hand marks bloom on your buttocks. but even his strict side has a limit, so he always lulls you with praises, "just three more, love," with an occasional, "you're doing so well."

bf!Jongho who - is possessive by nature, can't help but feel the absence of that feeling when Yeosang is around. he loves watching over the two of you talk with wine glasses in hand as he busies himself in the kitchen. the thoughts aren't as innocent as they seem

bf!Jongho who - had to excuse himself out of the living room when certain thoughts got too lewd for guests. he would love to watch that soft hand Yeosang places on your knees when he agrees to something, slide a little higher. leave marks on your skin. put on a show with you, for him.

dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.

"fu-uck," he pants,  "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.

"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.

"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.

dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.

he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.

he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.

"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"

“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”

"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"

you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.

"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.

"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."

your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.

“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.

“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.

he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.

you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.

“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

find more here | join the taglist

taglist: @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @steamyjaehyun @sungday-16 @toplinehyunjin @gyuslilies

@gyuhao365 @smiileflower @mnstxmnbb @stillbeautyuniverse @afetepositivamente @chariseiswriting @Coupsbestleader

@Wonsivq @seungcheolsblackcard @gyublues @ybimoon @livelaughloveseventeen @imhereonlytoread

@minwonwoozi @armycarat2612 @adiknyamingyu @jaja-salute @vielerie @gyuguys

@assoulacaratassil @aaronwarners69thwife @chaseyui @blaycke @dinonara-ara

@markoplolo @sseolarity @ironyatitsfinest @coupsv @riddlerloveb0t @scoupscious @J3nnch3ls3a