you are my light

After receiving such lavish gifts which included shopping tours, yacht rides and an impressive visit to his personal vineyards, the CEO’s last gift to you was an opera performance you could’ve only imagined to experience in your dreams. 

“It’s called La Traviata”, your polished and tuxedo-clad date spoke into the shell of your ear, just as you arrived at your destination earlier that night.

He had guided you up the white marble steps of the entrance, offering his arm to you as he stood tall and unfairly handsome against the crowd. Many other similarly dressed men filled the space. A whole sea of them stood with their wives— for some, their mistresses— flaunting expensive clothing and freshly botoxed faces. 

In similar timing, an uncomfortable thought momentarily entered your mind: 

Were you too, just another shadier and even more disposable reflection of these upper class elites?

You glanced over to stare at Yunho, lingering on the idea of how ridiculous it may appear to someone who knew you were a former Hollywood Boulevard stripper attending a high-society opera performance with her billionaire date. 

However, the flash of anxiety disappears and reshapes itself as soon as you feel the intimidating stares and hear the hushed whispers. Gossip swirls around the crowd of esteemed guests who wondered about who you were— the lady in red accompanying their most well-known and eligible bachelor.

Yunho’s voice saves you from your worries once again.

“I think you’ll like tonight's performance,” he admits, softly calling to your name. He looks down, holding eye contact with you and only you, disregarding any other individual that distracts him from admiring your beauty under this antique chandelier tonight. 

You’re reminded again of how easy you become lost with Yunho.

Lost in his world, even if it didn’t always accept you.

All it takes is a sweet look and you seem to fall right for his stupidly charming manners and protective presence. You smiled back nervously, the rubies embedded in the diamond necklace displayed on your collar bones, rising upwards as you inhaled to swallow back your nerves. 

“There’s a lot of people here.” you muttered the obvious, biting your rouge coloured lips as you looked a little intimidated. 

Yunho chuckles and holds onto your hand tight, leading you effortlessly. 

“Let’s go find our seats then.”

The talk dies down as you arrive on the upper floors, a private balcony reserved with comfortable seats and complimentary opera glasses too. 

You quickly turn to Yunho.

“You hate heights though,” you pointed out, brows furrowing. 

The businessman chuckles, taking a seat and crossing his legs as you stand to admire the balcony. 

“But they’re the best ones.”  

When the curtains rise a few minutes later, revealing the opening act alongside booming orchestral music, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

It’s easy to become so immersed from the beginning, eyes glued to the stage for the next two hours as you sat the longest Yunho thinks he’s ever seen you go without fidgeting. 

It felt too soon for the night to transition into what was now the final scene— the trembling voice of the baritone’s final words to his dying lover, as she succumbs to her tragic death in his arms. 

Your heart pounds at the sight, the stage becoming blurry as the music grows stronger for the finale. 

And all at once, the curtains close and the opera ends.  

You clap the loudest out of everyone sitting near your area once it’s over, and Yunho is pleased nonetheless to see your vivid reaction to the performance. 

Carefully, his hand slides over to hold your own. 

“I believe you enjoyed it then?” he teases, taking out a handkerchief and offering it to you as you sniffle on the way to the elevator. An unforgettable ache settles in your chest from the beautiful tragedy, quickly nodding back with no other words to say except how beautiful it was as tears filled your eyes. 

Your first introduction to the world of opera ended that evening with an arm latched onto Yunho’s, following the crowd out into the street of waiting cars and limousines. 

“What was your favorite part?” Yunho asks, the corners of his mouth already raised as he wants to hear more of your thoughts, anticipating an enthusiastic response. 

“God, it has to be the moment from the garden,” you gushed, your cheeks aching from smiling too much. “There’s no other scene that was more romantic!”

He wrapped his coat around you as you spoke on and on about the singing and the storyline, ensuring you weren’t cold as a night breeze swept past. 

“Thank you, Yunho,” you turn to him and say once you finish, reaching the tips of your heels as you try to peck him on the cheek. He leans down to meet you halfway.

“I’ll never forget tonight.” 

Your smile causes Yunho to exhale shakily, trying to calm his beating heart and come up with a proper reply back, before something catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You do a double take to realize a brightly lit hotdog stand was running just across the street. He follows your line of vision.

“Let’s go,” you grinned, tugging on the sleeves of his suit without sparing him another glance. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Yunho chuckles, judging the dingy street food stand as his brows knit together in a rare display of stubbornness. 

“Yes, but not for that.” 

You almost scoff in his face. “Oh c’mon, Yunho,” you say, interlocking your hands together and insistently dragging him towards the mouth-watering smell.

“You said you were hungry!” 

He had no defense against you. 

When you reach the hotdog stand, the billionaire stands stiff beside you, hands tucked into his pockets in clear hesitation at the questionable sanitary conditions.

“Sweetheart,” he bends down, muttering into your ear whilst pointing towards the unchanged grill.

“That is not safe, nor fine dining.”

Rolling your eyes, Yunho watches helplessly as you step towards the vendor whilst fishing out a few bills from his own wallet in the pocket of the coat draped over you. 

“Two hotdogs with a bit of everything on them, please,” you asked the man, glancing back to the billionaire with an excited smile. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little weiner, Yunho.”

He frowns, having kept his arms crossed since he entered the vicinity of the cart. 

“I’m not scared,” he replies calmly. “I just don’t see why anyone would willingly consume something made… from here” he pauses, interpreting the picture of a giddy animated sausage on cart sign.

The vendor being a much older man, shuts your sweet date up with one good stare. 

Two hotdogs in hand, you thank the owner sweetly and bring Yunho off to the side so you can eat. If he was skeptical at first, hopefully he’d be more convinced by the smell of caramelized onions and smoked sausage wafting through your noses as you handed him one. 

He looks at the greasy foil.

“I can have my staff make you something on the jet. Something with actual nutritional—”

But you’ve already beaten him to it, taking your first bite of sausage and bun and drowning out his words as you smiled in bliss. 

“Oh god,” you groaned dramatically, eyes shut as you consumed the satisfying food. 

Yunho watches you carefully with reluctant amusement, one hand still buried in his pockets that has yet to unwrap the silver foiled hotdog. 

Seeing how happy you were makes him reconsider. 

All jokes aside, what was he waiting for? If the taste was that special to you, he wanted to experience it as well. 

Yunho takes his hand out from his pocket and unwraps the foil, bending down to take a big, solid bite encasing sausage, condiments, and toppings. 

It was quiet for a moment, both of you chewing slowly before your date reluctantly smiles with full cheeks, nodding his head.

“It’s good…” 

You grin proudly, swiping a pickled jalapeno slice off of his hotdog.

“Not so bad, right?”

And just like that, you and Yunho shared a casual yet comfortable dinner before heading back onto the private jet. Two hot dog combos and many shared conversations later, fast food wrappers laid scattered across the glass table. A bottle of champagne and fresh white peaches present for dessert. 

“So,” you grinned proudly, shuffling your bare feet closer on the seat as your heels laid discarded somewhere. 

“I just introduced you to your first hotdog, then?”

The bowtie of Yunho’s black tuxedo is long gone, draped carelessly over the armrest, as the older man leans back into the leather seat. The dim cabin lights cast a soft golden hue across his jawline as he gestures to the mess on the table. 

“I’ve had them before,” he corrects, like it’s a fact of deep importance that he’s not that bred in upper class luxury. 

You suspected the opposite.

“Well the ones you had probably weren’t even real,” you argued with a roll of your eyes, imagining hor d'oeuvre cocktail sausages or something else ridiculous. 

“If a ‘real’ hotdog comes from a dingy little stand on the corner of a street, then sure,” he says with a bite of amusement. “I'll let you educate me then.” 

You hold down a smile. “See! You’re learning!”

Yunho shakes his head, revealing a full smile which tells you he’ll let you have this one. 

Who knew this would be so natural with someone like him. That despite the expensive tours and shopping sprees, what fulfilled you the most these past few days was sitting here, barefoot, eating three-dollar hot dogs, discussing life and the events of your separate pasts. 

It’s true that the world you're flying above right now belongs to people like Yunho. People with money, wealth, and unlimited freedom. But right now, up here in these clouds, it feels like this tiny corner of the sky belongs to you too.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks while sitting across from you, eyebrows raising as he takes another swig of champagne. 

Your head rests against the fabric of the leather seat, eyelids shutting closed as you ponder. 

“It'll be my last day,” you mumbled carefully, the clarity of your words catching you off guard the second they leave your mouth. 

Yunho stills for a moment. 

“That can’t be.” the billionaire murmurs back, holding his gaze on the rim of his wine glass. It doesn’t settle with him well either. 

The cabin goes quiet all of a sudden. Empty, yet filled with realization neither of you wants to name. It was all according to your agreement.

Four days.

Eight thousand dollars.

That was the deal. 

To think you’d place so much weight on a job that was always meant to be short-lived. It was hard to believe time had gone by so quickly.

Very soon, this fairytale lifestyle you’d been living with would disappear with a simple goodbye, and you and Yunho would return to your respective places in the world. Him, conducting meetings, flying in private jets, and bargaining billions over company titles, while you remained as a waitress, barely making enough to afford milk that was past its expiration date.

The chain of events set into motion the night that armed gunman tried to rob the convenience store, had led you somewhere you’d never imagined possible. Meeting Yunho, spending time with him—having him care for you so effortlessly and spoiling you with money, but also more warmth and tenderness than you knew what to do with— felt unreal. 

You’ve spent your whole life yearning for someone like Yunho. But it's hard to consider whether someone like Yunho could ever need or be satisfied with someone like you.

Imperfections and all.

“I feel as though I still know so little about you,” he says, breaking your inner monologue as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“Tell me, what was your past like? I’m curious to know what you were like in your early twenties” he grinned, amused at the thought of an even more bold and unafraid image of yourself.

You find yourself looking away.

Young, dumb, and dancing naked for money. That’s what you were doing in your early twenties. 

“...I used to dance.” you responded with a tinge of hesitation, swallowing lingering discomfort down your throat that always followed when you brought up your past. 

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You just left out the part that you danced to entertain people waving wads of cash that would keep you from resorting to worse situations awaiting you on the streets.

For you, and for countless girls like Miko you’d met during those nights at the club, it had all been about survival. You weren’t completely ashamed of your previous job, and that’s because it was more than just how others saw it and because you knew that it isn’t something anybody can do. 

Sure, at first you thought the experience was manageable. Fun even. Though that was probably because you were young and uninformed. But with no real backup plan and no proper college degree, dancing was a way to get by. Convincing yourself the sore muscles, unfair treatment, and wandering hands were simply things you had to endure. As though your entire existence was for anyone’s taking, disposable and easily forgotten. 

After obtaining your current job, you realized how important it was to make choices that didn’t force you to go back to that life. 

“A dancer?” Yunho repeats. “I never knew you danced,” he smiled warmly. 

“I work as a waitress now” you replied back, unknowingly picking at the nail of your thumb in habit. “It’s not much, but it’s better than what I was doing before”

It was at this moment you found yourself standing on the edge of something you didn’t know how to step into, words staying stuck behind your teeth. Telling Yunho about your past felt less like honesty and more like setting yourself up to be judged—like another lap dance you weren’t sure you had the guts to finish.

Yunho doesn’t rush you. He never does.

Instead, he studies you in that observative way of his. Like he already knows everything you can’t bring yourself to say. He exhales softly, standing from his seat to shift closer beside you, pulling a soft, folded blanket from somewhere.

Without asking, he drapes it around your shoulders, tucking it in as though he’s trying to keep you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Then, you feel his hand come up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch careful enough that it felt almost like permission.

“You know, people like to create stories out of what they can see.” His gaze drops for a moment, deciding how much of himself he can give you in return.

“In my case, it’s a bit ironic. Everyone sees the heir. The family name. The brand that can become just another financial asset…”

You stare back into his eyes, listening carefully. 

“People think they understand the shape of my life just because they can name it.” Yunho states laced with a heavy tone.

“But what most people don’t see… is that I was adopted. And a lot of what I’ve been called—what I’m expected to be—was decided long before I even understood what any of it meant.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, unadorned and leaving you in a bit of shock. You think back to the conversation with the Chairwoman, the night Yunho had that business dinner. 

“No one can learn much when they're surrounded with shadows, darling. But in truth, that’s all that Yunho has had up until now.”

“Business makes it worse,” he continues quietly. “Because it’s never really about truth. It’s about perception. About what people choose to believe is true. And sometimes that perception gets twisted—by ambition, by greed, and…” his words die off, knuckles clenching around the fabric of his pants as if he’s recalling a distasteful memory.

“... by people you thought would know better. Even family.”

There’s a brief pause, something heavier flickering behind his expression. You already know what he means by your conversation with Madame Choi.

She hinted towards something about Yunho's past, the strained relationship he had with his relatives clawing for the title of heir.

In an act of support, you reach and grab his shaking hand, taking it away from digging itself in him and interlocking fingers with his own. 

It was your way of telling him you were here. That you were listening. 

“I’ve always had people close to me try to take pieces of my life like it was just… up for claiming,” he says, more factually than bitter. “And I learned early that no one is really what they look like from the outside. Not completely.”

Panic settles in as you worry he's caught on.

Instead, his eyes return to you now softer, shifting the weight away.

“I’m not telling you this because I’m perfect. I’m telling you because I’m not. No one is.”

A small breath leaves him, like he’s releasing something he’s held for too long. Yunho leans closer, careful with what comes next.

“Y’know, I think everyone is deserving of a bit of grace. To be given another chance. Even that stupid boy, Choi San, who won’t let me buy his grandparents company” he jokes flatly, gaze flickering over your face when you let out a small chuckle. 

He thinks he could crack a million more bad jokes if it means he’ll hear that sound again. 

Yunho pulls you much closer, his nose almost hitting your own as he refuses to let your strict self-judgment distort the image you carried of yourself.

“So if you feel out of place, like you’re an imposter in this world, let me tell you I’ve been doing the same all my life. I feel as though I’m living a lie every single fucking day” he mutters, the two of you sharing breaths now from the close proximity. 

Your breathing changes, feeling the warmth of his body close to your own. 

The billionaire’s voice softens, keeping it steady. 

“As someone who lies to live, and works among people who lie just as easily, I’ve learned to value authenticity. It’s not about what others think." he states.

"People will always see what they want to see anyway.”

Suddenly, his eyes flicker down to your soft lips, parting with a distinct type of desire. But he doesn’t kiss them just yet. 

“And what I see is a very bright…”

First, a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“Very beautiful…”

A kiss to your nose.

And he stops in front of your lips before whispering softly. The truth he's starting to believe in more than his painstaking business deal.

“...very special woman.”

Silence fills the space between you, the sounds of the plane engine whirring as you look into the eyes of the man sitting in front of you.

Yunho releases a small breath when you lean forward to collide your lips with him, connecting your mouths in yearning and full vulnerability. The air in his lungs is knocked out, hungrily reaching and grabbing at each other just to feel the sensation of your lips connecting in undwindling passion. 

A squeeze and grope follow here and there with each other's bodies, tongues swirling with utter obsession.

Yunho immediately reciprocates your bold move by pulling your body closer to his, fighting a straining feeling that builds in the confines of his pants. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough for Yunho, so his two strong arms grip around your waist, pulling your lips apart momentarily in a surprised, breathy moan, as you’re now maneuvered to straddle thick, strong thighs. 

“I meant everything I said,” he whispers breathily, a large hand coming to stroke the back of your head softly as the other grazes your face so you look at him properly. 

“You are special."

An overwhelming sense of gratitude floods your emotions. You didn’t notice it at first, but fresh tears have escaped your eyes, coating your eyelashes as you look back at Yunho.

The older one brings a thumb to cascade over your wet cheeks. 

“C’mon now, don’t cry sweetheart” he grins softly, feeling the need to protect yet also tease the sight of you becoming all teary eyed and begging for his touch.

He presses a quick kiss back to your lips once more, pulling back to whisper tantalizingly into your year.

“You haven't even taken my cock yet.” 

That’s when you realize tears weren’t just dripping down your cheeks, but now also down your legs.

Yunho was determined to show just how hungry he was for you. Just how much he wanted to love you, to fuck you, to taste and share only the good things in life with the women he just met four days ago in a dingy convenience store on Hollywood Boulevard.

That night must've really changed both your lives.

Whimpers escape your throat as you attempt to taste Yunho’s devotion. Your knees struggle to support your body weight, keeping you hovering over his crotch with carefulness not to sit down on the aching mound just yet, though you’re curious of the sensation it'll bring.

Yunho lets his hands settle around your waist, grip firm as he releases tension you were holding on to, pulling apart to finally give you both some breath.

“C’mon sweetheart. You can sit on it.”

He was starving for a taste of you. 

“Yunho.”

Your breath hitches as his hands wander, pushing your thighs to relax and spread even more so your wet core settles over the gigantic mound of fabric hiding his leaking, hard cock. 

“Fuck,” he stutters, his breath tickling your neck and he inhaled your scent deeply. He was unstoppable, he just had to feel you. 

“I want you,” he mutters, coming out muffled against bare skin. “Want you so bad.” 

You were no different. Pawing at the buttons of his crisp white shirt that was becoming wrinkled with every passing second you gripped and released the material, finding something to hold on to as your hips rocked back and forth slowly, nudging your leaking bud against imposing layers. 

“Ah- Yunho-” you gasped, feeling him kiss the crook of your neck, his mouth growing wider and more insatiable as he trails further down, drool forming near the corners of his mouth. 

Never of you had been this needy before.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you sweetheart?” he groans, letting a large hand smack the flesh of your ass covered by your dress. A whine rolls off your tongue, echoing in the quiet passenger cabin as you nod fervently, disoriented sounds leaving you while clutching onto his shoulders to keep your soaking cunt attached to his pants. 

Yunho brings a hand to slide over your shivering bare thighs, exposed to the cool air because of the small leg slit you had on the side of your dress. With every touch, the slit stretches wider in your position, making you weak to the billionaire’s greed. 

He grits his teeth, staring at your breathless expression when he shoves your lace panties to the side and lets the long digits of his index, middle and ring finger slide against the slick of your cunt. 

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked.” he grunts, throwing his head back as his digits do all the work in opening you up for him. Then all at once, he dives all three in, stretching you out perfectly like no had ever done before.

You scream, overwhelmed by how full you already feel with his two thick fingers. 

“Oh p-pleaseee- fuck! s’too much Yunho!” you pant like a whore, making him stretch his fingers even wider to feel you suck him in so lewdly. 

“Slow down—” 

“Do you feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” he cuts you off, his hips jutting up so he too can achieve some sort of relief. You notice, a hand reaching down, traveling through the tight web of limbs help him by laying your palm over his hardness. Just a simple touch and—

“Hands off.” Yunho quickly orders, bringing your hand away as he holds onto your wrist tightly. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he scolds, his business tone coming out as he orders you to only take his fingers, planning to save his cock for the one thing he wants most:

Your swollen, puffy cunt.

It’s incredibly unfair, how helpless you feel as his right hand pummels his digits faster into your hole, the sound of filthy squelching noises filling the room as he doesn’t even mind your cries of ecstasy.

“How many d’you think I’ve got inside you, hm?” he toys with you, getting off on your shaking body and quivering nub like the perverted CEO he was. You can’t even answer from the moans you’re releasing.

And here you thought Yunho was going to fuck you gently after all that talking. 

“Fucking tight,” a breath escapes his lips without even knowing.

You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut.

It seems as though there’s been a huge misunderstanding on the type of man Yunho was.

The businessman won’t waste time treating you like the queen you were— showering you with gifts, bags, clothes, and jewelry that can make you start to think he wants to put a ring on you and have you carry his babies. 

Which, with the way you’re taking him right now— quivering and crying out his name in broken little whimpers, even as his wrist starts to ache from how long he's been bullying his fingers in and out— he’s starting to genuinely consider it.

But you’ve been expertly deceived.

Yunho isn’t a gentleman. He’s one sick, obsessed bastard that longs to touch, finger, and fuck your gummy walls to a state of complete ecstasy.

“I… I really can’t hold on much longer—”

He loves that. Loves that you’re broken down to a mess of slick and sweat like this. He latches his mouth back onto yours as he feels you clench harder with every passing minute around his digits. 

“Gonna cum for me? My sweet, sweet girl is gonna cum?- hah fuck-” he coos, holding back and focusing on making you spill first.

He was almost there. He just needed to make you cum first and prep you real good so you could take him raw. 

“Yes Yes fuck- ngh Yes, Yunho–” you sobbed, too overstimulated to say anything else. Yunho releases the wrist he’s been holding onto since before, letting his hand come up to swipe some spit from his mouth before he shoves his wet fingers into the open cleavage of your dress, thumbing your sensitive tits with his drool.

Oh god, now he’s really done it.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” he grunts in one final thrust.

That’s what sends you over the edge completely, shoving your cries and open mouth moans into the fabric of Yunho’s dress shirt, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as your body convulses from the intense orgasm. Soft praises reach the shell of your ear.

“Look at you..” He coos proudly, kissing you gently on your cheek.

“Took my fingers like a fucking champ.”

You wince at the sudden emptiness as he pulls out, despite him trying to slide his fingers slowly for your sake. 

You lean back to watch the man with tired eyes, feeling a shiver run down your spine as Yunho maintains full eye contact while bringing his tongue out to lick at your slick. Closing his eyes and groaning pathetically at how sweet you tasted.

“Fucking pervert,” you exhaled, ignoring the deep laughs proudly leaving the CEO’s sweaty chest under his unbuttoned dress shirt.

It’s not long before the rest of the buttons are opened, revealing his toned chest as the top of your dress gets shoved down to spill out your soft tits for Yunho to latch on to. 

“Yunho!” you reply in shock, not realizing how fast he was going to dive into them. “Slow down!”

“But I’m in love with your tits.” he confesses though it comes out muffled. As if justifying his hunger.

You’re still straddling Yunho’s thighs, though now, you’re in an awkward stage of being partially naked, partially clothed, with only the essential barriers out of the way for you to take his cock properly now. 

He unbuckles his pants to free his member, letting the long, girthy tip slap you against your abdomen as your dress has become ruined with the way it’s scrunched so high to reveal your ass completely. 

Yunho takes a hold of his shaft and pumps himself a couple times. You watch him as he does so, a spark shared between you two just as he taps his tip against your puffy folds. He’s ridiculously proud of the way he’s prepped you so well for him. 

“Ready?” he stills, taking a moment to hold back from the obsession to really make sure you wanted this. Wanted him. 

You nod, grinning softly. 

Long forgotten is the conversation you were going to have with him about your past. Now replaced with a bodily confession that was more important to you and him right now. 

You figure you’ll tell him later…

“Just take me, Yunho,” you pleaded softly.

He smiles, kissing you again as he finally swats his cock in between the leaky opening.

All at once, you feel his incredible girth that you were waiting for this whole time, stretching you out, and throwing your head back as far as it would go.

You nod, eyes clasped shut at the delicious feeling you craved. No one could fuck you this good again. 

“F-Fuuck, gorgeous…” 

Yunho keeps his strokes against your pulsating walls slowly but so precisely it drives you to the brink of insanity. And yet, he can’t seem to stop watching you in awe the entire time. The way you let out soft screams when he hits so deep, right in the perfect spot. The way your hair is let loose, messy and free while your back arches so sinfully yet beautifully. 

Your body felt holy. A temple for him to worship.

And he's purring in your ear, telling you how good you are to him, how well you're taking his fingers and how beautiful you look taking them

The squelching sound from before comes back, even louder this time as it accompanies each skilful pump of Yunho’s cock instead of his fingers. 

As you’re babbling upon his sheer length, Yunho clasps onto one side of your hips. Using the rest of the energy and strength he has in him, he helps you bounce on his dick, riding your godforsaken high through the shaking of your thighs. 

You squeeze around him, making him curse wildly. It’s enough to also whimper from the stinging feeling that comes back each time. 

“Please—”

You tense, feeling a familiar feeling creeping up on you.

“Please what?” He held firm even as you glared weak little daggers down at his face, looking up with his shirt open and a burning desire behind wild eyes. 

“Yunho I’m not kidding, I’m g-gonna–”

He’s too distracted, too lost in the intoxicating sight of his cock drilling through your hole, having not taken his eyes from where you were connected. He already knows what you mean. How close you were to finishing. So he changes his pace, rutting relentlessly, hips snapping harder as he chases the view of your tits shaking in his face, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck—yes.”

“Gonna cum?” He asks with baited breath. “Gonna let loose for me, my love?

You just whine, crying and bouncing and nodding and nodding because that was all you were capable of doing right then and there.

In a complete mess of sweaty limbs and hot, flushing cum, you both reach your pinacles. The pace turns slower, enough for you to hug Yunho closer and whisper words of chastisement for how rough he was with you. When Yunho calmly kisses you and asks if it was too much though, you can’t help but shake your head and sink your pussy deeper, showing him that you still loved every second of it. 

Just as he’s about to grab a tissue from nearby and clean you up, a soft bleep of the intercom echoes a slightly discomforted voice, stilling only Yunho’s body who has enough consciousness to register the current situation. You're too far gone, using a small remaining amount of energy to grip onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life.

“Um—Mr. Jeong,” the pilot’s voice crackles awkwardly through the speaker, followed by a brief pause that feels far too long to be professional. 

“We’ll be arriving at the hotel in about ten minutes, so I, uh…” another cough. “I ask that you please observe the seatbelt sign and fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing.”

A beat passes, raising your head to look drowsily up at Yunho when you hear a much quieter, comment from the pilot: 

“And—um. My apologies for the interruption.”

A small smile creeps upon your tired face, relief washing over you as Yunho holds you close and reassures you.

“Don’t move. I’ll take care of you.”

The promise sounds as soft as he’s ever been. He leans forward and grabs a glass of water for you to take a quick sip from, followed by a cloth to clean your slick.

“I’ll give you everything, all the money I have,” Yunho mutters in a state of hypnosis, eyes glistening as he looks down at you lying against his chest so peacefully.

You wonder if your ears deceive you when you hear a quiet plea that borders on begging.

“Just stay with me longer…” 

The last thing you remember is warmth.

And releasing a soft “Okay”.

When you come back to your senses, you find yourself stirring awake in a large, familiar bed, a vast cold area of mattress greeting you from beside. The empty sheets of cotton and silk surround you with a bare feeling of comfort as you squint at the clock on the bedside table. 

Four am. And Yunho was nowhere in sight. 

Your bare body shivers as you sit up and the covers fall down, exposing you to the empty room. Your head spins a little, probably from all the drinks you had earlier in the plane.

The plane.

Suddenly, it comes rushing back, the events that happened on the jet. Yunho’s confession — his way of telling you that you didn’t need to feel ashamed of yourself to him. The way you were going to tell him about your past and the reasons that led you to this point. 

And then the sex.

Your core almost tingles at the memory with Yunho. Fucking you so good you passed out unconscious. 

Sighing as you rubbed your temples, you reach for the nearest piece of fabric that could warm you up— his navy robe that sits on a chair nearby. 

The soft material weighs you down, it's sleeves clearly too big for you but not minding much as you step over the soft, carpeted hotel floor. When you shuffle out of the room and down the steps to the first floor, the wide city view through the windows captures endless buildings glowing against the night, showing a city that never seemed to need sleep at all.

Quite similar to someone you trying to find. 

As if on cue, your body does a little jump back in surprise when you turn and catch Yunho leaning against the marble countertop of the open kitchen, bare chested as a pair of blue gingham pajama pants hung low on his waist. 

“Jesus!” you muttered, squinting when you saw the tall man turn with what appeared to be a tub of half-eaten vanilla ice cream. The metal spoon was warm in his hands from grasping it for so long. 

“Did I wake you?” Yunho replies calmly, paying you no mind.

“I’m sorry,” he coos, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

You sigh, gently paddling over cold tiles as your hands reach and grasp the ice cream like it was yours. You inspect the container, brows quirking.

Yunho lets you do as you please, as if everything belonged to you. 

You sigh as the chilling taste of creamy rich vanilla hits your mouth, using his spoon to dig a shallow crevice in the melted dessert and feed on it. 

“You didn’t wake me…” you pointed out, feeling the man dip his head into the crook of your neck and leave kisses all along the area. You shivered from his cold lips.

“What are you doing up so late?” You asked, enjoying your ice cream whilst Yunho enjoyed you, inhaling your soft scent once more.

“You seemed so peaceful, I didn’t wanna disturb you” he mumbled. You smile quietly to yourself, realizing how this big, intimidating CEO of a powerful business corporation could easily mimic a lost puppy just by being in your presence.

“Yeah right. You probably just wanted this whole tub for yourself.” you muttered, feeling his lips turn upwards against your skin. 

Yunho raises his head to face you properly, caressing your face as he focuses on your features. You swallow carefully as you ask the next question.

“What happened after we landed?” 

His face is illuminated by moonlight. Yunho’s lips slowly grinned at the memory. “I cleaned you up, buckled you in, and we landed on the rooftop of the hotel where I brought you to my room to rest” he stated, bringing his right thumb to brush away the corner of your mouth as ice cream was left smeared. He brings it to his mouth, sucking the sweetness without breaking eye contact.

“Was I too much?” He can’t help but ask with caution, leveling with you as he gazes deep into your eyes. A look of concern flashes over his face. 

You shook your head, amused by his protectiveness. He brings his arms to connect around your waist, hugging you closer to inspect the hickies littered all over your neck. He almost gets hard again from the sight and hearing your answer at the same time.

“Nope. I liked it” you assured him, whispering seductively to his ear.

You break into laughter as Yunho playfully tickles the sides of your body in response. 

To be fair, your hickies weren’t that bad compared to his shoulder and back muscles left with various bites and scratches. Lingering evidence of hanging onto Yunho as he fucked you so well.

“Of course you did.” he sneers at you proudly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips as you swallow a bite of cream. 

You both taste incredibly sweet, and you fear it’s not just from the sugar. 

“Yunho..” you began as you pulled away, watching his eyes narrow in on your lips as he leaned forward in greed of another kiss. You stopped him as you put the ice cream container down the counter and rested your hands against his bare chest.

“Did you mean what you said on the plane?”

His eyes soften. 

“Of course I did. I think you’re a very spec—”

“—Not just about me. But about wanting me to stay… longer?” you drawled out carefully, looking up at him for an explanation.

Yunho pauses for a moment.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” you confess, breaking a wonderful illusion with realistic questions you knew you couldn’t just ignore.

Yunho furrows his brows.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” he says, scanning your expression. 

When you look down, refusing to meet his eyes, Yunho gently hoists you up to sit on the counter, coming closer to look at you as his hands lean against the kitchen countertop and cage you in. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart” he pleads, his tone gentle and calm.

You inhale once and exhale quietly, waiting with baited breath to think of how you wanted to say this. 

You slosh the spoon around in the tub of melted ice cream beside you, searching for a distraction.

“I really don’t think I belong here,” you uttered softly, reality hitting you. 

Your thoughts are elsewhere—back to the history of judgement and outcasting you’ve experienced from so many people when they found out you were formerly a stripper.

How easily affection can be conditional.

Like the moment they all learned the truth, you stopped becoming human and started becoming temporary. Disposable. Something to indulge in quietly, then look down on openly.

Your own family, friends back home, even previous partners as well.

The worst thing about it was that they’re right. In their eyes, how could you not be easily discarded?

You believe Yunho would eventually think the same as well.

Cause at the end of the day, all you were was an escort that was paid for the sum of four days, just to provide him with company and sex that was hidden in various contract terms, that could never actually amount to more than what was agreed upon. 

He stills, as if he can listen to what you were thinking.

“But I think you’re exactly where you should be,” he says with such certainty. 

Your heart clenches from looking up and seeing Yunho continuously shower you with this endless affection you didn’t deserve. 

In habit, you begin to deny him first for your own sake. Refusing to get your hopes up as you tried to pull the billionaire from the outrageous idea. 

“I’m not,” you swallowed back, shaking your head. “I-I’m really not because if you realized what I’ve done, Yunho, you’d feel disgusted like any other-”

“Why should it matter where either of us are from or what we’ve done?” he protests, not holding back. 

“We’re together now, aren’t we?”

You exhale uncomfortably from his words. Probably because you know he’s being so sincere with you like he's always been, even when you haven’t done the same with him. 

Yunho takes the ice cream carton from out of your hand, placing it gently on the counter and slotting his body in between your spread thighs. You gasp, flinching when the cold marble comes in contact with your skin.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

It's not long before Yunho is eating you out, bare ass against his kitchen counter, grabbing onto cold marble for support as his jaw opens and closes with feverish tasting.

The conversation can’t slip away like this again!… you plead, brain fogging as Yunho presses compliments against the skin of your thighs.

“Don't bring yourself down, love.”

He pulls back, smooth, strong chest rising and falling as he captures the image of you spread out for him, moonlight catching on your wet, shiny bud as he gathers something in his mouth.

You jump when a forceful contact hits your sensitive mound.

Yunho just spit a dollop of saliva onto your pussy, watching with baited breath and pure obsession as it drips down your slit and into the deeper crevice. He shudders when your hole instinctively sucks it in.

Fucking. Hell.

“Yunho...” you muttered with a firmer voice, trying not to let your temptations distract you from what you’ve been meaning to tell him. 

If he has to hear the truth, it needs to come from out of your own mouth.

A faint ringing noise echoes from across the marble counter, a corded telephone echoing as a call comes through.

You look up, neck straining as you question the ringing so early in the morning.

“S’fine. Probably just front desk” he hushes, closing his eyes as he laps up your juices, his arms bulging as he grips your thighs open to prevent them from closing.

“Shouldn’t you answer it still?” you squirmed, moaning as Yunho shook his head, causing his sharp nose to brush against your nub too.

“Nope.” he mumbles, utterly lost in between your legs. It just doesn't sit right with you still.

“YUNHO” you breathed out loudly, finding the strength to push him back and grasp his wet chin, staring back at pussy-drunk eyes. 

“I think you should answer it” you huff firmly, growing weak when he sighs and pecks you on the mouth, sharing the taste of slick.

With a groan, his long upper body reaches for the phone, picking it up as he presses one last chaste kiss to your lips, sliding his hand on your spread thighs to grope you in the ass.

You slap him hard, yelping as he smirks evilly and brings the receiver to his ear.

“Jeong Yunho speaking”, eyes never leaving your own as he continues to kiss your legs. 

You shuffle, biting your lips at the ticklish feeling, unaware of the storm waiting on the other end of the line.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

It was his lawyer, Patrick. And he sure didn’t sound as happy Yunho was at the moment.

“Busy” he hums, continuing to tickle you with his obnoxious kisses. 

You scold him, softening when he intertwines his hand with your own.

“I can tell.” His lawyer’s voice comes out flat, hiding a grim, menacing tone. Papers shuffle aggressively through the speaker. 

“Tell me something, Yunho—was this weekend supposed to secure the Marinex corporation, or was it supposed to become a vacation?”

Patrick has finally earned his attention because Yunho’s expression immediately cools. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Patrick says bluntly. “You skip one of the most important acquisition meetings this quarter, leave the Choi family sitting there questioning whether you’re capable of rebuilding their company, and suddenly nobody can get a hold of you.”

Your smile leaves as you watch his expression fade, clutching Yunho’s robe closer to your body.

The CEO straightens slightly, forgetting his playful demeanor and replacing it with his business side he had coexisted with for all of his adult life. 

“I’ve talked to their grandson,” he argues. “The contract wasn’t finalized because of hesitation on Mr. Choi’s part, not because of me. I clearly pushed the agenda that we could rebuild his family's company and remake it into something triple the price he was offering–”

“No, Yunho” Patrick cuts him off coldly. “His grandmother made him hesitate because they think you’ve become distracted.”

A tense silence follows. 

“And we both know why.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens.

“It’s because of that girl, isn’t it?” Patrick mocks condescendingly into the phone. 

His eyes flick toward you instinctively. You stare back, a lump forming in your throat.

“Patrick,” he warns quietly, jaw clenching. But his lawyer continues.

“Well guess what? While you were off playing with your playboy bunny in Beverly Hills, the Choi family did their own digging.”

Yunho’s grip on the phone stiffens. 

“And I think you’re going to want to see what they found.” With a sigh, Patrick leans into his office chair and lights a cigarette while speaking into the phone.

“I sent a package to your suite and had them leave it on your kitchen counter.”

His eyes dart toward the thick brown file that’s gone unnoticed, sitting by itself on the edge across from you both. 

Your eyes slowly followed, grasping Yunho’s arm carefully as an ominous feeling fell upon the room. 

“Yunho, what is it?”

He leans forward and turns the cover.

The moment he opens the file, the air leaves the room. Photographs stare back at him instantly.

You beneath neon lights. Onstage. Lines of white powder served on your chest. Contorted into a vision of pure sex for hungry clients to see. 

Patrick puffs out a cloud of smoke as his voice lowers. 

“She’s a stripper, Yunho. You paid eight grand to let some washed up, crack-whore stripper spend the weekend with you.” Patrick snickers, venom laced in his voice. 

It all comes crashing down in an instant.

Because no matter how warm Yunho had made you feel, the truth of who you were finally followed you here too.

And suddenly, you feel so entirely exposed. Even while wearing a robe with his initials on it.

The carton of sticky vanilla ice cream somehow becomes spilled upon the marble countertops, leaving one giant mess.

At least this one could be solved. Your’s was a bit more complicated to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yunho states quietly, calling out your name. 

It’s frightening how calm he is. Not a single expression of disgust, resentment or anger building upon his face despite knowing how badly he must want to throw those awful photos in your direction.

Yunho would never. He’s too good for that. 

His question cuts deeper than it should. Typically, you would have retaliated with a bit more emotion. Confess with tears and beg for forgiveness as you explained your reasons. 

Instead, your laugh comes out hollow. This was the end of your contract either way. 

“Would you have looked at me the same if I did?”

His brows pull together immediately. “That’s not what I asked—”

“You didn’t know,” you interrupt, stepping back from him. “That’s the only reason any of this worked.”

Yunho exhales sharply, rubbing a hand across his jaw as the remaining pressure from the call still hangs over him like smoke. 

Patrick's quiet threat was more than just targeted to you. His words also held importance to that fact that if Yunho wanted to secure his highly expensive grand scheme of business relations he’s been building upon since his parent’s death — particularly by avoiding a news scandal with a former stripper— he would have to pull himself together and take care of his image with Marinex corporation first, as they had the upper hand in this case. And that meant surrendering to the Choi's.

“You liked me because you thought I could help you play it safe.” you fought back. "To relieve your needs and make you feel better."

“This isn’t about that.”

You look at him in disbelief. “Then what is it about?”

“The Marinex deal has completely fallen apart,” he says, frustration finally slipping into his tone. “Patrick’s losing his mind, the board’s probably already heard about this, someone has been investigating you, and now that bastard San is probably reveling in the fact that he’s gotten the best piece of dirt on me to give the press if I don’t—”

“So I'm the dirt.” you realize.

Yunho’s expression shifts slightly. The room falls silent again.

He sighs, rubbing his face as he retracts his words. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it is,” you mutter. “You’re just trying not to say it directly. Just admit it Yunho. I fucked it all up. Your business deal, your family image–”

“Fuck the image!” he barks as he steps towards you abruptly. “If anything, I want to know exactly why you hid this from me.” His eyes widening as he grasps your wrist.

“Clearly you’ve debated telling me even before I asked about your past, meanwhile I told you my own fucked up story with complete truth” he breathes heavily.

“When you told me you ‘danced’ —jesus christ— I thought it meant at parties or events!” Yunho states in disbelief.

“Well that’s not exactly a lie, Yunho.” you spit back, tears forming in your eyes. 

“I did dance. I just did it in heavy ass stripper heels and not pointe shoes.” you snapped, standing straight as you walked closer to his face. It’s dangerous how much he’s letting you run your mouth at him. 

“Why? Does that turn you off?” you challenged. “Do I make you disgusted? As if you’ve I’m used goods?” you plaster on a fake smirk as painful tears release from your eyes.

The vein on the side of Yunho’s neck bulges as he clenches his jaw, hands coming to rest on his hips as warns you in a tone you’ve never heard him use before. 

“Stop that. You can be a real piece of work when you’re angry, you know that?” he snaps, voice sharp enough to cut through the glass window of the city skyline. Slivers of gold and orange dance around the nightly blue as dawn begins to break, signaling the day has only just begun.

Yunho’s chest rises as he stares at you, confliction flashing across his face before frustration wins again.

“You think this is about me being disgusted?” Yunho breaks bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You really think that’s the part I care about?”

“Well what else could it fucking be?” you fire back immediately.

“It’s the fact that you never trusted me enough to tell me the truth!”

The room falls silent with thick tension. You even have to look away for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. 

When you begin to understand how Yunho feels, a wave of indignation washes it back.

“Do you think it was easy for me?” You grit as you turn your head back. “The times I felt like I had to be someone else just to be in the room with you?” you raised your voice, fresh hot tears streaming down your face. 

The CEO blinks softly, guilt filling his chest. 

You shake your head, walking away from the conversation and towards the bedroom to retrieve your things. You’ve had enough of Beverly Hills and stupid high society.

But Yunho still follows, hot on your trail. 

“No. I never wanted you to change. I wanted you. And if I ever made you feel that way…” he begins, clenching his fists as he owns up to his mistake.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized, wanting you to look at him. But you couldn’t handle his apology, nor the painful fact that it came so easily for him. That unlike any other partners you’ve previously had, Yunho was the first to chase you after hearing you were a stripper, providing the bare minimum and more. 

With embarrassment, anger, and your dignity on the line, you rush to grab your items, looking for the worn out bag you arrived here with and ignoring the boxes of luxury clothes and shoes Yunho gifted you this weekend.

“Listen to me” he states, frantically calling for your name to set the record straight, 

“I’m not angry because you’re a stripper. I’m disappointed because you lied.” he emphasizes, using a tone of voice that makes you want to barf from how grown-up it is. 

Perhaps it was also because secretly, deep down in your heart, you know that what Yunho is saying is far more productive than the childish show you’re putting on right now, hiding and running away with embarrassment of getting caught. 

“You looked me in the eye and told me you were a dancer.” he states, pointing a finger at you as he lays down the facts. “You built a version of yourself just to keep me from seeing the real you.”

“Well, of fucking course!” you snap, voice cracking despite yourself. “Because this is what always happens! News flash, Yunho, this is LA. People lie here all the time. They sell whatever version of themselves they need just to claw their way higher up the chain.”

Your gaze hardens as you step closer to tell him.

“And I’ve seen you do the exact same thing.”

Yunho stiffens, towering over you as he watches you suddenly shove off the suffocating robe to change into your panties and underwear laying on the ground beside him. Not caring if you have to change in front of him mid-argument. 

If anything, the arguments just come hurdling back even stronger this time. 

“Well what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He presses, voice rising.

“Oh come on, Yunho. You think the corporate men of America are any different than what I did? That dancing naked is any different than the bullshit you put on everyday while pretending you’re doing something noble and important? You screw people over for their money! You’re a capitalist dickface that attacks smaller businesses!” 

“If you even understood a fraction of the things I’m responsible for — the companies that depend on my management of their shares, the people that work for me—“

“ —And I would know because I was one of them.”

A look of hurt flashes across his face. 

“You meant more than that.” He responds quietly.

You bite down on your lip, scoffing. 

“If I meant more than that then why are you angry at yourself then? Why are you holding back on the blame you want to put on me for ruining your deal and for scandalizing your entrepreneur image?” You’ve reached a tipping point. A point where you find yourself spiraling with anger and resentment at both Yunho and yourself. 

“Just admit it, Yunho. I’m disgraceful. I’m the one who’s embarrassing. A liar for trying to survive in a world that was always meant for people like you.” 

His voice is strict, calling for your name to slow down and listen to his words but you don’t.

Your bra strap snaps against your skin as you adjust it aggressively, looking around before snatching a random slip-on dress from the pile of clothing to wear as you collect your bag and leave the room in a hurry.

Shouts of your name echo again.

Yunho rushes behind, taking far fewer strides than yourself to keep up with the pace. 

“I get that you think there's a difference between someone like me and you. That there are different titles we are associated with in society.” he says as you roll your eyes.

“But that’s not what I saw during the time we spent together. I always tried to treat you equally.” he points out. 

“I told you things. Things I’ve never told anyone else. You made me feel like I could trust you. But then I find out you’ve been keeping this part of you locked up like it’s something ugly. Like you’re something ugly—“

“Because I am, Yunho! What is the point? That I took my clothes off for money before I ever let you touch me? That I didn’t fit the fantasy?” 

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to reason with you through gritted teeth. “I’m telling you I don’t fucking care about a fantasy! I care about you. Your safety, and the fact that you looked me in the eye and didn’t trust me with the truth. That I’m just one more guy you had to perform for.”

You exhale with a shaky breath. How could you tell him right here that that was the problem. He’s turned into someone with far more value than the guys of your past. It was too much to imagine how he’d react to that piece of news in this situation as well.

Shaking your head as you walk away overwhelmed from the conversation, a hand suddenly reaches out and grabs you with a solid grip. Yunho pulls you to look at his face properly, practically seething as frustration wears his serious expression down. 

“When someone older speaks to you, you listen, do you understand?” he mutters quietly, holding firm but not hurting you. 

You look up stunned. Your throat tightens, tears threatening to spill as you immediately throw his hands off of you.

“You don’t get to act as betrayed as you are right now. You have no idea what people become the second they hear what I was.”

Yunho’s expression hardens, but not in anger this time.

“And you decided I’d become one of them before even giving me the chance not to.”

You can see the conflict in his face now—the exhaustion, the pressure, the disbelief at everything unraveling all at once. But instead of comforting you, the hesitation only confirms your fears.

Your chest tightens painfully. Sighing as the hot, molten anger melts to reveal the cold truth you always come back to after surviving in this world and by forgetting your fairytale books.

“You paid for four days, Yunho.” you force a sore voice out. 

“That was all this was ever supposed to be.”

His eyes slightly widen in alarm when you throw the towel into the ring. 

“Don’t say it like that. Don't do what I think–”

“But that's exactly it, Yunho. I’m not gonna do anything.” you say, straightening the strap of your bag on your shoulder as you turn. You reach for the door handle despite his calls of your name. 

“We’re not done with this conversation!” he swears, eyes glistening as he holds back tears in panic. But you ignore it all.

“You know the worst part?” you begin, voice breaking as you finally tell him through quiet sobs. 

“I really did want to tell you. A hundred times, I really did. And I’m sorry Yunho, but every time I looked at you… I panicked.” 

“Why?” Yunho immediately asks as he walks further, tears falling as the stupid facades you’ve both put up with now crumble. “Fear of money? Of being disposed of?” He answers, guilt shooting through his heart at the flawed way he’d been living. The companies he's broken down. The people he’s cornered for their titles and shares. 

Money meant nothing to him anymore. Not if you were threatening to leave.

But it wasn’t any of those things.

“It’s because you started to make me think I wasn’t disposable.” you responded back, staring at the man in front of you. Your expression softens. 

“I don’t know how to be someone who gets chosen, Yunho, because being chosen doesn’t last forever. You could spend the rest of this month with me and still find that you grow tired of me, and things would fall apart just as easily as this contract was formed.” you predicted through bitter tears.

Then why don't you let me choose you forever? Yunho asks himself. 

In reality, he should’ve said it out loud to you, but he too was clouded with fear. Fear of moving too fast. Of being too sudden and scaring you with a hasty decision that didn't read the room or considered you.

Your body moves first, inching closer to the door.

He calls your name firmly, trying to stop you. For a second, you almost do. But looking back to see Yunho standing with his hands by his side — revealing momentary hesitation, as if contemplating what move he should make next — that tiny moment of hesitation makes your heart sink completely. 

So you walk past him, rushing a goodbye and leaving the penthouse in silence as Yunho remains the only one standing.

Alone. Back to how it was before you entered his life.

LA was one of the stranger places to call home. 

It wasn’t always welcoming, but it wasn’t completely foreign either. Years of survival had changed the bright-eyed, determined young woman you were when you first arrived, to slowly adapt to the fast-paced life that brought more disappointments than fairytale stories. 

Perhaps that’s why you felt the need to cut your story so short. For a city filled with people chasing dreams so desperately, it was important to know when things have gotten out of hand. 

Back in your run down flat shared with your roommate Miko, you realize how long four days can feel when you've been away.

Her cheerful greeting dies down when she sees blotchy eyes and your front lip quivering as you barely make it through the front entrance, holding only your run down bag in hand, pockets empty of any type of money or compensation.

You left the gifts back at the penthouse. You couldn’t bring yourself to take anything that would remind you of what happened.

“Oh, honey…” your roommate hesitates, carefully coming to catch you as you collapse onto your knees when the door closes. The stream of tears follows quickly.

“I left him...” you mumbled softly in choked cries.

Your best friend reassures your heartbreaking sobs by patting your back in slow beats, shushing you despite your eyes continuing to water and seep into the old t-shirt she woke up in. 

“It’s okay, honey” she softly mutters, not having to ask too many questions to know why you were in such a state. She takes a quick inhale and sighs, trying her best to convince you. 

“Everything will be okay.”

But you couldn’t find the courage to imagine it would be. How could it? When you feel as though you’ve made a sacrifice for Yunho — to better his life and free him of your messy past — that puts your own affection and liking for him on the line. 

“But you don't get it, I left him, Miko” you hiccuped, eyes puffy as you pulled back to emphasize the word to her face. “I was the one that couldn’t stay after seeing him react to my past. If only you saw the look on his face, fuck- h-how shocked he looked and how tired I felt of feeling like I was in the wrong to have stepped into his life and–”

“Hey, shhhh. It’s okay.” Miko tries her best to calm you down, carefully helping you up from the floor and guiding you toward the couch with peeling leather cushions. She wraps a blanket around you, the one you both stole from a laundromat months ago because neither of you could afford heating.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” she asks with a pointed look.

You shake your head immediately, watching as she doesn’t change her expression. Then you nod, breaking slowly once again.

“He looked at me like…” Your throat tightens.

“Like he wanted me to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you?” your roommate asks utterly bewildered, brows pulling together slightly.  “I thought everything was going amazing?”

“His lawyer told him about me being a stripper. He beat me to it. And once the conversation started, I realized how much of his life could change because of the picture I painted for him. Of someone who definitely didn’t belong in his world,” you recalled painfully. 

Miko pulls back. 

“But did you stop to think how much your life changed after meeting him? The positive things that came out from the both of you being in this relationship?” 

"There was no relationship. It was just business." you say sounding like you were trying to convince yourself more.

You raise your head to look at her crossed arms. Your roommate's image defensive as she sighs with a shake to her head.

“Listen carefully babe. What I’m trying to say is that careers are able to be rebuilt. Money ultimately comes and goes. But that connection? The one you told me over the phone that you shared with him? The way you said he looks at you? Now that doesn’t just come from nowhere.” 

She helps you recognize that regardless of what happened towards the end, the past four days with Yunho had to have meant more than just business to the both of you. Especially with the way Kumiko thinks Yunho was trying to hold on to you based on your retelling.

“He still hesitated.” You dismissed her. “It was only for a second, but I-I knew what that look could mean–” 

Your roommate sighs in response, rubbing her temples at your somewhat hasty and stupid actions.

Your cries of frustration come out miserable. “Okay whatever! I know how it sounds like because normal people hesitate all the time, right? But with him, Miko…” You wipe harshly at your face, reminding yourself that Yunho hardly ever hesitates.

"He probably felt the exact way I predicted he would feel towards me. Regret. I just couldn’t stand it staying there and waiting for his say on anything else. If I was actually 100% worth choosing or not.”

Miko’s judgement softens as she raises her brows.

“Well damn.”

A breath escapes you, leaning back against the seat as you shut your eyes in fatigue. 

Miko eventually reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear, the same way she used to after exhausting late-night shifts when the two of you would stumble home with aching feet. Her voice is smooth. “For someone terrifying enough to make grown men cry, he sure made you cry a lot too.”

“It feels exhausting...” you responded, biting the inside of your mouth.

“But…” She emphasizes, glancing toward the apartment window that reveals early morning sunlight to peeking through.

“Isn’t that what love is?” she tells you, making you open your eyes to look at her properly.

“You loved him. I can tell because it's written all over your face and explained through the way you acted.”

The ache in your chest sharpens instantly.

Loved. Past tense.

You don’t want to correct her. You find it would be easier to just shut out the part of yourself that repeats perhaps you still do love Yunho.

The rest of the morning is taken to lay around at home, swallowing down all your emotions and thoughts of regret by rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, hoping to find some sort of leftover alcohol to help. Kumiko warns you about daytime drinking, but she decides to leave you in peace as she heads off to her day job.

“Listen, I know you’re wallowing in your pain right now, and I completely support it, but I left Hime with the skinny convenience store kid for him to watch when I was gone.” she confesses, putting in her left earring as she shows up in her waitress outfit. 

You stop rummaging through the pantry and look up in her direction at the mention of the scrawny black cat. 

“Will you do me one favour and pick her up? The kid's probably done with his night shift about now.” she comments hesitantly, looking at her watch.

Through the pile of food items, you barely manage to shove a weak thumbs up in her direction, saying nothing more as you can’t find the energy to do so.

All you can do is sigh, standing up properly to grab a t-shirt from your room to change into. Kumiko rushes over and hugs you from behind as you walk, trying to cheer you up in her usual, clingy fashion.

“Thank you, I literally love you and promise to bring leftovers for you on the way back.” she says, knowing that it was a usual routine of yours that always made you feel a bit better. Yet still, her expression falters when she sees you're unable to give a full smile.

“Give it time, honey” she pats your back, wishing you rest.

"Give him some time too."

She hands over the keys and wipes a few stray tears from your puffy eyes when you mumble back unconvinced.

“I highly doubt it.”

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you wander through half-empty aisles in the dingy convenience store on Hollywood Boulevard, exhaustion still sitting heavy in your chest from the breakup hours earlier. 

It’s unusual to find yourself here so early. Usually you’re visiting during midnight hours, when you’ve finished your night shifts.

Just outside, the city of LA has barely awakened. Police sirens echo somewhere in the distance while the sky hangs in that pretty orange-blue color with a smell of burnt coffee and cheap cigarettes lingering in the air.

It’s funny, you think as you grab the cheapest can of beer out of the back fridges. Out of all the places you could’ve gone to after leaving Yunho, you ended up here— back where you first met him.

Your fingers curl around the metal can, the lukewarm aluminum far from cold enough for your liking as it brushes against your skin. Exhaustion drags through your limbs while you sluggishly make your way to the checkout counter, placing the single drink onto the table with a quiet clink.

“It’s not even noon, y'know," Timothy comments dryly, the teen boy yawning as he still helps you checkout. After pressing a few buttons on the cashier, he peers outside the window, looking out for the next employee to swap with him.

“Surprised you didn’t grab the half-priced milk this morning,” he comments, absentmindedly brushing through the dark fur of Hime as she sits atop the glass checkout counter, peacefully enjoying her final few minutes with him before his shift ends.

"Your cat practically hangs near the milk section every time she's here."

You shut your eyes, cursing quietly under your breath as a frustrated groan leaves you. With your chest still heavy from everything that happened this weekend, you realize you haven’t been paying attention to anything around you at all. Not even to the fact that you have to feed your cat, and not even when the bell hanging on the doors chimes, signaling another person has come in. 

“One second,” you mumble with your back to the part-timer, walking towards the half-priced refrigerated goods section to grab the carton you always purchased.

The fridge doors hum softly as you pull one open, leaning down as lukewarm air brushes against your flushed face instead of the cool chill you were waiting for.

“Seriously, you guys need to fix the thermostat in here or someth—”

The words die instantly in your throat the moment you straighten back up.

Because the moment you lift your gaze, a head of messy jet-black hair and a Burberry coat come into view near the register.

Your breath catches instantly.

Yunho’s hair is disheveled, strands falling messily over his forehead like he’d been dragging frustrated hands through it all morning. Dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes as exhaustion is written plainly across his face while his coat hangs off him carelessly.

The state of his eyes catch your attention the most. Red-rimmed and restless. Desperate in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You doubt you look much better yourself.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The buzzing sounds of the fridge and freezer sections feel so deafening. But if anything, this hurts more than yelling ever could. To stand here in complete silence with someone who once knew almost nothing about you and now knows too much.

When your name leaves his mouth, you swallow hard, instinctively taking a step back until the refrigerator door presses cold against your spine.

“What are you doing here?” you ask in disbelief, though the question sounds far more accusatory than angry.

Yunho exhales heavily through his nose. “I caught your roommate before she left your apartment.” he responded, eyes never leaving yours for even a second. 

“She said I'd be able to find you here.”

You shut your eyes briefly, silently cursing your friend for being too honest for her own good.

Before he can answer, you hurry toward the checkout counter, desperately needing something else to focus on besides the look in his eyes. Your fingers fumble for a crumpled ten dollar bill before abruptly dropping the carton of milk onto the counter hard enough to make poor Hime jump at the vibration beneath her paws.

“Keep the change,” you mutter quickly, shoving the bill into Timothy’s hand before reaching over to gather Hime against your chest and collecting your purchases.

The feline lets out a small confused meow, Yunho stepping closer.

“Please, let me say something” he calls your name softly, shortening the distance and immediately making you set the drinks back down with a sharp clink. 

The cat watches in silence as she’s put down back onto the counter as well. 

“What is there even more to say, Yunho?” you retort back. “I’ve said everything I needed to and left your life so you could fix this mess I made and forget this even happened.” you break, reaching a tipping point when you remember the sacrifice you made to move on.

But for him to come back so quickly, to go out of his way to find you back here in this area of town makes it so much harder. 

“But I haven’t told you everything I wanted to say,” he argues firmly, brows furrowing as he walks closer. 

“I fired Patrick and canceled the Marinex deal,” he reveals.

When you ask him in utter disbelief why he did such a thing, his response only comes back even stronger with disposition.

“Because last night I held you in my arms while you told me you’d stay, and then this morning you disappeared like I imagined the entire thing up,” he recalls, his voice breaking at the edges now, disbelief bleeding into more raw, unguarded emotions.

“I realized I needed to get rid of the people that were in my way. The things that were preventing me from what I really wanted," he explained.

"Which is you.”

Your throat physically burns. “Well,” You bite back, clenching your fists. “Don’t you know people say things they don’t mean when they’re drunk and fucked until unconsciousness?”

The young cashier standing only a few feet away, blinks between the two of you awkwardly. Yunho doesn’t even spare him a glance, nor does he react to your attempt at deflection. Your sharpness and effort to maintain a distance is just absorbed quietly with unflinching patience.

“You're not allowed to erase us like that,” Yunho demands, steady despite everything he wants to say. “Because I remember exactly how you looked at me when you said it.”

Very slowly, Timothy sinks back behind the counter, giving you some space.

Your jaw tightens instantly, sighing loudly.

“Yunho, you can’t just—”

“No.” he repeats, firmer this time. “I’m not doing that again. I’m not leaving just because you’re scared. I spent the last few hours thinking about everything you said to me. Reanalyzing the past four days we spent together in this fucked up proposal I offered you where I exchanged your comfort and presence for money. And I realized what you said about LA was true. People sell pieces of themselves every single day just to survive. They lie. They cheat. They pretend to be things they’re not. I probably do it best. But you? All you did was survive without becoming cruel. You did what you had to do when nobody else was there to save you. And even after everything, I can't believe you can't even realize that you’re still kind. Still smart. Still brave in a way I don’t think you even understand.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a strained breath that sounds like pure awe laced with disbelief. "You do realize you threw yourself in front of an armed gunman for two other people, right?” he asks incredulously as he refers back to the first night you met.

Your mouth goes dry. Stunned silence makes you unable to retort back with any response this time. 

“So I’m telling you this for the last time because you deserve to know.” he says firmly.

“I don’t care that you used to strip. I don’t care who touched you before me or what job you have or what anybody else thinks they can call you. I don’t care who you had to become to survive before me. I care about who you are when nobody asks anything from you. The person you are now. I care that somewhere along the way, it somehow got into your pretty little head that surviving something difficult could make you any harder to love.”

Tears finally spill down your face. No one has ever looked at the ugliest parts of your life and treated them like wounds instead of evidence.

Yunho notices your expression crumble and immediately wraps his arms around you.

You never knew how meeting this man would’ve changed you. In front of him, you wanted to be the absolute best version of yourself. To please him in return for the gentle love he offered to you so easily and humbly. But now you understand it was because there was no extent to his affection for you. For someone you couldn’t imagine a future together if he found your secret past, he’s proved wrong by coming back for you. To tell you properly face to face that he still wanted you. 

As he daringly encases your body within his arms, Yunho embraces you in a firm yet gentle manner.

“How could I not be scared when I didn’t know how to believe you?” you admitted, muffled against his strong chest as hand cradles the back of your head. His heart breaks at how easily you turn your pain inward and how quickly you become your own sharpest critic.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that I love you?”

It leaves him so simply this time. No hesitation present. It’s not needed when it’s his pure, unfiltered truth.

You pull back shakily, looking up at him.

“Y-You can’t just love someone after four days!” you shake your head, though your heart races from reciprocation.

Yunho scoffs faintly, looking down at you as you stumble over your words.

“We had a contract, a deal that—” 

“I love you not despite your past and not because I pity you, but because I just do.”

For many years, he’d drowned life under business calls, endless contracts, and nights spent in boardrooms instead of surrounded by warmth. The idea of love was so distant in the CEO’s mind. But with you, it was as though a whole new life was restarted. 

His eyes glisten as rays of morning sunshine poke through the dirty glass windows.

A soft exhale escapes you through your tears, the words finally cutting through all your resistance that he’s chosen you. That he’s already chosen you long before you were brave enough to accept it.

Yunho brings his lips down to share a slow, grounding kiss. Not like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, because the second your hands grab the front of his jacket closer, you melt completely.

The mild can of beer and weird-tasting milk slips forgotten on the checkout table behind you as hands rest steady around your waist, pulling you against him like he’s terrified to lose you again. Hime meows softly, licking her fur as if entirely unimpressed by the emotional collapse happening nearby.

Outside, sirens still scream somewhere far down the street.

Inside the tiny convenience store, under flickering fluorescent lights, a horrified expression clouds Timothy’s face behind the aisle of potato chip bags.

It doesn’t matter. Because when the two of you finally pull back, tears still caught in your lashes, you say something quieter and far more important than any billion-dollar deal signed by a man like him.

Yunho always had money. He just never had someone who could give him something even more valuable. 

“I love you too.”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:

“Have you got everything?”

You nod, nervously sucking in a deep breath as you gripped the straps of your tote bag. The newly purchased textbooks felt heavy in your grasp, their covers glistening with newness. But that didn’t intimidate you as much as you thought it would. 

It served as a firm reminder of why you were here and why you wanted to do this. 

“Notebooks, pens, pencils?” Yunho lists, brows furrowing as the billionaire himself gets nervous for your first day of university. “Did my chef make you your lunch like you wanted her to?”

You nod, feeling so loved and well prepared thanks to your fiance’s care. “Mhm.”

He nods, letting out a deep sigh as he pulls you in and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead, reminding himself that you were. 

“Don’t be too nervous making friends, everyone is going to love you. If anyone says anything to hurt you, you have my legal teams number plus a list of all the top lawyers within the county-”

“Yunho,” you gently called out. 

The corners of your mouth lift as you reassured him by interlacing his fingers within yours. 

“I’ll be fine.” you smiled, nervous but still nonetheless excited to go back to university and finish your studies like you always wanted to. The new support system around you brought the courage to pursue a higher degree than just a highschool diploma. 

Yunho watches his fiance standing in front of him, an excited smile on her cheeks as bright eyes look up at him. He has half the heart to just ditch the office and spend the whole day with you on campus, not wanting to spend a single second apart. But seeing as other students independently walk pass on their way to class, he simply caresses your face.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you finish, alright?” he promises softly. “I want to hear everything about your first day.”

You nod and grin.

“Have a good day at the office.”

“Have a good day at school.” 

And with one last kiss, full of warmth that lingers long after it ends, you finally slip from his arms and take your first steps onto the fresh green campus grounds. It may be nerve-wracking, but it’s not frightening.

Because even as you move forward on your own, you know someone who loves you is still there behind you.

Rooting you on. 

His first thought is that you’re a just a hybrid bunny, and he doesn’t realise just how ill you are quite yet. He kneels down to you, fingers curling around your arm, “Hey, can you hear me?” He asks quietly, shaking you slightly. When your body tightens, curls inward even more, he relaxes a little. “I’m here to help you, okay?”

He huffs, looking around his property before he scoops you up into his arms. It’s not until now that he gets a whiff that familiar scent, thick and lustful as you nuzzle into his chest. Your eyes are still tightly shut, but now he can feel your hot, clammy skin. He’s quick to bring you inside, suddenly glad for the crows that woke him before nightfall.

You groan when he places you gently over his couch, your eyelids cracking open only in the slightest to get a look at your saviour.

He’s big, and he looms over you in an intimidating way, or maybe it’s the long, rugged antlers that stick out from his forehead that make him seem so. His features are soft, and he’s still as not to startle you— he knew how rabbits could get.

You blink, forcing your heavy eyes to open as much as they possibly can. Your head is pounding; your vision is blurry and you’re so incredibly hot. Your ears flop backwards when you try to sit up, a whimper leaving your lips as he hurries to your side. “Easy, sweetheart.” He hushes, his grip on your arms keeping you steady.

It’s only now that he realises, you’re no ordinary bunny rabbit. Your skim is pale and well, he did wonder briefly why your ears were slightly smaller in comparison to the rest of you. You’re sickly warm to the touch, and you shiver cold sweats in the middle of summer— you’re used to the cold.

Jungkook acts quickly, rushing around his home, rustling noises come from behind when you sat made it known he was searching for something. You’re too tired to peak over your shoulder, so you slump weakly against the couch instead.

He returns with a gel-like pad that’s been frosting over in his freezer, and a lemonade icicle in his other hand. He hands you to ice pack, and you hug it close to your face with a sigh of relief, melting into the cold. He unwraps the sweet treat from its wrapper and hands it to you. You bow shyly in thanks, bringing it close to your mouth where your tongue poked out in small licks. He smiles— it’s cute.

“Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” He asks gently, kneeling down to come eye level with you. You peak up at his from behind your frozen treat, melting cold and sweet on your tongue, only to look away just as quickly.

“Okay…what about where you came from?”

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t push you to. He can tell by your posture and the state of you that you haven’t had the best moments before you wound up barely awake in front of his home. You’re lucky it’s his lifes work to help those who seek aid in the midsts of the forest, those such as yourself.

He’s particularly well versed in hybrid care being one himself, but because there just wasn’t enough healthcare provided to the ones who lived amongst other species of animals, wild— non domesticated hybrids. It’s what secludes his well-versed and educated self to this very place.

Without another word he digs into the kit on the table behind him, rummaging through to find the things he needs to help get you cleaned up. When he turns back to you, you’re shivering again, eyes blown out and wide as you stare right at him.

It’s not a look of fear, either. No, definitely not; not when your eyes are dark and flittering over his face, roaming down to the sight of his taut, muscular body.

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, gripping onto the popsicle stick, uncaring of the way it melted down your fingers and dripped down your arm. He reaches to take it from you, and when his fingers brush yours, you sigh a little too keenly.

Jungkook had initially thought you had come from a colder climate and the adjustment in habitat had made you unwell.

He sees now just how terribly wrong he was.

When you open your eyes, he tilts his head to meet them, but your ears are flopping over to hide your eyes. They’re only just long enough to cover them sheepishly. He can’t help but smile at how sweet you were.

He looks down are you trembling legs, watching the way they clench and push further together.

Your heat.

The reason you’re in this man’s living room in the first place. It hit you the moment you broke free from the walls that confined you to a place you could only describe as hell.

Although you had no qualms about the cold walls that kept you isolated from the other hybrids, the separation and lack of socialisation had eaten away at you. It had fed that lonely feeling in your heart, the one that convinced you that you could never be wanted, would never belong anywhere.

Your furrowed brown and the way you gnawed at your bottom told him that you barred pain. What he didn’t know it was in so many more ways than one; it wasn’t the superficial kind that showed up on your skin in nicks and bruises.

What scares you most of all is the fact that you’re not scared at all.

“Your heat, huh?” He’s speaking mostly to himself now, maybe you can’t understand what he’s saying. “Do you prefer your baths cold or warm?” He asks kindly, blinking at you in hopes that you’ll finally reply.

Your ears lift slowly out of your line of sight, blinking shyly at him as they curtain over your eyes, prepared to hide yourself behind them again. You lift the gel ice pack in your hands shakily, and he nods enthusiastically when you provide him a real reaction to his words.

He gets up to disappear down the hallway, leaving you alone in his living space. “Baths?” You whisper to yourself so quietly, that he doesn’t hear it. Your ears twitch in curiosity, and you soundlessly follow him down the same path you saw him go down.

The sound of running water leads you to the door toward the end of the corridor, and your fingers grasp the door frame before you peak around the corner. You blink at the way his arms tense when he picks something up, and the way his lips when they pucker as he whistles a light tune have your ears sticking out straight to hear it more clearly.

When he turns around, he clutches his chest, gasping in surprise when he doesn’t expect to see half of your face shyly watching him. Your ears flop to the side, flinching but instead of fleeing your fingers grip tighter against the frame of the door. “Just making you a cold bath, as per request.” He smiles so politely it makes you swoon.

Your foot pounces against the floorboards impatiently, on instinct. “Do you usually settle your heat cycles with a partner?” He asks casually, ushering you into the bathroom when your feet don’t seem to move on their own.

“Yeah,” you answer, it’s meek and small but it’s progress. Progress reigned above all else in his line of work. “Hurts.”

Jungkook hums in confusion, his small ears flickering as he tilts his head. “What hurts, sweet?”

“They hurt me.” You frown, sitting on the edge of the tub, your fingers dipping into the water to check the temperature. You can’t remember the last time you had a bath that wasn’t anxiety inducing— with so many eyes watching you. “They were very rough with me.”

He’s starting to understand now; you’re not from the arctics, you’re from a hybrid homing centre. Think of it as the most damaged kind of foster system, where all sorts of shifty people sold and bought hybrids for all the wrong reasons; you could only be so lucky if someone with a kind heart swung by and took a liking to you, but they were mostly cat or dog hybrids that had such chances.

Did they take you from your mother? Were hybrid traffickers searching the arctics for rare arctic hybrids like yourself? He can’t bring himself to ask, not when you’re still so shaken.

“What kind of partners did you have?” He asks, hoping it’s not what he thinks, but it’s evident in the way your eyes water at memories you most likely want to forget.

“Predator ones, big ones–” You sniffle, “they always tried to make predators mate with prey.”

You hiss, when you feel the wetness begins to drip mercilessly out of you, staining your underwear. You fought it, as much as you could, but it had been about two days since you ran away, and you’ve been untouched and aching for the same amount of time. Instead of fading away like you expect it to, the moment this deer hybrid takes you into his home the aching only increases.

“Take your time in here, okay? I’ll be just outside if you need me, okay?”

Your brows pinch together as you watch him back up toward the door, grabbing the handle to pull it shut, giving you privacy. Just before the door closes, you whisper, “Okay.”

It doesn’t take very long for you to grow bored of being cramped in this space on your own. Your fingers clutch the edge of the ceramic tub, too afraid to touch or brush against anything that would make you cry out in pleasure and humiliate yourself in front of the deer outside the door. You don’t even know his name.

You always struggle to decipher whether or not it’s safe to trust a man— all they’ve ever really done in your life is hurt you for the most part.

But he’s not a predator, that was refreshing; and he wasn’t rugged or damaged like the other prey hybrids did where you came from. He was warm, and he had a lot of things in his house that was going to help you heal. A nurse, a doctor?

You think back to the only kind pair of eyes from that place; he was a nurse, a human nurse that sought your safety came to your aid whenever you fell sick.

Namjoon was his name.

You thank him internally for everything he did for you, but you hoped that you wouldn’t need him anymore.

Preferably, you’d never see him – or anyone else from that place for that matter – ever again.

You shut your eyes, breaths beginning to deepen and fasten, your entire body shakes whenever you clench, your aching hole flutters around nothing; empty yet needing to be filled.

Relenting, one of your hands breaks free from the tub’s edge, and roaming your body, you sigh when you grab harshly at your breast, but you’re too impatient to leave your clit waiting. You rub, too fast and too eager and you just can’t satiate your hunger.

You groan, throw your head back and your hips rise slightly above the water, chasing something, fighting with your subconscious

You call for him.

“D-doctor?”

From the kitchen his ear twitches, glancing in the direction of your soft call. He puts down the knife, mid chop and runs his hands quickly underneath the tap after having lathered them with soap.

He dabs the moisture off on his sweats, and the loud thudding of his footsteps rushing down the hallway thump in rhythm with the heavy beating in your chest.

“You okay in here?” He speaks carefully through the door, knocking lightly. “Do you need something?”

His antler knocks against the door the closer he leans towards in, and he grunts at the collision. He’s still so clumsy with them, they had only recently grown back to their full length after having fallen off a few months back and he was still trying to get used to them. Unfortunately, it never got easier. In another couple months they’ll fall off again and leave nubs in the wake of the root.

He rubs the back of his head as he waits for you to answer, but a particularly high gasp has him opening the door in fear that you might have hurt yourself.

But it’s far from it.

You’re far from hurt, in fact, you look like you’re in pure bliss.

Your head is thrown back, ears flopping lazily above your head as you drag your heat against the cool ceramic that holds the water, you’re not longer submerged in. Your skin is dripping, droplets of water still clinging to you; one leg inside the tub and one out, your hands propped behind you as you ride the bathtub.  

You don’t even stop when your head turns to look at him, you just look at him with a half-lidded gaze, too far gone into the apex of your heat cycle that’s come back to you in full swing. You can’t, won’t, hold it in anymore. It was too much.

“Ah~” You cry, one of your hands slipping from behind you, reaching out towards him in invitation to aid you in your feeble attempt to ease your throbbing pussy. “Need–“ you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, but some still drips from the corner of your lips. “Need your help, Doctor.”

Jungkook is caught looking like a deer in headlights.

“Just Jungkook is okay.” There he goes, being polite again. His eyes haven’t even looked down at your naked body, the face you’re making at him is enough to make him stir in his boxers anyway. “Will you tell me your name?” He asks patiently, inching closer to you, holding out his hand to capture yours, helping you balance as you continue to rub yourself against his bathtub lazily.

“Jungkook…” you test the way it rolls of your tongue first, and it does with ease. It feels comforting— everything about him felt comforting. “It’s Y/N.” You tell him.

“That’s pretty.” He hums, sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes. The scent of you completely fogging up his train of thought and filling up his senses like a vice. His hand squeezes yours, and your small moans as you look up at him with lustful eyes is doing nothing to keep him calm or controlled.

He’s a professional, he’s dealt with the heats, and ruts, of many of his patients in his career. It’s simple, a little herbal tea, breathing exercises and self-care and he sends them on their way as happy as ever. But…

“It’d be unkind of me to let you deal with this all alone, wouldn’t it?”

He caves.

Because how could he not? You’re stunning, one of the rarest living creatures to roam the earth, and you’re here with him. In his home.

Your scent is stronger than any hybrid scent he’d ever come across. Your wetness coats the area beneath you, and it is sticky on your thighs. He dares to look down at see the way it glistens in your path, and he doesn’t anticipate how badly he wants to taste your sweet nectar. Your thighs are tense, wobbly and he can tell you’re growing impatient, because you’re starting to grind your teeth and you smack your foot against the tile. Just once, in warning.

“That would be unkind, Doctor.”

The tone of your voice doesn’t match up with your words. They tremble as if you’re on the verge of tears, shy but your point is firm. You’re starting to feel dull in what you’re doing, because it’s nothing compared to what a partner can give to you.  You look up at his antlers, they stand proudly in the same way his shoulders remain straightened, his posture a fair representation of the bravery in his heart. He may be a prey hybrid by nature, but he was strong and well equipped, he had the muscles and the build to show for that.

You want to touch them— grab them.

You’d never seen a deer hybrid before, not a male one, anyway.

“Are you done with your bath?” He asks, his voice is low and raspy, and you can see in real time the way his soft brown eyes shift darker and blown out with intention.

You nod lazily, blinking slowly up at him as he reaches for your other hand, helping you up on shaking legs. They had gone numb, and you had stumbled into his chest. You giggle drunkenly, “Oops.”

“Clumsy little thing.” He laughs with you, but he’s chewing on his lip when he leads you to his bedroom, sitting you down on the edge of his bed.

You smile happily, backing up onto the mattress until your back is resting against the pillows. You spread your legs slowly, inviting him closer to you. He does, just as slow on his hands and knees like he’s hunting you down. Ready to pounce. He keeps a fair distance, lips parting with heavy breaths as he admires your naked body for the first time. Splayed out, all for him to pleasure and please.

You flutter your lashes at him like you’re not trying to lure him in, and you smirk because you know it’s working in your favour. Your hips move eagerly upward chasing feeling. Waiting for him.

“Your scent is everywhere.” You sigh, inhaling deeply as you sink down into his sheets, nuzzling your face against the pillow that smells strongly of him. “You don’t have a mate?” You wonder aloud. He shakes his head, he doesn’t think too much about it despite the matter weighing on him at times.

Jungkook was almost 30, and without a mate. He knows it’s normal, sometimes it takes a little more time than most, but it wasn’t exactly common. There are all sorts of reasons why some hybrids take a little longer to find a mate: rash decisions being one of them.

His mate has always been out there, but he’s isolated himself for so many years now that he hasn’t allowed to universe to bring them to him. It was a rash decision to run away from the city, the place he was born to a deer-hybrid father and a human mother. He had run away not because he was estranged from the life he was so graciously given, but because of prejudice against hybrids within society; the pure judgement from educators and professionals alike against a hybrid becoming a doctor had put a huge strain on the life he chose to lead— the life he wanted since he was just a fawn.

Instead, he indulges himself when his hands take purchase on your thighs, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your inner thigh.

You shake, a little too much for such a small gesture, tonguing at your upper lip with desire. He purposefully avoids your glistening cunt, nosing at your thigh to rub his scent all over your skin, the same scent that marries through his house— his home.

“Your skin is soft.” He determines, words muffled as his lips brush against you, kiss you so soft you think you’re maybe imagining it; but the way his fingers dig a little deeper into your thighs tells you that this is real. “You smell like rainfall.”

His favourite scent. Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Because you smelt exactly the way the earth smelt after heavy rain came and went. It’s fresh, comforting and a little bit nostalgic. You carry that scent so heavily he his eyes roll back, his tongue comes out to swipe against the gap between your leg just beside your pussy, and he tastes your wetness whilst doing so. What’s gotten into him? He had never crossed a line with any patient of his, not like this. It was wrong to take advantage of a poor hybrid in heat like this, but he knew it was more than just his animalistic need to fuck something.

It was far more intricate of a feeling.

You choke on a moan when his tongue presses flat between your lips, dragging it up slowly as he completely consumes the taste of you. He’s pulling your legs closer, hands trailing down your legs and holding your ankles down, feet flat on his mattress. He gives your cunt a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his drool pooling into you, mixing with your own fluids. It’s loud, and it’s lewd and you could cry.

So, you cry.

You’re mesmerised by the man between your legs, so gentle but certain in his movements and the way he took care of you. His antlers brush against your stomach, almost as if they’re asking to be admired. Your hands reach out on their own accord, and your mewls of pleasure don’t falter as you ride his sloppy kisses to your pussy. Your fingers wrap around the hard bone, and he stops his movements for a moment, but he doesn’t look up at you or move his face away. You use him as leverage, thrusting into his face, your clit brushing his nose and the groan he lets out courses through your body like an electric pull.

“Jungkook, I’m g-gonna–”

“Mmhm.” He hums against your pussy. “Let go for me.”  

He demands it of you, and who were you to disobey when he licked and sucked on your clit like a starved wolf?

You cry, your eyes blurring up with tears that have threatened to spill the moment his mouth touched you. Jungkook sucks up you’re cum as it spills from your hole. The wet, sticky sound makes you blush. You sniffle when you begin coming down from your high, but remnants remain and you shiver harshly beneath him as he climbs up and over your body, his warmth the one kind that you craved. His lips are made to ease you, His hand cupping just beneath a breast as he melds into you, kissing on your neck, hushing you in hopes that it’ll help you relax.

It does.

You throw your arms round his neck and pull him closer, and you wrap your legs around his waist and shamelessly buck into him, searching for the bulge weighing heavy in his sweats. He appeases you, rocks his clothed dick into your sopping wetness, uncaring of the fact that you’re staining the clothing with your juices.

“You did so good, pretty girl.” He praises, kissing your cheek tenderly, “came so well for me.”

Your purr, your fingers carding through his hair, tugging his face back so you can look at him. You learn that to be the most dangerous move you’ve taken today. The way looks at you, exerting feeling you can’t quite pinpoint when your mind is so fuzzy, how his lips glisten when he darts his tongue out to moisten them. There’s a natural tugging that happens that has both of you leaning in, your lips meeting in a moment of purity.

Your body feels loose, the lightest it’s ever felt when he kisses you. It feels electric, like it was meant to happen and that his lips were made to meet with yours. You’ve had lips forced upon you too many times to count, but this was a feeling you only heard about in fairytales. Sparks flying, hearts pounding.

There’s no sense of urgency, his lips were soft, and almost shaky whenever they connected with yours. You could feel the furrow in his brow, like he’s wondering too, but you’re past that now, and when your hand travels down to his chest, it stops just above where you can feel his heart thrumming heavily beneath his shirt. His hands detach from you, pulling back, leaving a string of saliva connecting you. Your tongue flicks up to collect it, and his nose twitches when he lets out a gentle laugh.

He moves back onto his knees, and you will yourself not to shut your eyes in the moment he removes his shirt, revealing just how big and buff he was beneath his clothes. Broad shoulders, a wide chest— he was bigger than some wolf hybrids you’ve seen.

You can’t help but think that whoever gets to be this man’s mate is the luckiest woman alive.

You prop yourself up on your hands, missing his warmth and his touch, stopping his next moves just to take another good look at you. You whine, sitting up and pushing him back. He loses his balance and falls back on his bottom and watches you in awe as you crawl between his open legs, throwing a leg over his thigh. You move with conviction, hovering just above where your cunt and the material of his sweats would meet. His eyes flicker between that and your face that gives him a teasing look. Your eyes are full of lust and…something else.

“Did you like my pussy, Doctor?” He tongues at the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening at your nasty tongue. You were bold, but most importantly you were obedient.

“Sit, little rabbit.” He looks to his thigh with a raised brow “And be careful with that dirty little mouth of yours.”

You drop yourself onto his thigh with a ‘hmph’, feigning a look of defeat. You would never say no to a man that looked like this and wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

You sigh dreamily, your hands rising over his shoulders, feeling his skin beneath your fingertips. His eyes flutter, threaten to close when your fingers massage his scalp, and you circle your hips against his clenched thigh. He twitches it up, meeting your thrusts and you bite your bottom lip to settle the needy smile it elicits from you.

His eyes bore into yours as if you’re the only thing in the world. It makes you feel nervous, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your ears fall, moving to cover your cheeks but his hand comes up to caress one with the back of his hand in wonder. “Soft,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he reaches down, teasing himself when he palms the outline of his cock in its confines, then traces the waistband of his sweats. You don’t notice when he pulls it out, not even when he takes your hand so gingerly and glides his tongue so innocently over your palm all the way up to your fingertips that he takes into his mouth to bite on gently. He leads your hand down to his twitching cock, and he moans when your fingers brush the tip.

Your gaze falls to his length; it was on the slender side but incredibly lengthy. You ogle it like you’ve just been given the most wonderful surprise. In a way you supposed you had been.

It starts off slow, the way you drag your closed fist over his hardness, and he shifts so impatiently under your hand. You still rock slowly against his thigh, but you’re now too engrossed with his pretty cock. Red blushed tip and blue-ish purple veins that adorned up the sides of his length that kept the blood bumping through him. You wanted to taste him…wondered what it would feel like hauled down your tight throat. You don’t notice your drooling until a droplet of your spit falls onto his cock. He hums, chuckles eagerly as he watches you watching him. He leans back a little bad, one hand propped behind him while the other soothes up and down your lower back, urging you to continue pleasuring yourself, too.

“Want you, Jungkook…” you blubber, your voice failing you when his name comes out in barely a whisper.

“Hey, you have me.” He assures you, looking up at you with a fond look in his eye, turning his hard glares off for a moment to remind you that you’re safe with him. You let go of his length and lift your hips up again, moving slightly so that your knees are digging into the bed on either side of him now.

He looks up at you hungrily, his hands rubbing at your sides “Take it slow, I’ve got you.” He takes himself in his hand again, tugging on it a few times before holding it up for you.

You didn’t know it could feel so good. Your jaw drops, your eyes are rolling back as you lower yourself onto his cock. You reach for his shoulders, and they don’t let you down, he leans his head down to kiss the top of your breasts. You don’t even flinch when his antlers fly toward you, resting on your shoulders as he brings a nipple into his mouth. You sigh, sat still atop of him as you adjust to the feeling of him all up in your guts.

He flickers his tongue over your other nipple, soothing the other with his thumb. The sensitivity of it all makes you squeeze his cock, and he brings a mouthful of your breast into his mouth to suppress a moan.

“Y’gonna fuck me, pretty girl?” He drawls, releasing your breast with a pop.

You raise your hips, dragging yourself over his cock before falling back down to swallow him whole again. You both moan at the feeling, and you repeat that movement a few times at the same slow pace until your body can’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t rush you, even when you can tell he’s trying hard not to slam up into you. He holds your hips as you ride him at the pace you choose. Your eyes are screwed shut in concentration when you begin to find a nice pace that seems to please him also, because every time your slam down onto him he grunts or moans or curses something dirty under his breath.

Your fingers travel up his biceps and up to the back of his neck where you play with the hair at the nape. As if he reads your mind, he takes one of your wrists and leads it up towards one of his antlers. “You can hold them baby, it doesn’t hurt.”

You moan eagerly, your other hand reaching for the other antler. It makes riding his cock feel better.

You find a better angle as you fuck yourself on his cock, your clit hitting deliciously against his navel with each collision. “Fuck– are you an angel?” He wonders aloud, guiding your hips with his harsh grip on your body. Your grip on his antlers pulls his head down but he’s eyes level with your bouncing tits and he thinks it’s a good trade off.

You tug him toward you to smoosh his face in your breasts and let his antlers graze your shoulders again. Your hands wrap under his arms and hold him close to you while you chase your high.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” You squeal, your moans louder and higher in pitch as you roll your hips into him, squeezing his cock so tightly you feel him throb, too.

“Shit, wait–“

You don’t listen, your hips don’t stop, only moving faster as you reach your peak. Your cunt holds a vice grip on his cock as it grows thicker, larger inside of you as he begins to cum, and he whimpers at the intense pleasure of your fluttering pussy tightening against him. He licks and sucks on your collar bone, in attempt to soothe you, expecting you to freak out but you don’t. Your quick breaths are all he’s left with, and he swears you pull him closer.

You pull him down with as he knots himself inside of you, attached to you— connected. It’s intimate, the way he looks down at you, propped up on his forearms as he looks into your tired eyes. You look content, peaceful.

For a while it’s all he can do. Just admire your beauty in all its glory and wonder how exactly you had found your way to him.

An unexpected seductress that was after his heart.

The arctic hybrid that was born to be with him.

“Can you feel it?” Your ears brush his cheek, your fingers tracing up the length of his antlers, admiring its imperfections in all its rugged beauty.

“Yeah,” he smiles sweetly at you, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip. “I feel it.”

He kisses you, and he doesn’t stop until his swollen cock softens, unlocks from inside you. Your whimper when he removes himself from you, but you’re far too tired to speak anything more. So, he pulls you in close, lets you fall asleep in his arms. He rests his chin atop your head, fingers playing with your hair as his mind races with questions and thoughts that don’t allow him to follow you into slumber.

All he knows that you finally found him, and he’d do everything in his power to keep you here— safe and sound in his arms.

His mate.

“Morning, sunshine. So graceful of you to grant us your presence.” You sucked in a deep breath as you sat down on the chair, counting to ten mentally while trying to align every chakra in your body to not punch him square in the face in the middle of the classroom.

“Ugh, shut up, Jongho. I’m in no mood to deal with you,” he snickered at your words, watching you glare at him, finding you cute even while snapping at him. 

“Come on, what happened to you? Rough night? Were you up all night thinking about me?” The mere thought sent shivers down your spine, a grimace on your features as you took out your study material. 

“Please, as if I would ever.” You snorted slightly, shifting your entire focus to the class that was already starting, so that you could earnestly ignore him. 

The class went by smoothly, Mr. Yoon talking about the different types of property law while you took notes, focused on his words. A small crease between your eyebrows appeared while you read some cases the professor had mentioned, which Jongho found devastatingly adorable. Still, he was never going to admit it out loud. 

“This project is quite important for your grade,” Mr. Yoon continued explaining once the time for the class’s end was nearing, moving over to his desk, picking up his glasses, and setting them low on his nose before picking up a piece of paper with some letters scribbled on it. “It’ll run all semester, and you will do it in pairs.” He emphasized, looking over the rim of his glasses at his students.

He began reading names off it, a groan dying at the back of your throat when you realized he had chosen the pairs, bummed that you probably wouldn’t be paired up with one of your friends. Your ears perked up when you heard your name, body still as you waited for the next name to be read off the paper. 

“...Choi Jongho,” he finished reading, making your blood run hot, and your eyes roll as Mr. Yoon calmly took off his glasses and set them on his desk with the piece of paper. “You will all work together, during the duration of this assignment, and before any of you ask, no, you may not switch partners at any point. You’re adults, and you should learn to work with people you don’t like.” You bit back a groan as you threw your head back, already feeling irritated at the thought of being stuck with Jongho, even more, for the rest of the semester. 

“You’re all dismissed, have a good day.” Mr. Yoon swept his hair back and began gathering his things, most of the students scrambling out the moment the words left him. You continued gathering your things, shoving them down into your bag. 

“See you soon, sunshine.” Jongho slung his backpack on one of his shoulders, shooting you a small smile that only made you roll your eyes.

“Hopefully not, Jongho.” You stood up, walking past him as you hung your bag on your shoulder. Leaving him there, with a small smile on his face as you walked away. 

Ugh, you’re so endearing sometimes. 

The following week had been pure suffering, as you would describe it. You and Jongho, stuck in the library for hours on end, slowly making progress on your project. It was a personal hell of yours; you were sure you would end up with wrinkles by the end of the semester, given how much scowling and grimacing you were doing at him. 

“No, Jongho. That’s not the way we’re supposed to do it.” You argued, pointing to the document containing the project's instructions. 

“Yes, but this way it’ll look better, and the professor will be satisfied either way,” he argued back, sliding his own laptop where the shared document was. You sucked in a deep breath, a hand coming to scratch the back of your head, asking every god to give you patience, because if they gave you strength, you might strangle him.  

“That makes no sense, Jongho. Just do it the way the instructions say.” Your hand slid down to rub your temple. The clicking of his tongue reached your ears, and you sighed. “Do it.”

“Fine, no need to get feisty, sunshine.” he lifted his hands in mock defeat, running one of them through his soft black hair. 

This was going to be a long semester. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I just can’t believe he paired us together, Woo.” Your eyes rolled, leaning your head on Wooyoung’s shoulder while you walked around campus. 

“Relax, it’ll be over before you notice,” he ran a hand through your hair. “Besides, what could be so daunting about working with him anyway?” he quirked a brow, curious as usual. 

“He’s just an asshole.” Your own brows creased, nose scrunching at the same time. “And he should leave me the fuck alone.”

“I never really understood what happened between the two of you.” Wooyoung shrugged, “You went on like one date, and then you came back hating him…Wait, he didn’t do anything to you, right?” His steps stilled immediately, his brows furrowed in concern as his hands wrapped around your shoulders to still you. 

“No, and it wasn’t a date. And I never liked him; in fact, I hate him.” Wooyoung frowned, as if his face was saying, Seriously? “What?” his hands lifted off your shoulders, holding them up and shrugging. 

“Nothing, I just don’t really remember you hating him.” The blood rushed to your cheeks, one of your hands coming to shove him, as a way to shut him up. “In fact, I remember you running around your room, not knowing what to wear.” 

“Well, I do.” Your voice was firm, rolling your eyes as you continued walking towards the library. 

Ms. Lim, the librarian, had hired you as her assistant, or at least one of them. She kept mentioning the past couple of days that a new person was coming to help you out, and they were just sorting out their schedules. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your brows creased at the sight of Jongho, two hours early from your scheduled meeting at the library. 

“I can come to the library, you know? This is a public study space.” He arched a brow, barely sparing you a glance as he walked past you. 

“You? Studying? Please. You'd need neurons for that,” you scoffed, matching his step as he neared the empty front desk. 

“Where's Ms. Lim?” he ignored your words as he leaned on the wood, his thick-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down his nose. 

“Not here, clearly.” You rolled your eyes at him, walking around the desk and setting your hands on the wood. “What do you want, Jongho?” You cocked your head to the side, clearly unamused by his presence in your otherwise peaceful and quiet library. 

“She asked me to come here, I’m helping her out as one of her assistants,” he pointed his words with a small smile, cocking his own head to the side. 

“You're kidding.” 

“Nope.” 

“Well, you're fired, thank you very much.” You shrugged, turning to the computer, clicking the mouse around, and tapping at some letters on the keyboard, pretending to do something. 

“Uh-huh. Where is she?” he pressed, leaning forward over the desk just a little bit more, trying to peer into the screen of the monitor. 

“Out.”

“Let me guess, you’re one of her assistants too, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair before using his pointer and middle finger to slide his glasses up his nose, a small smile curling his lips, apparently, finding your despair amusing. 

“I’m her only assistant, you’re fired. Remember?” Your smile was nothing but fake, but it only made Jongho’s heart skip a beat. It had been so long since he saw your crescent-shaped eyes looking at him while your plump lips curled in that sweet smile you had. 

Jongho just nodded, “Sure.” He walked around the desk, throwing his backpack beside yours on the floor, and rested his hands on the thick wood. 

You were for sure going to strangle him soon. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“Okay, you have to tell me.” Wooyoung looked at you through the mirror, fixing his own clothes. 

The cool air was seeping through the windows as you both got ready for a frat party you usually didn't go to, but Wooyoung had convinced you that you needed to let off some steam. 

“Tell you what, Woo?” you looked at him through your own mirror, arching a brow as you rummaged through your makeup. 

“Why you hate him, Sushi.” he turned to look at you, the damn nickname he had given you in high school after a much-too-passionate discussion about that very same type of dish, making you crinkle your nose. 

“Don't call me that.” Your eyes rolled as you stretched your back, turning to look back at him, too. “And I already told you, I just do.” 

“What happened on that date?” He pressed, hands falling to his sides as he walked to sit down on your bed, the mattress dipping below him. 

“Wait…Did you go on a date with Jongho?” San asked, stopping his mindless scrolling on his phone as he inched closer to his boyfriend, resting his blonde head on Wooyoung’s lap. 

“It wasn't a date. See what you're doing?” You hissed at Wooyoung. “You need to drop it already.” Your eyes rolled for the umpteenth time as you turned back to the mirror and finished your makeup. 

“I just want to know what made you hate him so much all of a sudden, Sushi. That's not something that happens just because.” He pressed once more, being met with your glare through the mirror. His hands lifted in surrender as he pulled out his phone, deciding not to push your buttons more. “You're going to the pre-game?” 

Your brow arched through the mirror. “What pre-game?” Wooyoung whined as he dropped his head back. 

“The pre-game I told you Sannie, and I are hostinggg.” He dragged out the syllable as he looked at you. “We're getting drinks and playing the bottle game.” 

“The bottle game? What are we, in seventh grade?” You scoffed as you sprayed setting spray on your face. Your eyes opened again to see Wooyoung deadpanning. 

“I don't even know why I try with you anymore,” he sighed, deflating and checking his phone. “C’mon, babe. Hwa hyung, Sullyoon, and her girl are on their way to the apartment.” He nudged San's head with his hip, prompting him to get up. “See you later, Sushi. Don't be a wimp and go to the fucking party, or I will come back here and drag you out.” He blew a kiss into the air as he and San walked out of your room. 

A sigh left your lips as the front door slammed shut. You turned around, eyes falling flat on the bear plushie you kept in your bedroom for a reason you didn't know yet. You walked towards it and wrapped your hands around it. 

“You should know that your father is an idiot.” You talked to the lifeless animal, a crease in between your brows. 

Because Wooyoung was right, you didn't hate Jongho without reason, and you did go on a date with him. 

But those were simpler times. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“Sushi, relax.” Wooyoung mindlessly scrolled on his phone, giggling as you took clothes out of your closet like in a classic coming-of-age movie. 

“How can I relax? He's coming in an hour, and I still don't know what to wear, Woo,” you whined as you continued rummaging through the scattered clothes. 

“He’s Jongho, he'll still think you're cute with whatever you wear.” his half-assed reassurance only made you roll your eyes while pulling out a shirt and some pants. You held them up, a silent question aimed at him, and his face lit up, nodding immediately at your suggestion. 

Once the outfit situation was sorted, you continued getting ready, quickly pushing Wooyoung out the door before Jongho was supposed to arrive. 

“Call me after! And use protection!” He cackled as you pushed him out the door, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slammed the door on his nose, running back to your room and checking your phone to see if Jongho had texted. 

jjong♡ : i just saw wooyo lol jjong♡ : u can come out whenever ur ready sunshine jjong♡ : ill wait for u 

Your heartbeat drummed in your ears, and heat pooled in your cheeks as you checked yourself out in the mirror one last time before coming out of your house. Smiling as you saw him standing outside your apartment, his thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he ran a hand through his grown-out red locks. 

“Hey.” You cringed immediately at your choice of words, nose crinkling as you locked your door shut behind you, a soft blush in your cheeks as you walked over to where he was leaning on the hood of his car. 

The beautiful black of the Bronco catching the light and making it bounce on him, making him look absolutely dreamy. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Your cheeks burned at the nickname. “You look beautiful today, too.” He smiled, walking over and standing beside the passenger door, opening the door for you whenever you were ready. 

“Thanks, Jjong.” A shy smile ran your features as you got in his car, hands instantly coming to smooth the fabric of your jeans once the door closed, exhaling a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding while Jongho walked around the car, a hand running again through his half-red locks almost instinctively. 

“So, the plan for today is coffee and then visit the fair downtown, ‘s that still okay with you, sunshine?” He asked while turning on the ignition of the car, his voice sweet as honey, making you shiver with nerves and excitement. 

“Yes, that sounds really nice, actually.” And with that, the car came to life with a soft but steady hum of the engine, all of the lights turning on for a couple of seconds before the unnecessary ones turned off. 

Jongho began driving, making quick and simple conversation with you, telling you about how Yeosang kept turning off all of the lights in their apartment before turning them back on again, and then turning them all off again. And you both fell into such a nice rhythm of conversation that you didn't notice his hand slightly snaking down until he covered your own that was limp and relaxed beside your thigh, palm to knuckles as he rubbed absent traces along your fingers. 

You both ultimately decided to skip the coffee shop and go straight to the fair, as the sunset was nearing. Once you arrived and the soft hum of the engine stopped, you took off your seatbelt and turned half of your body to open the door, stopping yourself when you heard the door slam beside you and saw Jongho almost jogging as he rounded the car, quickly opening the door for you. 

“Thanks,” the heat in your cheeks was obvious, but if anyone said anything, you'd attribute it to the cool November air. 

“You're welcome, sunshine.” He bowed his head jokingly, the nickname that had started as a tease almost becoming more popular than your name in Jongho's vocabulary. 

The rest of the afternoon was a fever dream. Jongho was nothing but a gentleman, remembering little details you had previously shared with him, like the kind of drinks you liked, the kind of games you enjoyed, and whether you liked plushies or not. Which is how you ended up with a small bear in between your arms, smiling as you kissed Jongho's cheek shyly, thanking him for winning it for you. 

“How’re you gonna name him?” He offered his arm for you to loop yours around, a soft smile on his lips when you did just that. 

“Hmm…” Your index finger flew to your chin while you pondered. Pink tinging your cheeks as you thought of the perfect name. “Jjongbear.” A full-on belly laugh escaped you when you saw his bewildered expression. 

“I'll allow it only because you're adorable.” 

For you, this was just the beginning of a beautiful relationship you and Jongho would have. 

You didn't expect it to end so fast. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The loud music boomed in your chest, slightly wincing at the sea of people dancing in the frat house. You made your way to the kitchen immediately, needing alcohol to run through your system as soon as humanly possible. You and Jongho had been working together for almost two weeks now, not only on your shared project but also as assistants in the library, and you weren’t sure whether you were going to finish the semester or be jailed for manslaughter. 

“Ugh, you should’ve been there, Sushi. Mingi came out like he had been pulled out of that closet by the dick.” Wooyoung cackled as he arrived, wrapping his arms around your hips and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I give them an hour, tops, and then they’ll fuck.” He unwrapped himself from you and rounded the table, grabbing an empty Red Solo cup so that he could pour his poison of choice for the night. 

You giggled at his choice of words, chugging the drink you were nursing in your hands. “They probably will, and you’ll probably leave me for Sannie too.” Your top lip pursed in mock disgust. Wooyoung almost choked on his drink, fighting off a loud cackle. 

“Probably,” he smiled smugly, raising his cup into the air before taking a sip, the burn of the alcohol sending shivers down his spine before groaning out like an old man, making you giggle. 

“What are you staring at, bro?” San’s voice made Jongho jump out of his skin, startled and embarrassed to be caught red-handed. 

“I-I’m not staring.” He answered with pink cheeks as he swirled the cold beer bottle in between his fingers, tracing absent-minded lines in the condensation of the dark glass.

“You –a hundred percent– are,” San stated matter-of-factly, looking in the direction Jongho had been, a small smile curling his lips once he noticed he was staring at you and Wooyoung. “Ah, I see. The one-sided love.” 

Jongho’s cheeks burned at his words. “Shut up.” He took a swig of his beer, hoping that the cool malt drink would calm the heat in his cheeks. “She looks good tonight.” He shrugged. Suddenly, the rest of the ingredients and the calories displayed in the half-wet tag on the glass were the most interesting thing in the world. “And it didn't used to be one-sided.”

“You look amazing tonight.” Wooyoung's words made you blush, hiding your face behind your cup while you took a sip of the liquid. “That skirt makes your ass look great.” 

“Wooyoung! Don't you have a boyfriend?” You laughed, looking over your shoulder, feeling eyes on you. 

“I do, but I’m also your best friend, so I'm entitled to tell you those kinds of things.” He shrugged, extending his hand for you to take. “Come, let's dance. Maybe you'll end up abandoning Sannie and me tonight for someone else.” He poked your cheek, pulling you out of the kitchen once your hand wrapped around his. 

You continued looking around, feeling a pair of eyes looking at you from afar. Once your gaze fell on a particular set of chocolate-brown eyes, your top lip pursed in dislike. “Ugh, why is he staring?” You nudged Wooyoung, voice loud over the music filling the room. 

“Because you look hot,” he looked in the direction you were discreetly pointing towards, a smirk curling his lips once he saw his boyfriend approaching your so-called nemesis for life. “And so does he.” 

Your brows furrowed, trying to catch a clearer glimpse of how Jongho looked, something that didn't go unnoticed for Wooyoung. “H-he looks like an idiot.” Your gaze cowered almost immediately, walking through the crowd and settling on a small space that housed both of you. 

“A hot idiot.”

“Fuck off.” 

And with that, the night went on. Jongho felt his heart thrumming in his chest, heat burning beneath his skin, thoughts racing, cursing whatever it was he'd done to upset you so much, wishing he had never done it so you could be his. 

He wished it were him dancing with you, his hands wrapped around your waist as you enjoyed yourself, admiring how the lights bounced off your skin and the way your clothes hugged every curve of your body. He was jealous of the people who could be by your side right now, dancing with you, making you laugh, giving you drinks. 

He hated them. 

He hated them all. But what he hated the most was that you weren’t his

It got to a point where he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t care if you hated him more after. 

He noticed them before you did, two sets of eyes ogling from the other side of the party, —he believed their names were Jay and Jake, as his faces seemed familiar from the frat he tried to join last semester, before it all went to shit with you—  He saw them, their eyes raking over your body as you continued dancing without a care in the world, a soft sheen of sweat covering your skin making it shine under the lights. 

Jongho’s jaw was tense, he knew there was technically nothing he could do to stop them. He wasn’t your boyfriend, shit, you didn’t even like the man. But still, he couldn’t stop himself when he saw the way you turned to talk to them; eyes glassy, lips parted slightly, and a soft smile that made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. 

“Are you Jongho’s coworker?” The two tall men beside you asked, crowding your vision and your space. 

“Tsk. I’m nothing of Jongho’s.” You were quick to answer, your brain feeling fuzzy at the edges from the alcohol. “We do work together, but I’d rather get shot in the hand than be anything more.” Your words earned you some roguish smiles from the two guys, one of them leaning —a little too close— for you to hear him over the speaker. 

“So that means you’re alone tonight?” His breath fell on your neck, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Your gaze shifted, looking for Wooyoung, who was about three feet away, lifting his glass as if he were saluting. 

“Mayb—” 

“Hey, man. Didn’t think I’d see you both here.” Jongho’s voice made your stomach churn, the smirk on your lips falling into a displeased frown as you turned around to face him. He dapped up the two guys, —whose names you had yet to learn— completely ignoring your scowl and the guys’ awkwardness as they slowly walked away a couple of seconds later. 

“So not only do you never leave me fucking alone on campus, but you also have to bother me at a party?” You chugged whatever was left in your cup, not even feeling the burn in your throat anymore. 

“You didn’t see the way they were looking at you, sunshine. I’m just trying to look out for you.” His voice was low, only for you to hear. “Come, I’ll take you home. You’re hammered already.” He extended his hand, prompting you to take it. 

“You’re wrong.” He wasn’t. “And I’m not going anywhere with you.” You tsked before you hiccupped and slurred your words, turning your back on him. “And stop fucking calling me that, I’m not your sunshine anymore.” You turned back quickly, your head spinning given how fast you moved, and then you left, walking away to find Wooyoung. 

He didn’t chase after you because you were right. 

But that didn’t mean he was going to stop looking after you, making sure you were safe from a distance. He saw you find Wooyoung, wrapping your arms lazily around his shoulders, surprising him. He saw the smile on Wooyoung's lips that mirrored yours, and his jaw clenched. He felt jealous, not of Wooyoung, of course, but of the fact that he could make you smile like that, without a care in the world, like he used to do. 

He saw you, dancing, drinking even more, and it was a miracle the beer bottle he continued nursing in his hands hadn’t burst, given how hard he was gripping it. “Just go over there, man.” He jolted at Hongjoong’s words, looking at him with furrowed brows. “How long are you gonna wait ‘till you do something? Or are you just gonna let her hate you without apparent reason for the rest of your life?” Jongho was stunned into silence. Hongjoong was always a very straightforward person when tipsy. “I’m tired of seeing you mop around for her because you’re not man enough yet to talk to her.” 

“It's not really that easy when she doesn't even want to hear about me.” Jongho hisses out, jaw set as he kept looking in your direction, eyes narrowing when he saw Wooyoung stepping away and leaving you to dance with a random dude. 

“Well, if you never man up, you'll lose her, bro.” Hongjoong tapped his shoulder with slightly more strength than needed, making him take a couple of steps forward to keep his balance. Jongho breathed out a long sigh, taking in the words of his hyung. 

Meanwhile, you were having the time of your life.

If you weren’t hammered before, you definitely were now. Alcohol ran through your veins, your brain felt fuzzy, and your body felt lighter than it should ever be. You felt a pair of hands on your hips, a crotch brushing on your ass as your body moved to the rhythm of the music. You felt multiple eyes on you, but you didn't care, not when you felt so at ease and relaxed for the first time in a while. 

You heard some words being whispered against your sweat-slick skin, although you weren’t really sure of the owner of the voice or even what they were saying; your focus was on the music and on the lightness of your body. You felt a hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you away and all the way out of the party, the cool midnight breeze hitting you immediately. 

“Hey!” A sharp voice echoed behind you, making the person who was pulling you out stop for just a moment. “The fuck are you going?” Wait, you knew that voice. Even in your fuzzy state, you would recognize that voice anywhere.

Jongho.

“I’m just taking her home, man.” A strange voice beside you replied, tone uneasy as if they had been caught red-handed. You turned to face the stranger with furrowed brows, trying to make out who this person was. 

“Tell me her name.” Jongho’s tone was sharp like a blade, his fists clenched at his sides as he watched the man beside you scoff, almost bothered by his intervention. 

“Why do you care? You her boyfriend or something?” The stranger tightened his hold on your wrist slightly, making you wince in pain. Even in your drunken and fuzzy state, you realized that you did not know the man holding your wrist right now, forcing your hand out of his grasp quickly, making him stumble a little, definitely not expecting you to do that. 

“He is.” Your words slurred, and Jongho’s breath got knocked out of him. The crease of his brows eased, and his lips parted in surprise, all words dying in his throat at your drunken words. “Get the fuck away f’me, I don’ even know you.” You stumbled your steps towards Jongho, who was quick to escape his trance and meet you in the middle, catching you right before you tripped on your own feet. 

“Whatever, bro.” The stranger scoffed and walked away, leaving you there, with Jongho’s hands around you, avoiding your imminent fall. 

“Let me take you home, sunshine.” Jongho’s voice was almost pleading. He hoped you would remember calling him your boyfriend in the morning. His heart was doing somersaults in his chest, even though he was well aware it was a lie, and you would probably never see him that way again. 

“Leave me alone, Jongho.” You pushed him away, scowl on your face. “I jus’ said that shit so he’d leave me alone.” You admitted, your slurred words hitting him square in the chest. “ ‘m not gonna be stupid enough to fall for you again. And I’m not your fuckin’ sunshine!” You hissed out, swatting at his chest. “You will never be my boyfriend, Choi Jongho, I hate you!” You spat out in anger, heavy tears rimming in your eyes as you continued swatting his chest. 

“I’m not leaving you alone in the street, let me at least find Woo-” 

“I don’t need your fuckin’ help, bro! I need you to fuckin’ leave me alone!” You stumbled backwards, making space in between your bodies. Perhaps your words were being too harsh, but then again, you were drunk, and you didn’t exactly have that voice in your head that made you think before you speak. 

Because if you weren’t drunk, you would’ve seen the effect your words were having. Random people eavesdropping and whispering about what you were saying, Jongho’s ears red from humiliation, and a small flicker of hurt in his eyes. And the worst part? Jongho thought you probably wouldn’t even remember. 

“Hey, there you–” Wooyoung came out of the frat house, hair messy — as if someone’s hands had been tangled in his red locks— and out of breath, wincing instantly when he saw the scene. He quickly shortened the distance between you and rested his hand on Jongho’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. We’ll take her home.” His voice was low enough for the dark-haired man to hear, and as if he was summoned, San appeared behind his boyfriend, giving Jongho a reassuring nod.

Jongho sighed out, long and deep, before nodding and turning his back on the friend trio, walking towards his car, leaving you safe with Wooyoung and San, which was all he cared about, really, that you were safe.

Shortly after he left, and Wooyoung and San managed to get you inside an Uber, you arrived at your apartment with hot, thick tears running down your face. Babbles and sobs were the only things coming out of your mouth as your friends tried to change your clothes and get you to bed. 

“C’mon, Sushi.” Wooyoung cooed while rubbing your back with one hand, the other one holding your hair up as you emptied the contents of your stomach in the toilet. “We got you, it’s okay.” He reassured, offering you a glass of water after you were done. 

You were going to wake up like shit. 

And not only because of the headache you were for sure going to have, but because you will remember. 

You had never been the “black-out” type of drunk, no matter how much you drank. Which meant you would remember, from the moment you affirmed that Jongho was your boyfriend to a complete stranger, to the moment you berated him in the middle of the street, up until this moment, of you, lying in bed awake, far more sober than when you arrived, thinking about how he looked at you.

How his eyes shone when he heard you slur out those two words and stumble towards him, and how he looked at you like you had fucking kicked his puppy once you two were alone. 

You had your issues with the man, but why did seeing his face like that hurt your chest so much? 

No, no, he’s Choi Jongho, the man you swore you would hate until the last of your days. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 

The library had finally quieted down after a particularly awkward shift. Ms. Lim was out sick and had tasked you and Jongho with managing the library for the couple of days she’d be out. 

As if dealing with Jongho on a daily basis wasn’t enough, Ms. Lim had decided to fall sick, leaving you with the man you had publicly berated outside of a frat party while drunk, had a complicated history with, and couldn’t seem to fucking escape.

“Ready to close up?” Jongho’s tone was slightly nervous; this was the first time in the whole day he was trying to make conversation, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. 

You barely spared a glance at him as you pointed to the “returned books” cart behind you, —overflowing as always— while you continued typing away at the computer. “We also have to work on Mr. Yoon's project.” Your tone was barely there, words sharp as you barely paid any attention to him. 

“Yeah, right.” His gaze avoided you like the plague. There was a strange feeling stirring in your chest. Were you sick?

“Get rid of the stragglers so that we can work on that and I can get out of here.” You ordered, and he nodded, kindly approaching the couple of students that remained in the library with their heads buried in books. 

You paid no mind to him, only side-eyeing him every couple of seconds. Just to make sure he was actually getting rid of the people so that you could get out of here, of course. But a particular interaction made you turn your head to see better. 

Most students were gathering their things and leaving the library just as Jongho had politely asked them to, but he had approached a table occupied solely by a girl with a soft crease between her brows that eased when Jongho tapped his finger on her shoulder lightly. You couldn't hear what they were saying to each other; you could only see Jongho’s soft smile and her cheeks blush, and you scowled. A small giggle of hers reached your ears. What was so fucking funny? 

“If you're done flirting, the library's closed.” Before you could stop yourself, your feet had led the way all the way to a couple of steps beside Jongho, making him turn to you wide-eyed as the girl's cheeks burned crimson and she began gathering her things quickly. “You and I still have shit to do, c’mon.” You pointed your head to the side, motioning towards the front desk. 

“Have a g-good night, you two.” The girl shyly nodded before slinging her bag on her shoulder and leaving the library with quick steps. 

Once the heavy oak slammed shut, you turned around, walking towards the light switches, turning the overhead lighting off and leaving just the dim lighting of the hallways between the bookshelves. Jongho was quick to follow you, with his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What the fuck was that?” He followed you all the way back to the front desk, watching you pick up your laptop and some papers, your shoulder brushing his as you walked past him towards the law bookshelf, where you both normally sat on the floor to make progress on your project. 

“What the fuck was what?” The strange feeling kept stirring in your chest; perhaps you were coming down with something. You carefully left your things on the floor, not meeting his gaze as you browsed for one of the books you wanted to use for your project. 

“Don't play stupid. I wasn't flirting with her, I don't even know her.” His hands flailed around, trying to catch your attention as you kept looking around the bookshelf for the book. “I don't even know why I am explaining myself to you, ‘s not like you're my girlfriend or something.” 

“Please. As if I would ever be stupid enough to be, don't make me laugh.” You finally turned to face him, closer than you'd expected to be. You took in his expression, a flicker of hurt passed through his eyes, but it was quick to turn into frustration. 

“What the hell is your problem?” He took a step closer, voice low as his eyes searched for yours.

“You are! You have been my problem, all semester long, and you will be until it’s over!” You took a step closer to him, your eyes shooting daggers into his. 

“You react as if you’re not a pain in my ass yourself!” He snapped, taking one step closer. Your breaths mixing at the closeness. You scowled, your eyes bouncing back and forth between his eyes, taking in his beautiful chocolate orbs, the crease in between his eyebrows. 

You knew it now, you were jealous. 

Seething with jealousy, that is. By the way he just made a simple conversation with that girl, making her laugh and blush, just like you used to at his words. Was it just that easy for him? 

“How am I a pain in your ass? You're the one who won't leave me the fuck alone!” Your voices were much louder than they needed to be, thank god you cleared the library before. You couldn't live with the embarrassment and the afterthought of having yelled at him in public twice. 

“You're the one who's acting like a child all of a sudden!” His nose scrunched, now–black hair falling over his forehead after his hands ran through his locks in frustration. Your eyes were locked on his, his chocolate orbs dark with fury and something else you couldn't describe yet. Jongho was exasperating, but up close, he was breathtaking. 

His tan skin glowed in the golden lighting of the library, his plump, pink lips slightly parted. Your eyes traveled back up to his, realizing his own gaze had traveled down to your lips. The knot between his eyebrows had softened, his eyes staring into yours with an expression you didn’t have time to name, because when you noticed, his lips were on yours. 

His lips tasted of honey, and a pent-up frustration you felt deep in your bones. Your hands had fisted his shirt near the midriff, scrunching up the fabric, while his own hands had tangled in your hair, softly tugging at the unruly strands that wrapped around his fingers. 

Your heartbeat was drumming in your ears. You hated Choi Jongho, right? 

Why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you want him to?

The familiarity of his lips against yours didn’t ease the tension in your shoulders, muscles on fire at how strained they were. Your lips parted, and he took it as an invitation to slip his tongue in your mouth, a soft moan reaching his ears, making him shudder. 

Seconds after, the kiss broke, a small trail of saliva connecting your lips while you both looked at each other with parted lips, wide eyes, and shallow breathing. “Whatthef—” is all you could get out before his hands slipped from your hair and cradled your jaw, interrupting every thought you had. 

“Tell me you don’t want this.” His eyes searched for yours, “Tell me you don’t want me, tell me you hate me, and I’ll leave and leave you alone once and for all.” His tone was almost pleading. You could feel the slight tremble in his hands, the almost imperceptible hesitation in his voice. 

I do, I hate you. Were the words you wanted to say. Instead, they got caught in your throat as your lips crashed into his once more, hands balling up the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him flush to you. “I want you.” You whispered on his lips, and while the rational part of you was screaming at you in your head, the part of you that thought with your heart was dancing in glee. 

A soft sigh of pleasure left his lips, doubt slipping away from his mind as you kissed. His hands began roaming your body, softly squeezing the flesh at your waist, as if trying to ground himself, an effort that proved futile as a small moan rolled off your lips right into his, making his pants feel tighter than they already were. 

His lips began trailing down your jaw, stopping just above your pulse point, and leaving small open-mouthed kisses in the skin as your hands wrapped around his midnight locks, softly tugging at the roots. 

Jongho’s hands sat low on your hips, his hold dizzying as he continued leaving small kisses all across your neck and collarbones as much as your shirt allowed him to. “J-Jjong…” your soft mewl reached his ears and travelled all the way down to his cock, twitching in his pants at the sound of the nickname. 

A soft hum rumbled deep in his chest as he leaned back, quickly removing your shirt in a swift motion, his eyes travelled through your torso, admiring the way your skin basked in the soft amber hue of the library lighting. You cowered, hands slowly coming up to cover yourself, “No, no. Don’t do that, c’mon.” Jongho wrapped his hands on your wrists, letting your shirt fall to the carpeted floor beneath you. “You’re beautiful, sunshine.” His velvety voice sent a shiver down your spine, letting your hands fall to your sides as you felt the heat creep up your neck. 

Your hands reached to tug on his own shirt, the black fabric wrinkled after your frantic hold on it. He helped you take it off, his own cheeks burning once the fabric fell somewhere on the floor. Your eyes widened, taking in his figure, his golden-bronzed skin glowing in the library’s low lighting. He wasn’t precisely toned, but his body was admirable, making your gaze linger for much longer than it should have. 

The kisses became more frantic, desperate. While a shy hand palmed him over the fabric of his pants, a not–so–shy one sneaked behind your back to unclasp your bra, his cool hands covering the skin of your breasts once the fabric fell to the rug, sending shivers down your spine as he kneaded the sensitive skin and rolled your nipples with his index and middle finger, small moans rolling off your lips. You couldn’t believe you were doing this to Choi fucking Jongho, the man you swore to never see with eyes that held something other than hatred, and in the fucking library. You just hoped that there weren’t cameras. 

Most of the clothes were quickly discarded, and now you had your legs wrapped around Jongho’s waist, his hands splayed on your thighs as his lips swallowed yours in a dizzying kiss, your hips rolling every so often, your core, only now covered by your panties, meeting the tip of his cock, still covered by the fabric of his boxers. 

Soft mewls and whines rolled off your lips as the friction became overbearing, feeling the all-too-familiar coil in your belly tighten, “Jjong, p-please.” You almost didn’t recognize your voice as you begged, Jongho looking at you with a fucking smirk curling his lips as he took a step forward, your back meeting the cold wood of the bookshelf. One of his hands snaked down between your bodies to be able to pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, the tip hitting your clothed core in a way that had you feeling like a livewire. You looked down and—

What. The. Fuck. 

What an absolute fucking of a monster cock did he have. Not only was it above average, but it was thick. So fucking thick that you were almost certain he was going to split you in two, but your mind was far too gone to care. 

Jongho’s lips curled in a full-on grin, “You’re staring.” 

“You’re fucking huge.” 

“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” He let out a small giggle while pulling your panties to the side, rubbing his fat cock across your folds, making you whine. Asshole. 

He gathered enough slick onto his shaft to push inside slowly, a cry leaving your lips as you felt the stretch, his cock quite literally splitting you into two. “You’re a good girl. You can take it, right, sunshine?” The nickname you had come to despise in your daily life made you clench around him, forcing him inside just a little bit more, pulling a groan out of him. 

“Sh-ut the fuck up.” A broken cry came out as he continued pushing inside, your head falling back and leaning into the old wooden shelf. He popped a brow at you, rolling his hips a little bit more, making you moan loudly. 

“Such a good girl and such a filthy mouth.” He tutted as his hips continued rolling, sliding in and out slowly. He wasn’t even all the way in yet, and you already felt like you were about to explode. 

He bottomed out, and a loud groan rumbled deep in his chest, a cry reverberating through your vocal cords as you felt the tip of his cock kiss your cervix in a way that had you seeing stars behind your closed eyelids. 

“J-Jongho…fuck. Move,” you moaned, eyebrows knitted in pleasure as you tried rolling your hips into him. Head too far gone to think about what you were doing. 

“Look at you, taking my cock so good after telling everyone you hate me.” He fucking cooed, and you clenched around his cock. He began pulling out as much as he could while still holding you up in his arms, and he slammed back into you.g

Your moans quickly filled the quiet, empty library. The obscene sounds reverberated in the wide space as Jongho continued slamming into you, wet, slopping sounds reaching your ears as you held on to the bookshelf for dear fucking life. 

Jongho felt the muscles in his thighs on fire, and the position was becoming unbearable. Much to your dismay, he pulled out, and you whined, your breathing shallow as he steadied you on the floor, your knees buckled, your stance stumbling as your feet touched the rug beneath them. “What—” 

“Lie down.” He instructed, and you popped a brow, obeying reluctantly. So picky, is what you thought, but all complaints died on your throat as he slammed into you the moment your back was touching the rug. His cock kissed the tip of your cervix, the delicious stretch making you dizzy in no time. Your belly tensed, feeling him deep in your womb as his balls slapped against the skin of your ass. 

“Jong-ho, ngh— fuck…” You babbled, tears rimming your eyes as his hips snapped inside you mercilessly. He leaned down, the angle pushing his cock impossibly deeper as he took one of your tits in his mouth, suckling your hardened bud, nipping occasionally at the soft skin that surrounded it. You heard his low groans of pleasure, moaning as he rammed into you. 

One of his hands snaked down between your bodies, circling your clit in rhythm with his thrusts, “Cum for me, sunshine. Cum ‘round my cock.” He popped off the sensitive skin of your chest with a wet pop!. His tone was laced with lust, your walls constricted around him, making him drop his head on your shoulder. Your fingers wrapped around his hair, black, unruly strands pointing in all directions, while some of them stuck to his forehead, a soft sheen of sweat covering you both, loud moans, groans, and babbles filled the space, both of you clearly enjoying the moment. 

Your limbs were wrapped around Jongho’s as your lips crashed onto his, and your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, legs tightening around his thighs, fingers pulling at his roots, and the cry of his name dying on his lips. His rhythm grew sloppy, frantic as he looked for his own release, the hand that was circling your clit coming up to rest beside your head, holding him up. Your lips swallowed his punched-out groan as he filled you up, thick, warm ropes of cum painting your insides without a care in the world. 

Post-nut clarity hit you like a bitch. After Jongho slipped out of you and rolled to your side, breathing shallow as he stared at the ceiling, your heartbeat started thrumming in your ears. The haziness dissipated quickly as if a cold water bucket had been poured over you the second your orgasm subsided. 

You had sex with Choi Jongho. 

You sat up quickly, blood rushing to your head and making you feel slightly dizzy. Your hands splayed on the floor behind you, holding you upright as you caught your breath. You looked over your shoulder, seeing Jongho with his eyes closed as he brought a hand to his chest, trying to calm his own breathing. Your eyes danced over his body, admiring the way his honey-skin, lightly covered in sweat, shone in the dim lighting. You willed yourself to look away before your gaze dared to trail any lower. 

You had sex with Choi Jongho. On the school's library. 

You began gathering your clothes, quickly getting your panties that had been hastily discarded while you changed positions and pulling them up your legs, grimacing at the sticky feeling between them, quickly pulling your shirt over your head, and standing up, catching Jongho's attention, who opened his eyes to see you half-clothed as you rushed through the hallway looking for the rest of your things. 

“What is it?” He asked while popping a brow, confused. 

“What? You expected me to lie down and cuddle with you after fucking in the library?” You cocked a brow of your own, finding your pants and sliding them up your legs, prompting Jongho to begin dressing himself as well. 

“You can't be serious.” He scoffed as he watched you begin to gather the papers that had fallen forgotten on the floor as he slid up and buttoned his pants. “Are you just going to fucking leave? That's what you do best, right?” He bit out, picking his shirt up from the rug and putting it on. 

Your head turned so fast you swore you gave yourself whiplash. “What's that supposed to mean?” Your brows knotted, offended as you continued half-assedly gathering the papers, only this time your focus was fully on Jongho. 

“You just leave and act as if nothing happened, then go around telling everybody you hate me.” He huffed as he spoke matter-of-factly, crouching down to pick up his thick-rimmed glasses that had been thrown onto the floor at one point.

The sound that came out of you sounded more like a laugh than a scoff, and your head shook from side to side as if what he had said was the most ridiculous thing ever. “You act as if it wasn't your fucking fault that whatever we had broke.” 

“What does that even mean!” He knelt beside you, tone rising as his frustration bottled up again, close to exploding. 

“You think I don't know what you said to Soobin and Yeojun at that fuckass party over at TXT last semester?” Your voice rose too, bouncing off the walls of the empty hallways filled with books. 

“Wha–” 

“I heard you. Telling them you were only trying to get me to your bed and that I was already halfway there.” You bit out, turning your attention back to the papers on the floor, biting the inside of your cheek to avoid the tears pooling in your eyes. 

Now it was Jongho’s turn to feel as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped on him. Heat rose all the way to his ears, crimson covering his cheeks as his head cowered, teeth clamping over the inside of his cheek at your words. You weren't exactly right, but you also weren't wrong. 

“It didn't happen like that.” If the silence of both of you hadn't filled the space, his words would have probably gone unheard, given how low his voice came out. “But I was an idiot, I was so invested in getting into that fucking frat that I let those two idiots talk shit about you, and I didn't do anything to stop it because I thought no one was hearing.” Your eyes met his, and his gaze softened at the sight of your teary eyes and quivering lower lip. 

“I'm so so fucking sorry.” He said your name as his head fell forward, the sound of your own name out of his mouth surprising you. “Even if no one was around to hear, I should have said something.” He wasn't excusing himself; you could actually see how fucking sorry he was, and your heart ached. “If I could take it back and never have you hate me, I would do it in a heartbeat.” His words, followed by your name, made a stray tear run down your cheek, a small sniffle making him lift his head, his own eyes teary as he met your gaze. 

“I don't know if I can forgive you.” Your voice came out shaky, broken as another tear fell down your cheek. “Yet.” Jongho's brows furrowed in confusion. “I never really stopped liking you. I was just too hurt to want to do anything with you.” You explained with a soft blush in your cheeks. 

“I'll fix it.” He declared, pushing his glasses up into his hair and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “We just fucked on the library's floor for fuck’s sake, I'm not just letting you go.” 

Maybe. Maybe you didn't hate Choi Jongho as much as you thought.  As if you would have ever thought things would ever go like this.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 

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San loved his job.

Maybe too much.

He loved it so much that he almost never slept. Or he would sleep at 2am, thinking of a new way of promoting the recent product made by the company he worked in. A toothpaste, strawberry flavor. Which was, according to him, totally ridiculous. If he was their customer he would've wanted to have mentholated breath.

But of course he couldn't just say aloud his thoughts. And his boss didn't expect him, or his colleagues, to have any sort of opinion. You just accomplish your task without asking any question.

And this just summarized San's life.

Waking up.

Working.

Eating.

Home.

Making dinner.

Showering.

Sleeping.

Again and again.

Nevertheless, San was happy. He could provide for himself thanks to his salary. He didn't have financial issues so he considered himself fairly lucky.

And he loved his job.

Right?

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨

Nevermind, he hated his job.

When San opened his eyes, he knew it would be a bad day.

It was easier to put a mask on and pretend he was happy with his job, that he liked being behind his computer screen from 8am to 7pm.

At least he had Wooyoung.

Wooyoung was the only person whose existence didn't bother San. He was the only colleague he ate with. He was loud but his presence strangely brought comfort to San's loneliness.

Thirthy minutes later San was ready. Well, physically ready but mentally, his mind was somewhere else, stuck in the soft sheets of his bed.

He sighed, taking a brief look of his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom.

His appearance was screaming ''zombie''.

Even though his tie was neatly done, his shirt was crumpled and his dark rings under his eyes were at least three inches deep.

He pushed his glasses up. At least his lenses looked clean.

Yesterday, his car broke down so the only option left for him was to take public transport. And here was another thing that annoyed him even more. He usually was lazy and sleepy in the morning, being around lots of people on public transportation was the last thing he wanted.

After he had locked the door of his appartment he took the elevator although he lived on the second floor.

Yeah, he was that lazy.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in the pocket of his slacks.

Taking the phone out of it, he glanced at his screen.

It was a message from Wooyoung.

Wooyoung

Hi San :))))

Wooyoung

Tonight we'll have a drink at the bar I told you about. And of course, when I say we, I'm talking about you and me. :)

He didn't even ask if San wanted to go. And of course, as always, San would just accept it because it was useless to argue against Wooyoung. Not that he hadn't tried. But Wooyoung always ended up having the last word.

San

Can I at least know why?

The answer was immediate.

Wooyoung

Because you look like you're on the verge of exploding and you need a break from work.

San

I don't know what you're talking about.

Wooyoung

...

Wooyoung

You will come anyway.

San rolled his eyes but he knew Wooyoung was right. He needed a break. It's been three weeks since they last had free time and San's mind was really going to combust. But San wasn't the type of person to pay attention to his body's signals that clearly told him he was exhausted.

He needed this job even if he didn't like it.

Even if it makes him feel empty.

However, San didn't know if he was happy.

Was he?

He had a job with a decent salary, an apartment and food.

So why did it felt like something was missing in his life?

Why did he-

San felt a body bumped into him violently. And a sudden hot liquid on the front of his shirt.

Too hot.

''Oh my god, I'm so sorry- I wasn't looking where I was going-''

San slowly lifted his head, feeling his blood boiled under his skin.

That's it. He's going to explode. Here. Right now.

He was about to scold on this stranger but when his eyes landed on the person in front of him, his heart stopped.

The world vanished.

The sound around him muted. And suddenly it felt like he just got shot right into his heart.

Here, in front him, was standing the prettiest woman San had ever seen.

Awe quickly replaced anger.

And maybe a bit of embarrassement.

Embarrassement? For what exactly? It's not like he was the one who bumped into her.

A sudden rush of heat crept up his face.

What the hell was happening to him?

''I-I, no i-it's okay.''

He internally slapped himself for his stutter. He wanted to be mad at her, for ruining his day even more.

But instead he just got lost in her eyes.

Oh.

Her eyes are so...

So...

His chest tightened.

He couldn't do this anymore. He needed to run away before he turns into a blushing mess and makes a fool of himself.

So he rapidly passed her, continuing his way to his bus stop.

''Wait, your shirt is-''

San accelerated. Almost run.

Even her voice is beautiful.

It was only when he had reached his bus stop that he noticed he's been holding his breath. He checked his heart, putting a hand on his chest.

His heart couldn't stop beating rapidly. And his hands were sweaty.

San felt completely lost.

What just happened?

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You hated being late.

That's why you had never been late.

Almost.

There was some days or your alarm wouldn't ring.

And unfortunately, today was one of those days.

So here you were, running like your life depends on it, with two coffee in your hands. One for you, one for your father.

Even though you were in the rush, you couldn't skip your morning drink.

It definitely slowed you but you didn't care.

Your dad has been running a bar for years. It quickly became the most popular one in town.

Well it was half-bar, half-restaurant. But the fact is, this bar was different. It had a particularity. Something that had charmed many people around here.

You.

You've always loved singing since your were a kid. You had taken singing lessons, even had been a soloist in your choir group. You've never missed an opportunity to practice your vocals. People who had heard your voice have always been amazed by it.

You were never satisfied. You kept practicing.

But you loved singing.

Singing was like speaking a language you could feel and understand.

One day you asked your father if you could sing at his bar and just looked at you with surprise.

What you both didn't expect, was the amount of customers incading the bar after your first performance and with this, the surge of popularity that came with it.

You've been singing at the bar for a year and a half and you've never been more happy. You gave up on college to help your father while doing the thing that made you feel alive.

And you were being paid.

Because your voice was the particularity of the bar.

You and your father both agreed to keep this up.

But being his daughter didn't mean he would be more gentle. That is to say, he didn't tolerate lateness.

Your lungs were burning as you kept running.

Well, this situation could have been worse.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed the man on his phone who was walking in your direction.

And the situation you didn't want to happen literally hit you.

You both had collided with so much force that your coffee spilled on the man's shirt.

You stilled.

Then, panic and horror rushed on your face.

Oh no.

This couldn't be happening right now.

What have I done in my past life to be cursed? Did I kill someone?

Say something. Don't just stand like that.

''Oh my god, I'm so sorry- I wasn't looking where I was going-''

You're cooked.

You're definitely cooked.

The man slowly lifted his head.

You closed your eyes, mentally bracing yourself for insults.

But then, nothing.

Your eyes hesitantly opened.

The man before you was looking straight into your eyes. But what you didn't expect was his expression.

Because he looked anything but mad.

In fact, it looked like he was...shy ?

Am I not supposed to be the one shy ?

You noticed the way his ears were pink and the way his face got redder the more seconds passed.

His eyes were slighly wide and his lips parted.

''I-I, no i-it's okay.''

Just as you were about to ask him if he was okay he suddenly passed by you.

''Wait, your shirt is...''

He didn't listen. Worse, he practically run.

''...dirty.''

Okay?

Did he just ignore me?

You sighed, running your hand over your face. At least he didn't scold me.

Even though his reaction seemed weird you couldn't deny that he was a cute stranger, with his glasses slipping off his nose. In fact, when you thought of it he looked really handsome despite the exhaustion on his face.

You chuckled.

At least he made the beginning of your day a bit better.

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''You look like shit.''

San shot Wooyoung a dark glance in the mirror, trying to wipe his now not-so-white shirt now that a trace of coffee stained on it.

''You're not helping.'' San grumbled.

''Wasn't trying to.''

''Wooyoung.''

''Alright, alright, I was joking. Jeez, you really need to relax.''

After San had arrived at his work place, Wooyoung had sent him a glare that screamed ''are you actually okay bro?''

San had ignored him and made his way to the washroom. Eventually he told him about his very interesting misadventure.

He didn't mention that he had found her beautiful nor the way his pulse had hammered in his throat.

''It enforces my point. Your need a break. A real one.''

''So the other breaks we've had weren't real? And what is even the difference between the previous bars we've already gone to and the one you'll drag me to tonight?''

The familiar smirk that San knew too well now, appeared on Wooyoung's lips.

''It's good you're asking me this because it is a different bar.''

''You always say that and we always end up in the most ordinary bar.''

Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

''Fair point. But this one is definitely cool. And chic.''

San frowned.

''Chic?''

''Yeah. But the most important thing is that they have a singer. ''

Wooyoung noticed San's confusion because he added: ''A friend of mine works there as a singer. She sings very well.''

''Is she a composer too?"

Wooyoung shook his head.

''No. She always sings famous songs or, at least, songs that catch the vibe of the bar. But it's been four months since I last saw her.''

''So that's why you've never told me about this bar. Because you forgot about your friend's existence?''

His question got him a fake disapproval glare from his colleague.

''It's a bit of a leap to say that.''

''Well, am I wrong though?"

Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

''Let's not change the subject.''

They continued to talk while San was trying his best to wipe his shirt. Unfortunately for him, his actions didn't do anything to reduce the dirty brown stain. Eventually, he gave up and decided he would stop by his house to change his shirt after work.

They left the washroom and headed toward their office. As Wooyoung rambled, San got lost in his thoughts.

Same routine.

He gathered himself to face another long and restless journey, with the same repetitive tasks, the same annoying boss and the same boring colleagues.

Yeah. A very long journey.

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You loved singing.

It was a fact. But you forgot that the soreness of it comes with long practices. Your dry mouth had always got you drinking liter and liter of water.

But seeing couples dancing together, the acknowledgement, the smile on people's face were all worth it.

And it was also the part you liked the most in your job.

Your father had decided to temporarly close the bar and reopen it at 7 pm. This way, not only he could clean the bar (with your help and and the waiters') but you could also rest your voice and revise the setlist for tonight's performance.

''Laufey again?'' Your dad sighed.

''But I love her songs! And you can't tell me that most of her songs don't fit the mood.''

''I agree with you but you've been singing the same songs for one year.''

You put down the setlist and turned your chair to face your father, his arms crossed on his chest, a fake look of exasperation. Well, not entirely fake because you've both already had this conversation.

''I don't see the issue. And the customers seem to enjoy it too.''

''For now.''

You closed your eyes trying not to let the annoyance be seen on your face.

''I'll change the setlist if we have one complaint from a customer. How does it sound to you?''

His eyes narrowed, staring at you as if he was weighing the pros and the cons in his head. As if you haven't said this a million times.

''Deal.'' He eventually says.

You faked a surprised expression.

''Woah, never thought you would be okay with that.''

''Stop being sarcastic or else I'll change my mind.''

You smiled widely before getting up and kissing his cheek.

''Thank you dad.''

He shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

There was one thing you were sure about your father. Despite his severity, he's been your number one supporter since your birth, even more after your first step. Your parents divorced and you weren't in good terms with your mother. She never took your passion for singing seriously and thought you would be better and more useful as a doctor.

But there was none of that with your father.

That's why you've always been grateful to have him by your side.

When the clock hit 7pm, your father notified you he had opened the bar.

You took a deep breath, eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. Singing in front of many people has always made you quite nervous because doubts always remained in the back of your mind. You've done this plenty of times. There was no need to feel pressured. However, being on stage has always been intimidating.

But tonight was different.

You had a gut feeling.

You didn't know where this feeling was coming from. What caused so many doubts all of a sudden.

The most important question that remained in your head was:

Why do I have a bad feeling?

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San didn't know if he made the good decision by agreeing to accompany Wooyoung, because after leaving work, the only thing he wanted to do was to take his car and drive back to his sweet house and dive in his bed.

But here they were, in San's car, Wooyoung giving him instructions of which way to go after they stopped by San's house, giving him the opportunity to look more presentable without stained coffee him.

''You will see San, I'm telling you this bar is awesome. And if we're lucky enough, it might be even more cool since the last time I came in there.''

At this point, San didn't have the strength to contradict or respond to him.

He just wanted to forget.

So he just nodded, sometimes giving a short answer every time Wooyoung started to ramble.

When they arrived, he didn't expect the storefront to look like that. He had imagined it less...welcoming? Wooyoung wasn't wrong when he said the place looked chic. But not in an expensive way. Warm colors and lights highlighted its name.

Pretty Jazz

San lift his eyebrow.

What an odd name.

It's was very unique.

''Come on, let's go.'' Wooyoung pushed San toward the entry.

When they stepped in, the air immediately shifted. There were so many people already and it only opened an hour ago. And the place...

If on the outside it looked chic and warm, the inside was another story. It did keep the same warmth as the outside but the difference was in the mood. The place looked cozy but sophisticated with the neat tables, cutlery and red booths.

But what definitely caught San's attention was the song building the atmosphere. Or to be more specific, a voice.

The voice sounded so soft but also smooth. San was amazed by the way she controlled her voice and breath. The music was very jazzy but also catchy. It made San want to dance or have a dance with someone.

''I'm going to order drinks. What do you want?''

San shrugged his shoulders.

''I'll let you choose.''

Maybe he shouldn't have said this, considering the smirk on Wooyoung's face, but like he said earlier he didn't want to think too much tonight. He'll have time to regret his decision tomorrow.

''Find us a table.''

''Aren't waiters supposed to do that?''

''Yeah but they know me so I can do whatever I want.''

And he said it like it was an obvious statement.

''If you say so.''

Wooyoung sent him a blank stare before turning away.

San wandered across the place, between tables already taken. There was a huge crowd and if the restaurant-bar wasn't big, he would have to tell Wooyoung to find another spot.

San was searching for a free table not far away from where the voice was coming from. He wanted to put a face on this lovely voice.

When he noticed a free spot with a good view on the scene he hurried before anyone takes it.

He sat, sighing at the comfort of the seat.

But when he lifted his head and his eyes landed on the singer...

...he went completely still.

Oh.

Oh Lord.

The woman standing before him, on the platform with a micro, was wearing a long blue dress. The ribbons on the straps of her dress, flounces and the high heeled shoes, matching the color of the dress, made her look like a princess.

A princess with an angelic voice...

San's eyes widened.

...and the same princess who had bumped into him.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

His chest did this familiar squeeze. His hands started to sweat and he didn't have to look at a mirror to know he was blushing.

He closed his eyes.

Of all people existing it had to be her.

He remembered the sparkle in her eyes, her soothing voice apologizing for staining his shirt, the sweet scent of coconut, her-

''There you are!''

San jumped, his colleague slumped onto the booth seat. He looked at San suspiciously.

''Are you okay? You're very red.''

''Y-yeah it's just...It's getting really hot here.''

To emphasize his words, he pulled on his collar.

''There's AC here.''

San blushed even more.

''Y-yeah. Anyways.''

Wooyoung probed at him.

''You're acting weird today.''

San hummed avoiding his eyes.

Bad idea.

Because his eyes landed on her again.

Wooyoung followed his gaze before his face lights up.

''Oh, there she is. I didn't even notice her. She's very good at singing isn't she?''

San didn't answer. He just observed her. The way her dress moved gracefully whenever she spun, enjoying the melody of the music, the way her eyes closed while singing, her voice filtering into San's ears and reaching his heart, and the smile on her lips.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

When the song came to an end, everyone applauded, cheering enthusiastically.

The woman bowed, moving the microphone back to her lips.

''Thank you so much for your support! As I always say, I'm always willing to bring not only comfort...''

She grinned.

''But also love.''

San's heart jumped.

''This one is for my heartbroken people. I hope you'll find some comfort in this song as I did when I had my first heartache.''

San clenched his fists.

How could someone hurt such a lovely soul?

Obviously, he didn't know her. But there was something, this pull, a feeling he couldn't put a name on, that told him she was too majestic to have her heart broken.

The first notes raised in the air. And this song seemed different from the previous one. It sounded less happy, more melancholic? Violins played, accompanying the melody coming from the guitar.

San hold his breath when her lips parted.

Feeling kind of sick tonight

All I've had is coffee and leftover pie

It's no wonder why

Even her voice sounded different here. More fragile. He noticed her closed eyes. Like she was remembering how hurt she felt that time.

Maybe she was remembering.

The song sounded so majestic but also held obvious pain. Even though San never had his heart broken, his heart squeezed like it remembered a past lover.

Then, came the chorus.

One day, I will stop falling in love with you

Some day, someone will like me Iike I like you

Her eyes opened.

Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie

Pretend that we are more than friends

Then, of course, I'll let you break my heart again

His voice got stuck in his throat.

He observed the crowd. Everyone else also seemed hypnotized by the song. There was some couple hugging each other, with a fond smile while listenning the song. Even Wooyoung looked touched by her voice.

By the end of the song, everyone applauded.

And San?

Well, San was now definitely a tomato.

His heart was hammering at a dangerous speed.

He was so lost in the mixing of his feelings that he didn't even notice Wooyoung waving at her.

It was only when he heard her voice near him he lifted his eyes.

''Wooyoung! It's been a while! How are you?''

His colleague stood up while she approached. They hugged each other.

San frowned.

''I'm good. I'm sorry I didn't visit you before, I was busy.''

She made a gesture like she waved his excuse.

''Don't worry about that. Oh, I see you're not alone.''

Wooyoung's smile deepened.

''Yep! Let me introduce you to San- ''

When he gestures towards him. He was still sat on the seat, eyes never leaving her since they interacted.

When his eyes met hers, he saw the way she stiffened. Her smile faded. Her eyes widened a slighly.

She recognizes him.

''Nice to meet you, San.''

San swallowed back an embarrassing squeak at the way his name rolled over her tongue.

San nodded.

''Nice to meet you too.''

They stared at each other not knowing what to do.

Wooyoung watched with hawk eyes.

''Want to join us? I need to make up for the lost time. And I'm sure you have good gossip for me.''

She broke eye contact while laughing at Wooyoung's stupid statement.

''Okay. Let's do that.''

San exhaled through his noise.

Yeah, there's no way he was going to survive this.

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You sure didn't expect this.

Seeing the beautiful stranger from earlier.

You called him that because it was true.

He's ethereal.

You tried your best to focus your attention on Wooyoung's words but you felt his burning gaze on you. Yo were used to having eyes on you, when you were singing, practicing while your father listened because you wanted his opinion.

But this time was different.

Because everytime you would glance at San, he was already watching you, his gaze holding this intensity you couldn't handle.

He didn't talk, letting you and Wooyoung converse.

At some point, Wooyoung stood up from the booth seat.

''Alright guys, I love you both but I really need to pee, otherwise my bladder will explode.''

You rolled your eyes at his straightforwardness.

''Yeah we really needed to know that.''

He left with a giggle.

Okay.

Now you were alone with San.

San who was still staring at you by the way. His eyes were glossy and his cheeks slighly red due to the alcohol.

You took the opportunity to take a good look at him. You noticed the way his dark hair was a bit messy, unlike this morning when it was neatly slicked back.

His glasses were on the table, some of his locks falling onto his eyes. You dragged your eyes lower. His tie was loosened, the first two buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his forearms.

When your eyes lifted to his face, he was smiling at you.

And then you felt it.

Your heart skipped a beat.

It was your first time seeing him smiling. And his smile...

Why does he look at me like that?

...was full of fondness. Like you were something precious. Like you were a pretty shining sun.

You stuck your hands beneath your thigh to prevent them from shaking.

Because his expression unsettled you.

San unsettled you.

You broke the silent first.

''Hi.'' You said awkwardly.

''Hi.''

You wanted to look away. But you couldn't. Because every time, your eyes would find their way back to his.

''Did you enjoy the show?''

''I did. You have a nice voice.'' San answered, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours.

''Thank you.''

And you didn't know what to say else. You always find a way to talk. But strangely, today you were at a complete loss of words.

But you didn't have to. Because San continued.

''This song you've sung today...you must really like it.''

You didn't know if he was asking or he was stating.

'''Let You Break My Heart Again'? I do like it a lot. The first time I heard it, I had my first heartbreak. It was hard to heal from it. But I eventually did, and realized I wasn't the problem.''

You don't know why you told him this. You just felt like it. Somehow, it just came out naturally.

San's eyes hardened when you mentionned your heartbreak but softened at the end.

''I'm glad to hear that.''

You nodded shyly.

''Since when do you know Wooyoung?'' San asked.

''I know him since childhood.''

A flicker of surprise flashed through his eyes. You exhale a brief laugh at his expression.

''Well, our first meeting was actually pretty chaotic. Very long story.''

But instead of changing of subject, San leaned forward.

''Well, I have time. We even have the whole night. So tell me. I'm curious.''

His warm smile didn't leave him, his head a bit tilted.

You smile faded.

Okay, you were not prepare for this level of attention. You were certainly not ready for him say that.

His smile. His eyes. The calm in his voice.

You've never seen someone with such an empathic expression.

Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol.

Still, you couldn't take it anymore.

The question slipped before you could even think twice.

''Are you curious about how I met Wooyoung or about me?''

You both were surprised by your question.

''I'm sorry I don't know why I sai-''

''Both.''

You blinked.

''What?''

''I said both. I'm curious about how you met him and about you.''

Your heart fluttered for an unknown reason.

''Oh.''

San lifted his eyebrow, amused by your reaction.

''You don't want me to know more about you?''

''What? No, no, of course I'd like you to know me. I mean I'd like to know more about you too. I mean, who wouldn't?''

You stopped.

You did not just say that.

But the gaze he gave you clearly proved you wrong.

You stare at each other.

And you both burst out laughing.

You couldn't stop laughing and neither could he.

You felt something ease on your chest and a warmth spreading. You didn't remember the last time you had laughed like that. But it made you feel good. Really good.

And you could see San was feeling the same way.

It was only when Wooyoung came back that your laugh calmed down.

You and Wooyoung were still talking, but sometimes you would ask questions to San and he would answer it with this amused gaze that hadn't left him since you had laughed together. Sometimes you would shoot him a small smile and he would return it, but his was wider and cuter.

And just like that, in a light atmosphere, filled with quiet laughs and bickering, you thought it was the best night of your life.

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One month has passed since this night.

Wooyoung and San stayed until closing time. You'd hugged Wooyoung, thanking him for coming to see you.

And San...

You'd both shyly looked at each other before he gave you a brief hug, sliding a scrap of paper with his number on it in your hand.

Since then, you both texted each other almost everyday. At first, it was just simple messages such as ''Have a nice day!'', ''Have you eaten?'' or things like that. Until one day, you accidently called him one night. You didn't click on the call button on purpose. You were just rereading your previous texts with him, laying on your couch, but somehow your phone managed to slip from your hands, falling onto your face.

And your nose just did the work for you.

''Hello?'' A deep voice had echoed from your phone.

You had felt embarrassement running over your face.

''San? I'm sorry I didn't mean to call you. I'll hang up-''

''Wait, wait, don't.''

Your finger had stilled above the button.

''Can we talk? I feel a bit lonely...''

Your heart had throbbed painfully at his statement.

''Yes, sure.''

Since this call, you'd learned a lot of things about Choi San. For instance, you'd learned he was a hard worker. He often worked until very late at night, hence the exhaustion in his eyes and the paleness of his face. He worked in the marketing department of a company who sold toothpaste. You also had guessed that he didn't like his job. Everytime he would talk about his tasks, his boss, his colleagues and how hypocritical he found them (except Wooyoung), you could sense the bitterness in his voice.

Sometimes, he would even give you some tea about them. Some made you laugh really hard and some would make you clench your fists. Because they didn't deserve to have San in their team. He had to fix every mistake they made, and sometimes he was even the one to get scolded by his boss even when it wasn't his fault.

What hurt the most is that he seemed used to it. Wooyoung always came to his defense, but he didn't have much more power than San.

''The boss wouldn't believe me anyway.'' San had said during one late night call when you suggested he denounce them.

Despite that, he has always said that since you met, you were the best part of his day. And it made your heart flutter harder each time he said it.

''I like talking to you. I really like it.''

He couldn't see you but you were internally screaming, burying your face in your pillow.

You couldn't help but feel this strange feeling growing each day, every time you thought about him, every time he was asking about your day, everytime he praised your voice whenever you would sing some songs for him, every time he would make you laugh, every time he would sleep before you, the call still ongoing.

And all of that without seeing him.

Because you didn't see him, not since that night at the bar.

And you wanted to see him. You wanted to ask him to come to see you at the bar again.

You missed him.

And when the realization had hit you, it just made you widened your eyes.

Because, somehow, you realized he bacame your home.

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It happened faster than you'd expected.

Like someone had heard your wish.

That day, you were ready to give your best on stage, as usual.

Each time you sang, your eyes would look at the seat, occupied by everyone expect the person you wanted to see.

So when you finished your sixth song of the night, your eyes flew to the seat.

You felt your pulse hammering in your throat.

He's here.

He was sitting in the same place as last time. Your breath caught. San wasn't wearing his usual work clothes. He was dressed in casual clothes. He was wearing a brown leather jacket over a black t-shirt and black cargo pants. His didn't have his glasses on.

He was sprawled, one arm stretching out along the back of the booth seat, his hand on his drink, sometimes bringing it to his lips, eyes never leaving yours.

Considering the faint pink on his cheeks, you supposed he was already tipsy. And this just made him looked cuter. Cuter than the last time.

This time it was your turn to give him a fond smile.

He immediately returned it. He even gave you a wink.

You looked away, because again you couldn't handle his gaze. Or maybe you couldn't handle how you felt just from his eyes.

Suddenly, an idea popped up in your head.

You were supposed to take a brief break but you wanted to sing a last song.

For him.

And you already knew which one you wanted him to hear.

You faced the musicians behind you giving them instructions before approaching your father.

''I want to sing one last song.''

Your father raised his eyebrows.

''Are you sure? Your voice needs a break, I don't want you to overuse it.''

''Please, just one more song.''

He gazed at your face.

''Is it for him?'' He eventually says.

You choked on your saliva.

''W-what?''

''You think I didn't notice this man a month ago with whom you've chatted and your eyes searching for him at each of your performances since?''

You felt your cheeks burned.

''I c-can explain-''

Your father burst out laughing.

''I'm teasing you, don't worry. You have the right to fall in love.''

''I'm not in love.''

But you weren't convinced by your own lie. Neither was your father.

''No comment.''

You rolled your eyes but you felt his hand squeeze your shoulder.

''One song.''

You smiled at him, throwing yourself into his arms.

''I love you dad.''

''But I want you to introduce him to me.''

You took a step back giving him a desperate look.

''We're not even dating.''

''When did I say that I wanted you to present him as your boyfriend?''

Caught in your own trap you decided to run away, your father's laugh echoeing behind you.

When you got on stage again, San was still there. When your eyes met his, he asked something you could easily read from his lips.

Are you okay?

You nodded. He was always so attentive.

You approached the mic tapping gently the micro.

People stopped what they were doing, turning their focus on you, intrigued.

''I know it was supposed to be my last song...but I want to sing one more.''

People cheered. You smiled at their enthusiasm, but tonight you only cared about him.

''I've never sung this song but I want to dedicate it to someone who is here. It is called Beautiful Stranger by Laufey.''

You took a deep breath. You noticed the interrogative look San sent you but you ignored it.

You gave a nod to the musicians, giving them the green light.

Soft notes of guitar rose in the air. You closed your eyes. This time it wasn't because you wanted to feel the song...it was because you were too nervous to look at him.

Beautiful stranger, sitting right there

Looked up at me and my dark curly hair

Looked back for a second, didn't want to be rude

I tend to fall in love on the tube

Even with your eyes closed, you felt his eyes burning your skin. You know some lyrics aren't accurate to your relationship, but some definitely are.

But the aim of singing this song wasn't really to make him see himself through it. At least, it wasn't the main purpose.

After the first chorus, you opened your eyes, locking them immediately onto his.

Beautiful stranger, catching my stare

It's fate we collided right then back there

I wonder if he felt the same thing too

Innocent crush on the morning commute

San held your gaze. His face didn't express anything. But his eyes were glowing.

But my beautiful stranger will have to remain

A stranger until I see him again

By the end of the song, the place burst into applause.

But your eyes were only on him.

Your eyes were telling a million things that you wish he could understand. San didn't smile, but the fondness behind his eyes, and something else, betrayed him.

He stood up, his eyes locked onto yours.

And just like that, he left.

You didn't hesitate before you followed him.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨

The fresh air of the night didn't do anything to calm San's heart.

Everything inside him was chaos.

He was desesperately trying to calm himself, fanning his face because he knew he looked like a tomato again.

''I can't take it anymore.'' He muttered to himself.

''Can't take what exactly?''

San's head snapped toward the voice behind him.

There she is. The one who stole my heart.

She approached him slowly.

His heart instantly flutters.

He clenched his fists. He felt like he was going to explode. Worse, he is exploding.

''Why?''

He saw her frowned.

''What do you mean by why?''

''Why do you do that to me?''

Confusion flashed through her eyes.

''San-''

''Everytime, there's this thing in me. I-I can't control it. Why does my heart ache whenever I look at you? How can you be so...so...''

Her eyes were shining. And suddenly he felt warmth on his right cheek.

Her hand was on his cheek. Gently stroking it.

He turned slighly his head, putting a soft kiss onto her palm. San heard her breath catch.

''How many drinks did you have, San?''

''Just one.''

She frowned again.

''One?''

''One and a half.''

''One and a half?''

''Two. Or three. Don't remember.''

He saw her chuckled again. And it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

''You're so pretty. Did you know that?''

''You're not thinking straight.''

''Of course I am. Are you insinuating I am lying?''

A grin appeared on her lips.

''I didn't say that.''

''So take my feelings seriously.''

Her strokes on his cheeks stopped.

''Your feelings?''

''You make me feel less lonely. Your voice appeases my brain and makes me forget all my problems. And it's weird because it feels like your presence always manages to pull me out, like I was sinking under water and you would save me. I can't seem to stop thinking about you, your voice, your laugh, your scent, your eyes, the way you're always so attentive whenever I complain about my job, the way you comfort me, the way you always care for me when I work late. But also the way your eyes light up when people applaude, how gorgeous and angelic you look on stage and-''

He didn't finish that he felt lips on his, interrupting him.

His eyes widened. During a couple of seconds he went very still. Then, he closed his eyes kissing her back.

It wasn't a brief kiss.

It was a passionate kiss, holding all the feelings they felt for each other. But all above that, there was one feeling that definitely stood out more the others.

Love.

When they broke the kiss, their foreheads against each other, catching their breath, the night never felt more calm for San.

''I love you.'' He whispered.

She laughed, her lips brushing his.

''Yeah, I think I could've guessed it.''

San kissed the corner of her mouth.

''I love you too.''

San smiled. Their lips connected again. The kiss was less hurried. More calm.

But no less devastating than the previous one.

When they broke apart again, San wanted to chase her lips again but she moved her head away sending him an amused gaze.

''Do you know why did I choose this song?''

''Hmm...Because of the lyrics?''

Her smile deepened.

''Well it could've been because of that, but no.''

He frowned, staring at her lips like it could give him the answer. Eventually, he shooks his head.

She leaned towards his ear.

''Because in this universe, you're my beautiful stranger.''

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨

taglist (open): @belongjoong @kisssan @strhwa @thatateezgirl @karlee10261990 @stxrrywoo @minkieater @moooonandroses @redemptions @seeyouinheaveen @frayaatiny

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.”

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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.”

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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.”

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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.”