bel ⭑

his body reacted before his brain could, completely helpless under your spell. hongjoong immediately threw his arms back, planting his palms firmly on the mattress behind him to support his weight, leaving himself completely defenseless to you. his fingers dug into the sheets, strained against the desperate urge to feel you.

"good boy," you praised, taking your time to strip away his control piece by piece, along with his and your clothes, leaving him completely bare and vulnerable beneath you. you line yourself up, and the moment you place your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging hard into his skin, as you slowly lower your hips, taking every single inch of his thick cock inside you. 

hongjoong’s eyes grew wide, a groan tore from the back of his throat as his hips involuntarily hitched upward, but your weight held him firmly down. as you began to move, lifting yourself up and bouncing down in a ruthless rhythm, the realization hit him with euphoric clarity: it was right then that he felt how stretched and filled you are by him. 

"god… you feel so good," you moaned, leaning down to capture his lips in a deep and searing kiss. you swallowed his desperate groans, your tongue tangling with his as you rode him harder, the obnoxious wet sound of skin slapping echoes in the room.

hongjoong couldn't take his eyes off you, his head thrown back whenever you pulled away, completely drunk on the sight of you fucking yourself on him. "ah, fuck," he whined, a needy sound escaping his lips as you hit his sweet spot with a particularly heavy thrust. "look at you... please, angel, let me touch you, i’m gonna–"

"no," you gasped out, your voice breathless but dominant as you slammed your hips down against his again, making him white-out from the pleasure. "keep your hands back, hongjoong. just look at me and take it all."

"yes, ma'am," he choked out, his vision blurring as he watched you command his body, entirely enslaved to your rhythm, completely yours. his mind is unable to process anything but the blinding force of you moving on top of him.

you want more of his sweet surrender. leaning down, you take his wrists from where they rest behind his back and loop a soft, tight silk tie around them, binding his hands securely together behind his torso. the sudden restriction makes his posture arch off more into you, a broken sound caught in his throat as he realizes he can’t even use his hands to stabilize his weight anymore. he is completely at your mercy, entirely exposed and defenseless while you continue to ruthlessly ride him.

"please, i'm– i'm so close," hongjoong gasps out, his skin is flushed crimson, chest heaving violently under the your authority. he is completely overstimulated, every nerve ending screaming from the way you're pumping yourself on his cock while his arms are trapped behind him. "sweetheart, please, i can't hold it–"

"let it go for me, captain," your voice low and dripping with praise as you grind your hips down extra hard, your nails scratching down his chest.

that single command shatters his remaining restraint. whining into your neck as his cock pulses violently inside you as he cums in heavy spurts. because he’s so incredibly sensitive and wound up from the stress of the past few weeks, the release is explosive, the heat of his climax flooding your velvety walls, making it drip down his thighs, causing a sticky mess of the rumpled sheets beneath him. he’s shaking uncontrollably, trapped in a state of a hazy afterglow, admiring the only woman who holds the power to break him.

❝ i want her, i can’t refuse her ❞

for SEONGHWA, the submission is deeply sensory and overwhelming. he wants to be consumed by you and worship you like a deity. he always looks so perfect, until the moment you cover his eyes with a silken blindfold. suddenly, the elegant facade fades as he submits to your every whim. your man is a strict perfectionist who prides himself on his restraint, but around you, that composure dissolves into helpless longing. the second you decide to test his limits, he becomes a man starving, and you are holding the feast, intentionally taking your sweet time to prolong his agony. 

he lies back on the soft mattress, his chest heaving as he takes heavy breaths through his nose, completely unable to refuse whatever tormenting pace you choose for him. his fingers twitching against the sheets as you trail your nails down his toned chest, mapping out the hard lines of his abdomen, teasing him just out of reach. by withholding the full weight of your body, you force him to endure the delicious torture of anticipating the unknown.

"before we go any further, hwa," you whisper, leaning down until your breath warms against his lips. "star is still our go-to if it's too much, right? how are you feeling?"

"good… very good right now," seonghwa pants, his adam's apple bobbing heavily as his head rolls back into the pillow. "it’s so intense already, darling. just... keep going, don't stop."

you immediately pivot into a cruel game of sensory tease. one second you are resting on his right side, pressing wet kisses along his jawline, licking up to the sensitive spot behind his ear while whispering sweet nothings into the shell of it. “you look so beautiful like this, hwa...” but the very next second, you pull away entirely. you don't touch him, you don't even breathe loudly. you just keep quiet, letting the heavy silence stretch out until his breath hitches, then you talk again just to make him jump.

without his vision, seonghwa is forced to rely solely on his remaining senses to track you. touch becomes electric, sound becomes terrifyingly intimate, as anticipation builds in a way that is simply not possible when all senses are engaged. he catches the faint scent of your perfume while you move across the bed. his ears strain to catch your knees sliding against the sheets, the quiet padding of your bare footsteps, and the rustling of what he correctly assumes is your clothes being shed and discarded onto the floor.

"are you naked for me yet, my love?" he pleads, his voice breaking as he blindly tilts his chin up, searching for something he can’t see. "i can hear you... tell me what you're doing to me, give me a clue."

you straddle his lap, but keep your torso hovering just inches above his, refusing him the full contact his aching skin craves.

"i'm sitting right over you, hwa," you purr, your voice low, which makes his cock twitch fiercely in his trousers. "and if you stay perfectly still and keep your hands right where they are, i might just let you feel how ready i am for you. i think i’ll let you taste me first, until you're sobbing into my cunt, and then i might finally let you slide inside me. how does that sound?"

"fuck," a tear escapes from beneath the silk blindfold, tracking down his flushed cheek. "it sounds perfect. please, i beg you, princess... i’m yours. use me and ruin me. i can't refuse you anything."

every single touch from you feels like a divine blessing to his deprived senses, and he is weeping for it. you hover above him, shifting your weight until you are straddling his face, your wet heat pressing directly against his lips. seonghwa lets out a muffled gasp against your skin, his hands gripping the mattress so hard because he knows he is not allowed to touch you just yet.

"use that pretty tongue for me, mm?" you command, your fingers tangling in his dark hair to firmly guide his head exactly where you want it.

he doesn't need to be told twice. even blindfolded, his tongue works with this intoxicating devotion, lapping up your slickness, tracing your sensitive folds with an intense hunger. the wet sounds of his tongue devouring you fill the quiet room, and you throw your head back, groaning loudly as he hits your sweet spot.

pushing your hips down harder against his mouth, as a pathetic whine tears from his throat when a massive wave of pleasure crashes through his lower half. right there, with your thighs clamping his head, seonghwa’s body betrays him: he cums straight into his pants.

you pull back to look down at his flushed face, a smirk pulling at your lips. "aww, look at you," you tease, your voice malicious as you tap his soaked crotch with your hands. "cumming without me even touching your cock. so much for being such a patient man."

seonghwa panting heavily, his tongue licking his wet lips, obsessed with the taste of you. "i'm sorry," he whimpers, completely undone beneath you. "i'm so pathetic for you, sweetheart... please don't stop." and you don’t plan to.

❝ it hurts me so much, but i can’t turn away ❞

YUNHO is a greedy man, and his greed comes from an insatiable hunger for your absolute attention. he is never truly satisfied, always craving to be entirely possessed by you so he can ground himself in the absolute certainty that he belongs to you. under normal circumstances, your boyfriend plays the role of the gentle giant — always teasingly dominant, using his size to playfully hoard your affection and keep you tucked against his chest.

but tonight, you completely flip the script. the moment he tries to crowd you, you slide a pair of heavy metal handcuffs around his soft wrists, pinning his arms high above his head and locking the steel securely to the bed’s headboard. the metallic click signals his total downfall, and the sudden realization that he is completely trapped beneath you makes him absolutely lose his mind.

he is massive, all broad shoulders and towering height, but emotionally, he is so deeply wrapped around your finger that it almost aches. the hurt in him is the exquisite tension of wanting you so badly it physically pains him. you climb into his lap, straddling his thighs so that his only option is to tilt his jaw back and look up at you, his eyes wide and completely captivated by the sight of his owner.

"you like to be in control, don't you, yunho?" you purr, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw before sliding down to wrap around his exposed throat. "how does it feel now? looking up at me while you're completely stuck?"

"it feels... shit, i don’t know," yunho rasps, a vibration against your palm. even with his freedom stripped away, he doesn't sound entirely broken; there is still a possessive gleam in his eyes, a stubbornness that lingers of his natural dominance that only makes his submission sweeter. "do whatever you want to me, doll."

commanding him to stay still, and he obeys instantly, locking his eyes on yours, refusing to look away from his owner. you leave a hot trail of wet kisses from his lips, down his neck, over his chest, and across his flat stomach, until you slide lower, unhooking his trousers and pulling them down to expose his cock. it immediately twitches against his stomach. you lick right over the sensitive tip, catching the sweet pre-cum on your tongue before spitting directly onto the head, rubbing the lubrication down his length with your palm. pumping him slowly, teasing him while he squirms, his massive thighs flexing as he tries to arch into your hand.

"i told you to stay still," you retort, leaning down between his legs.

you wrap your lips around his tip, taking him into your mouth. yunho’s hips immediately twitch upward out of instinct, but you dig your nails sharp into his thighs, pinning his legs down. you dive deeper, your throat tightly clamping around his thick girth as you slightly gag and choke on him. bopping your head up and down, putting on a filthy show until you feel him swell and pulse in your mouth.

just as you feel his lower abdomen tighten, his breathing turns into a series of breathless whines and heavy groans that signal his approaching climax, you suddenly stop. you pull completely off him with a wet pop, leaving him entirely denied at the very precipice of his orgasm. 

"ah, fuck– no, don't do me like that, dollface… please," yunho groans, and he sounds like a wreck. he isn't the type to beg pathetically, his pride still keeping his tone firm and demanding even while bound, but the frustration of the denial makes his entire body tremble. "don't do that to me… you know what i need, get on it."

"not yet, big boy," you whisper, wiping your lips as you shift your body back up his lap.

you align yourself over him, guiding his leaking tip against your soaking wet entrance before slamming your hips down rather roughly. you take him whole inside you in one stroke, the sudden action mixing an exquisite sting of pain with absolute pleasure. leaning your weight forward, placing your hands flat against his chest as you begin to bounce on him, setting a brutal pace that gives him no room to breathe. yunho stretches you to the absolute limit, and you enjoy looking down at him while he's handcuffed; he looks up at you like you are an angel with devil horns.

quicking the pace, your wet walls squeezing him tight, and the sight of the thick veins straining on his trapped hands sends you straight over the edge. you moan his name loudly, your cunt clamping down hard as you climax, and that crushing squeeze breaks his remaining restraint. 

yunho cums deep inside you, his hips bucking violently into yours in heavy, that it completely overfills you. the hot mess of your combined orgasms dripping onto the rumpled sheets beneath his locked frame. his voice is so incredibly raspy, soft, and impossibly deep as he pants beneath you, his chest heaving out of breath. "ah... fuck, doll... look at the mess you made.”

a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he tilts his head to look down at your shaking body still draped over his lap.

"you couldn't even handle your own rules, could you?" so smug and cocky, his heavy hips giving you a twitch upward to remind you exactly who just filled you to the brim. "you took all my control away, but you're still the one left trembling, hm... how cute."

❝ it’s fine even if i’m hurt like this, without moving a muscle, i’m chained up ❞

YEOSANG is usually quiet, a man of a few words and reserved glances, but behind closed doors, he is absolutely starving for you to take over. gluttony is the only word to describe the insatiable hunger he has for your touch, voice, and sweet praise. you feed directly into his desperate need by rationing your affection, requiring a perfect execution of obedience before you give him a single drop of pleasure. your boyfriend has to obey, stay still, and serve you perfectly just to get a single taste of your lips, becoming utterly drunk on your authority.

playing into his doll-like beauty, you explicitly command him not to move, treating him like a beautiful puppet just so you can pull the strings. he stands in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes wide and completely captivated by you. you’ve already ripped open his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. his toned chest heaving as you gently restrain his hands behind his back with a soft satin cord. you look him dead in the eye and give your law: he cannot touch you, speak, or move a single muscle until you allow it. yeosang is so sweet, so eager to please that the mere thought of making you mad or disappointing you makes his stomach flip. the thrill for him is absolute obedience, completely chained by your words alone.

"you're doing so good for me, yeosangie," you whisper, dragging your fingers down his throat. "my pretty boy, staying so still."

"anything for you, angel," he breathes, his voice trembling as he breaks the rule of silence just to worship you. "i'm yours. please... tell me what to do."

when you finally permit him to move, he gladly bears the sweet torture of your restraint because the reward of your praise is his entire world.

eventually, the dynamic shifts to the mattress. you untie his wrists and shed the rest of your clothes, crawling onto the bed together. but the game isn't over; you set a new, high-stakes task. your hands are now resting flat on the sheets, as you tell him that he has to do all the work while you stay completely still. if he fails to extract an orgasm from you through his service alone, guess who will be chained up again?

the pressure drives him wild. yeosang is already beautifully marked up by you — his pale skin painted with purple hickeys, smudged red lipstick stains, and your sharp nails have already scratched his back raw, painting it red like it’s a bloody massacre. he deserves every single mark, especially with the way his thick cock is lovingly abusing your pussy, imprinting himself roughly into your walls as he returns the favor.

both of you are obsessed with missionary. there is something intensely kinky about doing it in the most vanilla position of all while being freaky as hell. it allows for constant and uninterrupted face-to-face contact, and you thrive on that power. it looks like yeosang is the one who should be in control, but your eyes remind him exactly who holds the leash.

he shifts his weight, his hands gripping your thigh to raise your left leg until your knee is level with your right shoulder, keeping your other leg pinned flat on the bed. the extreme angle opens you up completely, stretching you around his length as he drives deep inside you.

"you like this, baby?" he pants, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your chest as he thrusts into you, his eyes locked on yours. "look at how perfectly you take me. you're so tight around me, princess."

"shh… yeosang, stop talking so loud," you command softly, your eyes narrowing. "and keep your pace steady."

instantly, he bites his lower lip until it bleeds, completely silencing his voice, whimpering mutely into his own mouth as he obeys. if you told him to get off the bed and onto his knees right now, he would fall down and propose to you on the spot, since he is completely at your mercy.

but your tightness combined with the intensity of your gaze becomes too much for his sensitive body to handle. he tries to pull back and hold it in, however, with one devastating shove against your cervix, yeosang cums deep inside you without your permission. his cock is pulsing violently as he fills you to the brim with hot spurts of his seed. the room goes dead silent except for his ragged breathing. he stays buried inside you, his hands shaking against the mattress as he realizes what he just did.

you look up at him, a sly smirk spreading across your lips as you tap his chest. "did i tell you that you could cum inside me?"

yeosang’s eyes go completely wide, tears of pleasure and sudden panic swimming in them as he looks down at you like an angel who is about to punish him for a sin he didn’t mean to commit. "i-i'm sorry, angel... i couldn't hold it, you're felt too g-good, please–"

"well, then…” you whisper, reaching blindly under the pillow. "where did i put those handcuffs?"

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

“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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It was too confusing, you didn’t have the energy to pick it apart while heaved sobs rip from your throat. Was this a release? Too much emotion built up inside, with nowhere to go? The tears began after picking an argument with a still-drunk Yeosang in the car, pointless, yet you still left him to fend for himself while you ran up the steps to your apartment, still fighting to keep the sobs inside. 

Alone in your living room, sitting hunched over on the couch, face in your palms, you cried. 

And cried, and cried, and cried. 

Your phone lights up, sitting face-up on the coffee table, multiple notifications from the square, pink icon that’s been draining your battery all fucking day. You can only imagine what they say, what vile fucking things are waiting for you, all from real accounts, real people who hate you because of Song Mingi. 

Maybe it’s masochism, or maybe you need to keep the release flowing, a devil on your shoulder tells you to unlock your phone and read. You make it through three before your shoulders shake all over again, your phone falling to the floor, you have half a mind to smash the screen so you can’t look even if you wanted to. Curling up onto the couch, you let yourself cry, you sink into the feeling, into the emotion; if you let your brain wander enough, you can still feel his covered palm on your skin, his lips on yours, you can still see his eyes, how he looked at you. So fond, affectionate, so fucking different from any man who has ever looked at you, ever.

There’s a knock at your door, rendering you quiet, sniffing up snot that dared to fall. 

“Hello?” You call out, sounding so unlike yourself you cringe.

Three presses of someone’s knuckles at your door again, you whimper as you push yourself up off the couch to open it. Hand on the knob, you close your eyes, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You hope you don’t look insane. 

Just as another knock sounds, you open it. Standing with his fist out, he wears a blank face, one that warps into confusion then concern as he looks you up and down. “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wooyoung?”

“I came to get my hoodie,” he shakes his head like that was beside the point. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“Have you gotten your eyes checked recently?” You sniff again, wiping at your nose with your bare wrist. It’s clear you’ve been crying, are crying, sounding nasally on top of your appearance, you can’t be bothered to care. “What do you want, for real? I know you’re not here for your fuckass hoodie.”

“I broke up with Winter,” he admits easily, too fucking easily. 

There’s no feeling in your gut, no excitement, no disappointment, there’s nothing. Your face reflects it, shoulders shrugging, free arm flying to say okay? You feed him an irritated laugh, “Congratulations?”

“I broke up with her because I miss you,” he tries again, “she isn’t you.”

His hair is messy, undone. Clothes dark, hanging off him, like he rolled out of bed to come here. You study his face, his mismatched eyes, the dot of espresso that sits on the apple of his cheek. There’s nothing unclear about the way he’s looking at you– there’s the hinge in his jaw, his dilated pupils, his slouched shoulders, deflated. Like he didn’t want to admit it, but here he is. 

“No shit,” you sniff again. “What was the plan? You come here, confess your bullshit to me, I take you back, and we live happily ever after?”

“I’m not going to give you a bullshit speech,” his gaze averts to the floor, “I know you have a boyfriend. I just wanted you to know, I needed to get it off my chest.”

You laugh again, and it’s accompanied by disbelief and shock, but what rings truest is understanding. You lean into your door, still wide open, “You don’t have to lie. She found out, didn’t she?”

He glances up, “You’re the only one who gets it.”

“I’m the only one who put up with it,” you correct him, “those days are over.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, straightening again. “What happened?”

“Nothing you give a fuck about.”

He takes a step forward, hands reaching out, but he doesn’t touch you. “I care about everything that involves you. What happened?”

You hold his stare, your jaw locking. Familiarity, routine. Pattern. 

“If I asked you,” your voice comes out shaky, you clear your throat, “to fuck me, would you do it?”

“You have a boyfriend–”

“Would you fucking do it?”

His hand wraps around your jaw, searing your skin, lips smashing onto yours like he was fucking waiting for it. It’s blinding, dizzying how he pushes you backward, kicking the door shut behind him, lips rough and tongue taking, your mind shuts off in a second’s time. Muscle memory kicks in, Mingi’s jersey on the floor, mini skirt hiked up to your waist, panties pushed to the side, this is it. This is everything.

This is all you’ll ever get, and you’ve made peace with it.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” 

Inside, at the very edge of the tunnel, tucked off to the side to avoid lingering eyes, Mingi’s vibrating with excitement, he can’t believe Winter is here and wearing his fucking jersey. He was already excited because they won their game; even if he knew they’d win and it was no surprise to him, Mingi played such a perfect game he was high off adrenaline, off arrogance, like absolutely nothing could go wrong. 

“Of course,” her back is against the wall, her head tucked right under Mingi’s outstretched arm. She wears a cute, dainty smile, almost innocent, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He has to fight his instinct to not tell her about the life he’s imagined for them. “I broke up with Wooyoung, by the way.”

This might be the best day of his fucking life.

“I’m… sorry?” He eases a smile, one that turns into a full-fledged grin when he sees how Winter smiles back.

She giggles, “Don’t be sorry. That night at the bar, she was right.” Winter bites her lip and Mingi wishes he could bite it for her. “Will she be there?” She asks, “Your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Mingi’s brows furrow, then he remembers the bar, and then a picture of you in his passenger seat rushes through his mind. “Oh. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I saw her in your jersey,” she tilts her head to the side, a manicured nail between her teeth, “unfair, she gets the real one, and I’m stuck wearing this.”

“Not for long,” it rushes out of his mouth before he can think about it. He chuckles, nervously, “I mean, like, things aren’t really that great between us right now.”

“Oh, really?” Her brows lift in soft surprise, “She seemed kinda… mad, when she saw me in this. I told her I’m a huge fan, but she didn’t seem to like that answer. Does she get jealous often?”

Mingi’s brows furrow, head cocking to the side. Jealous? Mad? 

“What do you mean?”

She giggles, a hand covering her mouth, “I don’t want to paint her in a bad light, or make you guys argue or something.”

“We won’t,” he pulls his arm back to his side, sounding assured, “tell me.”

“She asked me why I was wearing your jersey,” she looks down at her shoes, then back up to him, “she looked really mad, Mingi, like she was seconds away from ripping it off of me or something. I was kinda scared.”

“Huh,” he looks away, he isn’t sure where. You were already acting off when you came down to the field, he could feel it, he could see it on you. How you forced a smile on your face, faked laughter, looked like Lucifer had come to pull you back down to Hell before he kissed you. 

For some reason in his stupid fucking mind, he thought kissing you would make it better. That you’d laugh, call him an asshole, brush it off like it was nothing– selfishly, he wanted it to make it better, he wanted to be the reason why. He wanted to see your smile, the real one, not that fake shit you were putting on so no one would shoot you a second glance. 

You looked like he hurt you instead. He supposes it’s time to break up anyways, if the conversation he’s currently having is any indication, there’s no real reason for you to be together anymore if everything had already worked out. But fear lingered, in the way you looked at him, in how you jumped away from him like he burnt you, it stuck heavy in his mind, scared that you wouldn’t be friends after this. He’s afraid you’ll never speak again. He’s terrified you’re the first real friend he’s ever made.

“I’m okay, though,” she brushes a hand on his chest and he doesn’t like how it feels. “She left me alone after that, that’s why I waited until she left to come see you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he’s speaking, not thinking. “And no, she doesn’t do that often, I don’t think she’s feeling well today.”

Should he not have kissed you? Did that make everything worse? Did he cross a line, for real?

“I hope she feels better,” Winter smiles, showing off the pearly white teeth hidden behind her glossy lips, “are you doing anything tonight?”

“Yeah, I– um,” he looks around again, moving backward so her hand falls from his chest. Are you mad at him? Should he apologize? “The team is going out to celebrate tonight, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you deserve the celebration for how well you played. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” it’s mindless, absent. 

He walks back to the locker room with furrowed brows and tunnel vision. Opening his locker, pulling out his phone, he doesn’t even take his jersey off before texting you. 

mingi: were having a party tomorrow at the house to celebrate mingi: if u wanted to come mingi: and im sorry for kissing u mingi: idk if i shoulda done that mingi: im sorry mingi: if u want we can break up tomorrow at the party mingi: a lot of people will be there

You stare at the pictures Yeosang sent you. Minutes go by, maybe an hour, you aren’t sure, but you’ve zoomed in on every inch of each picture, and the looming cloud of dread won’t dissipate for shit. You weren’t imagining how he looked at you, how he held you, it was eternalized in pixels on your screen. 

The more you stared, the more you hated it. 

“What’s that?”

You lock your phone, throwing it on the nightstand beside you. “Can you get the fuck out already?” 

He smacks his teeth, “We haven’t had a sleepover in so long, why so mean?” 

“I don’t like you,” you finally turn your head to see him. Eyes low with sleep, dark hair frizzy and sticking out in every which way, shirtless, littered with marks you’ve never been allowed to give him before. “I don’t want you here.” 

“Then why’d you let me stay?” 

“Because you did me a favor,” you run your hands over your face, rubbing at your swollen eyes, “but I have to prepare to break up with my boyfriend tonight, so unless you’re helping me come up with a plan, go.” 

“Just tell him you cheated,” he shrugs, and when you look at him he’s wearing the nastiest of smirks. “Worked for me.” 

“You didn’t even tell me, you fucking asshole,” reaching over, you smack him dead in his chest. “Get out of my apartment.” 

He laughs, slowly sitting up, giving you a pretty view of his spine, the tattoo that sits at the top, the muscles in his shoulders. You hum, head tilting as you stare, he really is pretty. You missed the sight. He turns his head halfway, “Have a smoke with me before I go.” 

You keep your eyes glued to him for a moment, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, he’s still shamelessly naked in your bed. So many things, Jung Wooyoung is, but most of all a complexity you don’t think you’ll ever fully understand. 

You sigh, soft, pleasant, almost. “Okay.” 

On the balcony, you’re in Mingi’s jersey you picked up from your living room floor, the first thing you saw when you realized you needed something on your body to go outside. He’s across from you, boxers on his hips, shirtless, comfortable. Always comfortable with you. 

He turns around to face you while your lips wrap around his cigarette, a Marlboro Red, he takes a second to watch you. His eyes don’t follow the smoke as it leaves your lips, they stay on you, analyzing, thinking. 

“What’s up with you?” He finally asks. “Don’t bullshit me.” 

Face going unchanged, you respond, “I think I like him for real.” 

He stares a second before breaking out in laughter. Hand clutching his stomach, his brows furrow, “So you slept with me because you like your boyfriend?” 

“I slept with you because you’re the opposite of him,” you reach out your arm, two fingers sliding the tobacco into his, “he freaked me out. He kissed— kisses me like he cares about me.”

“I don’t kiss you like I care about you?” 

“You kiss me like you’re saving the nice shit for her,” you huff, craning your neck, stretching your aching muscles. You really went too long without getting laid. 

Wooyoung’s brows wiggle, shoulders shrugging as he brings the cigarette up to his lips like he couldn’t argue with you even if he tried. “You don’t make sense.” 

You sigh, turning to face the balcony, the neighborhood below. So quiet, it was busier closer to campus; here, it was nothing but peace. Warm, not quite humid yet, a clarity in the air you haven’t felt in so long, you let the sunshine beat on your skin, the kelly-green polyester covering it. 

“You don’t need to understand,” you reach out your fingers, he places the cigarette between them. “Being with him is too much exposure, too many eyes on me. You should see my Instagram DMs.” 

“Bad?”

“Worse than bad.” Tilting your head, blowing smoke from your lips, you ask, “Wanna come with me tonight?” 

“To watch you break his heart?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m game,” he takes a step toward you, leaning over the balcony, shoulder touching yours. “Did you know Winter has a thing for him?”

“Yes,” you laugh a little, “you’re late to figuring that one out.” 

He stayed until the cigarette burnt down to the filter, shoving it in the ashtray you bought and kept on the small table in the corner, solely for him. You stayed on the balcony for what felt like forever after he showed himself out— sitting with yourself and your thoughts, flooded with Mingi, the inevitable end a part of you had begun to think might not actually come. 

FIFTH OUTING: THE BREAK UP, FOOTBALL HOUSE. 10:21 PM

Mingi has always been grateful for his height. It’s helped him tremendously, helping his mother much smaller than him, in football, with women. He remembers being a kid and being giddy about holding the caboose of his class’s line because he was the biggest. 

He thinks he’s never been more grateful than he is right now, facing Seungmin, looking over his brown head of hair clearly, effortlessly— you, in his living room, dancing like you didn’t give a fuck. Hair let loose behind you, your top clinging to your body like it was painted on, jeans hugging your swaying hips in a way that made him jealous of black denim. 

You greeted him like you weren’t here to break up with him, a soft hey rolling off your tongue, cheeks already flushed with liquor, shoulders already slouched. Mingi put his beer down on a table littered with empty bottles and hasn't once thought about picking it back up. 

You told him he looked good, apologized for his jersey smelling like cigarettes, which made him quirk a brow in confusion, but he forgave you in the same breath with a little laugh as you stumbled over your feet. 

Drunk. Cute. 

You didn’t mention the kiss, didn’t mention breaking up, you didn’t mention anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mingi wasn’t going to remind you, not when you’re blissfully boneless, a smile permanently etched onto your cheeks, there wasn’t a line in your face to be seen. No worries, no stress, no anger, unaware like it was purposeful. You seemed like you needed it. 

“Hello? Mingi?” 

He blinks into focus, eyes back on Seungmin before him who wore furrowed brows and tilted jaw, staring at him expectantly. 

“Sorry,” he laughs a little, jutting his chin in the direction of you, making Seungmin turn his head. “Look at her.” 

“You’re sick,” Seungmin looks only for a second before turning back to Mingi whose eyes are glazed over, the younger man’s face rendered flat. “Obsessed.” 

Mingi giggles like he’s proud of it. No denial, no rebuttal, he thinks he might be, just a little, maybe infatuated was the better word. Especially since you’re not mad at him. The nerves he’s felt from last night leading up to when you walked through the door of the football house were full-bodied, eating at every vein below his skin, every organ felt like it wasn’t working right. 

You answered his texts, which should have eased him at least a fraction. 

princess: i kissed you back did i not princess: moron princess: ill be there  princess: and im breaking up with you btw

He couldn’t figure out a response, mostly because a huge part of him wanted to stall breaking up, but he couldn’t figure out why. Or he wouldn’t let himself, he should say, because the answer was staring at him in the fucking face: he likes you. He knows he does, Yeosang’s show confirmed it, forced it to the front of his mind, a life-altering observation— he’s so fucked. 

This is an arrangement. An even exchange, he gets Winter, you get whatever the fuck your plan with Wooyoung is. It dawns on him that he’s never even asked, there are so many things he wants to ask, so many things he wants to say, he doesn’t have enough time to say them. You made it clear yesterday that you wanted to break up. 

“Go get her,” Seungmin huffs, “I know you want to.” 

“I don’t dance,” Mingi looks at Seungmin like he’s crazy.

“Why else did you ask Woozi to DJ then?” 

“Fair.” 

Seungmin turns on his heel, toward the kitchen, maybe. Mingi takes one step before he stops in his tracks, eyes blowing wide, body running ice-cold. 

Like a shadow, he was at your back, hands on your hips, smiling like he was supposed to be there. Like you were allowing it. You clearly were, head tilted backward, smile wide as a laugh he couldn’t hear rolled off your lips. God, Mingi can’t even say his name— he’s a roach, a fucking rat that’s lingering around Mingi, waiting for the opportunity to give him diseases or something. 

He finds his feet moving, not aware of himself body slamming people who were minding their own damn business, certainly not aware of the anger that hung in the hinge of his jaw, in his clenched fists. He pulls you by the wrist, your name on his tongue, you barely notice. Hazy eyes finally landing on him, your smile widens, sparkles in your eyes shining brighter, your fingers tighten in the fabric hanging off his shoulders. “Mingi!” 

He eyes Wooyoung over your head, face flat, unimpressed, pissed off. Wooyoung’s smirk is cynical, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, what’s happening. Mingi feels left out and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

“Where have you been?” You’re whining, head tilted to the side, lips pouty even if your body sinks into him more than it ever has before. You’re drunk. 

Mingi eyes dance over to Riyo and Jia, two of your friends, he thinks those are their names. One red-haired and wide-eyed, body rigid with fear as she meets Mingi’s gaze, the other dark-haired and panicked like she was already searching for a distraction, a way to get you out of this situation. 

Wooyoung speaks up before Mingi can get a word out, “Did you two break up yet?” 

Yet. His jaw clenches. Riyo and Jia turn confused. 

“We’re not breaking up,” Mingi responds, “fuck are you talking about?” 

“I need another drink,” you turn around, back leaning into his chest, laying your whole weight on him as your arms reach down to his thighs, palms splayed flat over denim for purchase. “Can we go find cutie Kai? He’ll get me one.” 

He can’t even focus on your hands on him, how mindless you are, he’s so fucking irritated. He ignores you, asking Wooyoung again, “The fuck are you talking about?” 

Wooyoung’s brows raise, smirk growing like he was about to drop a bomb. “Interesting, that’s what she told me this morning,” he takes a step closer to you, “right, baby?” 

“Huh?” You ask, body swaying, Mingi uses two hands on your waist to keep you steady. 

“You’re breaking up with Mingi,” Wooyoung repeats, “that’s why we had sex last night. Right?” 

Sorry if your jersey smells like cigarettes. 

He pushes you forward like you fucking burned him, just enough for you to fall into Wooyoung’s chest instead. Jia and Riyo are side-by-side, watching everything unfold like it was a train wreck they couldn’t look away from. 

“Wait,” hands braced on Wooyoung’s chest, you turn around, eyes wide and lips trembling. “Hold on a second.” 

Wooyoung pulls you into him, arms slithering around your torso like he knows every inch of your body. It makes Mingi sick, or it would if he could feel anything, his body’s numb like it didn’t belong to him anymore. 

“You fucked him?” His voice is pitched like he didn’t believe it. “He cheated on you,” Mingi feels like the three of you are alone, like this isn’t a party full of one hundred something people. “Twice.” 

“I know—”

“Then what, you don’t give a fuck?” His voice is raised, he doesn’t care. “What the fuck was the point then, huh? What the fuck was the point if you were just gonna go back to him?” 

Wooyoung cocks his head, “The point of what?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mingi blurts, “I’m not talking to you.” 

“Mingi,” your jaw drops, “I don’t—”

“You couldn’t wait?” Mingi asks, “Couldn’t at least have the decency to break up with me first before running right back to him?”

“I’m sorry!” 

The apology off your lips makes him stand straighter. It’s pleading, like you’re just asking him to be quiet, to stop, but it seems to screw his head back on his body, his consciousness forcing itself back into his six-foot build with vengeance. 

You call after him as he turns around, walking away as quick as he can, fingers tapping at his sides just to remind himself he has them. This can’t be real, he’s gotta be dreaming, there’s no way in hell that just happened to him. 

Is he just gonna leave you with Wooyoung? Drunk as you are? Is that why you’re so fucking hammered in the first place? You seemed so comfortable in his hold, Mingi wonders if that was you or the alcohol, he could see it in your eyes, the fear of being caught. The confusion, like you didn't understand why Mingi was so angry. 

You probably didn’t. You probably thought he wouldn’t find out, because why would he? You were supposed to break up tonight, be done with each other. A chapter closed. Mingi feels like turning on his heel and pulling you away from him, just to ask you every fucking question he’ll never have the chance to. 

He feels like apologizing. 

He feels like confessing. 

But he’s so fucking pissed he bullies into the kitchen instead, eyes on alert, searching for something he can’t place, anything that will rid him of this dirty fucking feeling. 

It’s full circle, he thinks, as his eyes land on Winter. Sitting on the counter, two guys in front of her, clearly chatting her up. 

Nah. 

Forcing a smile when he gets close enough, his voice carries a warning to the two unnamed, no-faced men. “Hey, beautiful.” They scatter. 

“Should you be calling me that?” She teases, hands gripping the edge of the counter, leaned forward, feet kicking where they hung. Hair pulled up, tiny top, little shorts, she looked bare-faced, natural. Pretty. Good enough. 

“I can’t be honest?” A cocky smirk, a character he hates playing. Approaching her pinned knees, they open, letting him step between them, he takes the silent offer. 

“You can be honest,” she nods, batting her lashes. “But I would rather you be mine.”

He has to force the twinge of disgust out of the back of his throat, tasting like coke-drip and disappointment. He didn't feel this way talking to her last night, Mingi blinks at her before a slow chuckle rolls off his lips. “Smooth.”

“Vodka makes me bold,” she shrugs, winking. “Problem?”

This could work. He could make this work. He has to make this work, actually. “I’m supposed to be the bold one,” he hums, palms landing on her bare knees, so soft beneath his burning skin. Her eyes drop to where their skin meets, but she makes no move to stop him. 

“I didn’t think you were available enough to be,” her eyes flicker upward, “do you have good news for me?” 

He nods, “You won’t believe it, actually.” 

Her brows furrow, smile faltering a little. “What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, nevermind,” Mingi shakes his head, “we don’t have to talk about her, we can talk about us now, finally.” 

They talked. And talked, and talked and fucking talked, Mingi heard every other word, something about her classes and school-air fucking up her makeup. Something about Wooyoung, he thinks, he tuned out after he heard that godforsaken name. Mingi didn’t really care, he wanted to kiss her, to fuck her, he hoped you’d find out and feel as shitty as he did right now. 

The tips of Winter’s sandals toyed with his pants, his hands planted on the counter, on either side of her thighs. He was so close to scoring he could taste it, this was the right outcome, the whole purpose. This is what he should have been focused on the entire time. 

“Bro,” Jaemin snaps him into focus, a pest at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s on a table.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Mingi shoves his hand off, but then the words sink in. He cranes his neck, “A table?” 

“She’s dancing on a fucking table,” Jaemin confirms, laughing like it’s funny. Like you aren’t piss-drunk and surrounded by people who don’t care about you. 

Mingi doesn’t even look at Winter again before he’s moving. Rushing past bodies, physically moving them out of his way as he follows the sound of cheering into the dining room, he can see you over everyone’s heads. No, this is full-circle, he thinks for just a moment at the entryway, here you are, in his dining room where the plotting truly began, where Mingi first lost his mind over the girl he could give two fucks about right now. 

Dancing, swaying your hips to whatever song is playing, something pop with heavy bass from the early two-thousands, it’s deaf on his ears. Arms above your head, smile absent, eyes absent, you aren’t even in your fucking body and everyone surrounding you is cheering you on. Mingi’s sick and he can feel every tapered edge of it. 

Bodies are glued together, phones out, he smacks two out of the air as he forces his way past. He spots Jongho and Yeosang, the only two trying to get you down, arms reaching out in caution, faces stressed beyond what they should be at a party. 

Mingi meets the edge of the table and he catches Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye, standing up against the wall, watching, smirking. Like he was loving every second of this. Like you wouldn’t want to rip your fucking hair out when you wake up tomorrow. Somehow it pisses him off worse that he’s watching you like this was reality TV, as if you’re not a real person, someone he slept with last night. He shivers. Rage runs deep.

“Mingi!” Jongho yells across the table, “Thank god you’re here, please get her down.” 

Bare feet— where the fuck did your shoes go? Hair stuck to you, shirt splotched with wetness, probably liquor, maybe worse. There’s bottles on the table, grinders open and full of weed, puddles of water, beer, solo cups from a game of pong. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, panic, like he was responsible for you, for this. 

“Get down,” his voice stands out amongst the music, the cheers. Louder, heavy with direction, order. Like he’s on the field. 

Your head spins in every direction like you weren’t sure where the sound came from. Even now, irritated and shocked beyond belief, he softens at the sight of you. “Please, baby, get down,” his voice is layered with worry as you finally meet his gaze, eyes glossed over, smile lazy and gone. Holy shit. 

“You’re mad at me,” you drop down to your knees, pouting, fuck this table big enough to seat half the goddamn team, stopping him from pulling you away from each and every pair of eyes. 

“No I’m not,” he shakes his head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not mad at you, I just want you to come to me.” 

On all fours, you start crawling across the fucking table, a lazy grin taking over like you didn’t have any eyes on you, so unaware that Mingi’s anxious. Head tilting, a split of consciousness entering your vision, you ask, “You want me?”

He swallows, nodding, a palm reaching out for you, “Yeah, I do.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a shadow of black leaving the room. He doesn’t look, keeping his eyes on you, each agonizing second of your arms and knees pushing you forward, not a semblance of haste to your movements. 

You reach out your arm when he’s close enough to grab your hand and he pulls you the rest of the way, hearing the slick sound of black denim sliding against shiny oak, he isn’t fucking thinking as he bends at his knees and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp, body deadweight over his back before your legs bend up in front of him, bare feet covered in a layer of grime, wet and sprinkled with god knows what. He sighs. 

“Put me down!” You yell, your tiny hands flat against his back, pushing yourself up. 

He turns, one arm holding your legs down, hauling you out of that room faster than he’s ever sprinted down a field. He spots Kai across the living room, a head of blonde hair standing tall over the crowd, the only face easy to spot at his full height. 

“Huening!” He shouts. Kai’s brows furrow when he sees him, bending into bewilderment when he sees you over his shoulder. “Get me my keys.”

“You drink?”

“Get me my keys, Kai.”

He feels you smacking his back, yelling something unintelligible as he hauls you through the living room, through the front door, the air outside no fucking relief to the sweat forming at the base of his spine. Down the lawn, to his car that’s parked at the edge of the street, he puts you down on the hood with a muddled grunt from the back of his throat. 

You lay back as soon as your ass meets steel. Eyes closed, head turned to the side, your arms straight out on either side of you, you heave a breath and mumble, “I’m s’fucking drunk.”

Mingi didn’t realize he was out of breath until he leaned into the side of the car, elbows resting on the roof plate. He laughs, a small one, full of disbelief and utter shock. “No shit.”

“You called me baby again,” your eyes peek open to point at him with a weak, bent arm, “you were nervous.”

Mingi feels seen. He squints, “You were gonna fall off the table, I had to get you down, of course I was nervous.”

“You like me,” you sing, arm falling back down to the steel with a smack, dopey grin on your cheeks. “You like me for realsies.”

Mingi snorts, pulling his arms off the roof of his car to step to the side, palms landing on the hood to lean forward. Your hand sways through thick air before your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist, “I like you too, even though you’re kind of rude.”

He wills his heartbeat calm. “You think I’m rude?”

“You’re so rude,” the words slur together, his lips tighten at the sound. You open your eyes again, “Wanna fuck on the car?” 

Mingi cracks a laugh, a belly laugh he couldn’t hold back, “What the fuck?”

You laugh with him, loud and obnoxious, the arch of your back lifting off the car, head turning to the opposite side before it snaps back to look at him. “Just a question,” you sing again, “jus’wonderin’.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He waits for your slurred mhm. “Did you really fuck Wooyoung?”

You suddenly frown, “Yeah, he caught me at a real vulnerable time. Do y’know what vulnerable means?”

He shakes his head, “Yes.”

“Means exposed. He caught me crying ‘cus you kissed me and you were nice and your Instagram army was calling me crazy shit.” Your eyes open all the way, “They’re wild on there, did you know that?”

“People are messaging you about me?”

You choke on a laugh, “So many people.” 

“Let me see–”

You scoff, “Fuck no.”

“Song!” 

He hears Kai shout from the tip of the lawn, Mingi turns and Kai throws his keys across the green, landing perfectly in Mingi’s palm like he aimed for it. “Thanks,” he yells back up, and Kai nods once before turning back inside. 

“Can you get up on your own or am I putting you in the car?” He receives nothing but a groan in response, a turn of your head in the opposite direction. He sighs. “Come on, you can’t even sit up?”

You turn your head back to him, “Why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to,” he says it like it’s obvious. 

“They’re gonna kill me for it,” you grumble, “they’re gonna kill me and it will be your fault.”

“No one’s killing you–”

“Did you like it?” You’re blinking at him, knees opening and closing like you needed to move to remind yourself you’re conscious, "Kissing me?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’re so–”

“Tell me now.”

Mingi sighs, taking his eyes off you to look at the trees across from the football house. Tall, shadows filling space between them, calm. The music inside is muffled, bass still vibrating the ground beneath his feet. The confession sits heavy on his tongue. Fuck it. 

“Yeah I did,” he says it in one breath before he looks down at you again. Your brows are upturned, a pout on your lips, watching him until you hear what he says, then you smile. 

“Yay,” the word is light, cute. Then you look as if reality snapped back into you, “Damn, I probably shouldn’t have fucked him, huh?”

Mingi snorts as he walks around the front of his car, grabbing you by your wrists one after another, pulling you upward. “No,” he says, shaking his head, but his smile stays, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, then bring your hand up to your forehead, groaning. “Fuck, ‘m dizzy.”

“I’m taking you home.” He scoops you off his hood, an arm curled under your knees and another holding your back until he’s got you next to the passenger door, letting your feet touch the grass beside the curb. Opening the door, one hand still on your waist, he says, “Get in.”

Your body is a mess of tucked angles as you quite literally fall into his passenger seat, Mingi has to fasten your seatbelt for you when he finally gets in the driver’s seat. You smell like liquor, cigarettes, sweat– he rolls the windows down and you stick your head out like a dog. 

Twenty minutes to your apartment, no music, just Mingi and his thoughts. He thinks about her, his first girlfriend after he started becoming known, how the long-term relationship ended so soon after going public. Comments, DMs on every platform, it didn’t matter what revisions she made to her social media, the words still made it to her eyes, her ears. Nasty, disgusting, vile words and not one of them was true, Mingi hasn’t spoken to her since they broke up. She hates him, down to his core because of something he had no control over. It’s what put his wall up in the first place, made of brick, of steel, a wall so thick it didn’t let any emotion in, only desire. 

He can’t imagine what’s sitting in your phone. Terror lives in his grip on the steering wheel, white-knuckled, bottom lip tight between his teeth, brows furrowed in thought, in remorse. He didn’t think you’d be affected by his status since your relationship was fake, an oversight, one he regrets already. 

“You awake?” He parks just outside of your apartment, but your head doesn’t move off the window frame. 

“No.”

He reaches over, unbuckling your seatbelt, “Come on, drunkie.”

You moan something belligerent, picking your head up slowly, the seatbelt going over your head, stuck around your arm. Mingi can’t help but laugh as he rolls the window up, turning off the car, he expects to have to haul your ass inside. You let him, deadweight in his hold, your bare feet crossing over one another with each step, all the way up to the second floor. Thank god your building has an elevator.

“Key?” He asks. You point to the mat on the floor, eyes half open. He flattens his lips. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to change that.” 

You stand on your own long enough for him to get the door open, and he’s on alert this time, taking in his surroundings. The last time he was here he didn’t walk past the threshold, but now that he’s in, he can smell you everywhere. A large mirror next to the TV surrounded by plants, a tall lamp in the corner, a cozy couch set cream-colored. A coffee table filled with books, an unlit candle and his jersey thrown over it, your apartment screamed comfort, peaceful. 

His eyes squint at the Lego sets under your TV. An open shelved media console, a polaroid camera, a record player with flowers, a starry night painting, all Legos, it’s all he could pick out until you start moaning and groaning again.

“Uh-uh,” he grabs you by the wrist when you start making for the couch, “your ass is taking a shower. Where is it?”

You gasp, staring down at your feet, wrist limp in his palm. Your toes wiggle as you ask, “Where are my shoes?” You look back up at him wide-eyed, “I had shoes on, didn’t I?”

“I’ll find them at the house tomorrow,” he pulls you closer by the wrist, “come on, drunkie. Shower time.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” your top lip lifts, “you have better ones. Why are you here?”

“To get you into bed,” he starts leading you toward the entryway to his right, a small walkway he can only pray holds a bathroom at the end. “You smell like a brewery.”

You smile, following behind him like this was his apartment and not yours. There’s movie posters, framed paintings, decor on your walls he stores for later as more questions come to mind. He notes how clean and sophisticated you decorated, minus the closet door left open with clothes strewn about like you tore it apart before going out tonight. The bathroom tucked in the back corner is worse, makeup scattered across the vanity, pairs of shorts and underwear littered the white tile, you didn’t seem to mind as you walked in right behind him.

“Do I have to?” You sit on the closed toilet, back bending over the tank, head hitting the wall with a thump. 

He opens the shower curtain, turning it on, heating it up instead of answering. You giggle, more of a single sound of amusement, legs spread out in front of you, body molded to the shape of the toilet.

“Fine,” your grumble is somehow still amused, and Mingi swears it takes five whole minutes for you to stand up, toying with your skinny studded belt as your feet stumble over tile, fingers missing the prongs like you couldn’t get a grip.

He sighs again, sitting down on the toilet instead, “C’mere.”

Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, standing between his legs, body still swaying. He steadies you with two hands on your thighs and you lean into him, his touch, voice filled with pleased confusion, “You’re being nice to me.”

“I want to be nice to you,” he glances up at you, face flushed, eyes low, hair a mess. So vulnerable, a new word in his dictionary, to see you like this, for you to act this way in front of him. He wonders how much of it has to do with the messages in your phone. 

“Nice is scary,” you whisper as he starts undoing your belt, pushing the prongs out of leather, your grip stays tight on his shoulders. “You scared me when you kissed me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he pulls leather through the loops of denim, throwing it on the floor. “Button?”

You nod, body swaying again, he holds you upright with his fingers tucked in the hem of your jeans. “No one has ever kissed me like that before,” you’re still whispering like you’re telling him a secret. He looks up after getting your zipper down, seeing your glassy eyes, your dilated pupils. Pretty. 

“I think that’s how you should be kissed,” the answer comes quickly, easily. Honest. 

Your hands find the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, throwing it to the floor beside you. He fights to keep his eyes on yours. Your forearms sit on his shoulders this time, finding them like magnets as you flip your hair over your shoulder, out of your face. He swallows, breath catching in his throat, “You should get in the shower, don’t waste water.”

“You didn’t like me when you met me.” It’s not a question, but an observation. A memory. 

He counters, “You didn’t like me either.”

“You were an asshole.”

“You’re sober enough to get in the shower–”

“What changed?” You ask, words sounding fragile, like you were scared of the answer.

“Everything,” he smiles halfway, leaning back an inch. The room feels hotter, steam taking up space, the sound of the shower hitting the tub a small hum, his ears ring with the quiet. “Most of all, me, I think.”

You’re looking at him differently, like you’re trying to figure something out. You reach up to his hair, pushing it out of his face, your touch featherlight, so delicate a shiver shoots through him like a firework. Your fingers glide over his temple, his cheek, you press your palm flat against his cheekbone, he leans some of his weight onto it, he lets you toy with him like he’s yours to do as you please. There’s a part of him that thinks he is, even if it’s fucked up, even if the two of you are still somewhere in purgatory.

“Pretty,” you mumble, a mindless word. “I can understand why they hate me.”

His bottom lip curls, “I’m so sorry–”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not your fault.”

His lungs twist hard enough to steal his breath. His hands find your hips, pulling you forward until his forehead meets the heat of your abdomen; so soft under him, fragile in his hold, you have no idea how long he’s waited to hear those words, no idea the weight they hold. No idea the guilt that lives glued to his spine. 

Your hands find his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp, holding him against you like it’s where you wanted him, where he’s supposed to be. He thinks it’s where he’s supposed to be, too. He picks his head up only to place a kiss against your skin, a soft press of his lips over your stomach, it holds everything he can’t say to you right now. He hopes you can feel it. 

Your knees buckle a little, fingers stalling in his hair, he hears the breath you suck in, feels how you bend into him. “I’m drunk, don’t make me horny, I’ll jump you.”

He snorts, your words pulling a laugh straight from his gut, he leans back to look up at you, your fingers still in his hair. You’re smiling, lazy and stupid, but then you break away from him, thumbs tucked into your jeans like you’re about to shove them down. 

“Hold on, damn.” He stands on weak knees, quickly skipping out of the bathroom, he peeks his head back in just before closing the door. “Be careful. Shout if you need anything.”

“You’ll stay?” Your face is round with supplication. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hey.”

Your nose twitches. 

“Wake up, it’s after twelve.”

Your top lip curls. 

“Wake up, I’m getting bored.”

You peek an eye open as your whole face tightens up, hands finding your cheeks, rubbing your eyes awake. Your stomach hurts, your knees feel sore, you grumble out a curse as your body stretches itself into consciousness.

“She’s alive.”

You pause, peeking over your fingertips to Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. Dark hair messy on his head, shirtless, a pair of your shorts painted onto his thighs. You’re too confused to laugh at the sight. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, voice laced with sleep, face scrunched up beyond recognition. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Come on,” he frowns, “you didn’t even throw up, there’s no way you blacked out. Think, smart girl.”

You blink at him, letting the memories come back one after another. Wooyoung, shots, shots, shots, table, car, bathroom, bed. Mingi’s head on your stomach. Mingi’s lips on your skin. 

“Oh, shit.” You sit up on your elbows, eyes on your bedspread, still blinking crust out of your vision, “Oh, shit.”

Mingi huffs a noise of amusement through his nose, “Still confused?”

You shake your head, heart picking up speed in your chest. Your head feels heavy, stomach nauseous, limbs tingly with leftover alcohol in your blood. You look up at him, “Why are you still here?”

“You asked me to stay,” he shrugs, like that was the most normal thing in the world. Like he’s stayed over a thousand times before. 

“So you stayed?” Your brows stay knitted together, confused, confused confused confused. 

“So I stayed,” he nods, “how do you feel?”

“Like dog shit.”

“Sounds about right,” he’s smiling but he’s trying to hide it. It makes your lips twitch upward. “You remember dancing on my dining room table?”

Your eyes close, lips flat, brows raised. “Yup,” you nod, “unfortunately, I do.”

“Remember asking to fuck on my car?”

Your eyes shoot open, tone full of disbelief, “No.”

“You’re funny,” he chuckles, laying flat on his back at the edge of your bed. “You’re always funny, but you’re an especially funny drunk. It was cute when I wasn’t terrified you were gonna die.”

“The scaries are gonna haunt me for weeks,” you push yourself up, forehead meeting your palms. “Fuck.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” he sounds coy all of the sudden, nervous. Shy. 

You nod, “Let me shower again, eat something, drink a bottle of water. I feel like a fucking zombie.”

After cursing yourself out under your breath upon entering your messy bathroom, half your shower was spent with your forehead pressed to the wall, somehow cooling down your body temperature while steaming water soaked away all your shame. You ran through the events last night over and over, a little fuzzy at the edges, but each and every damning moment was crystal clear. You dried yourself off, completed your routine all with the same thought in mind: What the hell does he want to talk about?

It’s not like he likes you for real. You’d never work– your past is too messy, your current state is too messy, actually. He needs someone with a clean record, a nice, pretty girl who dresses in dainty clothes, someone who says please and thank you– that’s his goddamn destiny, a girl like Winter. Reserved, bashful, composed, you wonder if she’s ever said a curse word out loud, she’s nothing like you. She’s someone the internet would love, his coaches would love, his family would probably love, not that you know anything about his family.

You’re getting ahead of yourself— you’re spiraling. The only outcome of this conversation is that tension ran high, he was kind enough to take care of you when you were drunk, you’d go back to normalcy in an hour. Maybe Wooyoung’s free later tonight, he’d make a snide comment about you dancing on the table, you’d laugh like it was intentional. Like there weren’t videos of you on people’s phones that’d haunt you at two in the morning for weeks to come. 

“What’s all this?” You asked upon walking into the living room, Mingi stood beside your small kitchen table, rummaging through one of two plastic bags. 

“I ordered food,” he says, pulling out containers from the bag. Setting them down on the table neatly, one on top of another, neat. 

Your brows furrow, walking into the kitchen hesitantly, “Food?”

“I can’t cook,” he looks up at you with a half-smile, “no idea how. But you need to eat, I also got juice for you, and I found ibuprofen in your cabinet–”

“Mingi,” you shake your head, trying to gather your bearings, “what are you doing?”

He holds up a hand, flat palm facing you, features straight and unimpressed. “Don’t start with me, sit down and eat. We’ll talk after there’s food in your stomach.”

You must still be drunk. Limbs feeling heavy, you trudge into the wooden seat, the one with the broken bar that supports the legs. Breakfast food, so much breakfast food, your stomach hurts at the sight of oil and grease, but you need it, you need the juice, too– you sucked that down in record time. 

Silence, other than the sound of chewing and plastic ruffling, it was comfortable. Maybe a little awkward, unless that was your nerves talking which was absolutely plausible, you still sat in fucking confusion. Feeding you, catering to you, taking care of you like he did last night– and he still only had on your shorts. Your powder blue waffle shorts that fit you loose but clung to his muscled, golden, tan-lined thighs like they’d rip at the seams if he moved the wrong way. 

You hate that it’s nice having him here. You hate that you’re letting it happen. 

Pills swallowed, enough food in your stomach to take an hour to digest, the awkwardness grew after cleaning up the table. Both aimlessly pacing the kitchen, pretending to still have something to do, avoiding the conversation that needs to happen. Might as well get it over with. 

“Mingi–”

“Can I start?”

You sigh, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room. “Couch.”

Your stomach feels uneasy like you’d throw up every bite as you sit across from him, both taking edges of the couch like you’re scared to get close. You sit on a leg like it’d give you an easy escape if you needed it, despite it being your apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, voice small. Your brows furrow, ready to ask what the hell he’s sorry for, but his lips part instead. “I’m so sorry you were sent messages about me, this has happened before, my ex-girlfriend broke up with me because of them, because people didn’t leave her alone about me.”

“Mingi, it’s not your fault–”

He looks up at you and his glassy eyes kill the words on your tongue. His voice is small, layered with struggle, “We were together for a year. When I posted her, us, she broke up with me within two weeks. We never spoke again.”

Your jaw drops, “Two weeks?”

He nods, “I don’t even think we made it to the fourteenth day, I can’t believe I didn’t think that would happen to you. I guess I thought because our relationship was fake it wouldn’t, but no one knows it was fake, I just didn’t think, again. I let it happen again. I’m sorry.” 

Ah, and now everything makes sense. “You didn’t need to do all of this because you feel bad. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, I also know when things are out of your hands, and the messages are one-hundred-percent out of your hands.”

His brows furrow after a second, “I didn’t take care of you because of the messages, or because I feel bad. I took care of you because I care about you, I like you.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no you don’t. You might think you do, but you don’t.”

“Huh?” His eyes thin, top lip lifting, “Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“I just know, I’ve seen your type, and it’s not me. Which is fine, I don’t–”

“You told me you liked me last night,” he argues.

Your lips flatten. “I was drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“What are you? Sixteen years old?” Your face twists, “I’m being realistic and logical, you’re acting on emotion.”

“Well I haven’t felt this much emotion since she broke up with me!” His hands fly up on either side of him, voice strained. “And I’ve missed it, I missed feeling this way. I want to keep feeling this way, about you.”

Your blinks are stuttered, slow. Your lips purse, he might have shocked you into silence. He runs a hand through his hair, face torn up into exasperation, he sighs, one deep and grounding. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you really not want me? There’s not one bone in your body that wishes everything we’ve done the last few weeks was real?”

Your chest is tight. Your lips won’t move, your mind is blank.

“You don’t think you deserve it,” his voice switches to something calm, understanding. “Someone to like you, or care about you, I know. You’re used to guys like him, guys who use your feelings as ammunition. I won’t do that to you.”

You feel like stone. Stuck, still, eyes wide, unblinking. Fear simmers.

He shifts himself closer, eyes pleading. “I was sick when I found out you slept with Wooyoung, I’ve never acted like that before in my life, so jealous and angry, like he was taking you from me. I felt like you were mine, and he was trying to steal you–”

“I asked him to,” you finally speak, rushed and panicked. There’s nothing else left to argue with other than this. “I basically begged him.”

“You were upset,” Mingi shakes his head, “you told me. You said you were upset because of the messages and because I kissed you, you didn’t want to–”

“I needed to,” you try to swallow, throat squeezed tight, “I needed him to. He isn’t kind, he isn’t genuine, he doesn’t hold me like I’m breakable, he wouldn’t do all the shit you did for me last night. He isn’t you, and I needed the reminder. That’s what I deserve, not you.”

“Do you even know what you’ve done for me in the weeks we’ve known each other?” Mingi’s voice is pitched now, layered with raw emotion. “You’ve reminded me what freedom is like. That I can do whatever I want, I’m not a machine, or a puppet for someone else to use. You gave me back myself, is it so ridiculous that I don’t want to let you fucking go?”

“I’m scared,” you blurt it out, two words pulled from so deep in your psyche you can’t believe you said them out loud. “I’m scared to let myself feel anything towards you.”

“You already feel something towards me,” he argues, “a lot of something. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t.”

Stunned into silence again, your lips purse. He continues, “I’m not stupid. My vocabulary might not be as big as yours but I’m not stupid, I know you have feelings for me. You can’t hide that no matter how much you want to, how much you try to get it fucked out of you.” He shifts closer. “I’ll show you. Let me kiss you again.”

“Fuck no,” your brows furrow. 

He deadpans, “Let me fuckin’ kiss you.”

“Did you even brush your teeth?”

“Shut up,” he stands up on his knees, too big in front of you, chiseled body on display, your heart drops to your stomach. “Stop deflecting. I see through you now.”

“Mingi–”

His hands find the armrest behind you as you uncurl your leg from beneath you, trying to accumulate space, space you’re quickly losing as he leans closer. “You don’t have to be scared with me.”

Your breath is shallow and shaky, heart in your throat, eyes halfway out of your head. He keeps his face close, forehead a millimeter from yours, you feel his heat first. He’s so big, he swallows your figure, he’s too big for the fucking couch, it’s dizzying. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

He smiles before pressing his lips to yours, soft, so fucking delicate it takes you a moment to ease into it, to process that it’s even a kiss. Softer than it was on the field– his lips barely graze yours at first, as if he was testing the waters, like he wanted to feel your breath on his skin, wanted to feel your body say yes before your mouth said the word. Your lips part for him, soft and steady, molding to his, letting him guide, lead. 

He asks for entrance with his tongue, swiping along your bottom lip with a certain courtesy like even though you were following him, letting him show you, you still held the reins. Your insides feel molten, fingers grabbing onto your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them, mind in a constant battle to pick every detail apart or shut off completely. It’s different– it might be everything, laying here and kissing him softly, lazily, like nothing else exists except for him, his weight, his mouth. He tastes like something new, something blue, a memory you’d come back to for a long, long time. 

He parts from you, lips swollen and red like he’d bitten them, he stares. Chocolate eyes big and round, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a pretty rose, he looks at you like he’s just discovered you. Like even though he kissed you to prove something to you, it’s proven something deeper to himself. 

He doesn’t smile, still calculating, but in a quiet voice he asks, “Do you feel it too?”

Your fists are still tight in your shirt, you search his eyes, the way they fall to your lips, you don’t answer— you kiss him again, harder this time, faster, tongue passing through his lips like his mouth belonged to you, like you were running out of time. You shift down on the couch, pillow falling to the floor, his elbows bracket your head as your calves hook over his thighs, moving in unison like your bodies were acting without either of you thinking about it. 

Your hands find his hair when you wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself into him, pressing yourself against him, feeling the strength of him, it makes a tight noise leave your lips, one needy and begging. He rolls his hips into you on instinct and you moan into his mouth like you need him to do it harder.

“Fuck,” he curses into your mouth, lifting himself up on his palms, “wait— wait.” 

“What?” You follow on your elbows, bug-eyed, “Why? What happened?” 

He swallows, panting, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his calves, your legs still thrown lazily over his thighs. The print of his length sits heavy and prominent with his legs spread in your cotton shorts, your eyes flicker back and forth to his face, mouth watering, patience already scarily thin. 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he shakes his head, chest splotchy, tummy expanding with each aborted breath he takes. “I want this, I want you, I want to do it right.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, it’s at war with your dampening panties, your thighs that twitch as the words leave his mouth. His eyes drop to your figure, the big tee you wore hiked up to your stomach, tiny shorts clinging to your dampened core, he squeezes his eyes shut like it’d erase the sight from his memory. 

“You want to stop because you want to take me out on a date?” You ask, brows raised. “We’ve been on, like, two already. Maybe three or four if you squint.” 

He opens his eyes to narrow them, “You’re such a smartass.”

You smile at that, head tilting, cocky, “Clearly you like it, since you wanna date my smart-ass.”

His hands fall to your hips, tugging them towards him until your back is flat against the couch again, “I wanna do more than that.” 

“Then do it,” you huff, hips bucking into him, arms lifting to reach for him, “you’re the one who stopped.” 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He asks, leaning forward enough to let you wrap your arms around his shoulders, he uses his hands at your waist to lift you up onto his lap. 

You gasp at the movement, at the fucking ease in which he maneuvers you, your knees land beside his hips before you answer. “If you want me to shut the fuck up then give me a reason to.”

“I lied, don’t want you quiet,” he’s looking up at you from this angle and the sight of him steals your breath, makes everything feel a little more real. He’s so beautiful and he wants you and fuck you want him, too. 

“Make up your mind,” you press yourself to his chest, keeping your faces close. “Y’know, you talked big game that night at the LAX house, been wondering if you could back it up.”

His hands tuck beneath your tee, fingers warm against your skin as they drag up your sides, palms landing heavy on your waist, it makes you shiver. He smirks, “Now you’re baiting me into fucking you?”

“Maybe,” your faces are so close your lips graze, “is it working?”

He kisses you again, more feverish than the last, hands squeezing your waist before they drop down to your hips, grinding you against him. You keep your arms folded around his neck, tongue slotting between his lips messily, teeth clashing together as you grind your core against his clothed length, roughly, purposely, letting him feel the arousal that’s bottled up inside. You part to empty strangled noises into each other’s mouths, eyes screwed tight, your hips move steadily in a rhythm guided by his hands. So hard, long and thick beneath you, you could feel him through your shorts, his shorts, there was no stopping. There was no pausing. 

His hands find the hem of your tee, you help him pull it over your head, his lips find your neck, your chest, your head tilts back to give him access, for small, pitched breaths to leave your lips, a song for him to hear. He groans when your hips slow into a nasty grind, his tongue pokes out to drag down your chest, over your heart where he places an open-mouthed kiss. He looks up at you to say, “This is mine now.”

Your heartbeat picks up, he smiles like he can feel it. Brows knitted together, face bent with intoxicated arousal, you respond, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“We’re technically still dating,” his teeth catch onto the hem of the lace bralette you wore, tugging on it before placing a kiss right above, at the center of the valley between your breasts, “and we’re not breaking up.”

“Are you trying to gaslight me?” You ask, hips still moving against him, fingers knotting in his hair when your clothed clit rolls over the ledge of his tip, “ah– I think we had a very public breakup last night.”

One of his hands slithers over the curve of your hip, down between your thighs, two fingers adding pressure where you needed it. You choke on a moan, back arching, hips digging into the pressure as he grins wide, “I forgave you already. This is make-up sex.”

“More,” your fingers tighten in his hair, eyes squeezing shut, “Mingi.”

“Oh, I like that,” he circles his fingers twice over your clit, smirking, “beg a lil’ more, put that mouth to good use.”

Your eyes open wanting to scowl but your brows are knitted too deeply in pleasure, lips parted and glossy with his spit, you can’t force yourself to as his fingers circle over your clit again. “P-please,” you stutter over the word, hips rolling into his touch, “wanna feel you.”

His face contorts in pleasure like you were the one touching him, he catches your lips again, tongue slotting into your mouth as his fingers dive beneath your shorts. He groans into your mouth as he slips between your folds, feeling the wetness that seeped through your damp shorts, “So wet for me, princess.”

Your hips buck into his hand, body twitching at how thick his fingers feel at your center combined with that fucking word on his tongue. “Feels s’good, more, Mingi, inside.”

“Say please,” the words are muffled, lips still pressed to yours. 

You whisper, “Please.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, feeling you clenching around nothing as his fingers prod at your entrance. His eyes flicker upward, “You liked that? Being called my good girl?” 

You nod shamelessly, hips rolling into his fingers, beckoning him to put them inside. Slowly he inches forward and you gasp, breath catching in your throat, fingers tightening in his hair, he curves them with each inch he gives you, adding pressure on that spot as soon as he reaches it, you’re choking on your own pleasure as your hips grind to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“So greedy,” he whispers, completely in awe, “look at you, baby, fucking yourself on my fingers. You gonna be good for me and cum on ‘em?” 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, hips stuttering, his words going straight to the pit in your belly. You’ve never had someone pay this much attention to you or your pleasure, never had someone even insinuate making you cum before they’ve taken their pants off. He crooks his fingers and you whine, “You don’t h-have to, ‘hmygod.”

“Yes I do,” his fingertips massage that spot, fucking into you in small, stuttered thrusts so he can keep pressure, “need you to cum around my fingers, then around my cock, gonna do that for me?” 

“Yeah,” you roll your hips faster, harder, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, his movement trapped within your shorts, the edge of his palm kissing your clit. It’s fucking dirty, nasty the way you’re moving, so shameless, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure you’d be mortified at how easily he cracked your composure. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum around my cock?” He asks, tone arrogant because he knows the answer, “Gonna make a mess on me with this wet lil’ pussy?”

“Mingi,” you whine, “stop.”

“You like it, I can feel you clenching,” he grins, you open your eyes just enough to see it. Cocky, but he’s backing it up and fuck you might die if he stops. “So good for me, bet you’d take anything I give you, bet you’d ask for more.”

The pit of pleasure builds steadily in your gut and you bite your lip to try to keep your mewls inside. It’s futile when he kisses you, drinking up every wrecked moan you spill into his mouth, keeping his fingers moving at the same pace, the same pressure. The rough edge of his palm hitting your clit with each movement and it’s so fucking obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to pull you to the finish line with ease. 

“Mingi,” you gasp out, limbs locking as you climb, “I’m close.”

“I know,” he presses his lips to your chin, under your jaw, “give it to me– cum for me, baby.”

Your hips stutter first before your orgasm crashes over you heavily, body twitching, rolling into him, he moves with you, keeping his hand steady as you ride out your orgasm, chanting praises into the space between you, encouragement that extends your pleasure, the feeling of euphoria that rocks through you never-ending. You keel after you finish, forehead meeting his, body deflating like he took everything out of you, he kisses your unmoving mouth, smiling into you when you don’t respond. 

“Did so good for me,” he pulls his fingers out of your shorts, bringing them up between your faces, slipping them between his lips. He moans in pleasure, “Mm, can’t wait to eat her. You’ll let me, right? You’ll ride my face if I tell you to?”

The pit in your stomach twists all over again, core clenching around nothing, he’s filthy. You love it. “Need you inside,” you mutter, voice tight with arousal but winded, “need to feel you, Min.”

His smile returns, “Can you handle it, big girl? Look at you after just two fingers.” You whine and he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, “I can’t believe you’re so easy. You’ve got such a fuckin’ attitude and now you’re whining and crying for my cock.”

“You asked me if I ever shut the fuck up,” you grind yourself against him, bleeding impatience, “do you?”

He makes a sound he keeps lodged in his throat, it makes you smirk. He answers, “Not if it makes you this wet. You soaked through your shorts, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you huff, “fuck me already, ‘m tired of hearing you run your mouth.”

His hands find your thighs, holding onto them tight as he lifts himself up, you fall backwards fast with a loud yelp, back hitting the cushions of the couch. He’s predatory as he leans over you, “This mouth can make you cum faster than my fingers did,” his fingers find the hem of your shorts, “wanna find out?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you lift your hips for him and he tugs them down to your ankles, “save your filthy fuckin’ mouth for another time.”

“There she is,” he stands on his knees, tugging at the baby blue shorts on his hips, “knew the brat was in there somewhere.”

“It only comes out when you’re a cocky motherfuck–” he tugs his shorts down and the word dies on your tongue. Bigger than he felt beneath you, thick, red, leaking, your mouth waters, back arching off the couch at the sight, “Damn.”

He’s smirking and you hate that his cockiness is starting to become sexy. “Gonna take it all like a big girl?”

You’re nodding, not even looking at him, you can’t take your eyes off his cock. Bigger than Wooyoung, than Hyunjin, he might even be bigger than Mingyu and that’s a feat. All you can muster is, “Hurry.”

He settles between your legs, your knees spread under his heavy palms, he licks his lips when he gets eyes on your center. “She’s so pretty, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Woulda been fucking you weeks ago.”

“God, Mingi, shut up,” you buck your hips toward him, “get inside me already.”

“She’s soaked,” he wraps his fist around his cock, sliding it through your folds, rubbing circles over your clit that make you shiver, “so pretty, gonna ruin her. Can I? So you can’t fuck anyone but me?”

Impatience is a band that snaps hard, “Is that why you talk so much? You have a big dick that you don’t even know how to use–”

He wastes no time slipping back down to your entrance and pushing inside, just his tip has your body locking up, head tipping back, a tight, wilted noise slipping out of you involuntarily, it tells him everything you can’t say. He’s smirking even if he’s fighting to keep his own pleasure at bay, “Yeah? I don’t know how to use it? Say that again.”

He’s curved, carving into you like he’d make you take it even if you couldn’t, your walls suck him in like you were made for it, clenching around the width of him, mushroom tip kissing your cervix just enough that it’s pleasurable– you shake your head, biting your fucking tongue, nails clawing at the couch cushions because no one’s ever felt this good just sitting inside you. 

“Exactly,” he pulls out slowly, filling you back up just as slowly, letting you adjust to his length, his thickness, the perfection your mind couldn’t comprehend. “Lay there and take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

“Fuck, Mingi,” it’s high-pitched, filled with anticipation and slight disbelief. You watch as his abdomen flexes, how his tummy fills with air and deflates, his jaw that goes slack with each thrust, he’s so sexy it hurts. “Faster.”

He picks up speed on command, palms finding your shins, pushing them back into your chest as his cock starts bullying into you, “Like that?”

You can barely choke out a yes, hands flying to his biceps, nails marking crescents into his skin, half-curses fly from your lips drowned out by tight moans, pitched noises when his tip drags over that spot inside you, repeating, “Mingi, Mingi,” like it’s the only word you know. 

“I’m here,” he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, “I got you, know it’s big, baby, you can take it.”

You curse again as he fucks into you harder, back trying to arch but he has you pinned so deep you can’t move, “Mingi!”

He smiles, eyes half-lidded, “That all you can say? Fucked out already? Just started.”

You whimper, legs shaking beneath his palms, he lets go of your shins so he can lean down and kiss you, trading speed for a pace so deep and heavy you can’t kiss back. Moaning straight into his mouth, arms around his neck, you keep him close, legs hooked around his back, “Mingi.”

“Doing so good,” he kisses your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, “pussy so tight, baby, so perfect, gonna have to fuck you every day.”

You sound hypnotized, you might be. “Yes, yes, every day.”

“You know why?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “‘Cause you’re mine.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, and when he picks his face back up to kiss you, you kiss him back. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, too distracted and moving to be considered a kiss, but you’re lucid enough to tangle your fingers in his hair, for your hips to start fucking back. 

“Say it,” he whispers in your mouth, edged like a blade. It makes you moan. 

“Yours,” you’re chanting again, “I’m yours, Mingi, I’m yours.”

He groans, hips picking up speed all over again, he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, lips mindlessly pressing against your skin, tongue poking out just to taste the sweat that's formed. He slips an arm between your bodies to press two fingers against your clit and you twitch, a sharp moan escaping you, bucking into him at a pace unsteady and uncontrolled as the pressure builds fast. 

“Mingi!” It’s loud and pitched, “Too much, too much.”

“No ‘ts not,” his words are muffled, lips pressed against your skin, “Take it, cum around my cock. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum f’me, baby.”

Strangled noises escape you one after another, his fingers circling your clit with practiced movements like he already knew your body inside and out. He’s still talking as pleasure climbs, your fingernails clawing shapes into his back, his rhythm doesn’t change or falter for a second. His words feel mindless, babbles of praise, “C’mon, baby, cum for me. Need to feel you clenching around my cock, say my name, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Mingi,” you don’t sound any more composed than he does, “Mingi, ‘hmygod I’m gonna cum, just for you, all for you.” 

He moans as your pleasure hits its peak, seizing beneath him, legs locking around his body, fingers raking at his back hard enough to leave marks, you’re a mess of moans and cries and whimpers, but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t let up even a little. He’s cursing, hips jerking into you at that same fucking damning pace like his life depended on it, like he refused to give you anything but the entirety of your orgasm. 

You’re still shaking when he pushes himself up, body red and splotchy, veins swollen and prominent and everywhere. “Gonna flip you,” you think he might be saying it to himself more than to you with the way he moves you fully on his own, your front meets the couch with a squeak, body spent, head fuzzy. 

You’re flat against the couch, his legs straddle yours just below your ass, he spreads you to lean down and spit before he’s pushing inside once more. You curse sharply into the pillow, eyes rolling back, hands swatting behind you as he fills you up in one fell swoop. 

He shushes you, two hands grabbing your swatting arms by your wrists, pinning them at the base of your spine, “You can take it. Breathe, princess.” When he moves, you feel like you might never recover. Your wails are muffled by the cushion you buried your face in, the pleasure was different, more, deeper, the way his cock grinds against that spot inside you and you can’t get away– you feel the pressure build like it never stopped, steady, heavy, so euphoric you might not be in your body at all anymore.

“You’re perfect, oh my god,” you hear him behind you, “gonna let me fill you up? Let me mark what’s mine? Fuck, baby, need to fill this perfect pussy up, need to cum inside.”

You dig your fingernails into your palms, kicking at the armrest on the other side of the couch, grinding your teeth, you turn your head just to cry, “Yes, fill me up, inside,” your voice cracks, “please.”

“Clenching around me s’fuckin’ hard,” his voice is rough, “y’gonna cum again?”

You let out a noncommittal sound and he changes the angle ever so slightly, your vision blurs, breath taut in your chest, his cock drilling against that spot like he was aiming for it, you don’t know if the damp spot under your head was from tears or drool. Keeping the angle, the pace, he lets your arms go before leaning over, pressing a sloppy kiss to your shoulderblade, breath hot in your ear, “So fucking perfect, let go f’me, baby.”

The sound you let out in response was from the deepest part of your lungs, a sob, a prayer, you’re so close you can fucking taste it. He presses another kiss to the tip of your spine, leaning over your shoulder again, mouth opening, teeth grazing your skin– when you feel him clamp down in a bite you lose it, trembling, sobbing, fisting the couch cushions with his name on your tongue, “Mingi!” 

“Yes,” in awe again, his hips stutter, “there you go, fuuck– fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.” You’re spasming around his length, hips bucking, trying to escape the unending pleasure as his thrusts only get heavier, sloppier, quicker. He keeps himself close, “My perfect girl, y’gonna take every drop? Fuck– fuck, gonna cum, baby, you want it?”

“Yes, Min,” you’re grabbing for him again, nails clawing at his thighs behind you, “fill me up, make me yours. Need you inside.”

One hand snakes under your jaw, turning your head he kisses you sloppily as his hips stutter, groaning a curse into your mouth as he twitches inside you, then he slows, warmth filling you up, ropes of his release heavy, hot, nasty. His breath is short, winded, exhausted, you don’t think yours is any more even. 

“Mingi,” it comes out like a whimper, you feel him twitch inside you, he lets go of your face. A lazy grin takes over your cheeks, eyes closing, “You weren’t lying.”

He laughs, a small, easy thing, lifting himself up. “Why would I lie?”

“Dunno,” you answer absent-mindedly, “make yourself sound better.”

“Baby,” his hands smooth over the skin of your back, he leans down to press a soft kiss in the middle of your spine. Mumbling into your skin like he was too shy to say it with his chest, “I don’t need to do that.”

You hum, “Of course, how could I forget, you’re the entire package.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or if you’re fucking with me.”

“Good.”

He smacks his teeth, “I’m gonna pull out, ‘kay?”

You pop a brow at the warning, but as he starts to slip out inch by inch, you’re grateful for his thighs keeping you locked in place because the full-body twitch it gives you is lethal. You whine a little as his spent cock lays still-heavy on your ass, “How do you keep that thing hidden?”

He snorts, “Like in my pants?”

“That’s a weapon,” you’re still twitching beneath him, “and you just used it on me.”

He’s giggling as he shifts himself to be able to carefully flip you over, another movement he does with ease as if you’re some kind of toy. It still makes your stomach curl with warmth, body flushing hot as he lays himself down next to you, sliding an arm under your body, holding you close. “Smells like sex in here.”

You curl into his side, cheek pressed to his bare chest, eyes closing again. “Don’t care.”

“I really like you, you know,” his voice is low but steady, honest, “and I want to be your boyfriend.”

You pick your head up to look at him, his eyes big and round, glossed over like he was nervous to say the words. You reach a hand up, running your fingers through his chocolate locks once before cupping his cheek, guiding him down to press your lips softly against his. “You already are my boyfriend, moron.”

“I mean seriously–”

“And I mean seriously, you’re already my boyfriend,” you raise your brows in expectation, “so no more ogling girls at parties, no more calling me stupid names and no more Winter.”

“I thought you said you’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” there’s a stupid smile on his face, “seems like you got the gist, princess.”

“What did I literally just say–”

“What about the messages?” His question is a little sturdier. 

Your brows furrow, “What about them? I already turned my requests off.”

His brows match yours, “That’s it? It doesn’t turn you off from being with me?”

“I fucked Wooyoung like, two days ago, Mingi,” you smile when he makes a face of disgust, “if you can mentally handle that, I can mentally handle being in the spotlight, as long as its smaller than yours. But if I can’t, I’ll tell you, and we’ll figure it out. Wait, what about your coaches?”

“That is such a non-issue,” he rolls his eyes, “who gives a fuck?”

You make a face of surprised agreement, bottom lip bending over, brows raising, “Sure. Who gives a fuck?”

He smiles, “Cool, I think that’s everything.”

“Cool,” you nuzzle yourself back into his chest, pressing a short kiss to his skin, “by the way, how long until we can fuck again? I’ve been waiting three weeks for this too, y’know.”

masterlist 🏈 part one

this is my soul project. ive never loved another mingi as much as i love this one. if you read all of this, genuinely thank you from the bottom of my fucking heart. i could write about him endlessly, my muse fr. i hope you enjoyed and pls dont hesitate to tell me all your thoughts 🩷

DO I KNOW YOU? ☆ @starlitjoong

Freshman year of college was supposed to be your fresh start. Your opportunity to put your best foot forward. Then a familiar face you’re not too thrilled by rips that chance away. Kim Hongjoong was assigned to train you for your new job in the campus library. He was thorough, too thorough, recalling things you didn’t quite want to remember. The memories with your first love haunt you in your sleep. Will seeing him every day cause your hate to grow? Or will the feelings you worked so hard to bury erupt into a chaotic mess of storage closet makeouts and cold shoulders?

HARD TO FOCUS ☆ @belongjoong 18+

physics was never a strong subject for you, but when your hot new tutor kim hongjoong comes to the rescue, you start to wonder if you're really staying for the lessons - or just for him.

ONE MORE LINE ☆ @blizzardfluffykpop 18+

Everything in your senior year of college felt like you needed just one more; one more class, one more test, one more line, and it would all be over, and you could finally rest your bones. And with Hongjoong by your side; every class, every test, every line came easy. And when Tuesdays and Thursdays came to a close, you could peacefully rest your bones beside him. Drawing to your hearts content as he scribbles down a half a page of lines.

CURTAIN CALL ☆ @sangis-puppy

College was draining enough without having D1 athlete and ‘Pride of the school, Chris, up your ass for two years trying to get you in his bed. You’d do anything to get him off your back for even a week of peace. So when the chance to knock him down a few pegs presents itself in the form of Park Seonghwa, a nerdy type that said athlete torments, you take it. What starts as a few campus spottings to get under Chris’s skin turns into blurred lines and moments that feel too real for a fake relationship. Time ticks to Homecoming and the curtain will fall on this act. How will you bow out?

SUNBURN ☆ @sungbeam

you and park seonghwa, petty rivals since the third grade, can't stand the sight of each other. at least, that's what you both claim. sometimes, getting the truth out of two stubborn people just requires turning up the heat.

SWEETHEART ☆ @ja3hwa 18+

ATZ was the place to be. Everyone either wanted to be in the fraternity or be with one of the members... And this push and pull you had seemingly fallen into with one of the brooding frat boys was making you dizzy. Your neck quickly aching from whiplash over the constant what ifs and maybes... Oh... Oh wait, it was just the dark bruising hickies he left that were the ache and the overflow of alcohol that made you dizzy... Whoops.

LEVEL ZERO ☆ @03jyh23 18+

Jeong Yunho is the human equivalent of a system crash. A 6’2” wreck of stuttered sentences, fogged-up glasses, and nerves he can’t outgrow. He has spent his first year of college trying to be invisible. He’s a tactical genius on screen, but on campus, he can barely survive a three-word greeting without his voice cracking.

He tries to start a Gaming Club in a basement that smells like dust and dump. When a pack of “Mean Girls” turns his recruitment drive into a public execution, you step in.

You lie. You improvise. You claim you’re his pro-tier carry—his star recruit.

Now you learn the hard way: Rule #1 of saving a cute nerd from bullies is this—don’t claim you’re an expert in a game you’ve never heard of.

NEW PERSPECTIVE ☆ @from-izzy

the stage has always been jeong yunho's, star university's top acting student, happiest place. but as time goes on, and pressure makes him slip away from acting, a certain girl with her canvas paints a story from a new perspective that keeps him going.

SLEEPOVERS IN MY BED ☆ @everyonewooeverywhere 18+

jeong yunho and song mingi have always been the campus's "it couple." even those who don't know them say they're a match made in heaven--meant to be in every universe. but you know different. you know the truth: that jeong yunho spends her sunday nights in your bed and song mingi is a fucking weirdo. but while her boyfriend thinks she's studying, you're giving her what he could never fulfill. she may love him, but at least she's in your bed.

AFTER HOURS ☆ @17teezers 18+

being an ra comes with a lot of responsibilities: managing residents, hosting events, surviving move in day… but apparently you need to learn how to survive your co-ra, kang yeosang, as well. that definitely wasn’t in the manual.

he’s professional, intelligent, organized, and also really good at making you feel stupid. after being assigned the same floor, you start to realize he might not be as bad as you thought. which would be fine — if there wasn’t one very simple rule: don’t date your coworkers.

LITTLE MISS CATASTROPHE ☆ @hyungszn

meet kang yeosang. sophomore, gymnast, and most importantly, campus’ most eligible omega. yeosang’s been trying to set the record straight for years but thanks to his slightly awkward nature, people kind of just brush him off for a pretty face. however just when he thinks of giving up, the universe concocts the most disastrous “outing” imaginable: you.

WATER GIRL ☆ @yeonlymine 18+

between lectures and slaving in the training room, choosing athletic training as your work study job was supposed to be the easy part of college. until a transfer named yeosang joins the roster mid season and suddenly the nickname “water girl” isn’t just harmless locker room teasing anymore.

A PACK A DAY ☆ @maho6any 18+

you asked him what kind of doctor smokes? he said he'd quit once he gets his degree. you didn't like each other very much. you hated that you sat next to each other in class, to which you both used the excuse that it was only because it was the desk closest to the wall outlet. the professor seems to think you do this by choice, and decides you would be the perfect pair for the childcare simulation. and unfortunately for you and your poor sensitive heart, a pack a day does not in fact keep the doctor away

HANDS ON ME ☆ @xomakara 18+

You join KQ University’s Taekwondo club and immediately get underestimated — especially by San, the star member who treats you like you might break. When you finally reveal your true skill by sweeping him in a spar, everything shifts, and San becomes fascinated, competitive, and increasingly drawn to you.

DARE ☆ @minkieater 18+

you can’t fucking stand jung wooyoung, mingi really really wants kim minjeong. when wooyoung and winter end up together, you and mingi have no choice but to figure out how to win winter’s favor, to stab wooyoung in the back. mingi needs a favor, and you want revenge... do you dare?

PAS DE DEUX ☆ @way2jellyous 18+

at Seoul's most prestigious ballet university, no pair is more legendary than you and Ikhyun - until a scandal destroys his career overnight. Varna is coming up, and you're forced to pick a new partner. But maybe some things are never meant to be replaced. - or lowkey a k-drama that somehow got converted to a fanfic on tumblr dot com

PIPE DREAM ☆ @yestodayys 18+

song mingi is a lot of things. he’s top of the class you hate the most, a mutual friend of your roommates, probably the best dressed guy on campus… and now he’s haunting your dreams, too.

FLASH POINT ☆ @hyungszn 18+

there’s a very thin line between lust and hate; a concept of which you are intimately familiar. when you push, wooyoung pulls, and soon what started out as a battle of wills has quickly morphed into a war of temptation with no ceasefire in sight. TL;DR: in a world where opposites are meant to attract, you and wooyoung couldn’t be more alike… so why the hell do you want each other so bad?

KANJO ☆ @jitaewoo 18+

there’s two subgroups of hashiriyas that rule japan: the kanjozoku of osaka and the roulettezoku of tokyo. in osaka, you live your days out either on campus or at work. on the outside, it’s all seems so repetitive and boring—but that is exactly what you want. then, one day, it all gets messed up when a new transfer student, jung wooyoung, comes and threatens to shatter everything you have built. stupid tokyo boys have no clue what really goes on in osaka, and wooyoung is going to have to learn the hard way.

THE OFF LIMITS RULE ☆ @stxrrywoo 18+

coming back from studying abroad for two years you had two goals in mind: win the annual end of summer fashion design contest and jung wooyoung... your brothers best friend. only issue? your brother had forbidden you from his friends and likewise has forbidden his friends from you. yet when yeosang gets the opportunity to study abroad you start to see an opportunity to finally make your move, so you take it. I mean.... what's the worst that could happen?

AS IF ☆ @moooonandroses 18+

you and jongho can’t stand each other, but the universe doesn't seem to catch the signals. everywhere you went, he was there. friends teased you both, saying that you liked each other so much you were manifesting the other everywhere. ugh, as if you would ever like him, right?

[NOUN] LOVE ☆ @redemptions 18+

you and jongho met as children during a letter writing project. years later, you get the chance to meet in person because of a study exchange but you are determined to keep your feelings a secret - after all, how do you tell your best friend you’re in love with him?

THE LAW OF ATTRACTION ☆ @jinkoh

Jongho was everything you weren’t: ambitious, diligent, promising—all in all the perfect law school student. Naturally, your chaos didn’t fit into his prearranged life. Not for long, anyway. Your silly little relationship was never meant to last. So how come you couldn't seem to move on? Of course, being grouped together for a semester-long assignment didn't exactly help your case.

You’ve considered turning off the wifi box, calling T-Mobile to disconnect your lines for a night. Considered cutting every charger cord in the house.

But you can’t, because you know he’d just leave and go somewhere else. Work is his life, you knew this once you went public.

Just didn’t know work would make its way into your home 24/7. 

You’re in the kitchen cutting up fruit, turning to look over your shoulder every five seconds to see if he’ll even bother to look up from his phone. 

He doesn’t look at you, does this after every argument. Pretends you’re roommates, you migrate to opposite sides of the house. He becomes so nonchalant. 

You say in your head he’s going to age faster because of his phone use. His face is being lit up by it. You can see what he’s scrolling through due to the reflection in his glasses.

He’s in an imessage thread, blue and gray text bubbles clear as day. Messages are coming in rapid fire as his thumbs tap the keyboard.

He’s responding to each one. 

No glances your way. Doesn’t acknowledge your presence in the kitchen that’s just feet away from him. He’s choosing to be completely immersed in his own world.

And you just sit there as he pauses to type a response and hit send. 

It stings how deliberate he’s being to just avoid you. 

All you had asked was when the next date night would be. His response of “I don’t know” sent you into a frenzy, resulting in both of you not saying the nicest of things. 

It’d been weeks, living in the same space as your boyfriend just wasn’t enough. 

You try to remember the last time he really made a day about you, the two of you. Not just grabbing food between schedules or opting to stay home because he was too tired to go anywhere. 

The line “I promise I’ll make it up to you” started to fall on deaf ears. Words without action were just a buffer after all. 

You truly understand his career, how demanding it is, how his phone buzzes constantly. But just because you understand something doesn’t make anything hurt less. 

Understanding doesn’t fill the silence in the bedroom when he falls asleep scrolling through his phone instead of your nightly talks.

Understanding doesn’t replace the sweet nothings he used to whisper in your ear, you’re lucky if you even hear the word baby.

You continue cutting the fruit, almost clipping your finger as your blood boils at the thought of the argument all over again. 

You finish and set the knife down. You consider walking to sit beside him, laying your head on his shoulder, or snatching the cap from his head. 

Maybe that would be enough to break through.  You take a step, thinking about swallowing your pride.

Just utter the words I’m sorry, didn’t mean to snap. Can we just–

The buzz of his phone whips you back into shape, his witchy laugh booming in your ears. Still no eye contact. Resignation begins to fill your body until it's completely replaced with anger. 

You slam things loudly in the kitchen, slamming cabinets, throwing silverware into the sink, shutting the fridge door hard. 

It’s when you slam the bowl of cut-up fruit at the dinner table that he decides to glance your direction. 

“Can you not be doing that in like 10 minutes? I have a livestream to do.” His voice is dismissive again, an attitude written all over his face. 

The fucking livestream is priority. The image he needs to maintain, but that’s okay, super duper fine with you. He can’t ignore you during a livestream.

You smirk, just being annoying is what gets his attention, and you hate to admit it. 

“Sure, baby. I’ll be extra quiet for you.”

His head snaps up, and for the first time all evening, his attention is all on you. He laughs, genuinely surprised. “You tryna fuck with me right now?”

“Not at all, I was being genuine.” You say as you lean against the table, popping a grape into your mouth.

He stands up, adjusts his sweatpants while shaking his head. “Can you cut up some fruit for me while I set up?”

He moves toward the hallway to his office, where everything is set up for him. Seemingly unaffected by your little conversation. 

You nod yes, you had leftovers anyway. Think about spitting in his bowl, but know he’d enjoy it, so you decide against it. 

Other ideas plague your mind as he moves away. “Ten minutes by the way. Rather have it before I start.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, of course.”

A few minutes pass before you set the bowl down on his desk. He was in the corner of the room adjusting the lighting.

His desk sat in the middle with monitors and a plethora of other things around it. He had a small armchair in the background, sometimes other members would join in and sit there, but today was a solo live. 

Instead of the big light, he turns on the leds, going for the chill night ambience. The lights outside are peeking through the blinds. 

You watch all his movements as you lean against the desk. You decide to pick up some of his lingering clothes, brand-name things out of view. 

He nods your direction once he notices what you’re doing. Checks the watch on his wrist, scrambles to get to his desk. 

“No grapes in that bowl, right?”

“Right. Mind if I sit in the chair?”

“Go ahead, don’t care. Just don’t be too loud, yeah?”

“Look who’s talkin’.”

He glares at you as he boots up his computer, leaning back in the gaming chair, peeling the skin from the oranges in the bowl. 

Then the red light blinks, he goes live, you settle with a blanket in the background as you scroll through your phone.

The chat starts flooding before Wooyoung even speaks. Phone buzzes while notifications pile on, and he leans forward to adjust the angle, then he’s smiling. 

He does a soft wave to the camera, “Hi everyoneeee.”

You can see the questions coming, asking the normal stuff like how was his day, the group, even about you. 

“She’s my favorite, she’s sulking in the back as you can see.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Am not sulking. Guys, he doesn’t even know how to cut his own fruit.”

He smacks his teeth while turning his chair to look at you, “Yes, I do! You just do it better.”

“Woo…It’s fruit.”

He mumbles something under his breath and spins the chair back around, done entertaining the antics. You see the comments flood even more. 

He relaxes again, stops paying you any mind. Skips any questions asked about you, which you’re thankful for. 

Once you see he’s fully immersed, you quietly slide out the chair, take his bowl back to the kitchen to be washed. 

You’re about to run the water until you get a text from him.

my lover: why tf would u get up without the blanket on with those little ass shorts??????

You just do a smile reaction to the message, not sure who he’s feeling like. You’re a grown woman, and he only requested you to be quiet, not to change clothes. 

You weren’t about to do both either way. 

You go back to the office, stand in the doorway, he’s yapping again with his phone face down. You wonder if his fans read those messages through his glasses. 

Know that he’s actually a psychotic sweetheart. 

His left hand is out of view, he uses two fingers to motion you over, then points at the light switch. 

You ignore the second command and only walk toward his desk and drop to your knees to crawl underneath. 

He immediately crosses his feet, knows what you’re trying to do, but based on how loosely they’re crossed, he’s not really protesting. 

You rub your hands down his thighs, press into them with your nails a little to see if you can get a reaction out of him.

He remains ever the idol in the face of fans, but he does uncross his feet and spreads just enough to give you proper room. 

He answers questions while he lifts slightly so you can drag his pants and boxers down, barely noticeable on camera, but fans are able to point out the veins in his biceps due to the lift, regardless.

He’s half hard already. Proper D, catching print and all. 

You palm him, and he twitches. His voice stutters for just a moment before he has a smooth recovery. Then you go to stroke him slowly, watching him grow in your hand. 

“Yup yup, I’ve been—” His breath hitches, “been working on some new things.”

You lean in and drag your tongue along his cock, your free hand fondling him. He jumps under you. 

He clears his throat, “yeah it’s pretty intense shit.”

That’s when you take him into your mouth, swirl your tongue around the tip, his most sensitive part. His hand drops below the desk, smelling faintly of orange peels as he rubs your cheek with his thumb. 

He’s still talking as you take him deeper, no clue how he’s maintaining composure, although his voice has gotten lower and rougher. 

“Thanks for—fuck—thanks for joining tonight Mis–missed speaking with you..all.”

You pull back and start pumping him with your hand while you catch your breath. He shifts forward, and you look above to see his head thrown back, the underside of his jaw on display for a few seconds before he fixes himself. 

You know the comments are flooding, you go crazy for the look of his jaw too. 

You take him back into your mouth using both hands around him, doing a twisting motion,his breathing is all that fills the room. 

He laughs at a comment, must’ve noticed, it’s tight and strained. “No no I’m fine, just long day.”

You hum, and he jerks and curses under his breath, the mic doesn’t quite catch it. You can tell he’s trying to fight the urge to fuck your mouth the way he wants. 

You let him slip deeper, till he hits the back of your throat, his thigh slams against the underside of the desk.

“Shit,” He starts scrambling. “Dropped my phone.”

You drag your lips along him as you pull off, and flick your tongue against his slit. He’s leaking a bit now, and the taste of it has you giddy. 

 He glances really quickly at you, “Gotta go, guys. Something just came up! I’ll go live again soon, love you, bye bye.”

The red light goes off.  The second it does he slides his chair back a little to stand and pull you up by your arms. 

“You’re so damn stupid, oh my god.” He breathes, and then his citrus-flavored tongue is in your mouth. His hands squeeze your ass harshly as he kisses you.

“Didn’t know you were with me for my wit.” He groans while walking you backward until your back hits the wall by the desk. 

“Lucky I didn’t bust on camera.”

“Which sucks because that’s what I was aiming for.”

He laughs and drops to his knees. His hands yank your shorts and underwear down in one motion. 

He looks at you, glistening already. It feels like ages since he’s touched you, seen you.

“When the hell did you get a landing strip?”

“I told you like a week ago. See, you don’t fucking listen.”

“Watch your ‘fucking’ mouth.” He puts his tongue on you, and your head falls against the wall. You pull his hat off, run your hands through his long hair.

He licks up your folds slowly, you’re soaked, and he revels in the taste of you, groaning in satisfaction. The vibration makes your legs shake.

“Woo–”

No answer, nothing new, you think. He continues going to work on you and holds you against his face, doesn’t care you’re about to suffocate him with your thighs in the process. 

Sliding two fingers inside almost has you keel over.

“Wet huh,” his fingers curl up, rubs against the top of you as he pumps them in and out. Mouth still sucking on your clit. 

Your legs begin to shake even more, it’s like he knows you’re on the edge because he adds a third finger to stretch you out even more. You’re so wet his fingers slide in with ease, the squelching makes your face burn. 

You begin to speak, but the words die immediately as he sucks harder on your clit. He keeps going faster and harder. 

He puts your clit between his teeth so he has air to speak, you swear you see stars. “Mmm baby, you’re so close, little more for me.”

Your whole body tenses as you clamp around his head, the orgasm rolls through in waves as he maintains the exact same movements. You can feel yourself gushing, fluids running down his hand.

When he pulls back his face is wet, glasses slightly crooked, lips shiny. A sight that’s worthy of being put in the Louvre when he isn’t pissing you off. 

“Sooo still think I don’t listen?” He stands, licks his lips, and goes to kiss you. Oranges mixed with some tang. 

You can see him straining against his pants. He catches your line of sight, “floor.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, now get on the floor.” He says roughly. 

“Umm what about carpet burn?”

He’s already pulling you down with him, the carpet is rough against your bare skin, but once you see his cock spring out, the carpet is the last thing on your mind. 

His cock hits his thigh, then he begins to stroke it as he maintains eye contact with you with a smirk. “I know, I know, it’s a good-looking mechanism I got here.”

“Please shut the hell up and get in me.”

He listens for once and positions himself between your legs, one hand by your head, while he uses the other to guide himself.

The push makes you gasp, and the stretch burns. It’s been a while, and you both know. 

“Shit,” he breathes as he sinks in slowly, you feel every inch against your walls, his balls hitting against you. 

“You’re good to move, Woo.”

“Can you call me babe or something sweet while I’m fucking inside you?”

“You. Are. Good. To. Move. Wooyoung.”

He pulls out all the way, and then he slams back in, the force makes you cry out, so he does it again. The rhythm is hard, and your tits bounce with each thrust. 

You can tell how messy this is getting as you feel fluids run between your ass cheeks, you just know it’s sinking into the carpet. 

“You really wanted me to fuck you on the floor? Can’t believe you.”

“A date would’ve sufficed, some attention, but sigh, this is where we are.”

He slows down, grinds deeper. “I’m paying attention now. We can always plan a date, too.”

“Little late for that.”

“You’re really gonna be a smart ass right now?”

You put your heel into his back to push him deeper, and he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. “Should’ve known you were crazy from the get-go.”

His phone starts buzzing on the desk above you. He ignores it, picks up the pace again. But his phone keeps buzzing again, and again, until it starts ringing. 

“Wooyoung.”

“No– Say baby–.”

“Pick up your damn phone. It’s probably important.”

“I’m busy.” He finishes his sentence with a hard thrust into you, but the phone keeps ringing. 

“Just answer it.”

He stops moving, still buried, and stares at you like you’ve lost all mental capacities. “Are you being for real?”

“Answer it.”

He reaches up blindly, knocking around some stuff until he feels his phone. He glances at the screen. “It’s Hwa.”

“Speaker.”

“You batshit crazy bitch.”

“Not kidding with you, Woo.”

He drops the phone on the carpet next to your head, then he starts moving again, slow rolls that make your eyes roll back. 

“Dude, your live was so odd, you good?”

Wooyoung’s eyes lock onto yours, pulls out slowly, then thrusts hard again. You have to bite back a moan.

His voice is strained again, “Yeah–I’m just–I had to handle something.”

“Handle what? You just hopped off.”

You can’t stop the small whimper that escapes you when he slides in again. He covers your mouth with his hand, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. 

“Just…something came up!”

You reach up and take the phone from beside your head, his eyes almost escape his skull. 

“He’s in the middle of something,” your voice is steady even though he just hit your favorite spot, “he’ll call you back.”

There’s a pause, you just know Seonghwa is breathing louder than needed on the other side of the phone. Wooyoung is frozen inside you, in utter disbelief. 

“No way. No way no way no way no way.” Seonghwa says in rapid succession. “Are you–are you guys like—”

“Busy.” You repeat. “Very, very busy. Bye, hun.”

You hang up and toss the phone, and Wooyoung stares for a little longer. “You can call him hun, but can’t call me babe?!?”

“Get back to work, please.”

He begins to go harder than before, faster. “Out your fucking mind,” he pants, but he’s grinning. 

“Looks like you just needed some motivation, Hwa gave it.”

“I was already motivated, so don’t even start that shit.” He hooks your leg over his hip, and he’s deeper. You moan, then his hand is back over your mouth. 

“Shhhh. Walls are thin, baby.” You know he’s play-acting because the unit you’re in has no other people, so you lick his palm instead.

He pulls his hand away with a disgusted noise. “Gross.”

“You’ve had worse in your mouth.”

“Yeah, like a few minutes ago.” His pace has gotten sloppy, he’s close. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside.”

He groans as he pulses inside you, cum flooding your pussy. It triggers a smaller orgasm out of you, clenching around him.

He collapses on top of you, both of you a sweaty mess and breathing hard. He’s softening inside you as the mess leaks out around his cock. 

He lifts his head, hair stuck to his forehead as he pulls out, and you both wince. “We’re gonna have to clean this.”

You wave him off, “later.”

“The carpet–”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about the fucking carpet if you took me out on a date.”

He stops mid-carpet panic, looks at you with a grin across his face. “But this way was cheaper, no?”

You glare at him, then he starts to laugh. You crawl over to pull down the blanket from the armchair and begin to smother him with it. 

It’s not murder, just a little peace and quiet. As you hold him down with it you grin, “You’re still taking me out by the way.”

He reaches out to tap your arm twice, his way of saying he surrenders. You come off him, and he’s breathing hard. 

“Yes! Jesus christ we’ll go out this week.”

“Good. Your group was about to go down to a total of seven members.”

He’s half-naked, you can’t take him seriously, but you know he’s taking your words seriously now. He mutters again under his breath, “Crazy bitch.”

You flick him off as you get up without him. Put on your little ass shorts again and walk out of the office. 

He’s got that eye contact now, gaze serious and unwavering on your face, catching every twitching reaction as he curls his fingers to hit that spongey spot inside of you. The sound of wetness, your pussy clinging to him to as he pulls back only to weep when he fucks into you again.

“J-Jong,” you stammer over his name, body twitching with such violence at the rising pleasure.

“Just one more jagiya,” he murmurs. His thumb presses down on your clit firmly and you stumbled over a sob. “You can do that for me right?”

Because you’ve been on this edge before tonight. Twice in fact and each time, the press of his fingers has been enough to have you falling over the edge, slick gushing around his fingers and dripping onto the bedsheets beneath.

Because Jongho is a gentleman and a lady’s pleasure always comes first. You think it was just a pretty excuse for the fact he likes seeing you fall apart for him.

“I can’t, I can’t, I - fuck,” you throw your head back when those fingers - three of them now, so thick, so skilled at making you lose composure - crook up. Your legs tremble when you close them, trapping his hand between your thighs.

He tuts. “Keep looking at me jagi,” he urges, as his free hand slides up the inside of your leg and forces them open for him again. “I want to see you. You look so pretty when you cum for me. Wanna see it again. One more time. Please.”

Jongho had said that before. You didn’t believe him. “Liar,” you whine even as you obey. You blink your eyes to clear your vision, try to focus on how blown his eyes are, how bitten his lips are. Your boyfriend is always pretty but like this - he's utterly devastating.

The next thrust feels particularly punishing. It makes you choke, your vision blur, your muscles tense until they burn. Your hips buckle up, uncontrollably, to ride his fingers, chasing a painful pleasure.

“Taking me so well,” he praises, “so stretched out for me. Could you take another, hmm? One more finger.”

“N-no,” you warble even as he pushes in, spreads you further until your back arches and tears slip down your cheeks. It feels good - horribly good, nightmarish good, like you’re a second away from tearing apart and yet it’s not enough.

Nowhere near enough.

“Pussy made for this, she’s so good for me,” Jongho murmurs and dips his head to kitten lick on your swollen clit. You whimper and chase his tongue, catching his nose on the hood in your eagerness. Your stomach flexes and tightens.

“Close, c-close, please, please, please.”

Jongho hushes you so gently. “You don’t need to beg me beautiful,” he promises, “you never need to. I’ll give you what you want.”

You open your mouth in a silent scream as he picks up speed. He fucks you hard, adjusting so the palm of his hand hits your clit brutishly with every down stroke. It's such a contrast to his other hand, so gentle on the inside of your thigh, tracing comforting patterns into the kiss bitten flesh.

You can feel your orgasm approaching. The heat that blooms from between your legs to the tips of your toes, the peaks of your nipples, the back of your head. It makes you feel heavy - it's too much, too close and yet not enough. your ears are ringing and you know you must be speaking, rambling pleads and stumbling over his name, but you can't quite hear it over the blood rushing in your ears.

"J-jong," you hiccup.

He presses a wet kiss to your pussy mound, and you cum like thunder around his fingers. you're lightheaded, your vision whiting out, the cry of that release ripping your throat raw. you can't control the trembles of your body - the way your limbs kick out around you, the way drool is slipping from the corners of your mouth, the way your pussy holds on to Jongho's fingers desperately.

and through it all, Jongho watches. he calls you beautiful and perfect. he tells you how good you were for him and how much he loved you. he murmurs an apology when he pulls out and the sudden lack of stretch makes you cry.

you can't help him when he moves so your resting on his bare thighs, when he moves your legs to wrap around his waist, or when he huddles over you as he slips his cock into your abused cunt.

you whimper and Jongho hushes you with a soft kiss. you try to kiss back but its sloppy, lacking in any coordination and when jongho sucks on your tongue, you just leave it hanging out of your mouth for him.

"my gorgeous jagiya," he coos into your lips, "you came so well for me. I'm gonna cum for you okay? gonna fill you up?"

you sniff. "o-okay," you agree, voice rough, and he gushes about how cute you are.

when jongho fucks you like this, bodies pressing together, his hands linking with yours against the soiled bedsheets, its always slow. languid. he moves his hips like he's going to break you and honestly, right now, you feel like he might. he doesn't so much as thrust in and out, but press deep, chasing the warmth of your pussy and how well you cling onto him.

he's not loud. his noises are low groans and hitches of breath, or whispers of praise against the shell of your ear. sometimes you feel like you could fall asleep like this, cocooned by the warmth of his body and his affections in your ear.

"you'll hold my cum in right?" he asks, "make sure nothing drips out?"

you make a noise that might have been agreement.

"love when your full of me jagiya, fuck," jongho sighs his curse and you feel each press into you last longer. "im gonna cum."

"please," you say, and tighten your grip around his hand, "I want you too."

jongho cums with your name on his tongue and a rough roll of hips that presses too much on your sensitive clit. you gasp, flex around his cock and he bites a curse into your neck.

and then he gathers you close, hands moving from yours to curl firmly around the small of your back. jongho presses his face into your neck, catching his breath, relishing the moment. you press shaking fingers into his hair, nails dragging across the scalp, and tighten your legs around him.

you like this part as much as he does. the soft closeness of you warming his cock until it goes soft. he'll hold on to you until your legs lose all strength and you start to complain that he's too heavy. and when you do, jongho will pull back just enough that he can take a kiss, distract you to stay inside just a little longer. you always let him.

"I love you," he confesses against the pillow of your lips.

you say it back once, twice, three times, before you finally separate. jongho will put a pillow under your hips so they don't hurt as he walks himself into the bathroom to get a towel to clean up.

he is a gentleman, after all.

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