synopsis ; after a horrible week that ended with finding out your boyfriend cheated, your sister drags you to a party hoping to pull you out of your slump, however, who knew a simple dare would land you with mingi, the campus 'bad boy', and before long he's showing you just how much better he could treat you.
pairing(s) ; mingi x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 6.1k
☆ ── genre ; smut, angst w/ fluff, college!au, badboy!mingi
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, mentions of cheating, toxic ex, alcohol consumption, dubcon (only adding bc they had been drinking), unprotected sex, dom!mingi x sub!reader, dirty talk, a small bit of insecurities mentioned, conservative neighbor(?), breast play, praise, pet names (pretty, baby, princess, babygirl...), teasing, clit play, fingering, oral (f. receiving), clit biting, creampie, manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, biting/marking, lmk if I missed anything!!
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
It seemed like the world was out for blood—specifically yours. It hadn’t exactly been a good week for you. First, you woke up late for an important test, then someone spilled their nasty kale smoothie all over you, staining your favorite hoodie that monstrous green, and you were stuck working overtime, without the extra pay, because no one else wanted to work. However, the sweet cherry on top was that you just so happened to walk in on your boyfriend in bed with another woman.
It wasn’t like he was the best guy to ever exist, and your friends told you multiple times to just leave him. He was also toxic as hell and could give less than two shits about you or anything related to you, but that didn’t keep you from running out with tears streaming down your face.
Now that Friday has finally rolled around, you want nothing more than to curl up in your bed and forget the world around you. Though as fate would have it, your sister barged into your room without knocking and flipping the light switch on, momentarily blinding you.
“Go away, Yiseo!” You whined, grabbing your pillow to cover your face, surrounding yourself in darkness once more.
Yiseo just rolled her eyes before walking over and snatching the pillow right out of your hands, “Get your ass up, y/n, I’m not letting you wallow in your self-pity while there's a rager going on in town.”
You let out a huff as you lie flat on your back, staring at the dark-haired girl, “I don’t wanna go.” Tears involuntarily filled your eyes, and you quickly bit the inside of your cheek to keep them at bay.
Yiseo stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, a glare adorning her features, “Is this about Xander?”
You didn’t say anything, but then again, you didn’t have to because your face says it all. Yiseo just sighed before walking over to your closet and pulling the doors.
“Sis, you have got to get over his sorry ass.” She rolled her eyes as she shuffled through your clothes, all while you sat up in bed, watching her.
“It’s not even that he’s bothering me—” The look Yiseo gave you told you she believed otherwise, “Alright, maybe a little bit, I mean, he's going around telling everyone I’m a bore.” You scoffed, running your fingers through your hair. “He’s the real bore here, only caring about himself… asshole.”
As you went on a small tangent, Yiseo put together an outfit, something that would catch someone’s attention, but you would still be comfortable in. She was determined to get you laid or something so you would get out of your little rut with Xander. When she was done, she walked out of the closet and laid the clothing on your bed.
“What is that?” You asked with wide eyes, staring down at the outfit. Admittedly, it was cute, but you were sure you’d freeze your ass off in the cool autumn weather.
“The outfit you’re wearing. Now go take a shower, you stink.” With that, Yiseo walked out of the room, leaving you sitting there to pick your jaw up with a dumbfounded expression.
—
So now you stood in the living room of a very unfamiliar house, a red solo cup in your hand. The bitter liquid was becoming more and more tolerable the longer you watched your ex quite literally sucking the face off of a new woman.
“Are you seriously just going to stand here and watch that disgusting rat, or are you going to try and enjoy yourself?” The sound of your sister’s voice broke your focus on Xander.
You look over at her as you take another sip of whatever concoction was in your cup, “What do you expect me to do? Dance with some rando?”
Yiseo burst out laughing, catching the attention of some of those around you two, Xander included. He detached himself from the chick he was with before making his way over to you with a smug smirk on his face.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here? Ya know y/n, you’re the last person I’d expect to be here.” At the sound of his voice, you rolled your eyes before grabbing Yiseo’s arm and walking off, ignoring his calls for you to come back, “Good luck finding anyone who wants to be with your boring ass, bitch.”
His words struck a chord, and it took all of your willpower not to turn around and deck him right in the jaw. Noticing this, Yiseo tugged you towards a group of people you barely recognized. Looking around, you saw Yiseo’s two best friends and their boyfriends, but you had no idea who the rest of them were. You felt really out of place among them; your sister was popular, while you, well, for lack of better words, were a nobody.
“Let’s play some games!” One of Yiseo’s friends, Hana, suggested pulling her boyfriend to the empty couch, the rest of them following.
You, however, just stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. You then felt something bump into your shoulder, causing you to look over. There stood the university's residential ‘bad boy’ Song Mingi.
“Pretty sure that includes you, pipsqueak, come on.” He smirked, causing your heart to speed up, your face flushing red. Mingi motioned to the group before walking over to them, while you watched him. The black ripped jeans he was wearing hugged his legs perfectly, and his black band t-shirt was nothing short of ‘him’.
“Y/n, get over here!” Yiseo called out, snapping you out of your trance. You meekly walked over, taking the empty seat between your sister and another girl. Looking up, you locked eyes with Mingi once more, and you thanked the dim lighting, otherwise he’d see you turning into a tomato.
“Let’s play truth or dare!” One of the guys suggested as his buddy finished chugging his beer and holding out the bottle. Everyone around you cheered and agreed while you could have sworn you had been cursed.
Now you sat in a circle playing the classic game of truth or dare, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, but you? This was your worst fucking nightmare imaginable. Playing a game where you either had to answer some of the deepest, darkest, dirtiest, and freakiest questions to exist or do some of the most provocative and cringeworthy dares that they could think of.
This kind of game was definitely not on your bucket list, but you couldn’t just back out, not without becoming the laughingstock of the entire university. So you sat there, hands tucked under your bare thighs as you watched the guy next to your sister spin the bottle. Heat crept up your neck as the bottle spins, and spins and spins before stopping—on you.
“Y/n finally! Truth or dare?”
‘Fuck.’ You didn’t like the way he phrased that sentence, nor did you like the way everyone's eyes fell on you. However, you weren’t going to give them a reason to tease you, so you put on your best poker face before taking a drink and speaking.
“Dare.”
“Oh, she’s bold!” The guy smirked, which left you feeling even more uneasy. The feeling worsened when he started looking around the circle.
‘Please don’t make me grind on someone or some shit.’ You silently prayed that you wouldn’t have to embarrass yourself in front of these people, who didn’t even know you at that.
“Seven minutes in heaven with… Mingi.” You could have sworn you felt your heart stop. Your eyes widened for a millisecond before you were able to cover it, then you looked up, meeting the eyes of the chosen male.
At first, you didn’t move, not really wanting to be in a small confined space with another male—not right now at least. Yiseo just smirked as she bumped into your shoulder, letting you know that the time wouldn’t start until you and Mingi were in the closet. Rolling your eyes, you handed her your drink before standing and making your way to the hall closet.
There were times you wanted to strangle your sister, more than you can count on your fingers, but right now? In this very instance would probably take the cake.
You stood damn near chest-to-chest with Mingi in a tiny closet, neither of you saying a word, but you could feel his breath fanning your face. The smell of his cologne filled your senses, making you lightheaded as you tried to will your heart to calm down.
Mingi’s eyes never left your face, watching and studying your expressions. He leaned back a bit more to try to give you more space so you were comfortable, which only caught you off guard.
“We don't have to do anything, you know? Just make some shit up when they ask.” His voice was low, causing heat to pool in your stomach as you looked up at him. Your eyes were slightly wide, but he could see the curiosity in them.
You hadn’t expected that from him, not with the rumors you heard around campus. The girls who talked about him always talked about how he wasn’t one for relationships and that he could give two shits about their feelings, so to say you were pleasantly surprised would be an understatement.
Mingi pulled his hand from his pocket before snaking around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “Unless you want to pretty…”
Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him, searching his eyes. Then Xander’s words rang in the back of your mind, instantly ticking you off.
Then an idea popped up in your head—albeit a horrible one, but an idea nonetheless. You were going to prove that you weren’t the bore that Xander made you out to be, and if sleeping with Mingi would prove that, then so be it. So without another thought, you grabbed the chain that was sitting around his neck, pulling him down, connecting your lips to his.
His lips were soft against yours, sweet like cherries with a hint of alcohol, almost addicting. Your brain felt fuzzy as his lips melted into yours, and his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, prompting you to part them. It didn’t take long for him to pull you closer, tongue slipping into your mouth.
Mingi watched in amusement as you chased after him as he pulled away. Your swollen lips and glossy eyes almost made him want to say screw it and just fuck you in this closet, but he’d rather not get interrupted. So he leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “We won’t have enough time in here, but we can go back to mine. How does that sound, princess?”
“Please…” You let out a breathy sigh as his lips connected to the soft skin of your neck, leaving a trail of wet and sloppy kisses. Biting your lip to conceal any noise from any listening ears, he bit down and sucked on your skin.
After the seven minutes were up, the closet door flew open, only to your classmates' dismay, you and Mingi were standing opposite each other. You mustered up every ounce of willpower you could to keep your cool as you and Mingi walked out. The rest of the group urged you to tell them what had happened, to which you just shrugged your shoulders.
“Nothing much,”
However, your sister saw the darkening spots on your neck as she handed your drink back to you when you sat down. With a knowing smile on her lips, she leaned closer to you, “he’s taking you to his, isn’t he?”
You coughed slightly, tongue jutting out to wet your lips as you just nodded your head, giving her the answer she was looking for. Mingi watched you talk to your sister from the other side of the room with a smug smirk on his lips, his friends pestering him for more information.
—
As the game continued, you would catch Mingi watching you, or he’d catch your lingering gaze. You would hold eye contact before it became too much, and you looked away, blushing. Yiseo was watching in amusement from beside you until she caught sight of Xavier walking over.
“Mind if I join y’all?” His voice made your face drop, souring your mood instantly.
“Xavier man, of course!” One of the other guys exclaimed with a wide smile, and you watched reluctantly as he walked over, taking the now-empty space next to you. He sat down, hand brushing against your thigh.
Mingi watched with a raised eyebrow as you tried to scoot closer to Yiseo, but Xavier just followed. He could tell you were uncomfortable; hell, anyone with a pair of eyes could see it.
Sensing his gaze, you looked up, sending him a meek smile, trying to ignore Xavier’s wandering hands. Yiseo sent a glare in Xavier’s direction before spinning the bottle, watching it as it spun and stopped on you—again. However, this time you were happy because you’d do just about anything to get you away from the creep next to you.
“Y/n, truth or dare.” Yiseo asked as she turned towards you, already knowing what you were going to pick, and as soon as the word ‘dare’ left your lips, she nodded. “Hmm…” She tapped her chin with a faux thoughtful look, thinking of a dare, before her eyes landed on Mingi, “Sit on Mingi's lap for the rest of the game.”
Heat traveled up your neck, painting your face red, but you didn’t complain as you stood. However, before you could get too far, Xavier grabbed your wrist.
“Now, Yiseo, why would you do that knowing she has a boyfriend?” He raised an eyebrow as you glared at him, daring you to say something. Had this been a few weeks ago, you would have kept your mouth shut, but now?
Never again.
“We broke up, Xavier. Would you please get that through your head?” You hissed, ripping your arm out of his grasp before walking over to Mingi.
The dark-haired male smiled smugly at Xavier as you took a seat on his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. As you made yourself comfortable, Mingi wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.
Xavier’s eyes never left you and Mingi throughout the entire game, annoying you even more, and Mingi noticed. His hand that was resting on your lower back moved to grab your hip, his lips brushing against your jaw, eyes locked with Xavier’s.
“Wanna get out of here?” His voice was low enough for just you to hear, but his warm breath against your skin made you shiver. You nodded your head, and Mingi placed a soft kiss on your jaw before letting you stand. Once you were both standing, he took your cup, setting it on the table before grabbing your hand. “We’re outta here.”
That was all he said before walking away, sending Xavier a wink as he pulled you behind him.
— —
You laughed softly as Mingi ushered you into his apartment, away from his nosy neighbor who just happened to walk out as you guys made it to his door. Giggles spilled from your lips as you listened to him try to play the whole thing off from the small crack in the door.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Kim, she's just my lab partner. We have a project due soon, no funny business, I swear,” Mingi reassured the older woman, crossing his fingers over his heart, a nervous laugh leaving his lips as she glared at him.
“Mhm.” She hummed before turning and walking towards the elevator.
Once she was far enough away, Mingi pushed the door open, moving you further inside. When the door was fully shut, he let out a sigh before looking up and meeting your eyes. As soon as your gazes met, you both burst out into giggles.
“What was all of that about?” You managed to ask through your laughter, and Mingi just shook his head.
“She’s just some nosy conservative hag, don’t worry about her.” He rolled his eyes as he made his way toward you, “Now, where were we?” He grabbed your waist, pulling your body flush against his, your arms snaking around his neck.
You bit your lip as you looked up at him. Mingi took your face in his free hand, using his thumb to pull your lip from your teeth before leaning down and connecting his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut, relishing in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. Mingi groaned against your lips when you tugged on his hair at the nape of his neck, “fuck, are you sure you want to do this? We can just chill and watch a movie.”
Your eyes search his as you nod your head, and he leans down, lips ghosting over yours, “Use your words, princess.”
You went weak in the knees; the fact that he wanted verbal confirmation had you falling head over heels. Then, again, he probably didn’t want any sexual assault charges, so you tried not to think too much about it.
You couldn’t fall for someone again, especially not someone like him, but the way his thumb was rubbing soft circles on your side was making it very hard not to.
Letting out a shaky sigh, you nodded again, “I want this, please, Mingi.”
That’s all it took for him to grab the back of your thighs, hoisting you up onto his waist, a small yelp leaving your lip, but was quickly silenced by his. He walks over to the couch before sitting down with you in his lap, lips still on yours. The kiss was hot and messy, teeth clashing as his hands traveled the length of your body.
His hands were all over you, squeezing your thighs. Ass. Hips. Everywhere. His hands warm against your bare skin as he lifts your shirt. Once your shirt was off, Mingi threw it off to the side somewhere before making quick work of your bra, unclipping it like he’s done it a million times. His gaze on you was so intense that it made you squirm, face turning a vibrant shade of red.
His hands fell back to your hips, halting your movements, “Holy fuck, you’re so pretty.” He groaned, and you suddenly felt shy under his gaze. So you turned your head, averting his eyes, trying to will your heart to calm down.
Mingi pulled your hips down, and you could feel his bulge against your clothed cunt, causing a small whine to leave your mouth. The moment that you felt his warm mouth on your breast, you swore you could have melted in his lap. A whimper fell from your covered lips as his teeth scraped against your hardened bud.
You had never experienced this before, Xavier never, never, cared about your pleasure, only his own. So this new feeling left you feeling confused and extremely overwhelmed. The fact that Mingi was taking his time and focusing solely on your pleasure, it was making your head spin.
Mingi pulled away from your chest with a pop, looking up to take in your flustered face, eyes avoiding his. He kissed his way up the valley of your breast, over your collarbones, and up your neck before stopping by your ear.
“Why are you being so shy now?” His voice was husky and low, sending a chill down your spine.
You couldn’t meet Mingi’s eyes; you were too embarrassed because you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to be feeling like this. Xavier had deprived you of any of this, of the pleasure, of the care, and you felt like you could cry.
Had he really only cared about himself the whole time you guys were together?
You were snapped out of your daze when Mingi leaned back against the couch, his grip on your hips loosening, “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.” His words made your stomach flutter; he cared about your feelings even if he was rock-hard underneath you. Tears brimmed in your eyes as your hands fell to your lap.
“No, I want to do this, it’s just…” The words died on your tongue. What were you supposed to tell him? That your ex never did any of this, so you were confused? No, he’d probably just laugh in your face.
“Just what princess?” Mingi’s voice was soft, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist. You licked your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. Why did you have to be so fucking awkward? Why couldn’t you just let him continue doing what he was doing? Thoughts cloud your mind, and Mingi could tell, so he brought his hand to your face, grabbing your chin, softly making you look at him. However, you were quick to avert your gaze, and he didn’t take too kindly to that: “Look at me, pretty.”
Your teary eyes flicker up to his. God, you wish that the universe would just suck you into a black hole right about now. Mingi’s gaze was filled with concern, and that was enough for the first tear to break free, falling down your cheek. You, however, were quick to wipe it away before closing your eyes, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the embarrassment that was to come.
Mingi sat there, waiting till you were ready to talk, his eyes never leaving your face. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, especially when he finally had you. So he waited.
Letting out a shaky breath, you opened your eyes, meeting his, “It’s just that my ex, he never really did any of…” you gestured to yours and Mingi’s body, “this.” Your face started to heat up as you tried your best to keep his eye contact.
Mingi instantly felt an annoyance bubble up in his chest, not because of you, but because of the douchebag you called your ex. In the blink of an eye, he had you lying on your back, his body slotting over yours. Your eyes were wide in surprise as your hands lay next to your head.
“So let me get this straight, not only was he a cheating asshole, but also never pleased you right.” His words made your face flush red, but you nodded nonetheless, “fucking useless scumbag.” He growled under his breath as he latched his lips to your neck once more.
A whimper left your lips as he bit down on the junction of your neck, “M-Min—”
“Don’t worry, baby, I got you. I’m gonna show you how you should have been treated in the first place.” He said with a shit-eating grin, his tongue lapping over the spot he just bit, “Will you let me?” His hands traced the length of your body before finding purchase on your hips. He pulled back to look at you in your eyes, and you nodded, “Words pretty.”
You felt lightheaded under his intense gaze, “Y-Yes.”
Without another word, he hooked his fingers on the hem of your shorts, pulling them down as well as your panties. Mingi looked down at you with such a hunger in his eyes that it left you breathless.
“Oh, you’re dripping, baby,” He teased as he spread your folds, blowing a puff of air onto your sopping cunt. A small moan left your lips, your hips bucking against his touch. Your hand flew down to his head the moment his nose bumped your clit, tongue flat against your folds, and wrapping his plump lips around your clit. Then he slowly inserted his finger into your tight hole, rubbing his fingertips against your gummy walls.
"Oh god!" A loud moan ripped through your throat when he started to devour your pussy like it was his last meal. His finger sped up inside you, rubbing one particular spot that left you seeing stars.
A growl reverberated from the back of his throat as you continued to tug on his hair, the sensation making your back arch off the table. You mewled when his teeth scraped against your clit, brain short-circuiting, and Mingi's eyes looked up as your head fell back with a pathetic whine. Your back arches off the couch, pushing your hips further into his face, but Mingi was quick to press his hand flat down on your stomach, keeping you in place.
Your orgasm was right on the tip of your tongue, and your legs shook on either side of his head. Incoherent babbles fell from your lips as he sucked harshly on your clit, sparks flashing across your vision, and finally, that coil snapped.
“F-Fuck! Mingi!” You cried out as your body started to spasm, toes curling as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned out as the pace of his fingers picked up, rubbing one particular spot which left you lying there breathless. “Mingi, shit, please.”
"Shh, I've got you, babygirl." Mingi slowly pulled his soaping fingers from your core, a devilish smirk on his lips as he watched the dim moonlight reflect off of your juices.
Your head tilted up, eyes meeting his just as he stuck his finger in his mouth, licking all of your essence off of his digits. A groan vibrated in his throat at the taste, eyes rolling slightly, leaving you dripping on his couch.
“You taste so fucking sweet, baby.” His voice was raspy as he pulled his fingers from his mouth, crawling back over your body. A moan fell from your lips as he touched you, only for it to be swallowed by Mingi’s. Your brain nearly short-circuited when you tasted yourself on his lips, his tongue pushing more into your mouth. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling roughly, making his head tilt back. You took the chance to latch your lips to his honey skin, leaving your fair share of wet, open-mouth kisses along his jugular. He groaned above you, hands tightening on your hips.
In one quick motion, he had you both in the same position you had started in—you straddled his lap. You didn’t let the sudden change alter your movements, too blinded by pleasure to care how he takes you, as long as he does. His grip on your hips tightened even more as you rolled your hips against his bulge, relishing in the feeling of his jeans against your bare cunt.
“Fuck princess, are you that desperate for my cock.” His head fell back as you latched your lips back to his neck, leaving a trail of marks in your wake. Your lips trailed down his neck until you met with the collar of his shirt.
Leaning back, you grabbed the edge of the fabric and pulled on it. “Off now, please.” The pleading in your tone made Mingi’s dick twitch, a smirk pulling on his lips.
“Don’t let me stop you, babygirl, take it off.” He pulled his hands from your hips, and you didn’t waste another second pulling his shirt over his head, letting it join the ever-growing pile of fabric on the ground. You sat back in his lap, taking in the sight in front of you, your finger running down his chest to his toned stomach before landing on his hard cock. A groan fell from his lips as you palmed him through the fabric.
Finally fed up with your teasing touch, he grabbed your wrist, pulling your body flush against his, “Stop fucking teasing.”
“Then fuck me already.” The sas in your tone flipped something in Mingi. He wanted to be nice, to make sure you’d be left wanting more, to make you feel good. However, that plan flew out the window as he stood to his feet, taking you with him.
His grip was so tight on your thighs that you were sure that there would be bruises in the morning. The sound of his bedroom door crashing against the wall made you jump, but before you could even begin to question it, he threw you on the bed. You leaned back, looking at him with a cocky smile that Mingi so desperately wanted to wipe away, so he was going to do just that.
“On your hands and knees.” His voice was rough as he undid the button on his jeans. You didn’t give it a second thought before following his instructions, arching your back and giving Mingi the perfect view of your glistening cunt. You weren’t sure where all of this was coming from; maybe it was just lust, but you wiggled your hips, enticing him, which worked.
Mingi grabbed your hips before letting his hands travel across your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You whined into his pillows as you felt his cock against you, rubbing against your folds and clit. You pushed your hips into him, feeling the tip of his cock graze your entrance.
“You’re so needy, princess…” He chuckled as he grabbed your hips, stilling your movements, “Let me make you feel good.” You opened your mouth to say something, but the thought quickly left your brain when you felt him push into you. A high-pitched moan fell from your lips as he thrust deep inside you in one go, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you. He gave you just enough time to adjust before he pulled back until just his tip was left, then thrusts back in, eliciting a scream from you. His pace was nothing short of rough and fast, his thrusts deep. His tip kisses your cervix with each thrust, leaving you seeing stars.
“Min— fuck, fuck.” You chanted, any coherent sentences disappearing as tears broke from your eyes. Mingi watched with a smug smirk as you came undone under him, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping the sheets.
He leaned down, kissing the back of your shoulders, one hand grabbing yours as the other stayed on your hip. “You’re doing so good for me, baby, so tight.” He groaned in your ear as you clenched around him.
A cry broke through your lips when the head of his cock hit that one particular spot inside your drenched cunt. He took note of your reaction before positioning his hip to repeatedly hit your sweet spot, leaving you a screaming mess beneath him.
“Mingi!” You screamed his name as his hand trailed around your waist, rubbing harsh, tight circles on your clit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m- fuck, I’m close, Min…” You whined out, your vision turning white for a moment as your whole body convulsed.
“I know, princess. Let go for me. Cum for me.” His voice was soft in your ear, and your orgasm hit not even two seconds later, mouth hanging open with silent screams. If it weren’t for Mingi’s grip on your body, you would have fallen flat on the bed.
He cursed under his breath as he stood straight, grabbing your hips with both hands. His hips pounded into yours at an animalistic pace, knocking all of the air out of your lungs. Sensitivity surged through your body as Mingi chased his own high, leaving you a whining mess as you reached back, grabbing his wrist, nails digging into his skin. After a few more harsh thrusts, he painted your velvet walls white, rolling his hips against yours and riding out his high until he came to a stop. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart, Mingi rubbing soft circles on your hips.
“M-Mingi…” You whined when he pulled out of your abused pussy, but you couldn’t help but feel empty and wanting nothing more than to have him stuff you full once more. As if he could read your mind, Mingi flipped your body with ease, hand finding your thigh and hiking it over his shoulder, his other hand moving to his still-hard cock, teasing your folds.
Then he was pushing into your dripping cunt, groaning as your walls clamped down around him and you whined, back arching at the new angle.
“Shit…” Mingi growled as he pulled out of you slowly, looking down to see the concoction of yours and his cum covering his cock. Then he was thrusting back into your cunt, the force strong enough to make your boobs bounce, a loud moan tearing through your lips.
Mingi's pace was nothing short of feral, driving his cock into your wet heat with abandon. Your hands flew to his wrists, trying to find anything to hold onto while he drove his cock into your pussy. The lewd sound of wet skin slapping made your head spin, a mixture of moans and cries of Mingi's name falling from your lips.
You let out a gasp when he leaned over you, latching his lips onto yours, and your eyes rolled again. The sudden change in positions was enough to make your brain blank out; any coherent thought that may have been left was now gone. Shockwaves were shot through your whole nervous system as he continued to roughly fuck into you.
"P-Plea—" You choked on another moan when he repositioned his hips, causing his tip to not only brush over your sweet spot but also kiss your cervix. You didn't even get a chance to warn him when your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your juices gushing out in waves, soaking his cock.
“Fuck princess,” He chuckled, but was cut off as you squeezed him rather tightly, nearly knocking him over the edge as well. The sight of your body convulsing under his was a sight he wished to imprint in his brain forever. Then, with a few more, harsh snaps of his hips, Mingi's cock twitched in your walls, ropes of hot cum spurting deep into your walls. His hips rocked against yours, riding out both of your highs until he came to a stop.
Mingi cursed lowly as he pulled his soft dick from your fluttering walls, watching as his cum mixed with yours spilled from your pussy, eyes following its trail down your thigh, pooling on his sheets. Your meek voice calling out to him snapped him out of his trance, looking up to meet your fucked out eyes. Your whole body felt sore, and you didn’t want to get up, but you knew you needed to get cleaned up. So you moved to sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.
However, before you could get too far, Mingi stopped you, “What are you doing?”
All of your movements stopped, worried that you upset him, hands in your lap, “I was gonna go clean up…”
“That son of a bitch…” He growled under his breath, combing his fingers through his hair. “Stay there.” He looked at you pointedly before grabbing his boxers and pulling them up his legs, before walking off into another room. Confused, you just sat there, fingers fiddling in your lap, thoughts started to swirl in your head.
‘Was he gonna come back and make you go home? Or was he upset that you hadn’t moved quickly enough?’
You were snapped out of your thoughts when Mingi’s hand cupped your face, making you look up, meeting his worry-filled eyes. He swiped his thumb under your eye, clearing the tears that you hadn’t even noticed were falling from your eyes.
“I got you, babygirl, just lie back for me.” His voice was soft and his hands gentle as he lay you on your back. Your face flushed red as he parted your thighs, his jaw clenched at the sight of the mess between your legs. He willed himself not to get hard as he cleaned the mixture of yours and his cum off of your body before pulling one of his shirts over your head.
He threw the washcloth in the hamper before climbing into the bed, pulling your body close to his. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed as his body warmed yours, his heart beating directly under your ear, but at the same time, you loved it. You love how he made you feel so comfortable, so warm, so seen, so loved.
Mingi’s lips on your forehead pulled you from your thoughts, making you look up at him. It was like one look in your eyes, and he knew exactly how you were feeling. He shuffled his body a little bit until he was face-to-face with you, caressing your cheek softly.
“Just forget about him, I’ve got you now.” His voice was sweet like honey as he pressed his lips against yours in a silent promise, and so you did. Not a single thought of Xavier crossed your mind as you drifted off to sleep in Mingi’s arms.
pairing: hockey captain!mingi x figure skater!reader
warnings: competitive rivalry, university au, slow burn romance, emotional vulnerability, academic stress (scholarship pressure), banter/teasing, protective confrontation, minor harassment/catcalling (addressed immediately), mild sports related injury, fluff with tension
small note: read icebreaker for the fourth time and decided to write my own lil fluffy spin on this trope<3
word count: 6.6k
————
The rink was never this quiet during the day.
By evening, the university teams had cleared out, leaving behind only the faint smell of rubber and sharpened blades. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off freshly resurfaced ice like polished glass. Cold air pressed against bare skin, sharp and clean and isolating.
You preferred it like this.
No coaches yelling.
No teammates whispering.
No eyes judging the height of your jumps or the tightness of your spins.
Just you. And the ice.
You pushed off from the boards, blades biting in with a familiar scrape. The first glide always felt like stepping into another world. The outside edge curved smoothly beneath you as you gathered speed, arms extending, breath controlled.
Triple lutz.
Landing precise.
You exhaled through the tension in your shoulders. Again.
You reset at center ice, running the opening of your program. The music played softly from your phone speaker resting on the bench — a temporary solution until the next competition. You moved through the choreography without hesitation, each movement calculated, deliberate.
This invitational wouldn’t be nationals, but it mattered.
You were ranked first in collegiate figure skating for a reason. Staying there required discipline.
Focus.
Control.
You launched into a spin, pulling tight, ice dust kicking up around your blades—
And then—
A sharp impact at your shoulder.
Your balance faltered. You caught yourself before falling, blades scraping harshly across the ice.
“What the—”
“You weren’t watching.”
The voice was low. Calm. Annoyingly unbothered.
You turned.
Towering a few feet away stood the last person you expected to see on your half of the rink.
Song Mingi.
University hockey captain. Nationally ranked. Infuriatingly confident.
Helmet tucked under one arm. Stick resting against his shoulder. Dark hair damp from exertion like he’d been skating hard already.
“You’re on the wrong side,” you said flatly.
He arched a brow. “There’s a line painted down the middle?”
You gestured with your chin. “There’s common sense.”
A corner of his mouth lifted.
“I’ve got practice.”
“So do I.”
He glanced around the empty rink, unimpressed. “Looks empty to me.”
“It wasn’t.”
The silence stretched.
Cold air. Sharpened blades. Two competitors refusing to blink first.
He shifted his weight, skates carving a shallow groove into the ice. “Fine. Half and half.”
You crossed your arms. “Half.”
He pushed off first, skating backward smoothly to the opposite side. Hockey strides were powerful, aggressive, fast bursts of speed.
Show-off.
You returned to center ice, restarting your music. The opening notes filled the quiet again.
But this time you could feel him.
The scrape of his stops. The impact of pucks against boards. The way his movement disrupted the stillness. You refused to look until the music faded. You skated to the edge to reset—
And he was standing still.
Watching.
Not casually.
Not distracted.
Watching like he’d forgotten what he was doing.
You raised a brow. “You’re not practicing.”
He blinked once, like surfacing. “You almost fell earlier.”
“You almost ran into me.”
“Wouldn’t have if you weren’t spinning in the middle.”
“I was here first.”
“You don’t own the ice.”
You stepped closer, stopping just a few feet from him. Close enough to see the faint flush on his cheeks from the cold. Close enough to notice that for someone known for cocky interviews and effortless charm—
He looked slightly off-balance.
“Race,” you said.
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“First one to the opposite end wins.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “You think you’re faster?”
“I think you’re loud.”
He laughed once under his breath. “Fine.”
You both positioned yourselves at center.
Three.
Two.
One—
You didn’t go straight.
Instead, you pushed off and carved a tight circle around him first, blades slicing in precise arcs. He turned instinctively, thrown off for half a second.
That half second was enough.
You shot forward, edges clean, body angled low. He reacted quickly—hockey stride powerful and long—but you already had momentum.
The boards rushed closer. You tapped them first. Clean. You turned just as he skidded in a split second after you.
Silence.
Then you smiled.
“Curves,” you said lightly. “Try them sometime.”
For the first time since you’d known of him—
He looked flustered. A faint crease between his brows. A breath caught halfway.
“That didn’t count,” he muttered.
“It absolutely did.”
You skated backward slowly. “Careful, captain. Don’t want to forget how to compete.”
His gaze followed you.
Sharp.
Different.
Interested.
For a moment, the earlier irritation had dissolved into something else. Something warmer and less territorial.
“Come to practice tomorrow,” he said suddenly.
You paused.
“What?”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “You can watch real speed.”
“You just lost.”
“Doesn’t mean hockey isn’t better.”
You tilted your head. “Confident.”
“Always.”
There was something underneath it, though. Not arrogance.
A challenge.
You pretended to consider. “What time?”
“Six.”
You pushed off toward the exit. “If I’m not busy.”
As you stepped off the ice, you felt his eyes on you again.
And this time—
You didn’t hate it.
———
The rink was unrecognizable at six.
Music thumped through overhead speakers. Sticks clattered against the boards. Teammates shouted over each other while stretching along the glass. The sharp scent of rubber and sweat replaced last night’s quiet stillness.
This was his domain.
And Song Mingi thrived in it.
He moved differently during team practice—looser, louder, commanding. His voice carried across the ice as he barked instructions, laughed at a rookie’s missed pass, tapped helmets in greeting.
Top-ranked collegiate player in the country.
Untouchable.
Except—
He kept glancing toward the stands.
Empty.
He told himself it didn’t matter and you probably weren’t coming.
Why would you?
Figure skaters didn’t sit in loud, chaotic arenas. They performed in silence and spotlight.
He pushed off harder during drills, carving aggressive stops into the ice. Puck control sharp. Movements precise. He didn’t need an audience. He didn’t—
The arena doors creaked open.
His head snapped up before he could stop himself.
You stepped inside, bundled in a long coat, hands tucked into your sleeves. You scanned the rink like you weren’t searching for someone specific. But then your eyes found him.
And held.
He didn’t realize he’d slowed until a teammate nearly collided into him.
“Captain, focus,” someone laughed.
He ignored them. Instead, he skated straight to the boards beneath where you stood. Helmet still on. Gloves still laced tight.
“You came.”
It came out quieter than he meant it to.
You leaned on the railing. “You asked.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t think you would.”
“You think I’m all talk?”
A small smirk tugged at his mouth. “Yesterday? Maybe.”
You rolled your eyes. “Shouldn’t you be practicing?”
His team shouted his name from center ice. He didn’t look away from you.
“You staying?”
“For a bit.”
Something almost invisible flickered across his face.
Then he pushed off backward, skating toward his team—though he looked over his shoulder once more before turning fully away.
—
Practice was brutal.
Full-contact drills. Speed runs. Scrimmage rotations. Usually he loved it. Today, every clean shot toward goal felt measured. And every time the puck left his stick—
His eyes flicked to the stands.
You weren’t reacting dramatically. You weren’t clapping loudly.
But you were watching intently as if you were studying footwork. Angles. Timing. It shouldn’t have mattered. But when he scored during scrimmage—he didn’t celebrate with his team first. He looked up at you and you lifted one brow.
Impressed.
That was enough.
Midway through practice, the figure skating team filtered in for their own session on the adjacent rink space. A few of the skater-cheerleaders leaned over the boards, giggling when they noticed him.
“Captain Mingi!” one called sweetly. “Big game tomorrow?”
He skated closer automatically—habit.
“Always.”
They leaned in farther. “You better score for us.”
Normally, he would’ve flashed a grin. Maybe winked and tossed back something smooth. Instead he glanced toward the stands.
You were watching. Not jealous. Not upset. Just… observing. And for the first time—
The flirting felt loud. Forced.
He looked back at the girls briefly. “Got practice.”
Then he pushed off before they could respond.
His teammate nearly choked. “You just ignored them.”
“Focus,” he muttered.
But it wasn’t the game he was thinking about.
It was the way you had crossed your legs casually in the stands. The way your chin rested in your palm as you tracked his movement. The way your expression shifted when he accelerated.
You understood speed.
That realization hit differently.
At the end of practice, sweat cooled under his gear. Teammates peeled off toward the locker room in a wave of noise and chatter.
He didn’t follow immediately.
Instead, he skated back to the boards.
“You stayed.”
You shrugged. “You’re not terrible.”
He scoffed lightly. “High praise.”
“You rely on power too much.”
His eyes narrowed playfully. “And you rely on curves.”
“They work.”
“Until they don’t.”
You leaned forward slightly. “Big game tomorrow?”
“National rankings.”
“Pressure.”
He held your gaze. “You coming?”
You hesitated just long enough to make him unsure.
“Maybe.”
He nodded once.
That maybe felt heavier than a yes.
The next night, the arena was packed. Louder than practice. Crowded. Electric. And in the middle of warmups—
He spotted you.
Same section as yesterday. Earlier this time. Waiting. Something in his chest tightened—not nerves. Not fear.
Motivation.
When the puck dropped, he played like he’d been waiting for this moment specifically.
Harder hits.
Sharper passes.
Cleaner shots.
He scored first period. He didn’t celebrate long, just glanced up. You were on your feet this time.
Clapping.
By the third period, the game was neck-and-neck. Overtime loomed. His coach barked instructions. Crowd roaring. Ice vibrating under blades. And all he could think was—
She’s watching.
Final minutes.
Breakaway. He stole the puck clean. Accelerated. The world narrowed to the goalie and the net. He faked left—shot right—
Goal.
The arena erupted. Teammates tackled him against the boards. But through the chaos, his eyes searched and found you.
Smiling.
After the win, the team flooded toward post-game interviews and celebration plans.
“Party at the usual!” someone shouted.
He pulled off his helmet, breath fogging in the cold air.
“Later,” he said.
And skated straight for the exit.
You were halfway down the arena steps when he caught up. Still in partial gear. Hair damp. Cheeks flushed.
“You saw that, right?”
You pretended to think. “Which part?”
He stared at you.
“The winning goal.”
“Oh,” you said lightly. “Yeah. That was decent.”
He let out a breath of disbelief. “Decent?”
You started walking toward campus housing. He fell into step beside you.
“I made sure we won,” he said after a moment.
“For the rankings?”
He glanced sideways. “Because you were watching.”
The honesty slipped out before he could filter it. You slowed slightly.
“That so?”
He recovered quickly, shrugging. “Had to prove hockey’s better.”
There it was again. The deflection.
You smiled faintly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, captain.”
Cold air wrapped around both of you as you reached your dorm building. He stopped just short of the entrance. A beat of silence. Then—
“Can I get your number?”
No smirk or joke. Just direct. You studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
“Why?”
He inhaled slowly. “So you don’t miss the next win.” A pause. “And maybe so I don’t miss yours.”
That part came softer.
You handed him your phone. “Don’t make me regret it.”
He typed quickly, handing it back.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But as you stepped inside—he stood there for a second longer than he needed to. Because something had shifted.
And he knew it.
———
Typing…
You didn’t text him first.
Obviously.
He had asked for your number. That meant he had to initiate. There were rules to these things—even if neither of you had said them out loud.
You made it exactly twenty-three minutes after getting back to your dorm before your phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Don’t trip on the ice tomorrow. Would be embarrassing after watching me win.
You stared at it. Smirked and saved the contact as:
Captain Ego 🏒
You replied.
You:
Pretty sure you almost fell during warmups.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Strategic slide.
You:
Sure.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You’re welcome, by the way.
You:
For what?
Captain Ego 🏒:
Giving you something exciting to watch.
You actually laughed.
You:
I’ve seen better.
The typing bubble disappeared, came back then disappeared again.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You stayed the whole game.
There it was. Underneath all of the teasing, there was a slight hint of… care?
You:
You asked.
A minute passed.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Yeah. I did.
The tone shifted. Subtle. But real. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling.
You:
You ignored the cheerleaders.
Three full minutes this time.
Captain Ego 🏒:
They’re loud.
You:
You’re loud.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Only when it matters.
You paused at that.
You:
And did it matter?
Captain Ego 🏒:
You tell me.
Your stomach did something inconvenient. You locked your phone then unlocked it again.
You:
Don’t read into it.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Wasn’t.
Liar.
——
The next few days fell into rhythm.
Morning classes. Afternoon practices. Late-night texts. It started competitive.
Captain Ego 🏒:
How many spins today?
You:
Enough to make you dizzy.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You already did that once.
You stared at that message longer than you should have.
You:
Still upset you lost?
Captain Ego 🏒:
We’ll rematch.
You:
Curves again?
Captain Ego 🏒:
Straight line. No tricks.
You:
Scared?
Captain Ego 🏒:
Of you? Never.
But the “never” sat heavier than it should have.
One night, after a particularly brutal practice, your legs were trembling as you collapsed onto your dorm bed.
Your phone buzzed.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You alive?
You:
Barely.
Captain Ego 🏒:
That bad?
You hesitated. Then—
You:
Coach changed my layout. Added another combo.
Almost immediately—
Captain Ego 🏒:
That’s insane.
You blinked.
You:
You know what that means?
Captain Ego 🏒:
More rotations. Less margin for error.
You sat up.
You:
Since when do you know that?
Captain Ego 🏒:
Since I watched.
The room felt quieter suddenly.
You:
It’s different from hockey.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Yeah.
A pause.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You’re out there alone.
Your breath caught. No one ever said that. No one outside skating really understood that.
You:
You’re alone during a breakaway.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Yeah.
Another pause.
Captain Ego 🏒:
But I’ve got teammates if I mess up.
You swallowed.
You:
I don’t.
Typing. Stopped. Then:
Captain Ego 🏒:
You won’t.
Your heart stuttered.
You:
That doesn’t even make sense.
Captain Ego 🏒:
It will.
You didn’t respond for a long time. He didn’t send another message. But he stayed online.
——
The first accidental goodnight happened three nights later.
You:
You’re practicing tomorrow?
Captain Ego 🏒:
Yeah. 6.
You:
I might be there earlier.
Captain Ego 🏒:
I know.
You:
How?
Captain Ego 🏒:
You always are.
You smiled.
You:
Don’t be late.
Captain Ego 🏒:
I’m never late.
You:
You were when we first shared the rink.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You were spinning in the middle.
You:
Excuses.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Go to sleep.
You blinked at that.
You:
Bossy.
Captain Ego 🏒:
You have practice tomorrow
You:
How do you know my schedule?
Three dots.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Patterns.
You stared at the screen.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Goodnight.
You hesitated. Then:
You:
Goodnight, captain.
He didn’t reply.
But he heart-reacted the message.
And that tiny notification did more damage than anything else.
——
The next evening at the rink felt different. Not hostile. Not territorial. Just charged. You stepped onto the ice first this time. He arrived ten minutes later. But instead of skating to his side—
He stopped at center.
“You didn’t fall,” he said.
“You didn’t either.”
A beat. Then—
“Race?” he asked.
You tilted your head.
“No tricks.”
You smirked. “Straight line.”
He extended a gloved hand toward the ice between you.
“Deal.”
You looked at it and then shook. And the contact—brief through layers of fabric—felt louder than any cheer in an arena.
——
You didn’t mean to invite him.
It slipped out between stretches and breath control.
You were both at the rink again—separate halves, same rhythm. The quiet evening slot had become unofficially shared territory now. No arguments. No negotiations.
Just an unspoken understanding.
You finished a run-through of your new layout, landing the final combination with a sharp exhale. Your thighs burned. Calves cramped.
He tapped the boards once with his stick from across the ice.
“Clean.”
You tried not to smile. “Mostly.”
He skated closer, stopping just short of your half. “That second rotation was tight.”
You blinked. “You noticed?”
“I watch.”
The simplicity of it made your pulse trip. You looked down at your blades for a second, then back up.
“I’ve got a competition Saturday.”
He leaned slightly on his stick. “Nationals?”
“Invitational. Smaller. Still ranked.” A pause. You weren’t sure why you added—
“You can come. If you want.”
The second the words left your mouth, you felt exposed. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he adjusted his grip on his stick, like he was considering something important.
“What time?”
Your heart betrayed you.
“Three.”
He nodded once. “Send me the details.”
Like it wasn’t a big deal and he hadn’t just rearranged your entire nervous system.
Saturday felt different.
This rink wasn’t your university’s. It was quieter. Polished. Professional.
Judges lined up behind long tables. Families whispered in the stands. Skaters warmed up in controlled, silent patterns across the ice.
You stood near the boards, adjusting your gloves.
You hadn’t seen him yet and you told yourself that was fine. You didn’t need him here. You’d competed alone your entire career. Your name was announced and as you stepped onto the ice, the world narrowed.
Music started.
Opening glide—strong.
First jump—clean landing.
Applause. You blocked everything else out. Until—
“THAT’S IT!”
Your foot almost faltered. You knew that voice. You refused to look.
Combination spin—tight.
“COME ON!”
Someone shushed loudly.
You bit back a smile mid-spin. Of course he wouldn’t know the volume etiquette. Of course he wouldn’t.
Triple toe loop—
Landed.
“YES!”
The sound echoed. Judges glanced up.
You pushed into your step sequence, breath controlled despite the laughter threatening to break your focus. This was absurd. And somehow—
Comforting.
You finished your final pose, chest rising sharply, music fading into silence. There was a half-second pause before applause began. And then—
He practically launched up, clapping above his head.
“LET’S GO!”
A few people turned.
You exhaled slowly, skating off the ice with your composure barely intact.
When scores were announced, you stood with the other competitors. Third place. Second. Then—
“First place…”
You.
The rush hit like cold water. You stepped onto the podium and he was already on his feet again. Clapping. Proud. Not cocky. Not competitive.
Just proud.
You didn’t see him immediately after. Only until you stepped off the podium.
There he was.
Standing slightly awkwardly near the exit holding flowers—a full bouquet of red and white roses. You stopped in front of him.
“You’re loud,” you said.
He glanced around sheepishly. “They kept shushing me.”
“It’s figure skating.”
“I noticed.”
You eyed the bouquet. “Those for someone else?”
He extended them toward you.
“You were insane out there.”
The words were firm. You took the flowers slowly.
“You thought hockey was better.”
He shifted his weight. “Still do.” You raised a brow. He turned to look at you. “But that?” he gestured vaguely toward the ice. “That’s different.”
Something softened in your chest.
“You embarrassed me.”
He smirked faintly. “You liked it.”
You didn’t deny it.
As you walked toward the exit together, he added quietly— “That combo your coach added? You nailed it.”
You stopped mid-step.
“How did you—”
“You told me.”
Your throat tightened slightly. You forgot.
“I pay attention.”
The weight of that sat between you.
Outside, the air was colder than usual. He walked beside you without teasing or trying to win this time.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” you admitted.
He looked down at you, almost offended. “You asked.” Then softer—
“Of course I came.”
And this time? He didn’t ruin it with a joke.
——
The library was the last place you expected to see him.
Two days later, you were tucked into your usual corner table—highlighters scattered, laptop open, headphones resting loosely around your neck.
You were halfway through annotating a dense chapter when a familiar voice muttered—
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
You looked up and nearly laughed.
There he was.
Hockey captain. Nationally ranked. Intimidating on ice. Staring at a calculus textbook like it had a portal to an alien world sitting between the pages.
“Did the numbers insult you?” you asked calmly. His head snapped up.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s a library…”
He glanced around like he’d forgotten that was its primary function.
You gestured to the seat across from you. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitated—which told you immediately it was something real. He sat down heavily.
“Midterm next week.”
“And?”
“And if I fail this class, I lose my academic eligibility.”
You straightened slightly.
“Your scholarship?”
He didn’t look at you.
“Yeah.”
The air shifted. You’d never seen him look uncertain. On the ice, he was all command and confidence. Here he looked… young.
“You’re struggling?”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I get the concepts in theory. But when I try the problems, everything blends together.”
You leaned across the table, peering at the page.
“You’re overthinking it.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
He huffed. “You haven’t even—”
You slid the book toward you. “Show me what you did.”
He watched as you scanned the work.
“You skipped a step here.”
“That step’s obvious.”
“Not in calculus, it’s not.”
You grabbed a scrap sheet of paper and rewrote the equation cleanly.
“Look. Break it down. One move at a time.”
He leaned closer without realizing it, close enough that you could feel the warmth from his shoulder through your sweater. You walked him through the logic slowly.
He followed.
“You’re good at this,” he muttered.
“I’m good at patterns.”
He glanced at you sideways. “Like curves?”
You smirked. “Exactly like curves.”
For the first time since sitting down he smiled properly, relieved.
Two hours passed.
You didn’t notice until the library lights dimmed slightly. He solved the last problem on his own this time. You watched quietly as he wrote each step carefully. No skipping or rushing. When he finished, he looked up.
“Well?”
You checked it. Then looked at him.
“Perfect.”
He blinked.
“Actually?”
“Actually.”
He leaned back in his chair like someone had just lifted weight off his shoulders.
“Guess I’m better when you’re here,” he said under his breath. Your heart stilled.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I said I guess I wasn’t studying right before.”
Coward.
You let it go.
“For the record,” you said, packing up your notes, “if you fail after this, I’m revoking rink privileges.”
He scoffed. “You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
He stood when you did.
“You’ll come to the test review tomorrow?”
You pretended to consider.
“Maybe.”
He rolled his eyes lightly.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “you keep asking for help.”
He stepped closer—just slightly.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
——
The next evening at the rink felt different again.
You were midway through footwork drills when you heard him shout from the entrance—
“I PASSED!”
Your blade caught mid-glide.
He skated toward you at full speed, stopping inches away.
“With flying colors,” he added, breath fogging between you. “Ninety-two.”
You blinked.
“Ninety-two?”
“Told you I’m not bad at this.”
“You told me you were failing.”
“I was dramatic.”
You shook your head, fighting a smile.
“I helped.”
He looked at you steadily.
“I know.”
A beat.
Then, again, “Guess I’m better when you’re here.” This time—he didn’t take it back.
And the ice between you felt a little less divided than before.
———
You hated when he was late.
Not because you were waiting. You weren’t.
Obviously.
But the rhythm had become familiar. You took the ice first. Ten minutes later, he’d walk in. Tap the boards once like a silent check-in. Tonight—
No tap.
No loud entrance.
Just you.
The rink was mostly empty except for a few hockey players finishing drills on the opposite half. You recognized one of them vaguely — tall, broad, never a starter.
You ignored him.
You reset at center ice, pushing into your step sequence. Edges clean. Arms sharp. The music from your phone echoed softly in the otherwise quiet space.
You didn’t notice the first whistle. But you heard the second.
“Yo!”
You slowed slightly, glancing up.
One of the hockey players had leaned against the boards, helmet off.
“You skate like that for everyone?”
You straightened. Polite. Neutral.
“I’m practicing.”
He grinned lazily. “Yeah? Private show?”
You forced a tight smile and returned to your starting position.
“Not interested.”
He laughed like that was funny.
“C’mon. Don’t be like that.”
You pushed into another glide, deliberately ignoring him. It should’ve ended there.
It didn’t.
The scrape of skates cut closer prompting you to stop mid-turn.
He had crossed the painted center line. Technically allowed but still unwelcome.
“You don’t have to be so serious,” he said, skating a slow circle around you. “We share the rink.”
You stepped back slightly. “Stay on your side.”
“Relax. I just want to talk to you. You’re also my type.”
“I’m not.”
He skated closer. Too close.
“Captain’s not here tonight,” he added casually. “Thought maybe you’d want better company.”
Your jaw tightened. You moved toward the boards to create distance.
“I said I’m not interested.”
He reached out like he might grab your wrist—
And a sharp stop sliced the ice between you.
“Back up.”
The voice was low.
You didn’t have to turn to know.
Mingi stood between you and his teammate.
Not yelling.
Not dramatic.
Just solid.
Blocking.
The teammate scoffed. “Relax, captain. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“She said no.”
Three words.
Flat.
Clear.
The teammate shrugged. “Didn’t sound that serious.”
Mingi’s shoulders squared slightly.
“Get off her side of the rink.”
The air felt charged.
The teammate laughed under his breath. “Since when do you care?”
Mingi didn’t blink.
“Since now.”
Silence stretched.
The teammate’s expression shifted—something calculating flickering there.
“Didn’t know she was yours.”
Your heart stuttered when you saw Mingi’s jaw flex.
“She’s not a thing to claim,” he said evenly. “And you don’t speak to her like that again. Or we can go have a chat with Coach about what happens to players who get caught up in harassment cases.”
The tone wasn’t loud but it carried.
The teammate rolled his eyes and pushed off toward the opposite half of the rink.
“Whatever.”
Mingi didn’t move until the distance was clear.
Then he turned to you and for the first time since you’d known him—
He didn’t look teasing.
He looked angry.
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything else?”
You shook your head. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“I was late.”
“You don’t control the rink,” you said softly.
His eyes snapped to yours.
“I control my team.”
A beat.
“And they don’t cross lines.”
The weight of that sat heavy in your chest.
“You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did.”
You blinked. He stepped a little closer, voice lowering.
“If anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know.”
The way he said it wasn’t dismissive. “I just don’t want you to have to.”
The tension shifted to nothing territorial, just… carefully protective. You swallowed.
“You looked terrifying.”
He huffed lightly. “Good.”
Silence settled between you, softer now. Then—
“You were running late,” you said, trying to reset the atmosphere.
“Team meeting. But I saw him skating over.”
Your heart skipped.
“You were watching?”
“I always am.”
The words hit heavier than he probably intended. You turned slightly, adjusting your gloves to hide the warmth creeping up your neck.
“Well,” you said lightly, “you interrupted my combination.”
He blinked. “You landed it?”
“Obviously.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“Race?”
You looked at him.
“Straight line,” he added. You pushed off toward center ice.
“Try to keep up, captain.”
He followed.
But this time—when your shoulders brushed mid-glide—neither of you pulled away too quickly.
———
The rink felt steadier again.
No crossed lines or whistles from the wrong side. Just the familiar scrape of blades and the quiet understanding that had grown between you.
You were both finishing up separate drills when he skated toward center instead of his half.
“You busy Friday night?” he asked, adjusting his gloves.
You slowed to a stop. “Depends.”
“Championship.”
National collegiate championship.
“You’re already ranked first,” you said.
“Doesn’t matter.”
His jaw clenched slightly. Not nerves exactly. But something close.
“You’re going to win,” you told him.
He looked at you steadily.
“I play better when you’re there.”
There it was again. Not a joke, a fact. The air between you warmed despite the cold.
“You want me to come?” you asked softly.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah.”
Your answer came before you could overthink it.
“I’ll be there.”
The tension in his shoulders loosened almost instantly.
“Good.”
He pulled his phone out of his jacket. “I’ll send you the ticket.”
You pulled yours out too, stepping closer so you could read the section number he was typing. Your shoulders brushed. Your screens almost touched.
He sent it.
Your phone buzzed. You opened the message and immediately froze. He leaned slightly, clearly trying not to look like he was looking. But he absolutely was. His brows pulled together.
“Captain Ego?” he read aloud, deeply offended.
You locked your phone quickly. “It fits.”
He stared at you. “Ego?”
“You did introduce yourself by challenging my entire sport.”
“That’s confidence.”
“That’s ego.”
He pouted. Actually pouted.
“You could’ve put something cool.”
“I did.”
“That is not cool.”
You tilted your head. “What am I in your phone?”
He went suspiciously still.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I just—haven’t—”
“You saved my number, didn’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“Show me.”
He hesitated. Which told you everything.
“You’re being dramatic,” he scoffs.
“You’re stalling.”
He sighed like this was deeply unfair, then turned his phone toward you. You leaned in and blinked.
Ice Angel ❄️
You stared at it.
“Angel?” you repeated. His ears were red.
“It was the first thing that—”
“You think I’m an angel?”
“You landed six rotations. That’s not human.”
You were suddenly very aware of how close you were standing.
“You complained about my curves,” you countered.
“I was wrong.”
You looked up at him slowly. He was already looking at you. Too close. Too soft. You cleared your throat first, stepping back slightly.
“So. Championship.”
He blinked like he’d forgotten.
“Right. Yeah.”
You tucked your phone away. “What time?”
“Seven.”
“Big crowd?”
“Packed.”
You nodded once. “I’ll yell louder than the cheerleaders.”
A faint grin returned to his face. “Please do.”
He started skating backward toward his side. Then paused.
“You’ll come to practice too, right?”
Your heart did something terribly painful again.
“Before the game?”
“Yeah.”
You pretended to think about it.
“Maybe.”
He rolled his eyes lightly.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you won’t.”
You smiled faintly. “I’ll be there.”
He nodded once, satisfied.
Then turned and pushed off toward the exit. Halfway there, he glanced back. You were still watching him. And when he caught you—
He didn’t look away.
——
Practice the day of the championship was different.
Sharper.
Quieter.
Even the jokes from his teammates felt tighter around the edges.
You arrived ten minutes early, just like you said you would.
He noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He was stretching near the boards when you stepped into the rink. His head lifted before you even called his name. The second he saw you—
His shoulders dropped slightly like he could finally breathe.
You leaned against the glass. “You look serious.”
“Big game.”
“You’ve had plenty of big games before.”
He skated over during a water break, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Yeah.”
There was something else in his eyes. You studied him.
“You okay?”
He nodded too fast. “Fine.”
Liar.
He pushed off before you could question him further, running drills harder than usual. Faster stops. Cleaner passes. Precision that bordered on ruthless. But every few minutes—
He looked up.
Just to make sure you were still there.
You stayed the entire practice. When it ended, he didn’t come over immediately. His coach pulled him aside. Teammates gathered around. Strategy talk.
You started to gather your things, assuming you’d see him later—
Your phone buzzed.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Don’t leave.
You paused. Then another message.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Meet me by section 112. Tunnel hallway.
Your pulse quickened. You texted back.
You:
Why?
Three dots.
Captain Ego 🏒:
Please.
That did it.
——
The stadium felt enormous without the crowd.
Echoes bounced down the concrete corridor near the tunnel entrance. The distant hum of prep crews and equipment managers filled the background.
You spotted him first.
Still in partial gear. Gloves off. Hair slightly damp from practice.
He looked different here.
Less captain.
More… just him.
“You’re not supposed to wander,” you said lightly as you approached.
He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite stick.
“I needed a minute.”
You stopped in front of him.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at the floor.
Then at you.
And for the first time since you’d known him—he seemed nervous.
“I’ve played hockey my whole life,” he said slowly. “Big arenas. Loud crowds. Rankings on the line.”
You stayed quiet.
“I’ve never felt like this before a game.”
Something unfamiliar inside of you tightened. “Like what?”
He hesitated. Then—
“Not scared of losing.”
A breath.
“Scared of letting you down.”
The words hit you square in the chest.
You blinked.
“Mingi—”
“I don’t care about rankings tonight,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t want you sitting there thinking I’m not as good as you thought.”
Your heart softened in a way that almost hurt.
“You think that’s why I come?” He didn’t answer. You stepped closer. “So what if you lose?”
His jaw tightened.
“It’s the championship.”
“I know.” You reached for his hand without overthinking it. “You could lose by ten goals,” you said quietly, “and I would still be there.”
He looked up at you slowly.
“You didn’t let me down when you struggled in calculus,” you continued. “You didn’t let me down when you lost that race.”
“I didn’t lose that race.”
You gave him a look. He exhaled a soft laugh.
“You don’t let me down,” you said gently. “Win or lose.”
The tension in his expression eased slightly.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said.
“You’re dramatic.”
He shook his head faintly. “You’re my lucky charm.”
You squeezed his hand once.
“You don’t need one.”
A long, quiet beat passed between you.
The distant sound of pre-game music testing through speakers vibrated faintly through the walls.
“They’re going to call you soon,” you said.
He nodded but didn’t move. Instead—he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against yours, warm and careful. When he pulled back, his voice was steadier.
“Stay where I can see you.”
Your breath caught.
“Front row?”
“Always.”
Down the hallway, a staff member called out, “Captain! You’re up!”
The intro music thundered to life, bass shaking the corridor. Crowd noise began to swell as doors opened. He took a step backward toward the tunnel. Then paused, looked at you one more time and smiled. Not cocky. Not teasing.
Starstruck.
When he skated out onto the ice with his team—lights flashing, crowd roaring, music blasting—he didn’t look at the scoreboard first.
He looked for you.
And when he found you—exactly where he asked—everything else went quiet in his head. Not nervous anymore. Just focused.
Because for once—he knew exactly who he was playing for.
———
First period was brutal.
Fast. Aggressive. Physical. The opposing team was ranked just below them—hungry, relentless. Mingi played clean. Controlled. Smart.
But it was tied 1–1 by the end of the first.
During intermission, he didn’t look at the scoreboard. He looked up at you. You mimed:
Breathe.
He smirked faintly.
Second period.
The hit came out of nowhere.
He was mid-stride, chasing a loose puck near the boards, when an opposing defenseman checked him hard into the glass.
The impact cracked loud enough for the crowd to gasp. You felt your stomach drop. He didn’t get up immediately. For half a second—
Everything stopped.
He pushed himself to his knees, shook his head once, then stood.
The crowd erupted in relieved applause.
You didn’t realize your hands were clenched until your fingers hurt.
He skated toward the bench slowly at first.
Then steadier.
He glanced up.
Found you.
Gave the smallest nod.
I’m fine.
You nodded back but your heart was still racing.
Third period.
2–2.
Time bleeding down. The arena felt suffocating.
You could see it in his movements now—not fear.
Pressure. Every pass mattered. Every missed opportunity echoed. And then—
You saw it.
The flicker of doubt.
He glanced toward the stands—towards you—for a split moment. Then you remembered your own competition. The silence before scores. The loneliness of being the only one on the ice.
So you stood and yelled at the top of your lungs.
“YOU’VE GOT THIS!”
Heads turned. You didn’t care.
“PLAY YOUR GAME!”
He heard you. You knew he did. Because his posture shifted. Not reckless. Not desperate.
Focused.
Final minute.
Breakaway opportunity. He stole the puck clean from center ice. You felt your pulse in your throat. It was just him and the goalie.
Everything else blurred.
He accelerated.
You remembered his words in the tunnel.
Scared of letting you down.
You shook your head slightly.
He wouldn’t.
He faked left.
The goalie bit.
He shifted right—
Shot.
The net snapped.
For half a heartbeat—
Silence.
Then the red light flashed.
Goal.
The stadium detonated.
You screamed before you realized you were screaming. Teammates slammed into him, dragging him against the boards in celebration. But even buried under helmets and gloves—
He turned his head and looked for you.
When he found you—
You were crying, smiling, clapping so hard your hands stung.
He didn’t look at the scoreboard or the crowd.
Just you.
After the trophy presentation, he broke away from the team celebration—still in gear, breathless—and came straight toward the glass where you stood.
“You saw that?” he asked, voice rough.
You laughed through tears. “Barely.”
He shook his head, adrenaline still buzzing through him.
“I wasn’t thinking about the goalie.”
“No?”
He leaned closer to the glass.
“I was thinking about you.”
Your breath caught.
“In that tunnel,” he continued, voice lower now, steadier. “You said I wouldn’t let you down.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t score because I was lucky,” he said. “I scored because I stopped worrying about proving something.”
A pause.
“I just played.”
You swallowed.
“You were incredible.”
He shook his head softly.
“I’m better when you’re here.”
There it was.
Not muttered or accidental.
Said clearly.
Sincerely.
The words settled between you like something fragile and real. You stepped closer to the glass.
“You don’t need me to be better,” you said softly.
“Maybe not.” He didn’t look away. “But I want you there anyway.”
The noise around you faded. The celebration. The music. The cameras. It didn’t matter. Because in that moment—
It was just the two of you and the ice between you.
summary: Historically, the Gojo and Abe clans have maintained an alliance built on honor, teachings, and mutual respect. Yet alliances don’t erase old grudges. Your childhood enemy, Satoru Mingi, has spent years making your life difficult… until one day he asks you out?
content: jjk au, fluff, slight angst, smut, mutual pining, biting, childhood enemies to lovers, fingering, cunnilingus, mingi is kinda sadistic, praise kink, protected sex, size kink
5k words
note: im spreading the satoru mingi agenda as im watching jjk season 3 (no spoilers) and i miss my goat gojo saur bad…..sooo im coping with a fanfic w/ my other goat :)))…..woah goatception lol (also lmk if this should be a series cause i absolutely could expand on this)
—
In your years of sorcery, no one is quite as annoying as Satoru Mingi.
Whilst you can respect his talent and craftsmanship in combat; I mean he isn’t the strongest sorcerer for nothing, the man can fight
He is above all an asshole.
A hot asshole, you’re not blind, but nevertheless an asshole. Who makes it his goal at every exchange event to make your life living hell
“Every year you come here to lose, what do you even teach them?” He snickers and it takes everything in you not to beat the living shit out of him.
Blood boiling at just the sight of that smirk, begging you to slap it out at him. “My students are academically inclined and taught to be contentious” he yawns, clearly unimpressed, your glare sharpens
“What do YOU teach them? Do they even know basic math?”
“Hey Itadori…. What's 3 x 6?”
He thinks long and hard about it, counting up with his hands, not even acknowledging Mingi practically telling him the answer “uhhhhh…. 9?”
You whip back at the now wide eyed Mingi “Exactly”
“He doesn’t need that in combat anyways he excels in other ... .aspects” his voice pitches up a bit, still in shock. He's right, his students are exceptional fighters but you would never admit that to his face
“And when the math curse spirit comes: are we still sending Itadori or do we lose that battle?”
He chuckles, taking that as a win because Mingi laughing at something you said, and not at you? Might as well frame this moment cause it’s never happening again
Though, he actually does enjoy your company more than he lets on. He loves instigating just to see you pent up because he thinks it's cute how you try to fight him back with no luck; how you always stand your ground. Sometimes he even blushes when you get closer, yelling at him. But you don't notice…..or at least pretend not too.
Everything with him is calculated, he knows what he says does to your psyche and again you fall into his eagerness to set you off.
You’re both scowling at each other, not breaking contact as of course everything you do together is some competition.
“Ha you blinked, I win !” He breaks in hysterics and hops along , there was for sure some unfair play as per usual
“I did not, you cheated again, Mingi” you thumped your feet at his deception before sighing at how unserious the whole ordeal is. Every year nothing changes.
Principal Yaga explains the rules for day one, as per usual: The first school to exorcise the targeted grade 2 cursed spirits spread out into the forest wins; no restrictions on cursed techniques or tools
Mingi peers next to you, to your surprise “Lets make a deal this time”
An eyebrow raises to his suggestion “Oh….I could never deny a challenge, go on”
“If we win you have to agree to anything I say afterwards”
Humming back to him, unsure if this is a good thing or the worst idea he’s ever had. “And if we win?”
“Nothing, it's not gonna happen” He laughs, unfazed. Your stare alone could honestly break through his infinity. And before he could react, there you are hitting him in the stomach with your cursed rod, causing him to stumble back; still in a fit.
“Okay, if you win…” which I doubt mumbling under his breath “I’ll do whatever you say…I guess”
Ignoring his snark remarks you take up his arrangement and curiosity fills your bones, what could he possibly ask you to do, what would you even ask of him?
Maybe a compliment from him would be nice but not too many people could say they got Satoru Mingi of all people to obey them, so maybe you could ask him to do your bidding?
“God I hope I win….not everyone can say Mingi was their personal maid for the day” You pinch his cheek and can sense the regret radiating from him.
“In your dreams babe” the raspiness in his tone made your gut flip — shaking your head, you desperately tried to ignore the fact that he just ‘babe’ you out of nowhere but your mind will not let you forget.
Something has changed, he caught himself on his words but moved past it to limit a spiral occurring. Recognizing how your body froze to the name and it made him flinch.
There's definitely some tension between the two of you as you observe your students fighting their hearts out
Yunho brings Mingi close, whispering “So did something happen, why are you two quite for once”
Mingi’s body stiffened to his remarks, it's not hard to notice the elephant in the room when usually during the exchange the two of you repeatedly bicker back and forth before one of you get put in time out for being ‘too loud’
“We made a bet that whoever loses has to do what the winner says, so full attention is important” Mingi doesn’t take his eyes off the screen watching the games intensely.
Yunho grins at him “Are you sure that’s all?”
Mingi dismisses him, everyone in the room can surely feel it, but none brave enough to interject and disturb the peace from this exchange.
Before you know it, the scores are tied and still no one has exorcised the intended cursed spirit.
“What are the chances, it’s hiding heh”
“Mingi, this is all your fault”
he scoffs at you hand pressed to his chest “WHAT DID I DO?”
Mind racing, thoughts fixated on what you’ll make him do for you after this; you don’t even know why you’re blaming him but it’s just enough to pierce through the silence. “I don’t know, but you’re always up to something…” you snap “so it’s your fault”
“You’re students are so focused on derailing mine— who, might I add, are destroying yours, by the way— I'd say you're at fault here” he sneers.
His ego is probably the grossest thing about him. the way he carries himself; overly confident that no matter what, he has to bet you, it's infuriating.
Even when he tries to compliment you, it always turns into a “im still better than you, don't forget” contest, and you hate it.
But a part of you loves it, a part of you catches the way his voice never turns cruel; fluttering at his arrogance. All it is, is his secret way of telling you he respects your hard work somehow.
Shaking that thought out your head, you see him staring you down. This isn’t out of the norm, though usually you don’t see him in the act.
The students face the assigned cursed spirit finally and you both watch with full attention. Not a peep comes out of your mouth as this is it, this decides who will win. Eyes glued to the screen showing them desperately fighting the cursed spirit with their lives.
All you see is Itadori using his black flash technique, finishing off the cursed spirit in amaze Mingi’s students are truly remarkable, his ego makes sense I guess
“Anddd checkmate, thank you….. as expected Tokyo wins” He bows deeply in front of everyone, the other teachers responding with collective groans.
“Good work Mingi…” gritting your teeth as you shake his hand “As a woman of my word, what would you like me to do?” you roll your eyes because he is way too happy for your own good
“Dont make me regret this Satoru”
He plants his feet close to yours and calms down, still excitement bubbles over him “You wont!”
He smiles, bending down to meet your eyes before casually asking, “I want you to join me for dinner!”
Of all the things in the world, that was the last thing you expected. You braced yourself for the demand to bend to his will, kiss your feet even, but a date ? The thought never crossed your mind. Your body grew cold, not knowing what your next move should be
“Satoru—“ you don't have a clear response, honestly…
“Are you scared?”
“Why would I be scared, Satoru?” you raise an eyebrow to his question. Scared? Absolutely not confused feels more appropriate.
He shrugs, still beaming towards you “I don't know you kind of like, froze when I asked you just now”
You really wish you could wipe that grin off his face now. “Maybe because that was the last thing I expected from you?”
“Come on, im not that bad” he rolls his eyes at you, but now you are really confused. Does he really not remember the years of torment he put you through only to ask you out now?
“Okay, why dinner?” you ask, trying anything to get a clear answer from him.
Mingi starts blushing before bringing his head down, everything about this is new but somehow familiar. “You look hungry?” he answers in the most embarrassing tone, words somewhat stuck on his tongue.
“I guess you’re right….where too then”
this is the most awkward you've been around each other since you were twelve. But this — this is different. It’s comfortable awkwardness, the kind of awkwardness that would only occur between two people who very carefully hide their feelings for each other.
—
Changing before heading out, Mingi wearing a more casual but still classy outfit; a grey MCM sweater, some glasses and dress pants to match, whilst you settled for a regular black dress, still in your tights from earlier
Sitting in his car to the mystery dinner destination, you come to think that Mingi planned for this to happen. Knowing him, he absolutely had a reservation planned for the two of you expecting you to lose. Smiling at the thought of him mustering the courage to go out of his way to do something for you.
Upon arrival, you notice he has taken you to a very nice steakhouse. Again going above your expectations.
This is all surreal. Moments ago he was just mocking you and now you’re having dinner together. You wonder if you’re gonna wake up any second now; watching all of this vanish, like some odd dream but that second never comes.
You take his hand and follow him to the hostess, the restaurant eerily empty. Confirming that he booked this reservation ahead of time, fully expecting to win, and rented out the entire place just for tonight.
“Mingi,” you say flatly, “I'm guessing you booked this with the assumption that I would lose, right?”
“It wasn’t necessarily an assumption, more like a conclusion based on facts?” he replies all smug
You kick him under the table, to which he erupts into laughter. No matter what, he is still an asshole
“We were close to winning by the way” you sulk, crossing your arms
He responds by mirroring you with a pout, “but not close enough. Try again next year, I guess”
Leaning back, narrowing your eyes “I see now…. you brought me to dinner to ridicule me, huh”
“You really think low of me” his whole demeanor shifts, not drastically, but enough for you to notice “I don’t need to take you out to dinner to brag…I do that regularly”
“Hmph. Then what do I owe you the pleasure to ” you huff. You can tell he’s trying to get his feelings out but something inside is holding it back.
You peer up at him and graze his hands laid out on the table. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “I can’t get you out of my mind”
He rolls his eyes, not before chuckling, “Seriously. I wanted to take you out because….. I need you?”
“What are you saying, Satoru” Voice softening. You're not understanding, because honestly this is a whole lot right now. Something shifted between the two of you, something unfamiliar.
Mingi is attractive, a fact you’ve come to terms with long before. But his constant need to one up you in everything, and then acting all cocky when things go his way — ruined anything between the two of you. Still, the feelings you have towards him are there, heavily buried but nevertheless alive.
When he's not being an stupid ass, he is genuinely a good person. Going out of the way for those he loves. And that includes you.
He has always cared for you. Mostly not to your face but he defends you consistently at headquarters without hesitation; getting seriously mad when someone dares to disrespect you.
Neither of you ever act out on your feelings. You try to ignore the slight brushes or when you stare at each other for too long when arguing. Everyone assumes it's just you too silently battling out not realizing the sheer amount of tension between you.
He looks so soft right now, a view you’ve only seen in passing. This vulnerability is foreign to you, but you try to soak it in as much as possible.
“Listen I know I'm lowkey a asshole sometimes…but I have other qualities.” he snickered at his comment
You blurt out laughing, because lowkey?
Confusion overwhelms his face, it's honestly cute how obliviously stupid he is.
“Satoru Mingi,” you managed between laughs “I never pegged you for a romantic”
he pouts still confused.
“What do you mean, I'm very romantic” He puffs his chest at you, asserting some sort of dominance.
“Well, for starters” you cover your mouth from laughter “you’re not lowkey and asshole you ARE an asshole” Softening slightly, “And honestly im just speechless, ive never seen you like this before”
Mingi stares blankly at you, he wasn’t expecting this reaction.
Thinking back, yeah he has teased you relentlessly, and sometimes pushed your buttons on purpose. And sure, sometimes you genuinely piss him off.
But he can't shake the feelings. When you tease him back and his stomach knots. In this moment, he's finally coming to terms with it, and this dinner date is proof.
“You know Satoru, if I didn’t want to go to dinner with you, I wouldn’t have accepted the deal…” Shyly responding as if you were almost afraid to admit.
He smirks at you; funny how quickly his demeanor can shift. “Well, I don’t know a single person who would decline dinner with me; to be honest”
His smugness makes you scoff. Why did you agree to this again? “I could think of several, to be honest” you mock
“And yet,” he leans in his seat, hissing at you, “you’re here; making those people irrelevant” He doesn’t seem to recognize how smooth he sounded just now.
Heat rising on your face. You stare intensely, may it stay like this forever.
As dinner continues, the silence grows from once awkward to comfortable. You are enjoying each other’s company; a new concept but everything about this moment is natural. There’s still banter here and there, of course, but it's fitting.
Almost like you were destined to be here: talking, lightly flirting through the cracks of an argument. Nothing feels out of norm. Truly an unforgettable night.
He encourages you to get whatever you like, without protesting, indulging in the finest wine and steak they can offer.
He’s spoiling you deliberately, it's the least he could do to atone his past mistakes. You woo his chivalry to earn nothing more than an eye roll on his part, a smile then tugs his mouth, showing how bad he folds
Dinner commences with the two of you settled in the car, completely stuffed and a slight buzz from the wine. The air is heavier now but the weight of your feelings are lifted
He sighs, glancing in your direction, pouting slightly, “I really don't want this night to end”
“It doesn’t have too….” you answer a little too quickly, hand rubbing his thigh “we can go to your place” a bold yet stupid suggestion, which can only lead to trouble.
“You sure?” He stiffens, then softens, breath hitching to your touch.
You hesitate, just long enough to make it settle, then nod
Mingi doesn’t respond, just drives. Every mile closer to his house carries the weight of a decision neither of you plans to take back.
Nothing but the sound of music fills the car, you've grown accustomed to this silence.
His breath rings in your ears and realization hits. You just went on a date with Mingi, the same person you scoffed at the mere mention of his name.
You went on a date with him, actually enjoyed it and are now going to his house? Trying to take it all in, you need to get to the bottom of this. Why? Why after all these years? Was the fighting all a game to him? Was the competition a ploy to get close enough to you? So many questions overwhelmed your brain and he notices. He sees that there’s something on your mind. Too afraid to press it now. This is a ‘in his house’ discussion.
His place is exactly as you were expecting. A massive open space, aligned with art pieces that he made; bold choices indeed, even including one titled ‘fix off’ — it's not particularly cozy but it's very him.
You sink into his soft couch together, both taking in the moment to finally breathe. The night feels suspended, like something fragile neither of you wants to touch.
He stills beside you, “So what’s going on in that pretty mind of yours..”
“Nothing….why’d you assume I'm thinking about something?” you huff at him
he knows, definitely sensed something in those six eyes of his, I guess.
He hummed, unconvinced to your dismay “Hmm, I don't know…. You’re fidgeting really bad and you look like someone shot you” he turns towards you, tone still as soft as ever “If you have something to say you can say it, no judgement here”
No judgement. From Mingi? That's a first, but you give in, sighing, “I just want to know why Satoru?”
“I already told you why” he chuckled, not understanding your question.
You inch closer to him, kneeling on the couch, brushing his shoulders; testing the waters,“Why after years of competing with me and instigating, did you now decide to go to dinner with me?” you pause, putting all your words together, “Was all of this on purpose to get closer to me? Did you enjoy beating me in everything”
Meeting his eyes, they’re soft, almost like he’s taking it all in, “Tell me Mingi”
He froze, just thinking of a measured and careful response. “I do enjoy beating you in everything, you handle it so well…”
he smiles before continuing “You’re the only one who keeps me on my toes. At first, I thought what I was feeling was envy” He takes a deep breather before continuing “but truthfully….I just like you….. so here we are”
You are at a loss for words, of course he enjoys teasing you, what a sick man you are, Satoru Mingi. Thinking to yourself whilst staring blankly.
Hours could have gone by between you, with the way you two just sit staring, having meaningless conversations with just your eyes.
Collecting yourself finally, “So does this mean you think I'm better than you”
He raised an eyebrow “That is not at all what I said”
“Well, saying you envy me….you kind of implied it”
“Whatever—” he rolls his eyes, and that's when it happens.
You’re lips meet his, as if they were two magnets connecting, you couldn’t be separated
The kiss is deep, warm, intimate, sloppy and extremely needy, you can tell you weren’t the only one dying for touch. You moan into his mouth, and he leads your body closer to him. Arm around your waist as you tongue him effortlessly.
A slight whimper peaks through his lips, turning the make out sesh sloppy and horny beyond your comprehension.
“Mingi—-“ you try to get out what you’re saying but your mind is too occupied by the man rutting beneath you.
A moan escapes from him, he was absolutely waiting for this, “tell me what you want” he pleads out to you.
Unable to think, you motion towards his hand, hoping to hint what your true desires are.
It clicks in his brain, like clockwork, he works his hands down your thigh, ripping your tights, searching for easy access, then proceeds to grip on your now exposed ass. “Is this what you wanted?”
Barking back at him, you nod and he takes the invitation to circle your folds, before pausing in shock “You got this wet for me already” his voice rasps back, causing you to jump, then again when he slightly touches your clit.
“Please Mingi–” begging out to him, he stops your words as he teases a finger near your soaked hole.
He snickers, “I like hearing you beg for me…” placing his other hand on your chin. You try to keep it together as he kisses his fingers in your hole. Pursing his lips with a slight grin, “Give me more” whispering in that deep voice which sends a shiver down your spine.
“Mingi… please, I can't take it anymore” your whines increase out of desperation, you would do anything for his thick, strong, long fingers to hook inside you.
Moaning in response to your anguish, he steadily moves his fingers inside of your hole, you buck into them and he spits back “aht, don’t be too eager; we haven't even gotten to the best part yet.”
“ngh ..mingi–” he shushed you, finger to mouth as his other was moving through your slick. Dripping down his fingers; warm and tender as you squeeze around him, pulling you to clinch a bit
“Fuck, you’re drinching me babe” he moans into your neck, pecking love bites as he feels your walls tighten each time he curls his fingers.
Moans now echoing throughout the empty space and vibrating into him, he laughs watching you tremble on top of him, sensing your expected climax. “Fuckkk Mingi, right there….”
Once he found it, he made it his goal to keep hitting, causing everything in you to shake from oversimulation. Stretching you out to the fullest, never has anything felt this good
“Come for me….” he stills, biting more into your neck, causing a yelp to escape from your lips. “Can you do that for me?” murmuring, as your back arches before cumming, allowing a whimper to escape your mouth in the process.
Upon pulling out his fingers, he holds the thick strands of your cum up to you, staring in hunger as he sucks them clean off, moaning, “mmph, you taste so good beautiful”
You breathe heavily, trying to capture the moment but before you know it, he’s tossing you on your back feeling his weight as he nails his teeth in your neck. You coo at him “what are you doing weirdo?”
“Ngh.. need– need to taste all of you”
He starts, undressing you with your assistance, planting kisses down your body in the process. Worshiping each inch of you, it's profane how he’s moaning into each bite. He then reaches your clit, your body shakes once more, feigning for his touch.
Painting kissing alongside, his breath hitches “now what am I gonna do with this pretty pussy of yours?” the compliment circulates heat throughout your body
“Mingi, I want you inside me…. P-please” crying out to him, your mind has gone all scrambled, all you can feel is pleasure and you crave for more
“Ahhh, what did I say about eagerness?” gritting his teeth at you, “im saving the best for last babe” lulling you whilst pecking down your thighs.
Tongue salivating, he kisses circles around your clit then proceeds to suck until you’re throbbing, and aching to the pleasure. “fuckkk” whining out to him
He whimpers out, “god, you taste so good” he flicks his tongue around you, it is extremely messy, not a care in the world how he presents, slurping your wet secretion as you feel the tip of his big nose repeatedly banging aside your clit. Screaming out his name while he eats you out, feeling nothing but pure bliss
His long tongue twists extending inside of you, feeling your warmth out and your body can’t take it anymore “Mingi…” you scream out to him, hoping to catch your breath “nghhh.. im gonna cum again”
Taking no breaks, he just motions his mouth upwards and before you know it, you finish on his tongue as he drinks you up, still your body shakes beneath him, who holds your legs up making sure not a drop is wasted.
“Jesus, I could bury myself in you for days…” Giving a satisfied smile, whipping his mouth, letting another moan slip out “mmhm… come here” he motions you with his fingers. In an instant you obey, breathless, desperate to have him finally filling you.
Pecking your temple, this softness, a juxtaposition to how he was acting earlier. He speaks your praises “You’re so good for me….” he moves to your mouth and instantly melts back into you. “Who knew a brat like you would comply so well”
You lightly hit his shoulder, “Whats that supposed to mean”
“It means you should be rewarded” he chuckled, in the moment, you see an idea spark in his head.
“Do you want it?”
“Yes” the speed at which you spoke could be embarrassing if not for how needy you are for him to be inside you.
Without hesitation, he picks you up, his huge arms lifting you up with ease. Carrying you to his bedroom — it's far more decorated and warm in here — reaching his bed, laying you down softly before moving back to undress.
You ogle him down, unable to help yourself
The way his abs rest when he takes off his sweater, the way his biceps tighten as he unbuttons his pants. You’ve seen him enough times to know he’s built, but knowing isn’t the same as
seeing. And what you’re seeing is how Mingi’s thighs rest when standing, causing a sliver of droll to drop
Mind still dazed as you nearly miss how rock hard he is, and god he’s massive. His dick is long and girthy, sending you into a spiral, mouth agape you can't believe your eyes
He roars at you “Don’t think you can take it?”
“I-it sure is huge, but I can take it….” hesitating out of disbelief, can I take it?
“Good, I believed you could” moaning out as he jerks a mix of precum and spit around his base to lubricate. He strides over to the bed side table and you can't bear it anymore, he looks too good to not be inside you right now.
“Can you hurry up already” snarking at him, you can't help but moan a bit seeing the way he fits the condom over his erection
“I'm doing this all for you, my love” he crawls slowly on top of you, his dick towering over you, gulping as he manhandles you, gripping one hand around your waist, while he teases his dick along your folds. You scream out to him slapping your clit with his massive length.
“Okay, tell me when to stop, okay?” bracing you for impact, as you nod quickly screaming as he stretches you out slowly. Legs shaking as he fills your walls inch by inch.
“Mingi—” screaming so loud, surely anyone in a 5 mile radius could hear the pleasure you’re receiving. He stops half way in, brushing the hair out of your face, cupping it.
“Are you okay, beautiful?”
Humming back at him, he strokes softly and you almost think you're seeing stars, “mmhm dont stop please”. He digs into you, thrusting but not yet fully taking you in. You could care less as you feel him pulsate through you, and between the sounds of your pussy gushing and moans conjoining together, the music you too are making is like none seen before.
“So tight around me, love to drive me crazy huh?” He adjusts himself and finally you take him all in, wrapping your legs around him. “You’re doing so good for me…nmph always so good” your walls tighten as he holds you down. You can physically see each time he hits your cervix as your stomach bulges
“Mingi— ahh” vibrating as you yell out to him, he doesn’t stop, instead his thrusts grow stronger. Scrambling your brain whilst he rearranges your guts. Bottoming out into a sloppy stretched out mess.
He peers overtop of you “come for me my love” purring in your ear as he bucks deeply in you. Shivering through the mass oversimulation, you cry out to him and he listens through bringing you back into him. Mingi’s groans piercing you, causing your back to arch and that's when you're finally pushed over the edge, painting him and soaking the sheets as he fills the condom inside you.
Breathless. He collapses on top of you and you can hardly move from the soreness. The silence is interrupted by him groaning as he pulls out of you. Lying there together, this whole day has been such a rollercoaster and you almost forget you have to compete against him tomorrow too.
People are surely going to notice something is happening, after all how can you argue with a man who just gave you the meanest dick of your life. But on the other hand, it still shouldn’t take long before he’s pissing you off again
“So, next time you want to blame me for something…. Remember this” And there it is… that didn't last long, hitting him with a pillow as you roll your eyes to his foolishness. He’s still just as annoying as when he was twelve, maybe only slightly less now.
It wasn't until after your shower that it finally hit you, you just fucked the man youve hated for years like it was nothing, that hint of regret swells over when you consider, perhaps all these years, it was clouded judgement keeping you apart. Whatever it is, you’re too sore to deal with it now.
You nuzzle against him, seeking warmth in him without thinking, and within minutes you drift off. He doesn’t sleep, instead he watches the way your face softens underneath, he thinks, tightening his hold just slightly, I should've dared you sooner…..
Basketball Player Mingi x Nonchalant Reader. the gurls that get it… get it.
Warnings: SMUT! Handjob and fingering. Mingi KNOWWSS where the clit is. Lowkey in public. Swearing and smoking.
This isn’t proofread so sorry if u notice any mistakes!! And i’m so bad with coming up with titles so i’ve lowkey given up. Anyways, hope you like ❤️
The cold night air bit at your skin as you step outside, the sliding door closes gracefully behind you, finally blocking out the shouts and cheers from inside. Damn, you knew you would end up outside. So why didn’t you bring a coat? Whatever, the chilly air filling your lungs as you take a deep breath is a welcome sensation. Compared to the stuff air inside. The porch light of the random house you’re at isn’t very bright and is no help at all as you dig through your purse. You mercifully find your cigarettes, although smoking is evidently allowed inside, considering how hard it was to breathe in there, you would much rather be out here. You glance at your phone, the unlit cigarette hanging from your lips. The time on your lock screen reads 11:35. You shrug, starting to dig through your purse for your lighter, you stayed later than you thought you would. Which the social interaction hating side of you can appreciate. Where the fuck is that lighter?
“Looking for something?”
You jump slightly, your head swinging in the direction of that deep, rumbling voice coming from the shadows. You relax instantly, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips. Song Mingi stands to your left, leaning against the wall with his own cigarette in hand. You ignore him, continuing to rummage in your small purse. His lips curl up into a smirk as he watches you. He steps closer to you, leaves crunching under his feet. “Here.”
You glance up, a beat up lighter sits in his outstretched palm. You don’t want to take it from him. But you’ve given up hope looking for yours. It definitely isn’t in your purse. You reach out and take it from his palm. He watches you, that dumbass smirk still plastered on his face. You know who he is, everyone does. The basketball team’s captain, the college golden boy. The reason the team won today and the reason this party is even happening. A celebration for the whole campus. But, you’re surprised that he knows who you are. You keep to yourself, you’re comfortable with your small friend group, people who definitely have nothing to do with Mingi or his basketball team. But you’ve seen him looking at you in the halls. His eyes lingering when you pass each other on campus. Although you assume it’s because he’s a man. A popular, good looking man who has girls throwing themselves at him everywhere he goes. A typical college boy who will fuck anything that walks and will stare at anyone with tits.
You hand the lighter back to him, not missing the way his eyes rake over you. You mumble a thanks and turn away from him.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” His velvety voice sounds from behind you. “You weren’t at the game. You’re never at any games.”
You shrug again, taking a drag from your cigarette and looking at the ground. “My friends.” You mumble, gesturing inside, hoping he gets the hint that you were dragged here against your will.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” He nods, that perpetual smirk plastered on his face. You breathe out a laugh, thats a question you’ve gotten a million times during your life. Growing up dubbed ‘the quiet girl’. But to be honest, you like it that way.
“I guess not.” You finally look up at him and his smirk softens.
You hear that a lot?” He asks. You nod, blowing smoke out of your mouth. He nods in response, silence falling between you. But he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. You look away from his intense gaze, on the verge of telling him it’s rude to stare before he speaks up again. “But you speak to me when you want something, hm?” He grins and holds up his lighter. Inconspicuously stepping closer to you.
“You offered. I didn’t ask.” You say, your eyes roaming over his face. You can’t deny how pretty he is. His handsome, boyish features seem to be even more prominent in the dim porch light.
“Touché,” He smiles, slipping the lighter back in his pocket. “You said you came with friends? So, why are you out here alone? Party too boring for you?”
“Not to sound cliche but, parties just… aren’t my thing.” You sigh.
“Hm,” He hums, watching your face with those intense eyes. “What is your thing, then? Besides smoking.”
You laugh softly and his grin widens. “Uh, i like being boring. I like being alone.”
“You like being boring or you like being alone? Because there’s a difference.”
“Is there?” You look up at him, he’s impossibly tall. You think for a second. “I like being alone.”
He hums again, the sound deep in his chest.
“What are you doing out here?” You ask him. “You’re allowed to smoke inside you know? Isn’t this party technically for you?”
“I wanted to get away for a second.” He shrugs, finishing his cigarette and flicking it away. “Then i spotted you sneaking out, and i figured i’d see if you’d bite my head off for speaking to you.” He chuckles when you shoot him a glare. “You haven’t yet. I’m a little disappointed.”
“You want me too?” It’s your turn to smirk up at him. “Is that a challenge?”
“Careful,” He mumbles, his eyes flickering with something dangerous as he notices your smirk. A small crack in the carefully constructed wall you have around yourself. “I like a challenge.” He steps even closer, inches away from you now. You can smell his cologne and see the tanned skin that lies under his half unbuttoned shirt. He reaches for your cigarette, despite only finishing his own seconds earlier. For some reason, you let him pluck it straight out of your mouth and watch as he takes a drag from it. His plump lips closing around it.
“You’re gonna need to look elsewhere, Mingi.” You sigh and he raises his eyebrows in question, although he understands your meaning. He can’t deny that the sound of his name from your lips makes heat stir in his stomach. You reach for your cigarette back from his mouth, taking it into your own. He bites his lip as he watches you. He finds it overwhelmingly endearing, the fact that you’re so… yourself around him. No games, no batting your eyelashes at him like most girls do.
“Why aren’t you in there celebrating? Why are you wasting your time with me?” You ask softly as a round of loud cheers sound from inside the house.
“I’m not interested in celebrating,” His voice is low and rough. It travels straight through you and your breath hitches. “Right now, i’m more interested in you.”
“Don’t you have lots of girls waiting for you in there?” You ask, stamping the cigarette out on the wall behind you.
“Probably,” He takes a step closer crowding you against the wall. Fuck, he’s big. Everything about him. He’s tall, his chest is impossibly wide. His biceps are huge, you note as his arm curls around you to rest on the wall behind your head. He towers over you, looking down and watching as your eyes search his face. “You’re staring,” He says quietly. “What are you looking for?”
“I’m trying to see if you’re being serious or not. I don’t want to become the joke of the basketball team if i give in to you.” You tell him honestly. You see his face falter for a second, almost like he’s offended before he recovers, that smirk gracing his lips again.
“Who said anything about giving in? We’re just talking, smoking. Flirting a little.” He chuckles. “Is that so bad?”
“I can’t help but think you have an ulterior motive.” You grin up at him, you can’t deny that you’re enjoying playing along. So far, he isn’t what you thought he would be. But you’re not dumb. You know this could all be an act.
“Smart girl,” He says, that deep rumble of his voice making your stomach do flips. Your thighs starting to squeeze together. “Okay, maybe i do. But you’re not pulling away.”
“I’m not,” You whisper, shaking your head. He moves closer again, your bodies touching now, his frame pressing you against the cold brick wall. “I probably should.”
"You should." He repeats, his voice like velvet in your ears. His hand remains on the wall by your head, his other one slowly lifts to your face. His thumb gently hooks on your lower lip, applying the slightest pressure downward, making your mouth part just a fraction. He didn't move to kiss you, just held you there, and you let him.
“Is this how you normally celebrate a win?” You say quietly, his thumb moving with your lip.
“No,” He shakes his head. “Contrary to popular belief. I work hard. I’m the team captain, i don’t have time to mess around. But you… there’s something about you.”
Something about me makes you wanna mess around?” You laugh softly.
“No,” He hums. “Something about you makes me wanna get on my knees right here, right now. Right outside.”
Your eyes widen, you stare at his face again. Seeing his blown out pupils and his lip between his teeth and you think… fuck it. Whats the worst that’s going to happen? He might be lying, he’s still a man at the end of the day and this could all be a really well done act. But something about those words, something about the way he said them. He already has you cornered against the wall. You throw caution to the wind and grasp the front of his shirt, pulling him down to press your lips against his. He freezes for a second, completely caught off guard. He almost stumbles, using his hand on the wall behind your head to steady himself. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw as you kiss each other desperately. A mix of alcohol, maybe a bit of weed and a shit ton of adrenaline from his win today has him groaning against your mouth and pushing his tongue past your lips. His big hands grasp your waist, pulling you flush against him and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging a little at the hair that sits on the nape of his neck.
Your hand travels down his broad chest, feeling his rock hard abs that sit just out of reach under his shirt. Shit, does basketball do that? Your hands drift past his insane muscles and start to mess with the belt of his jeans. He groans as to palm him over the fabric, his cock already starting to strain against the denim. You gasp into his mouth at his size, feeling a new wave of wetness between your thighs. His own hand snakes under your dress, feeling gently along the seam of your panties, dipping into your wetness. His eyes widen and he pulls his mouth back from you. “Fuck, you suddenly eager for me, huh? Or have you been this wet for me all night and you’re just good at acting uninterested?”
“Don’t talk.” You mumble, opening his jeans enough to take him out and into your hand. You haven’t even checked if anyone else had come outside, but thankfully he did. He looks over his shoulder quickly, scans the empty garden and goes back to towering over you against the wall, looking down as you take his dick into your hand. Honestly, he would rather do this inside but… he doesn’t want you to change your mind. Doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and make you snap out of it and leave him out here with blue balls.
Don’t talk, hm?” He smirks, because he noticed the way your breath hitched when he asked you if you had been wet for him all night. He knows what that means and he keeps it in mind. “I think you like hearing me talk, baby.”
Your thighs squeeze together as he calls you baby. The way he says it, his voice so deep and smooth. You squeeze his dick a little tighter, staring to move your hand slowly. He lets out a low groan. “You sure you wanna do this right here? I live here, you know. I have a room upstairs.”
He’s right, you had kind of forgotten that this was his house, him and four other basketball players live here. But the last thing you need is for people to see you going upstairs with him, if anyone came outside right now it would just look like you were kissing… or talking very closely. Which would a less embarrassing thing to be spread around campus than being caught going into his bedroom with him at a party. And you know he has no complaints about being outside. The way he’s grunting in your ear as you move your hand over him faster. The precum dripping from his tip helping your hand glide smoothly over his impressive length. You lean up to kiss him again, fuck his mouth is good. His lips are plump and warm and he’s a good kisser.
“We’re good here, right?” You mumble against his jaw as he pulls away from your lips to moan in your ear.
“Yeah, fuck, no one’s around.” His voice is a little shaky. He has to admit, he’s a little surprised. You’re jacking him off exactly how he likes, you obviously know what you’re doing. But he would have bet money on the fact that you were inexperienced. Hell, thats what he gets for judging. He thought he was making a move on a shy inexperienced girl and now you’re giving him what could potentially be the best hand job of his life in his backyard. He kisses you a little more, letting you swallow his moans.
“Fuck, baby,” He grunts. “You’re gonna make me come all over your hand.”
“Thats what i was going for,” You say, almost sarcastically. He breathes out a laugh thats cut off by a moan as your thumb swirls over his head. His hand that isn’t pressed into the wall beside your head grips your waist hard enough to leave bruises. As he feels his orgasm approach he takes his hand off the wall and grabs your chin, pressing his lips to yours messily so he can muffle his groans as he empties himself into your palm. A little goes on your dress but neither of you notice. You keep moving your hand over him until he practically whimpers and gently takes your wrist, stopping you. Shit, you’re gonna dream about that whimper for a long time to come.
“You talk a lot, don’t you? Even when someone is getting you off.” You grin, repeating his words from earlier. He’s still a little breathless, he zips up his jeans a little quickly but, you are technically in public.
“You don’t talk enough,” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear as he speaks. “I would have liked a little bit of dirty talk.”
“Well…” You trail off. You almost say ‘maybe next time’. But you stop yourself. His hand slides up your side to cup your breast over the fabric of your dress, his thumb sliding over your nipple. You sigh, involuntarily pushing your chest into his hand. “Hmm,” He hums as he circles your peak with his thumb, listening to your sighs. “Should i show you how it’s done?”
He leans down to kiss you, his other hand grasps your thigh and wraps his around his waist. He wastes no time in pushing your panties aside, he already felt how wet you were earlier and he bets it’s even worse now.
“God, you’re soaked.” He mumbles against your cheek, his finger swiping through your folds. “All this just from touching my dick, hm?”
You whine pathetically as his single digit finds your swollen clit, circling it gently. You want to tell him that you’re this fucking wet because of how hot he sounded when he came in your hand. But instead you just sigh out his name.
“Oh, i like that. Hearing you say my name like that.” He brings a second finger to join the first one in rubbing your clit. His two fingers collect some of your juices before swiping them over your nub, you gasp and arch your chest into him.
He does this for what feels like hours but is actually only about a minute. He then removes his fingers, ignores your whine and places his huge hands on your hips. Effortlessly spinning you around to face the wall. His body engulfs you as he steps forward pushing you against it, not too hard, but so your hands come up tk brace yourself against it. His hand, still wet with your juices, comes up to his lips. And although you can’t see him you know what he’s doing as you hear him suck on them.
His fingers, now wet with his saliva instead, travel back down your stomach and into your panties again. This time pushing inside of you. He starts with just one, enjoying your soft moans but knowing this isn’t enough. He thrusts that one finger slowly into you until you murmur a small “Please, Mingi.”
“Hm? Please what, honey?” His deep voice rolls into your ear.
“More… please.”
“Yeah? You want another one?” He chuckles. Fuck, he’s such a tease. Almost as if he wasn’t just groaning and spilling into your hand five minutes ago. You nod, resting the back of your head on his shoulder to look up at him, he tilts his chin down to look you in the eyes and practically moans himself.
“Shit, you’re so pretty, baby” He groans and obliges, pushing a second finger into you. You sigh with pleasure, your hands coming up to grip his arm thats wrapped around your stomach keeping you in place. You’re trying to be quiet. Biting your lip and digging your nails into his arm.
He smirks, moving his fingers with more purpose and curling them a little. You moan a little louder and he grins against your ear, sucking your earlobe into his mouth and kissing around it.
“I could listen to you forever,” He mumbles, his lips tickling the shell of your ear. “I might just fuck you here. Right against this wall.” As he speaks, the arms that you’re gripping moves down to join the other at your pussy, rubbing precise circles over your clit.
“Come all over my fingers. Let me see.” He whispers when you tense and whine out his name. His voice paired with his fingers on your clit have you clenching around him, your hand clamps over your own mouth as you come. You kind of wish it was his hand keeping you quiet but, his are somewhat occupied as he keeps fucking you with them through your orgasm. Not stopping until you whimper and claw at his wrist. He chuckles and stops, carelessly wiping his fingers on his jeans as you practically collapse against the wall.
“Fuck…” You sigh, breathing a little heavy. You turn around to lean your back against the wall and look up at him. You almost scowl as you see the shit eating grin plastered on his face. He opens his mouth to say something but the sliding door on the side of the house opens and someone calls Mingi’s name. You straighten up, so if anyone pops their head out the door it just looks like you’re both talking. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if they had done it just a minute earlier.
“Yeah, i’ll be there!” Mingi calls back and the door slides shut again. You pull another cigarette out of your purse and Mingi fishes his phone out of his pocket. He taps on the screen a few times and then hands it to you.
“Put your number in?” He asks, his voice softer now. His eyes filled with something softer too, almost like hope. You take his phone and he smirks like he’s won something.
“I’m taking yours because if i give you mine, i know you won’t call me.” He says as you hand it back. “And next time, i’m gonna get on my knees and taste you. I’ll crawl and beg if i have too.” He winks and disappears through the side door. Leaving you leaning against the wall, a little dazed. Next time?
warnings: 🔞!!! slight breeding kink?, no protection, talk of birth control, yeonjun calls reader baby, creampie, prob forgot some sorry
wc: 1.2k
an: a little something for yeonjuns bday! not proofread sorry! feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]
It wasn't a big deal when you suggested ditching condoms. the two of you on a facetime call while you sat alone in your apartment studying. yeonjun had been tasked by his roommates to pick a few things they had forgotten to grab for dinner. picking up the phone with a single question for you since he was already at the store.
“I don’t remember if I left any spare condoms at your place and I know I'm out at mine after the last time you were over,”
“um let me check,” and even though you didn’t live together you both had drawers of things at the other apartment. spare changes of clothes, toiletries, and random pieces of jewelry found in every nook and cranny. you shuffled over to your side first checking and coming up empty. When you pulled open yeonjuns drawer you found the little empty box holding it up in front of your phone to show him, “Nope all used up,” you crumpled the thin cardboard tossing it in the bin next to your desk.
“I'll pick up a box for mine and a box for yours,” you could see him examining the fruit second in front of him,“how do you know if you’re grabbing good apples?” he asks at the same time you say, “I mean you don’t have to,”
you had already set your phone back up against your open laptop, pen in hand ready to get back to going over your notes when he muttered a soft, “what?” it was the way he had said it that made you look up. all efforts toward picking out the right fruit were gone as he thought over whether he had heard you right or not.
“I mean I've been on my birth control for a few months now but it’s just a suggestion if you’re more comfortable with condoms still that's fine too,”
“No, I'll just leave them off the list then,” and he was back to looking at the apples, brows furrowed and his jaw tight, “and i'll just pick up strawberries instead,”
it was the end of that conversation and you didn’t think about it much, you two had been having sex for longer than you expected the two of you to last without ditching condoms so it seemed so natural a progression. The fact you two hadn’t forgotten once or twice to come prepared was something to be a little proud of. and when you wished yeonjun a safe drive back home hanging up your call you didn't think you would hear back from him until after dinner.
To your surprise, you got a knock on your door and he was standing right in front of you. “what are you doing here I thought-“
“I just dropped off whatever I got I couldn’t stay there,”
you pulled open the door letting him in, “why? I thought you had been excited for-,” you had only just twisted the lock when he had you pinned against the door. hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed his lips to yours, you almost couldn't catch your breath, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt letting him have control.
“You can’t drop a bombshell and not reap the consequences,” he mutters in between kisses, lips working down your jaw, nipping at your skin.
“bombshell? jjunie what are you talking about?” but you realize almost as soon as the words are out of your mouth aided by the way his erection is pushed against you. “oh,” you breathe, his hips rocking against yours for friction. how you didn’t realize the switch in his demeanor as soon as you made the suggestion was lost on you, but it was exactly the look he gave when teased him in public, all his short answers and slight pout making sense now.
“I need you so bad,” his hands already pushing into the waistband of your shorts. the two of you stumbled to your room and when the back of your legs hit the bed you fell back taking him along with you.
In all the time you've been together yeonjun never skipped out on getting you off at least once before having you get off another time on his cock. only he was frantic in stripping you down, your hand instinctively reaching out to the nightstand only for your wrist to be caught in his grasp, “all out,” he reminds you free hand circling your clit, dipping along your folds to check how wet you are.
“habit,” you gasp, spreading your legs, rolling your hips to try and meet his fingers but he pulls his hand away to grab his aching cock.
as soon as he presses into you, you can tell the difference, the both of you letting out deep moans. every slow inch stretching you out, no barrier as you feel every ridge and vein. you’re practically sucking him in, his hips stuttering in their thrusts at the feeling of bottoming out, his face is pressed into your neck as he tries to calm himself, tell himself to take it slow but you’re a little devil as you mutter, “are you going to pump me full of your cum?”
you can feel his moan rumble through his chest, cock twitching inside you at the question. he doesn't even care if he seems desperate because he is, he won't ever hide that he wants you. “yes,” he nods, moving so that he notches the back of your knees in the crook of his elbows. “I'm going to make you fucking sticky with how much comes out,”
you’re completly stuffed full of his cock, hips snapping into yours as he picks up the pace, the soft slapping sounds growing louder and louder, the angel you’re at sends him right to you gspot, your head rolling back as you reach out to grab his biceps, nails digging into his skin. your orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach as yeonjun mumbles, “Beg, beg me for my cum,”
“Please, please, I need it jjunie, I want to be stuffed full of it,” his hair is stuck to his brow, his moans building up in his throat as he gets sloppy with his thrusts. “I'm going to fuck you full of it baby,” he gives a particularly hard thrust that sends you over the edge, pussy convulsing around him as you cum.
“I'm gonna-“ he can’t even get the words out before his eyes are rolling back all his muscles tensing as he cums, body trembling as he shoots his hot load inside you every slow thrust pushing it further and further into you. his orgasm lasts so much longer than usual, the intensity shocking him as he presses himself against you, holding you as close as he can.
“fuck,” he says against your pulse trying to catch his breath, “I didn’t think i’d cum so fast,” you can’t help but giggle bushing your fingers through his hair. When he finally pulls out he looks in amazement, “Push it out baby,” thumb rubbing at your clit making you twitch as he watches how your mixed wetness drips down and out of you.
“I've wanted to see that for so long” he slides his fingers through your folds picking up as much of his cream as he can before shoving it right back into you, your knees trying to close in at the sensation. “just look at that,” he whispers looking at all the sticky slick on his fingers, “I could get used to this,”
for mature audiences only, minors will be fed to wolves.
⟢ a/n: this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: mingi pays the price for what he did last night, and now everyone knows what yunho has done.
⟢ word count: 22k
⟢ warnings: GRAPHIC PHYSICAL VIOLENCE IN THIS PART | psychotic yunho, psychological torture, physical torture, threats, swearing, captive reader, conditioning, slight gore (describing wound), use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), blackmail, guilt, bad things all around, uhhhh yunho's very scary, use of knife, no smut in this chapter either i'm afraid
18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING.
posted: 09.18.25
⟢ [OPEN] taglist: @cocostar1117 @sw33tsaturday @mangalovesanime-blog @ciderxi @aurorasjoongie @violatedvibrators @prchiquita8 @mythicalthing @stolasisyourparent @hxwq @thenewblackcanvas @lucatiny @whyismingi @0x11s @jellyroll22 @eshia16 @scarletxatz @jkayy-prodian @honghwalvr @0mrrp @h0efor2ho @mingismarmalade @ickssspencer @nadinenaya @ayleekay2006 @freyaphoria @daydreamqueenjaycee @urijjongbear @lol-imtrash2000 @sweatyracoon @oceanside-view97 @holykstan @rellz-bellz @odessa-is-my-queen @hwxbibi @sksngs @haven-cove @dollysecrets @jjongsgoodgirl @sitycc @nadinenaya @onlyforwoosan @a1avav @cotton-candycloudz @blu-kyl @fancypeacepersona @mingtiis @the-silent-listener09 @luvrgirlkumi @sugar-spice-bitch (if you were not added, you did not have your age in bio or i missed you!)
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Yeosang wakes up in one of the nightmares he was worried about.
His name is called melodically, sweetly as it coaxes him awake, “Yeosang~”. He stirs reluctantly, lethargically rubbing his eyes. It takes a few slow, dry-eyed blinks to understand what was going on only a foot away from him on the bed: Yunho pinning Mingi down, a hand over his mouth, holding his wrists to the pillows with the other. Yeosang pushes himself up, wide awake now, staring wide-eyed at Yunho. Yunho looks at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Hi Sangie,” He says calmly, like this is all normal, “I need your help.”
Yeosang’s skin crawls. What could he possibly need his help for? His mind already begins to prepare the black veil that will protect his mental stability, ready for autopilot, to digest anything that happens to him on a later date. He prepares to forget.
Two of Yunho’s fingers lift from his grasp on Mingi’s wrists, a thin but durable black piece of rope between them.
“Be a good boy and tie his wrists to the headboard for me,” he purrs. Mingi’s legs kick to try to unseat him but to no avail, thrashing underneath his body weight. Yunho presses his hand against his mouth tighter. “Now.”
“Min–” Yeosang tries to say, but Yunho barks a warning at him.
“Don’t talk to him. Just do as you’re told.”
Yeosang tries to ignore the fear that barrels through him as he moves closer, kneeling near Mingi’s shoulder. He wobbles a little, unsteady from the deep imprints in the mattress from the two other men. Mingi looks up at him once he takes the rope from Yunho’s fingers with trembling hands.
He has to force himself to calm down in order to tie anything, and has to restart, much to Yunho’s annoyance. As expected, Yeosang doesn’t tie it as tightly as Yunho wanted – just one more thing he has to do. He clenches his jaw, trying to conserve every ounce of anger just for Mingi. He’ll fix the integrity of it later. Fine.
There’s still the extra length of rope he brought in with him that he tossed on the floor next to the bed. Just in case – he won’t hesitate to tie his ankles too.
Yeosang draws his hands back, still shaking.
“I need you to go to my room so I can talk to Mingi privately,” Yunho instructs, still keeping the casual tone.
Yeosang hesitates, though his entire body is screaming at him to get out of there as fast as possible, his eyes nervously flickering between Yunho and Mingi. His brain is still trying to wake up and catch up, processing the sight in front of him.
“What’re you–?”
“Yeosang,” warns Yunho, his voice rumbling low, deep from his chest and dead serious as his control starts to slip, “get. out.”
Now every fiber of his being pushes him to get up and get the hell out of there as soon as possible, but not without self-reproach. I can’t leave him, he thinks, I can’t. But as Yunho slowly starts to turn his head towards him, Yeosang jumps into action, not wanting to be in the line of fire that was Yunho’s wrath. With one more apologetic last look to Mingi, Yeosang gets up and rounds the bed, beelining to the door, arduous guilt following close behind him.
An artificially honeyed voice calls out to him before he can leave.
“Hey Sangie?”
Fuck. Yeosang freezes with his hand on the doorknob. Please let me go, please let me go…
He looks back towards Yunho, who doesn’t turn around to face him at all, still busy keeping an eye on Mingi beneath him. Mingi doesn’t catch his eye, but he may as well have. Yeosang can feel the same fear, the same desperation to get away from Yunho, thickening the air. It’s suffocating.
“Y-yes?” He asks, his voice brittle. Yunho doesn’t answer right away, letting the grating silence choke them both as they wait for him to continue. He makes sure Mingi is looking directly at him when he does decide to say it.
“Feel free to use my bed or my doll.”
Mingi’s eyes narrow, pulling hard against the black rope. Yeosang’s shoulders hunch in disgust, a horrible shiver running down his spine as he exits, shutting the door behind him. Every nerve in his body tingles like he’s being chased out of there. He shakes out his hands in the living room, exhaling a tremulous breath. Even outside of the room, he still feels trapped. The front door beckons to him, offering escape. But he can’t. On his good conscience, he cannot abandon Mingi more than he already has. Not that he really had a choice up against Yunho, though.
He turns on the spot and looks at the door he just escaped through. There’s no worrying sounds coming from behind it yet, but he can hear movement akin to someone fighting against something immoveable. Uncertain of his own bravery, he takes a cautious step forward, going against his instincts to get as far away as he can. He can feel his heart in his throat when he convinces his arm to raise, reaching for the doorknob once more. There’s a louder sound from inside, a sob of some sort as muffled footsteps approach the door. Yeosang stumbles backwards, all the way into the hallway, touching the wall with his fingertips so he doesn’t run into it.
It had been so faint when he heard it before, but this time the lock turning into place on Mingi’s door is loud and clear.
No one was entering.
No one was leaving.
For a couple moments in agonizing silence, only his heavy breaths fill the apartment with sound. He stares at the door in horror, only imagining what could be happening on the other side of it. Not wanting to leave Mingi again, he stays in the hallway, holding himself in a self-hug. Each door in the apartment mocks him. One he cannot go through to get to his friend; one he was lured into previously on false pretenses, where you were sleeping currently; and the front door, where he’d be forced to deal with all of his recent traumas by himself if he left through it. His eyes flicker over to his shoes, still by the front door. They’re ready to be laced up and used to run far, far away from here. But where would he go? No matter the destination, he’d never be able to run from his memories. What he’s seen… what he’s done.
The muffled noises from the guestroom crescendo.
He tries to stay, hugging his arms tight in the hallway. But the tortured cries coming from the bedroom pierce his brain, searing into every corner of the hippocampus to make sure he never forgets the sounds he’s hearing now. They’re crystal clear, like they’re no longer hidden behind the door. The same powerful wave of nausea hits Yeosang like a truck and he presses his back to the wall, head spinning. His instincts force him to move, to protect himself. Before he even knows it, he’s slamming the door to Yunho’s room, pressing his hands against it as if to keep someone out.
“Sir?”
His head snaps up.
You look around for Yunho, sitting up in bed and gripping the covers.
“Sir?” You whisper, blatant confusion written all over your face, “What’s going on?”
As if to answer you, from the guestroom, Mingi screams.
The sound wracks through your body. You can’t move. You forget how to breathe. At first, it doesn’t even hit you that that noise was made by Mingi at all. Yeosang backs away, standing between you and the door.
“What is he doing, what’s going on? What’s happening?!” You overwhelm Yeosang with questions as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes wide and trained on the door like he’s preparing to fight for his life with whatever – or whoever – comes through it. Throwing the covers off of you, you catch yourself on the nightstand when another broken cry creeps under the door.
You only hesitate for a split second before running towards the door the second your feet hit the carpet. Yeosang catches you halfway, wrapping his arms around your torso, keeping you from leaving.
“Don’t– Y/N, don’t–!”
“He’s hurting him!” You exclaim, “Yeosang, please let me go!” In all your panic, you forget to address him correctly, but Yunho isn’t there to hear it. Truthfully, you’re not really thinking about that too much at the moment.
You thrash and kick, but Yeosang’s too strong to even be budged. You scream as you feel him dragging you back, the door getting further away.
“Yeosang! Yeosang, please!” You wail. In your struggle, Yeosang manages to pull you back towards the end of the bed, only knowing where he was in the room due to feeling the duvet against the back of his knee. One of your kicks makes both of you lose your balance, sinking down to the floor in a pathetic, devastated heap. Your throat burns to scream Mingi’s name, to yell at Yunho to stop hurting him, but you know you can’t. Not without making everything worse for everyone. Quickly, you start to lose energy, and your frantic fight for freedom gradually dies in his arms. You slump, almost boneless against Yeosang, forced to listen to whatever Yunho’s doing to Mingi across the apartment.
“He’ll kill him…” You whisper, staring at the closed door.
Yeosang doesn’t respond. He doesn’t deny it. He just exhales shakily, looking up at the ceiling to hold back tears. Perhaps for the fortieth time since entering the apartment, Yeosang’s hands itch to call the police. Career be damned. For the first time in hours, he remembers his phone. Where did he put it? He hadn’t seen it since everything went down with Yunho last night.
Heart beating uncomfortably against your ribs, you try to pry his arms off of you once more to no avail. Your hands white-knuckle the sleeves of his sweatshirt. You look over to the window. Outside, from what you could see past the blinds, the sky is ominous. The clouds cover the city in a thick slate-colored blanket. No birds sing.
How poetic…
You can’t even cry. Shock engulfs your body, weighing it down and dulling your eyes. Your pulse runs away from you, dizzying and ailing you in its wake. You want to cry so badly, and you feel like a monster because you can’t. But there’s no more feeling left. Only empty numbness and shock. Huddled on the floor, you can’t discern whether or not your brain has blocked out Mingi’s cries, or if they really have ceased. You don’t realize Yeosang covered your ears with his hands until you try to turn your head to look at him. For the first time, the two of you really look at each other. What the other sees is indiscernible, neither of you giving anything away on your faces, but the hurt is clear. It’s stitched into every pore, it’s obvious from the dark circles underneath your eyes. You lean into him a little more, and he doesn’t try to move away. You look away first, conscience-stricken. He had been avoiding you all night since he found out, he had every reason to not want to be around you, and yet here he was covering your ears to make sure you didn’t have to listen to Mingi’s torture. He fell on the sword for you. Why?
There’s a loud bang that resonates from the guestroom and Yeosang hangs his head, quietly beginning to sob. He presses his hands a bit harder against your ears.
With as much life as a robot, you lift your hand to pat his head, trying even in your stupor to comfort him. He cries harder, turning his face to rest his cheek against your shoulder, his hands slipping from your ears. Your hand adapts, opting to smooth down his hair as you stare off at nothing in particular. The two of you stay like that for an indiscernible amount of time, even after Yeosang stops crying. The silence that buries the apartment is deafening. Just ragged breaths, intermittent sniffles and occasional small, muffled noises from the guestroom. Nothing to give you hope nor hint of what transpired. Thunder rumbles in the distance, mixing with the daily sounds of the city underneath it.
Moderately, Yeosang straightens himself up, slowly leaning back against the bed. He looks down at your shoulder, grimacing at how he’d covered that whole area of your shirt in tears. You hug your knees, pressing your lips against one of them. There’s nothing the two of you can say. Nothing to possibly lighten the mood, to comfort the other, to help in any way. Yeosang pushes himself up, solemnly walking into the bathroom to grab something to wipe his face with. You barely notice until you feel a slight nudge at your shoulder. Yeosang, now crouching next to you, had found and taken a whole roll of fresh toilet paper out of the packaging, handing it to you so you could use as much as you needed in lieu of tissues. You manage to lift the corners of your mouth in a miniscule smile as thanks, and tear off a couple squares. You don’t need them, but you can’t bring yourself to refuse his kind offer. You crumple it in your hand and let your hair fall like a curtain between the two of you as you rest your chin on your knee. He places the roll down next to you.
A faint click makes the hair on the back of Yeosang’s neck stand up. His head whips towards the door.
Then a door opens.
Oh god– Yeosang panics. But before he can spiral again, you grab his hand. You look up at him, expression unreadable, yet it roots him to the spot. You know how to handle a situation like this more than he does, so he’ll reluctantly follow along. Yet, Yunho’s only ever been this mad at you, so you’re in uncharted territory as well now that it’s someone else. Though it’s obvious what to do: stay still, stay quiet, do whatever he says. Be good.
Yunho opens the door slower than you expect him to, peering in, looking at his empty bed first before his gaze lands on you two, huddled together on the floor. He steps into his room without a word, and immediately goes to the nightstand on his side of the bed, one of his sleeves is pulled down over his hand, the other bunched up around his elbow. He yanks it open and sticks his sleeve-covered hand inside, something clattering down from it and into the drawer. Yeosang shudders, swallowing around the large lump in his throat.
He knows exactly what he put in there.
Without looking back at you two, Yunho braces his hands against the edge of the nightstand. There’s a long beat before he finally speaks.
“Go home, Yeosang.”
Like hell, Yeosang thinks, even though he’s scared out of his mind. But his body begs him to get out of there, utterly exhausted from prolonged distress. He steals a glance at you, tightening your grip around his hand ever so slightly.
“What did you do?” He asks, his voice just above a whisper.
Yunho sighs, but not in annoyance this time. More like he’s just exhausted. “Yeosang, please just leave.”
You squeeze his hand tighter. The ‘please’ sticks out to you.
He knows he’s playing with fire, but Yeosang can’t stop the questions, “Is he–?”
“For fuck’s sake–!” Yunho slams the drawer shut, turning around, “I didn’t kill him. I’m not fucking stupid.”
He runs a hand through his hair, on edge. Neither you nor Yeosang relax. You’ll both believe it when you see it for yourselves. You shift your gaze down to look at Yunho’s arm. The skin is slightly tinted red, like he got paint on his sleeve and it had seeped through the fabric to stain him. He sighs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes with an additional huff of breath. You’ve never seen Yunho like this, so jumpy, almost rattled, it only frightens you more.
Yeosang’s eyes are locked on the blood stains covering him. He knows they’re all Mingi’s.
“Sir…” you whisper to Yeosang, who doesn’t register that you’re addressing him until you nudge him. He turns to you, worried.
“Go check on him,” you say in a voice so quiet Yeosang can barely hear you, eyes flickering over to the open door, “if you can…”
He bites his lip, scared of what he’ll see, but nods anyway before standing up once again. He spares one last look at you and Yunho before exiting, closing the door behind him on his way out.
“C’mere, baby,” Yunho says, uncertain, like he isn’t sure if you will or not. But you do. You always will. You push yourself up off the floor, walking cautiously towards Yunho. He pulls you in by the hand the rest of the way as soon as you’re in reach and you automatically hug him around the middle, pressing your hands into his back.
“Were you scared, baby?” He whispers after a few moments, rubbing your back.
You nod against his chest, honest. Yunho hugs you tighter.
“Are you scared of me…?”
You don’t reply for a moment.
Are you? Or are you only scared of what he’s capable of? Isn’t that the same thing? You’re not sure – the lines are immeasurably blurred.
“No, Daddy…” Less honest.
Yunho gently pushes you back a little to look down at you properly, holding your face with both hands. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him as he searches your eyes for something unknown. There’s a slight coppery scent that wafts faintly past your nose.
“You love me?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek.
“Yes, Da–”
“Say it properly,” he cuts in, and although he omits a ‘please’ from his directive, it’s still said with a twinge of desperation. Like he needs to hear it and hear it now.
“I love you, Daddy.” The words turn sour on your tongue again. You still mean them, but they’re bitter to say. His eyes flutter shut, breathing in your words as much as he can.
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Again.”
You repeat yourself, the taste in your mouth no sweeter than before. His breaths are erratic, like he’s getting unsettled or worked up. He looks up to the ceiling for a few moments, and you take the initiative to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his neck. Anything to drive your words home. Make him believe it. Make yourself believe it again.
Yunho exhales shakily, his hands threading through your hair, cradling the sides and back of your head while focusing on the feeling of your lips on his skin.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, “aren’t you, baby?”
It’s a rhetorical question, really. He’s not asking it for reassurance, he already knows you are. He just wants to hear you say it, to validate him. Justification.
You wet your dry lips before answering, “Yes, Daddy… I’m yours.”
Your mind wanders as he kisses you properly… you think of Mingi.
Was he okay? Were you part of the reason he got in trouble? Your chest aches and you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to block out the pain by focusing on kissing Yunho back. But your ears still ring from the screams, and the coppery scent hits your nose again when Yunho strokes your cheek with his thumb.
He pulls away just enough to whisper a single word against your lips, “Mine.”
His.
It’s not said with any edge or venom, just simple truth. Like he was just stating an everyday fact of life: the sky is blue, the earth is round, and you belong to him. You’re his doll.
The two of you stay like that for a few more quiet moments, breathing together until he kisses you one more time and releases you. You lower yourself back down, head a little light from tilting it up for so long. You notice he still looks… off. Like something was truly bothering him. His eyes are unfocused, far away. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, and you’re not quite sure how to feel other than anxious. By the looks of it, he’s not sure how to feel about whatever was on his mind either.
Yunho turns back to the nightstand and pulls the drawer open just enough to take something out. Still a little dazed, you try to look around him to see what it is.
It’s all too obvious what he grabbed when you see him wrap it around his hand and sit on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes once again.
His rosary.
Fear chills you to the bone.
What has he done?
He rarely takes it out – only after he does something truly heinous. It had made an appearance after he had put the fire on the bed out and tended to your minor burns. He had muttered solemn prayers to it when he carried you back to bed after he made you kneel for six hours. You sink down next to him, eyes glued to the black-beaded rosary that drapes and loops between his fingers so sinfully. The Virgin Mary stares back at you as he recites his prayers under his breath.
“...and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”
His hands shake. You rest your head on his shoulder, maybe to comfort him, but you were already weary and ready to go back to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up from this nightmare afterwards.
You wait for him to finish his recitations, absolving himself of his sins and taking deep, heavy breaths before placing the rosary back into the drawer with care. Two of his red-stained fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and he furrows his eyebrows. You shift, not knowing if you should say something to him.
Eventually, his hand falls back to his lap and he takes one more deep, cleansing breath.
“I’ve been thinking of a reward for you, baby,”
It’s so out of the blue that for a second you don’t even know what he’s talking about.
Reward? For what?
Oh. Right.
The corners of your mouth lift as much as they can to feign excitement. Though you’re not exactly in the mood to talk about it, your curiosity gets the better of you. It’s rare that you’re ever rewarded. You lift your head from his shoulder and he turns to look at you.
“Really?” You ask.
So cute, he thinks, and he can’t help but grin at your innocence.
“Yeah,” he says, shifting so he’s laying down on the bed, gently pulling you down next to him. You stare at his crimson-tinted hands again. “Would you like to go?”
You blink.
‘Go’?
Go where?
“What?” You ask, positive your mind was playing tricks on you, and ready to blame that small voice in the back of your head for making you think you heard him say that. But he’s dead serious. He doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t look at you. His whole demeanor switches on a dime.
Your heart drops.
“But–” your voice breaks, “but I– you– am I not…” you know how pathetic you must sound to him right now, and it only kills you more. God, the day had just begun and you were already being sent on an exhaustive, emotional rollercoaster. Your head pounded, temples hammering at your skull the more your brain overloaded itself with questions and confused thoughts.
Similar thoughts to the ones you had from when he had ‘taken your virginity’ come racing back:
You want to go home.
You want to stay with him.
How is Mingi?
He’s so beautiful. Stay.
He’s giving you a choice. He loves you.
Maybe he wants to get rid of you, find someone better.
The last one sticks to you like caramel against your teeth. Were you really past beyond all hope of ever being perfect for him? But… you thought you had done so well recently. Besides the small correction at dinner last night, you hadn’t had one in quite a while. You push yourself up, looking at him with wide eyes, tears finally coming. He turns blurry as they fall.
“You don’t… want me anymore?” Your bottom lip quivers. Instead of immediately rectifying your words, he stays quiet. Watching.
Shock slowly shifts into quiet anger. You’d let him puppet your body with his friends without complaint, helped him get anything he wanted out of said friends, gave him everything left of you that there was to give. He had everything. And that wasn’t enough?
You had stayed quiet in here while he tortured Mingi.
That wasn’t perfect for him?
Your tears become angry, staining your cheeks in salty frustration. He still just watches you. Why was he asking you this? You can’t understand it at all. But something tells you to look outside of what you may or may not have done. Were you sure this had anything to do with you at all? You sniffle, looking down at the sheets.
Not everything is about you.
Shouldn’t you know that one by now? How could you blame him without any context? How were you even sure he meant that he wanted to get rid of you? You put words in his mouth. He never said you weren’t perfect, or that he wanted you to leave. He simply asked a question. Shame creeps into your heart, stopping the tears altogether. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, knowing how pitiful and overdramatic you must look right now.
Stop crying, you tell yourself firmly.
You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to collect yourself again. Daring to look up, you see he’s still watching you closely.
“I don’t wanna go… I– I belong h-here with you…” your voice is watery, and the last part you say rather uncertainly as you search his face for validation, hoping he thinks the same.
His gaze softens.
There’s nowhere for you to go. You can’t survive without him telling you how to.
He pulls you back down, wrapping you up in his arms, kissing the top of your head, “I know, baby, I know…” he whispers, “such a good girl for me… Daddy won’t let you go, I promise.”
Tears pour out of you again, this time in relief. He wasn’t throwing you away. It was a test, and you passed beautifully. Perfectly. Yunho shushes you, caressing your arm, lulling you back under his spell with practiced ease. It was just a test.
“My poor baby’s been through so much, huh?” He pouts. You cry louder against him, nodding as your mind recaps everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. There’s almost too much for your overwhelmed brain to process.
You interlock your hand in his, bringing it up to press it against your mouth. A strong coppery smell stings your nostrils, and you taste it on your lips. Up close, you suddenly remember what he’s done. Almost the very instant you pause, staring at his hands, he gets out of bed, hurrying into the bathroom to wash them.
You lick your bottom lip and involuntarily shudder at the taste. Rain begins to patter down the window, the thunder inching closer and closer to the city. He dries his hands off with a handtowel, scrubbing his skin thoroughly. The reminder of what he’s done is caked into the lines of his palm, it collects under his fingernails, turning them a reddish-brown color. He crumples the towel in one of his hands, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror.
What Mingi had said had really gotten to him.
To distract himself, he pulls off his hoodie, throwing it in the laundry basket, which is then followed by his shirt underneath, and his pants. You curl into the sheets, anxiously biting your thumbnail. The shower turns on and you zone out with the combined white noise of the rain mixing with it. There were no sounds from the guestroom anymore. At least none that you could hear. You turn onto your other side, watching the rain tap against the window, imagining all the people below scurrying underneath umbrellas and ducking into shops and restaurants.
In the relative silence, it takes everything in you to try and think of anything besides the sight of Mingi’s blood on his hands.
The thunder gets louder, booming nearly overhead now. With the lights off, the entire apartment turns a blueish gray. Maybe he’d let you pick a movie for the two of you to watch, even though you knew you’d fall asleep less than halfway through. Yunho might like it if you got out the little flameless candles – the two of you both liked to do so whenever it stormed like this – you were still too scared to even see a lighter, let alone real fire, so he bought a pack of the fake ones.
That was something you really appreciated.
You turn back, reaching over to pull the drawer open just enough to fit your hand in. You dig around blindly for a moment, the side of your face still smushed into a pillow. You keep touching his rosary. The water from the shower shuts off.
Propping yourself up on your elbow while half-asleep proves to be a herculean task, but you manage. Exhausted and a tad bit frustrated you can’t find the candles as quick as you had hoped, you look inside the drawer.
Ah, there was one in the corner. You fish it out and place it on top of the nightstand near where his laptop rests, the first of your collection. This time when you reach in, searching the other side of the drawer, your hand bumps into something that feels like a handle. The drawer is still only open enough for you to reach in, your wrist blocking you from seeing what you were touching. You push your hand further in, suddenly feeling a sharp pain on your finger. Quickly, you take your hand out, bringing it up to your face so you can see what happened and why it was stinging. A small cut oozes bright red blood, and you stare at it in awe for a second. What was so sharp in the drawer that it had cut you this badly?
Yunho emerges from the bathroom, shirtless and in a new pair of sweatpants, towel drying his hair. He freezes when he sees you wince in pain, applying pressure to one of your fingers.
“Baby?” He asks in a worried tone. His eyes assess everything they can see. You had moved closer to the edge of the bed, on his side, the rain outside was heavier. But the biggest anomaly is that the drawer is open again, and that’s all the only clue he needs. He drops the towel on the bathroom counter and rushes to shut the drawer again.
“What were you doing?” His tone is sharp, but his expression is still worried. You notice how he hesitates for a split second when he sees you flinch at his voice. He crouches down in front of you, gingerly taking your hand to inspect how bad you were cut.
“I just…” you look at the lone candle on the nightstand, and he follows your gaze. He softens at once. “I wanted to…”
Yunho kisses the back of your hand, “I know, baby. It’s okay… you were just trying to do something nice for us, weren’t you?”
You nod, feeling a slight tickle on your finger as blood lazily drips down it.
“Does it hurt?”
Again, you nod, wincing as the cut begins to throb. He hums.
“Keep pressure on it, I’ll go get you a bandaid.”
He gives your hand back to you and walks back into the bathroom. You watch the toned muscles in his back and shoulders as he moves, lifting a hand to scratch the nape of his neck. You rest your wrist flat against the bed, careful to not get blood on the sheets as your hand dangles off the edge of the mattress. With your non-injured hand you take the candle from the nightstand and manage to turn it on single-handedly. You admire the little plastic dancing flame, flickering like it was real, but not real enough to hurt you. Your skin tingles where you had been burned months ago. Not severely enough to need medical attention, but just enough to never even think of escaping ever again. The pink, irritated marks on your legs a constant reminder of how stupid you were.
Yunho is by your side again shortly, wrapping your injury with a gentle, caring touch. He secures the bandaid tight enough to keep pressure on the cut, but not enough to restrict blood flow. Perfect. He shakes his head a little when you thank him, tossing the wrapper into the wastebasket near his bed.
“What’s so sharp in there?” You ask, looking towards the drawer.
Yunho kisses your bandaid-covered finger, “Nothing you need to worry about.”
You scoot over to make room for him and he resumes his earlier position, with you resting against his side. He twists a little, opening the drawer again and picking out the rest of the tea-light candles, adding to your little collection. After lighting all six of them, he lifts his laptop up and onto his lap.
“Should we watch something, baby?”
You nod, with the rest of your waning energy. You close your eyes as he opens the screen, the blinding bright lights a bit too much. Yunho turns the brightness down quickly, kissing your forehead in lieu of an apology.
“You pick, Daddy,” You mumble, sleep already beginning to pull you under.
“Sleepy?” He whispers, petting your hair.
“Mhmm…”
“Mmm,” he hums back, “you’ve been working so hard for me, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” your voice dangerously close to trailing off.
Yunho clicks around on his laptop, opening Netflix, “Just go to sleep, baby. I’ll watch a drama. Okay?”
You nod, snuggling closer to his chest, “Okay, Daddy,” you whisper, “thank you…”
Making sure to turn the volume down before he clicks play on the drama he wants to watch, he looks down at you one more time. He wants to hear you say it unprompted again. He needs to hear you say it unprompted again, to prove that bastard in the other room wrong. The drama flicks from scene to scene, but he barely pays any attention to it. It’s just background noise for the both of you. He finds himself wondering if Yeosang left, or if he’s with Mingi.
Checking to make sure you were fast asleep, he opens up the live feed of the cameras.
His anger reignites for a moment when he sees that neither of them are in the bedroom. He had specifically told Mingi to stay there until he came back. Quickly, he switches over to look at the guestroom bathroom cameras and finds them there. Fine, that’s fine.
Instead of his usual superiority he felt watching his effect on them without them knowing, he found nothing. It feels empty watching Yeosang carefully clean Mingi’s arm with saline solution. He even winces when Mingi jerks his arm back, his shoulders hunching as he doubles over in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he hears Yeosang say over and over again, rinsing out the blood stained towel in the sink. The water in it turns a pale red.
You drape an arm over his torso, burying your face into his body. He’s familiar to you even in sleep. Wasn’t it a scientific thing that when you’re comfortable or feel safe with someone you tend to fall asleep easily when around them? Yunho halts all movement, watching you shift a little to make yourself more comfortable, only daring to move again after you sigh and stay still for a couple minutes. He huffs in annoyance, thinking back to almost an hour ago. He’s rather irritated with himself for letting Mingi get under his skin like this.
It’ll pass, whatever this feeling was. He’s sure of it. It’s a fresh wound that he will forget over time. He’s justified. He’s got everyone exactly where he wants them. He’s got you. There was nothing to worry about. It’ll pass, surely.
Yunho watches you sleep for a while, lost in thought. You really were perfect for him. You didn’t even flinch away from him or treat him like a monster even though he knows you heard him ‘correcting’ Mingi.
The real reward would have to reflect your bravery, your devotion to him.
He continues to watch Yeosang and Mingi like it was a reality TV show. There’s a slight tingle in the back of his throat, one of excitement he always gets while watching without them knowing. It was a thrill, a rush of power. An idea strikes him, coincidentally given the current weather, like lightning. He can barely contain himself, that same rush now washing over him in strong waves as he takes his phone out.
Once done with his latest scheme, he settles back further against the pillows. He presses one more soft kiss to your forehead, and sighs as he relaxes his body and closes his eyes. He’s unable to sleep, but just rests in his contentment instead, keeping the laptop screen open on his lap
He’s peaceful amidst the chaos he’s created.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Once Yeosang had mustered up the courage to walk into the guestroom, all he wanted to do was run back out. Slam the door, leave the apartment and never return. He had never seen something like this in real life before, and the sight of it went straight to his stomach. Covering his mouth with his hand, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and block the visual out, trying to keep himself from being sick.
“Oh god–” He chokes, forcing his eyes open again and rushing to his friend’s side.
Mingi was pale. The blood-stained sheets around him outlined his body on one side in a deep red hue. All Yeosang knew to do was to apply pressure on the most serious looking wound – in this case, it was the mess of blood and split skin on his forearm. Some small parts of the skin look like it had been ripped up like old floorboards, splintering in different directions. His nose was bleeding pretty badly but didn’t look out of place, which only relieved Yeosang a miniscule amount. Mingi was inhaling short, quick breaths like the long, deeper ones pained him.
“Yeosang,” Mingi whispers, coughing specks of blood off to the side, “You okay…?” his body shakes slightly.
The heaviness of his eyelids begins to weigh too much for his fading energy.
“Nonono, Min–! Stay awake, please. Keep your eyes on me,” he begs, voice cracking.
The edges of Mingi’s vision turn black, creeping further and further inwards until he wonders if he’s watching himself go blind. If so, it’s like falling asleep with your eyes open. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, hoping that’ll drive the black spots away, and it does to some degree, Yeosang’s panicked face coming back into focus. Dizziness makes his head spin.
Yeosang looks towards the bathroom, wanting to run in and grab something to tie around Mingi’s arm. His mind races with everything he could possibly do to help: get towels to clean the blood, untie him from the headboard, stop the bleeding, assess how serious that bruising on his neck is, find out where else he is injured. His body wants to do everything at once, and as a result, keeps him stuck rooted to the spot, not knowing where to start.
So he leaves it up to Mingi to tell him what he needs most, “What can I do? Tell me what to do, what do you need?”
Mingi coughs again, wincing.
“Need you to… never… take Yunho’s knife,” He manages a short, dry laugh, hissing through his teeth at the pain in his ribs. A violent flash of memory accompanies the pain as he remembers how Yunho had dug his knee into his ribs after he had said something rather unwise in his situation.
Yeosang exhales, almost like a laugh – at least Mingi’s cracking jokes. He’s okay. He has to be.
Making quick work of it, he unties his wrist, noticing how deep the rope had cut into his skin, the pattern of it printed onto him. He certainly didn’t tie him this tight – Yunho must’ve redone it. Mingi cautiously lowers his arm down, his shoulder finally breathing again.
He’s only gone for a couple seconds, but it feels like days before he comes back with two small spare towels from the bathroom closet. Carefully, knowing how tender Mingi’s arm must be, he loops one around his bicep, tying it tight to help to stop the amount of blood flow. The other he had run under lukewarm water to try and clean his arm.
“Wanna sleep,” Mingi whispers, a few tears escaping from his closed eyes, “it hurts…”
“I know, but you can’t, you gotta stay awake for me. Okay? Min?”
Mingi nods, a miniscule action almost too small to notice. His eyes flutter open again. Yeosang bites his lip as he dabs at the strange forearm wound. It didn’t look like he had been stabbed there, there would’ve been more blood for sure, and these cuts didn’t look too deep to him. In fact, the only reason he thinks he’s bleeding so much is because Yunho may have nicked a vein. In… several places. His stomach churns again.
He so badly wants to ask what happened, what Yunho did to him, but decides that he will tell him when he’s ready, and not so much worse for wear. Gradually, the towel is able to soak up most of the blood, and he dabs around the wound once more.
“It’s not bad,” Yeosang tries to say in an upbeat tone, but it just comes out flat, “see? You probably don’t need stitches.”
But Mingi doesn’t even try to look at it. He looks to the other side, averting his eyes entirely. The reminder, the memory, all of it floods back to him. His arm stings so bad it starts to throb. The whole forearm feels exposed to the air.
Yeosang balls up the towel and holds it in his lap, not thinking about staining his borrowed sweatpants at the moment.
“Min?” He calls, but Mingi doesn’t respond, squeezing his eyes shut tight again, trying to block something out. Yeosang looks back to his arm to check if it’s still bleeding even with the makeshift tourniquet.
And that’s when he sees it.
What had been carved into Mingi’s skin.
He stands up abruptly, mouth agape. His eyes simultaneously avoid looking at it and solely zero in on it. His mouth runs dry. He gags and he has to turn away. The screams he heard all made sense – not all of them were because of pain, but of anguish and shame of what had been permanently marked into him forever.
“Christ…” he hisses under his breath, anxiety making his whole body shake. The image of jagged cuts and bloody skin sears itself irreversibly into his memory.
Mingi sniffs, dry blood caking around his upper lip. Almost cinematically, the thunder rumbles outside, the rain beginning to cascade down onto the city.
“Don’t forget that’s what you are. No better than me.”
“How is she?” he rasps, changing the topic abruptly, wanting to talk about anything else other than that. Anything to chase Yunho’s voice out of his head. “You saw her, right?” He sniffs again.
Yeosang blinks a couple times after picking up his cue, trying to get his thoughts together again before answering, “Y-yeah, I did. I didn’t–”
‘Wouldn’t’, more like.
“I know you didn’t.” Mingi says, already knowing what he was going to insinuate.
The two of them fall silent for a moment or two, letting the sound of rain fill the room instead.
“She’s…” Yeosang struggles to figure out how to word it, “she was very upset, but um, you know… well he’s in there with her now.”
Mingi doesn’t reply. There’s not much he can say in response to that information. Yeosang clears his throat, and busies himself by leaning forward slightly to check the bruising on Mingi’s neck. Little misshapen marks that looked as though someone had held him by the neck hard for a long time. Yeosang isn’t sure what was worse: hearing it happening or seeing the aftermath.
Tentatively, he traces his fingertips along the reddened bruises, and Mingi doesn’t flinch away. Okay, he files that away for later, not too bad.
He hears Mingi mumble something, his eyes blinking heavily like he’s sleepy again.
“What?” Yeosang asks, leaning down to him a little closer. He repeats whatever it was he was trying to say, but not much louder.
“I can’t hear you, Min,” Yeosang says innocently.
He doesn’t mean to trigger Mingi’s memory.
Yunho had sung those exact words with one of his hands clamped down onto Mingi’s mouth, mocking him as his cries and shouts were muffled beneath it.
“I can’t hear you, Min~”
The rope burns his skin and keeps him from fighting back or pushing the knife away from him. He screams louder.
Unbearable pain seared his skin. Yunho took his time with it, making sure every letter was legible. He had hummed while he worked, like he was painting on a canvas.
The word throbbed with each beat of his frantic heart, every pulse spilling more blood. A brand, a title he never asked for, forced into him and carved out as truth. Yunho swiped away blood as he wrote, like a tattoo artist wiping away extra ink. Nonchalant.
Though it causes him excruciating pain in his ribs, Mingi jolts, his eyes opening like he’s suddenly wide awake. This time, his voice is loud and clear as he cries, “No, no, stop–! No–”
Yeosang is quick to pull away, giving him space to see that it’s only him.
“Mingi! Mingi it’s me, it’s Yeosang, you’re with me!”
But he doesn’t hear him, reliving everything at once. He can feel Yunho’s breath, the pain in his arm and his ribs, he can’t breathe. He can’t move. Yet he kicks with all his might to get Yeosang away from him, trying to defend himself even though he’s broken. He scrambles to sit up, to press against the headboard to get as far away from the memory of Yunho as possible.
“Stop!” Mingi sobs, “Please, not again–”
Yeosang doesn’t realize he’s crying again until he feels his tears drip down his throat. He has to move onto the floor to avoid being kicked, kneeling by the bedside instead.
“Min,” his voice breaks, “Min, I’m here.”
But you left him, a sinister voice in the back of his head says. He swallows thickly.
I came back… I’m helping him, he tries to argue with himself, but the new voice persists.
You. Left. Him.
Mingi clutches his sides, protecting himself from something unseen and Yeosang forces himself to have his inner dilemma later. He moves up closer to – very cautiously – cradle the back of Mingi’s head in his hand, shushing him quietly and reassuring him that Yunho isn’t in the room anymore. It takes a lot of convincing, and Yeosang has to physically make Mingi look at him, but eventually he calms down again, though still on high alert.
“It’s me,” Yeosang breathes, “you’re with me.”
Through tears, Mingi nods, showing that he understands that now, the memory of his most recent trauma finally beginning to release him from its clutches.
“I know…” He whispers, shivering from fatigue and distress.
Yeosang’s eyes drift back to the freshly engraved arm. It had started to bleed a little again, the makeshift tourniquet becoming loose with Mingi’s thrashing. He must’ve cut into the veins. Mingi winces as he tries to turn onto his side, immediately bailing from that idea.
“Lemme see,” Yeosang says, standing up again. Mingi lays his arms down by his sides, trying to keep his breaths shallow.
As carefully as possible, Yeosang lifts the hem of Mingi’s shirt up to his chest. From what he could see in the gray, rainy light coming in from the window, there was a large discolored bruise blooming across his ribs on his left side.
Mingi closes his eyes again, “Are any broken?”
“I– I don’t know, I can’t tell just by looking,” Yeosang says, having never needed to visually assess injuries like this before. He wants to ask what exactly Yunho did so badly, piece together what he heard then with what he’s seeing now. Make something make sense. He lowers his shirt back down, taking a step back and looking over his shoulder towards the door.
“I’m gonna go get you some ice and some water, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”
You’re leaving him alone again, that same voice hisses. He doesn’t wait for Mingi to reply or not reply, he just turns on his heel and heads for the kitchen, only hoping that there will be something in the freezer that could be of use.
Mingi stares up at the ceiling. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until Yeosang said something about getting him water. His throat burns even when he moves, but that’s also probably from the bruises there as well. Yeosang said you were upset… Mingi had been trying to ask if she said anything to him before he panicked. He shouldn’t even be thinking of you in the first place, Yunho had been clear about that. He knew he wasn’t going to be allowed to see you for at least a week, or however long until Yunho bestows his ‘privileges’ back to him. But still, he couldn’t help it. You must have heard him. He wonders if Yunho explained it all away, charmed his way back into your heart and mind. Was it easy? His heartbeat is loud in his ears.
He doesn’t hear Yeosang coming back into the room, only reacting to him at the feeling of something cold pressing against his side with a small, “Oh–”
“Keep it on there for a while,” Yeosang says, guiding one of Mingi’s hands to hold the ice pack he had found in place. He pauses a moment. Then lifts his hand up to sandwich the blanket in between him and the ice pack so his hand wouldn’t get too cold holding it.
In his other hand, Yeosang extends a glass of water towards Mingi, who gladly accepts it. He drinks all of it in one go, able to feel it travel down his chest and into his empty stomach. It does little to fully cure his dry throat, but for now he’s satiated and feeling a little better than before. If his rib allows him to walk properly, maybe he can wash his face later. The thought is nice.
Less sleepy, Mingi still chooses to close his eyes, concentrating on anything other than the neverending nor lessening sharp pains. But the memory of what’s been done and said to him flash by his mind’s eye one by one, like a pitcher throwing a ball past him, in jumbled unchronological order.
The hit to his ribs. Yunho lifting him up by the throat. The cruel words spat at him. The burn of the rope.
“Just think, if this is what I’d do to you, imagine what I’d do to her.”
The ceiling comes back into view. It’s safer if he keeps his eyes open, he decides. At least for now.
Yeosang collapses onto the end of the bed, pressing his hands into the mattress. He feels like he has lived at least a hundred different lives in the past twenty-four hours, and the day was still young. His lungs ache from holding his breath so long, but finally he lets all the air out in one heavy exhale.
He listens to the thunder outside, grateful for it, grateful for anything to focus on that wasn’t the man laying nearly broken beside him. The rain pours and drowns the apartment building, dimming the room more and more with each roll of thunder. Ominous dark gray clouds crowd the sky, signaling that the worst was yet to come. The wind howls, rattling the windowpanes as it passes by like a malevolent spirit.
Neither of them speak for twenty minutes.
When Mingi finally moves, he does so fragilely. He lifts the ice pack from his ribs and tries to push himself up. Yeosang jolts forward instantly to help, but Mingi waves him off, jaw tight. Still, the motion drags pain through him, and Yeosang can see it in the way his hands tremble, the shallow breaths. Mingi’s body remembers before his mind lets it resurface. He’s painfully aware of every single little thing touching him at all times. He knows exactly where Yeosang is in the room even with his eyes shut. It’s exhausting, but he cannot relax. Not when the threat, the man who did this to him, is still in the same apartment.
“Mingi,” Yeosang says softly, trying not to startle him, “don’t push yourself. You need to rest.”
Mingi just shakes his head, though the motion is stiff. He shifts his weight, trying a different approach – one that doesn’t involve any uncomfortable strain on his left side whatsoever. Yeosang watches how the wound on his arm stretches with the movement, the carving already starting to drool blood again.
“Dammit, Yeosang, stop looking at me like that.” Mingi lectures, but his heart isn’t truly in it. He just can’t handle being pitied – at least that’s what he tells himself. In his heart, he knows he doesn’t deserve to be pitied at all. He made his bed, and he suffered within it. It was just something he had to live with, something to figure out later.
Eventually he would have to come face to face with the word in his arm, but it didn’t have to be right now, right? He doesn’t have to look to see what it says. He knows.
Yeosang’s face falls a little, trying to not take his outburst personally.
Mingi, immediately, is eaten up with guilt, “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that–”
“No,” Yeosang shakes his head, waving him off this time, “no, it’s okay… I left you here.”
“I brought you here…” Mingi counters.
Both of them hang their heads.
So there they are. Two friends in the same boat who have each indirectly hurt the other, facing their demons together. Each of their guilty consciences finally out in the open, on display for examination. The world outside cries for both of them.
Yeosang fidgets with the duvet. Words lodge themselves in his throat, demanding to be vocalized. Everything in him tells him to say them, but for some reason he can’t get his vocal chords to make a sound. He clears his throat, shifting on the bed.
“I deserve everything that’s happened,” Mingi says, his voice barely audible above the wind and rain, “all of it.”
Yeosang’s expression turns serious, “Mingi, you’re not what he labelled you,” he says, his voice steady and firm, cutting through the thunder outside, “you’re not.”
Both of their gazes drift to the engravement, still bright red and irritated against paling skin.
In Mingi’s head, Yunho’s voice lingers with the sight of it, cruel and impossible to scrub away or cover up.
“Wonder how you’re gonna explain that to the stylists.” His tone had wavered, bordering on unhinged like he was trying to hold himself back from laughing.
Mingi’s body shudders under the weight of the memory, his gaze shifting back, unfocused, towards the ceiling. He blinks rapidly as he snaps back to the present.
“I am…” he says, repulsed, “and I have to live with it. I’m no better than him,”
“You didn’t know,” Yeosang tries to point out, but Mingi flares up.
“I knew who she really was before I–” he pauses, unable to say it out loud. Even the rain outside lets up for a moment, giving him space to speak, “...he admitted it to me before.”
Yeosang blinks. “Before what?”
Mingi huffs, exasperated and wishing he didn’t even bring it up.
“Before he– before the first time I had sex with her…” He corrects himself halfway through, putting the blame solely on himself.
The wind whistles by, carrying his words on its back. Yeosang presses a hand to his forehead, utterly disconcerted at how his reality looks to him now. Yesterday he was worried about Mingi and Yunho’s odd behavior, thinking about the comeback they’re preparing for late November, trying to schedule a time where he could go back home to visit his parents sometime before the end of the year. Something like this never even crossed his mind, and why would it? How could he ever have predicted he would be patching up his good friend from damage done by his other good friend, and hearing all of these overwhelming admissions in such a short period of time? He tugs at the collar of his shirt, suddenly too tight against his throat.
He wonders…if he knew before, could Yunho have persuaded him too? He was alarmingly convincing – intimidating more like – and a master manipulator. All three of them had fallen under his thumb in no time at all, and he had used you as live bait in order to achieve it.
A shiny distraction. A beautiful lie.
Thinking through it from every angle, he can ascertain something clearly: there’s just no real reason to judge Mingi whatsoever – not when he himself essentially did the same thing but only found out after. It wouldn’t have mattered either way if he knew before or not – Yunho would’ve gotten the three of them to do whatever he wanted anyway. And he knows Mingi would have never willingly done that on his own. It had to be because of Yunho’s influence.
Yeosang lowers his hand from his forehead and looks at him. Mingi is still avoiding his gaze, eyes fixed on nothing, jaw tight, as though waiting for Yeosang to condemn him. To leave him alone again, for good this time. He fears he’ll never speak to him again. It would be a justified decision.
But instead, Yeosang just shakes his head. “You’re not him, Min. Don’t… don’t let this define you. You know who you really are.”
“Do I?” Mingi half-laughs, “he’s taken so much of me away. I’ve done things I never would have...” he trails off, reliving the past few weeks now as well.
Thunder booms far off in the distance. Mingi bites down hard on his lip, trying to suppress his emotions, but Yeosang sees them all. He watches and identifies each one. He moves closer to his friend, placing a grounding hand on his knee.
“Keep who you are, no matter how little of you is left,” he says, somewhat sternly. “You are better than him. You would’ve never done any of this had you not been forced to. We all know that. And, you were able to stand up to him, I heard it.”
“Does it matter?” Mingi asks hoarsely, “Look where standing up for myself got me. He can force me to do anything he wants, and if I don’t do it, I’ll just end up here again.”
“It matters that you don’t let him win. You can’t let her see that.” Yeosang says.
Mingi finally looks over at him, “What do you mean?”
“If all she sees is him winning – bending everyone around him to his will, getting away with everything – and you give in too, then you’re just more proof to her that he really is untouchable.”
Yeosang reties the improvised towel tourniquet around his arm, meeting Mingi’s eyes with an intensity that pins him in place, “But if you keep your head up, even after all this… you show her something he can’t control. You remind her, and the group for that matter, that Yunho doesn’t always win. And I think that matters a great deal. That’s what I mean.”
“But… why me?” Mingi quietly asks, “She has all of us now – or she will once the other three get roped in.”
Yeosang clears his throat, looking over toward the darkened corner of the room where one of Yunho’s cameras was always watching, as subtly as possible out of the corner of his eye. He keeps his voice low.
“Min, you’ve been around her the most besides Yunho so far. And she was his good little robot until she heard you in pain. I watched that facade completely slip away right in front of me. She wasn’t Little Miss Perfect, or whatever he’s trying to brainwash her into being. Those were real emotions from her. For you.”
Mingi exhales, pulse stuttering in his veins. He hadn’t wanted to put a name to it, afraid of what it might mean, and unsure if any of it was even real to begin with.
“Yeosang,” he says, his voice hoarse and uncertain, “do you think it’s… genuine? Or just our way of trying to cope with it? I mean, how do I know if it’s just my brain protecting me and making me think there’s something when there’s not, just so I feel better about what I’ve done?”
Yeosang doesn’t answer right away, giving himself some time to seriously think about it. It was something he hadn’t considered, but hearing it made total sense. Though, he couldn’t be sure if it was real, or if it was what Mingi was describing: a defense mechanism. A rationalization to keep him from going insane. Something to anchor him. It was understandable – Yeosang thinks that if Yunho ever forced him to touch you like that again, he’d probably pretend it was completely consensual for his own mental stability as well. But his heart doesn’t flutter at the sight of you, he doesn’t soften, and he doesn’t look at you the same way Mingi does.
At least not yet. Mingi’s been here longer, had more time to delude himself into this pattern of thinking, if that was truly the case here. Maybe that comes with time.
Still… he keeps thinking of your reaction in Yunho’s bedroom, and how he physically had to hold you back from trying to run to Mingi. You had screamed as though you were the one being hurt, cut so deep and too shocked to even cry.
Surely, there must be some truth in that.
“I think some things can survive even him,” he says at last, “and you’ll have to decide for yourselves what’s real. But I know what I saw, and whatever that was, that wasn’t a lie.”
Mingi swallows hard, torn between the weight of hope and the possibility that you’re both just kidding yourselves. The thought that anything between them might exist outside of Yunho’s control is terrifying… and maybe, just maybe, the only thing keeping his head above water.
He had to hand it to Yeosang: he had a way with words himself. And, he was impressed with how observant he was, picking up so much just by watching how you two interacted and hearing how you talked about each other.
“You got all of that just by watching us interact once?”
Yeosang shrugs, “She’s just like you. You’re both too damn obvious with your emotions. It wasn’t exactly hard to piece the two of you together. You’re lucky Yunho’s too delusional to notice that the way she looks at you is different from the way she looks at him.”
Dumbfounded, Mingi just stares at him in surprise.
Checking on his arm once more, Yeosang nods toward the bathroom, “Come on, it’s bleeding again. Let’s see if I can’t clean it properly.”
Wordlessly, perhaps still stunned at his words, he lets Yeosang tuck an arm under his back and help him up without bending as much as he would’ve needed to had he tried to get up by himself. Step by step, they cross the room together, thunder echoing above them. And though the word carved into his arm stings something awful, and his ribs protest with every step, he can’t help but feel slightly relieved – if he can even call it that. He holds onto Yeosang’s shirt a little tighter, hoping he can convey how much he appreciates him through such a small action.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Hongjoong hears Seonghwa’s horrified scream while in the bathroom. He had dragged himself back to Seonghwa’s dorm, avoiding San and his questions for the time being, electing to shower, wash his face, and have a quiet moment to think before he broke the news to him and the others. He had let Seonghwa shower first, as it was his room and dorm. However, as exhausted as he was, he ended up falling asleep on the couch out in the living room while he waited. Seonghwa didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Only a couple hours later, Hongjoong woke up in a slightly uncomfortable half-seated, half-slumped position on the couch, and shuffled into the bathroom to wash up. As he had gotten undressed, he noticed he still had Yeosang’s phone in his pocket. He places it right next to his on the counter, sighing, wondering when he’ll be able to go over to his dorm to give it back to him. He wonders what time he got back, and why Yeosang stayed longer than him and Seonghwa had.
In the shower, his hands were a little forceful, scrubbing every inch of his skin like that would wash off last night’s events. He was on autopilot as he washed his face and redressed, his mind somehow blank and racing at the same time. The expression he wore was flat, lost in deep thought. His eyes barely moved, focused on the floor most of the time. In fact, it was when he had just begun to look up, trying to face himself in the mirror that he heard him. Immediately, the door swings open, hitting the stopper with a loud bang! and Hongjoong rushes out to see what was wrong.
“God–!” Seonghwa cries, hunched over his desk in his room, his phone turned over on his lap, hiding whatever was on the screen.
“What? What is it?” Hongjoong frantically asks, standing only a foot away from Seonghwa, wanting to be close to him and also give him his space.
Seonghwa stands, letting his phone clatter to the floor, and he lifts his hands up like he just got caught doing something illegal. His face is white. His breathing is erratic.
“It’s Mingi…” he manages to say in a meek, shocked voice.
There’s the tell-tale sound of someone running towards the room, and the door bursts open to reveal San, his hair still messy from sleeping.
“What’s going on?!” He looks between the two of them. Seonghwa opens his mouth to answer, but shuts it quickly, instead, pushing past both of them to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
“Hongjoong?” San steps forward, anxiety gripping his heart.
But Hongjoong is already crouching down and reaching for Seonghwa’s phone with a trembling hand. There are about ten million things he’d rather do than see what was on the phone screen, but he has to look. He has to know what had made Seonghwa react that viscerally. Once in his hand, Hongjoong angles it away from San’s line of sight, making sure he was the only one able to see it. He steels himself to the best of his ability, revealing it bit by bit. But no amount of practiced stoicism could hide the horror that distorts his face at the sight on the phone.
San watches his reactions the whole time, his stomach tying itself in knots.
Hongjoong makes a choked sound, similar to a wounded animal, quickly covering his mouth with the back of his hand and dropping to his knees. San drops to the floor with him, shaking his shoulder like he’s trying to shake some answers out of him.
“Joong,” San urges, eyes pleading, “what is it, what’s on the phone?”
He’s only able to shake his head, not wanting him to see. But he can’t stop the other two from looking. In the group chat, he sees their little icons pop up at the bottom of the screen and his heart sinks. They probably don’t even fully understand what they’re looking at, what any of this means for them. He can hear his phone blowing up from where he left it in the bathroom, along with muffled sounds of Seonghwa retching. That must be them, with the same questions as San.
Just to buy himself some time, and to give San just one more minute of blissful ignorance, he lowers his shaking hand from his mouth, “Go get your phone. Do not open it until you come back. Understand?”
San swallows hard, having never heard Hongjoong’s voice sound so thin before, but he stands back up and does as he’s told, hurrying back to his bedroom to retrieve his phone.
Hongjoong deflates once San is out of the room. His mind, hard at work to try and figure something out to protect his group, is now half-hearted. Any and every idea he had to try to dig themselves out of this mass grave now just falls flat. Hopelessness seeps into each plan like the blood soaking the sheets in the photo on the phone.
Yunho had struck at the very heart of his vulnerability: his protective instincts. Knowing he would send this before Hongjoong ever had the chance to explain all of it to the rest of the group. He couldn’t protect them. It was clear now, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from curling into a ball on the floor and staying there in a defeated pile for the rest of time.
But San rushes back into the room, panting a little, his locked phone in hand. Hongjoong takes it from him and holds it in his lap for a minute, staring blankly at the floor.
This is it. San’s phone in his hand is what little control over the situation he has left. Only San will get the luxury of choosing whether or not he wants to see what has been sent into the group chat.
But where does he even begin? How does he drop bomb after bomb on him, and as a finale, let him decide if he wants to witness the nuke as well?
San sinks back down to the floor, kneeling near Hongjoong, face stricken with worry.
“Please,” he says, his voice is timid, “you guys are scaring me… what is happening?”
Hongjoong rubs his temple with his other hand, his ears starting to ring the more he zones out. He’s responsible. He did this. He let this happen to Mingi. To his group. In his mind, ‘you guys are scaring me’ turns into ‘you’re scaring me’. He’s no better than Yunho, really, even if he vehemently denies it. It’s easy to convince himself of that. He shouldn’t have left so carelessly. So selfishly. He should’ve been there to protect him. He should’ve known something like this would happen. As the captain, he should’ve known.
Could he even call himself one anymore? Or was he just the blind leading the blind into a dangerous unknown?
The rain claws at the window like it’s trying to get in to make an even bigger mess of things. San, to his credit, waits as patiently as he can. But every lapse of silence fuels his anxiety more and more with each passing minute. He listens to the sink in the bathroom running, and Seonghwa spitting into it, washing his mouth out. Only then does Hongjoong start to force himself to pull it together.
As captain, as captain, as captain–
“You need to know everything,” Hongjoong begins quietly, still unsure how to approach this, “I– I know you want to see what’s in the group chat… but please allow me to try and explain this first,”
San nods, shifting his legs out from under him to sit down on the floor. Sitting with his knees up to his chest, and staring at him with round, worried eyes, he looks as innocent as an overgrown child. Hongjoong holds San’s phone with both hands, cradling the last semblance of control he still had.
Just tell him. Don’t sugarcoat it.
He takes a deep breath before meeting San’s eyes for the first time. His heart aches, knowing these are the last few seconds in which San will be blissfully unaware that he’s in a nightmare scenario. That he’s trapped. He still sees that shy eighteen year old aspiring dancer with the same passion and determination for his dreams that he has now. The same boy that can’t sleep without his plushies, and who still needs to hold something at night to fall asleep. The same country boy from Namhae, who loves his family more than anything. An endearing, kind, special spirit that you find, maybe once if you’re lucky, every couple centuries.
Hongjoong braces himself, clinging to the fragile hope that even after he dismantles San’s whole world, the light he’s managed to keep within him all these years will prove stronger than the darkness Yunho was trying to bury them in.
For now, that’s all he can do.
“You know how Yunho has been…” he searches for a single word to describe it, “different lately?”
San nods again, listening intently now that the answers he’s been desperate for finally seem like they’re coming.
“And um…” fuck, fuck, fuck, “do you remember that missing girl from a few months ago?”
San leans back slightly, brows furrowed in confusion.
“The student?”
“No, no, they found her. The other one. I think she was taken in February.”
San opens his mouth to reply, but a certain word catches his attention, “‘Taken’? How do you know if she was–”
“Because,” one more moment… “Yunho took her.” Hongjoong admits.
There’s a weighted silence before San laughs nervously, hoping that’s what he was waiting for. He waits for the sick joke to be over, but there’s no punchline in sight. His nails dig into his legs.
“Wh– why– what do you mean Yunho… ‘took’ her?” He asks, “You’re not– is that where–?”
“Sannie, I’m trying to tell you,” says Hongjoong, cracking his knuckles again as a nervous habit.
San sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, forcing himself to be quiet. If he wants answers so bad, he has to shut up and listen to them as they come.
Hongjoong takes another shaky deep breath, his lungs never quite able to be filled to capacity since last night, “There’s an apartment we didn’t know about until last night. Yunho’s been keeping her there because he wants her to become… of service to us,” that’s the most civil way he can think to put it, hoping the insinuation comes across, “we confronted him, and before you ask: no, we cannot go to the police. He’s already implicated all of us in this via the group chat. The girl in the pictures and videos he sent is her. He’s got cameras all over this apartment… more than half of the group has been filmed in that apartment,” Hongjoong’s voice shakes, “we can’t turn him in without everyone else paying the price as well.”
Obviously, this is quite a lot for San to digest.
His breaths are uneven, similar to his heartbeat. Hongjoong doesn’t know if he notices it, but he’s rocking back and forth a little, keeping himself moving at all times, like he’s convinced himself that if he does so, the truth won’t stick to him as easily. Minutes pass, the ozonic smell of the storm faintly perfumes the room, making Hongjoong notice that Seonghwa left a window slightly open. He keeps an eye on the younger man, still rocking, still self-soothing. The gravity of all the information he threw at him weighs heavily on him, and he must have more questions because every so often he’ll part his lips, but no sound ever comes out and he gives up again. How was it possible that he didn’t do anything and he’s still liable to be found guilty? His mind works overtime, doubletime.
“Sannie?” Hongjoong asks eventually, the neverending sound of the tapping rain getting to him. But he gets no response still, San’s body trembling slightly as his anxiety rises again.
“San,” a calm yet weary voice calls to him from the doorway. Seonghwa leans against the frame, his face still pale, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, “do you need to be alone for a while?”
He doesn’t answer. The weight of both of their gazes fixed onto him is just too overwhelming. San’s breath hitches – a tiny sound, almost involuntary – and he finally looks up at Hongjoong, eyes wide, uncomprehending. He doesn’t know what he needs at all. He doesn’t understand. Maybe what chills him most is that there was no reassurance to follow up all of what Hongjoong told him. There was no ‘but don’t worry, we have a plan’, no ‘but I won’t let him do this to us’. Nothing. It didn’t need to be said in order to be understood: they were powerless. Yunho made sure of that.
Hongjoong’s chest tightens. He watches his two friends, pale, trembling, and realizes just how small and unprepared they all are against what Yunho has orchestrated. They can’t do or say anything even remotely out of line if they want to avoid Mingi’s fate.
He’s trapped right alongside the people he loves most, and he has to watch them all suffer and break under something he can’t control. In the biggest catastrophe of his life so far, he has no idea what to do or how to save the ones he swore to protect. Good job, captain.
Seonghwa comes in and sits down on his bed with a stiffness, like he’s not sure if he’ll be able to sit for long before needing to get up again. The distant thunder outside the only thing marking time as each of them waits for someone to speak. Frantic vibrations and pings coming from Hongjoong’s and Yeosang’s phones against the bathroom counter and both phones in the room only heighten the tension. Each chime is a reminder. A word carved into the arm.
The one belonging to San suddenly lights up, Wooyoung’s contact photo filling the screen. For a moment, all three of them just stare at it, until Seonghwa extends a hand towards Hongjoong.
“I’ll take it. I’ll tell him and Jongho,”
At first, Hongjoong begins to protest – as captain, as captain – but Seonghwa shuts him up with a single look.
“I’ll do it.” He says again, final. Stronger than before. Hongjoong secedes, albeit reluctantly, but nevertheless hands it over, watching Seonghwa try to mentally prepare himself to break the news to the last two frantic boys. He brushes his hair back and stands up, leaving the room again to take the call in another part of the dorm. Even though it wasn’t on speaker phone, outside the room, San and Hongjoong can hear Wooyoung’s hysteria and Jongho’s concern loud and clear. Seonghwa moves further away, going into Mingi’s room and shutting the door behind him.
San speaks again sooner than Hongjoong expects, “When you said… ‘of service to us’, what exactly does that mean?”
Hongjoong swallows, dryly. “Exactly what it sounds like–”
“No,” San interrupts, staring daggers at him, “no, tell me. Don’t be vague or tiptoe around it. Tell me what that bastard has done.”
Numb emotion morphs into rising anger. Towards who in particular, he can’t tell, but it was safe to say he was mad at everyone and everything. Understandably.
With one more deep breath, fidgeting with San’s phone that was still in his hands, he tells him. Everything. Every possible detail he remembers about last night, though he spares him the more intimate details about their time with you specifically. He tells him about Yunho’s obsession with control and power, especially around you, how different he was like day and night, and how he can easily manipulate them into doing anything. His wrath and rage unlike anything they’ve ever seen before.
Much to Hongjoong’s surprise, San doesn’t shrink into himself again. He actively listens, asks questions, curses Yunho out a few times, all of it. However, there’s still a numbness about him. Like a protective sheet had been placed over him that he’s trying to put up as a defense. A wall that he’s built to keep him sane. All the bad would just be sorted out and filtered through it whenever he was ready to face it, shoving his feelings aside so he can try to tough it out first.
He’s pretending to be strong, because he knows that’s what Hongjoong needs to see right now. At least one of them has to be for him. He can bear the burden.
San clears his throat after taking a couple moments to process everything, “So… what’s in the group chat?”
Hongjoong tenses, glancing down at the phone in his lap. The choice is his, but more than likely he will see it eventually anyway. He taps the screen, watching it come to life. San may see it eventually, but it doesn’t have to be as gruesome a surprise.
“It’s Yunho sending a very clear message on what will happen if we try to go against him in any way,” He says carefully. “It’s–”
He interrupts himself when Seonghwa comes back into the room, handing San’s phone back to Hongjoong.
“They’re on their way,” Seonghwa says, obvious who he’s talking about, “we need to be together for all of this.” He sits down in the same spot he was in before he left, his hands idly brushing over the duvet. Anything soft was welcome, anything comforting.
Hongjoong nods once. Okay. He rubs his eyes, dry and irritated still, like he slept in contact lenses all night. A loud crash of thunder overhead jolts all of them, each one turned into skittish and anxious wrecks. San shifts restlessly, so close to knowing what Hongjoong has been preventing him from seeing. Tell me, show me.
As if he read his mind, Hongjoong picks up where he left off in telling him, “He sent a picture of what he’s done to Mingi,”
“And a video.” Seonghwa mumbles from his bed, unaware of the bomb he just dropped.
Hongjoong quickly turns to him in surprise. He’d only seen the picture, and that was quite enough. He wonders if it had just been sent, or if he just didn’t see it initially, solely locked onto the horror of the picture. Regardless, Yunho had sent a video as well? Something vengeful stirs deep inside him, anger simmering, waiting to be let out. Career and image be damned – a fucking video? Showing what? His process? Or was it just to rub it in? He has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip for a moment to stop from erupting. San looks between the two eldest, the lump in his throat only expanding with the less he knows.
“Okay, and a video. But he showed how he… had him tied by his wrists and– I think he broke his nose but I-I couldn’t tell from the picture,” he pauses for just a split second, looking over to Seonghwa if he could possibly verify that, but Seonghwa just shrugs, not knowing either, “but the main thing is that he… he carved a word into Mingi’s arm.”
San shuts his eyes tight, body tensing. But he nods again, showing that he understands. He sits with this information for a minute or two, lightly tracing absentminded, indiscriminate patterns on the floor with his nails. His body only knows one way to process this: just keep moving forward. Keep going, process later. Still, it doesn’t alleviate any of the crushing weight of it on his chest.
Even then, he extends his hand out, palm up, towards his phone. He needs to know what he’s dealing with. He needs the full picture of just how fucked they all are. He needs to see what friend has done to friend, brother turning on brother. All to keep a deluded, deranged fantasy alive with seemingly no end in sight.
“Let me see.”
Hongjoong’s hand flexes on San’s phone, hesitating once more before carefully placing it in his hand like it was a ticking bomb. Seonghwa holds his breath, watching the transfer. It’s like watching a trainwreck, something about it that makes it so you just can’t look away from it.
San allows himself a few more moments to prepare himself. Then he unlocks his phone, opening the group chat. He has to scroll up just a bit, past Wooyoung’s initial responses – most of them along the lines of ‘what the fuck?????’ – but he finds the bottom of the image. He can see what he can assume to be part of Mingi’s wrist and the sheets beneath him, blood stained around his arm like a chalk outline around a body. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he taps on the image.
His calm facade crumbles in an instant.
A strangled sound escapes San’s throat, half gasp, half sob, before he just pushes the phone back into Hongjoong’s hands, struggling to maintain his composure. Seonghwa flinches at the noise, the images coming back to him like a bad dream.
For a while, it’s hard to tell if San is even breathing, that’s how still he goes. In the silence, the wind outside becomes his breath. The truth shakes him to the core now that he knows what everyone else does. The word sears itself into his brain, never to be removed.
Hongjoong reaches for the phone, quickly flipping it face down on the floor, but the damage is already done.
It’s done. Everyone knows now.
There’s a part of him, he hated to admit, that was a bit relieved. There was nothing more to hide. Everyone knows just as much as he does. But now weighs the formidable fear of what to do next. What could possibly come next after this? Hundreds of different, equally violent or salacious scenarios cross his mind. He prepares himself for the flurry of questions he’s soon to get from Wooyoung and Jongho any minute now. Questions he’ll have to answer again. He’ll have to relive it all again. A strong headache grows and grows in his temples.
“I’ll delete it from the group chat,” he mutters, voice barely filling the thick silence, “everyone’s seen it, he’s made his point, no one should have to see it again–”
San quickly leans forward and grabs his wrist to stay his hand, “No. This is evidence.”
His words hang in the air between the three of them. The faintest glimmer of what could be hope for them in a single word: ‘evidence’. Not to be used against them, but for them. Maybe it wouldn’t pardon them completely, but they would not be known as willing collaborators in Yunho’s sick acts. They could show they had real reason to believe physical harm could and would come to them at any point if they went against him. At the very least, he thinks there’s a good chance that San, Wooyoung and Jongho would most likely be found innocent in all of this. And that was motivation enough.
Seonghwa straightens, “He’s right.”
Hongjoong looks down at the phone, its face pressed into the floorboards as though it’s ashamed of what it contains. He knows the feeling. He can’t be as hopeful as the other two, it’s just too dangerous. Relying on one sole picture to potentially save them was rather precarious. Sure, it helped in the long run, but he knows – unfortunately – they’re going to need more than that. And he doubts he’s going to be able to handle more.
A sharp, frantic knock at the door makes them all jump.
“Hyung?” Wooyoung’s voice filters through, high and panicked.
Hongjoong’s heart rate spikes. Already bracing for the flood of questions, the mess he’ll have to untangle with words he doesn’t even have, he pushes himself up off the floor. Seonghwa volunteers to go and let them in, but Hongjoong keeps him still with a hand on his shoulder as he passes. San moves to sit next to Seonghwa on his bed.
Every step towards the front door to the dorm makes Hongjoong feel like his legs are made of lead. Wooyoung – or he assumes it’s Wooyoung, it may be Jongho – knocks on the door again, a bit more frantic this time. By the time he unlocks the door, his energy is spent. The two of them nearly run him over on their way in. Wooyoung brushes past them both, heading straight for San’s room and poking his head in to see if he’s in there.
“Where is he?” Jongho asks first, clear anger in his eyes.
“Who–?” Hongjoong asks, not very clear on which of the other seven he was talking about.
“Yunho,” he clarifies, spitting his name from his mouth like it had tasted vile, “I can’t believe we’re all not at that fucking apartment already beating his ass for what he’s done–”
“Jongho calm down,” Hongjoong attempts to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs him off.
Wooyoung comes back, his hands shaking and his eyes still looking all over the apartment as if he half expects Yunho to jump out at any moment, brandishing a knife with his name on it.
“‘Calm down’?” Jongho scoffs, “Sure, okay. I can be perfectly calm and level-headed about this, no problem. Right after I fucking kill him.”
Hongjoong sighs, massaging his temple to try and ease the pain there. Before Wooyoung can ask him where the other two are, Hongjoong points him in the direction of Seonghwa’s bedroom. He turns on his heel and heads straight there.
“I’m not just going to stand back and do nothing,” says Jongho, raring to go, “we can’t just do nothing, hyung. God knows what else he’ll do if we don’t go stop him now!”
“It’s not nothing…” Hongjoong replies weakly, he himself not even believing in his words, “we can’t all just rush in there without a plan.”
Jongho scoffs again, laughing without humor as he paces like a caged wild animal, “Do you not understand that this shit is happening now? The longer we sit here planning on what to do, the longer Mingi suffers. Is that what you want?”
Hongjoong turns red. Misplaced, white-hot anger that he hadn’t realized was smoldering low in his chest suddenly flares up.
“You think I want that?” He explodes, taking a step forward, “You think it’s not killing me knowing that he’s still in there? I left him there. It’s my fault,” He breathes heavily, fuming still but taking a pause. It was different actually hearing himself admit it to someone that that’s how he felt. Like a sucker-punch straight to his stomach. He truly believes it. His head throbs, made worse by yelling.
Jongho stops pacing. His words slam into him, yanking on his heart. This level of anger was something he’d never seen in Hongjoong before, and it shakes him to the core. His anger fades, knowing now that it wasn’t meant to be directed towards his captain. Hongjoong has a point. They can’t just run in disorganized and potentially further endanger Mingi and themselves. At first, he doesn’t even think of you. Then they wouldn’t be helping anyone.
Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose, the next best thing to hiding his face in shame, “Running in blind is exactly what Yunho wants. He knows we’ll want to protect each other. I can’t have you, San, and Wooyoung going there. Not when there’s a possibility he could…”
He doesn’t need to say it. It’s all quite clear now that they could be lured, manipulated, and or hurt in there. Jongho’s hands clench and unclench into fists by his side, staring hard at the floor. His frustration still remains prominent, but he’s able to quiet it down. He hates the helplessness more than he can express.
“No, you’re right,” Jongho says, “we’d just be making it easy for him.”
Hongjoong lowers his hand from his face, but still avoids eye contact. He’s remorseful that he yelled at the youngest, and also rather shocked at himself. Usually he’s way more controlled dealing with stress. Then again, nothing about this was usual.
A shared silence lies between them. The muffled voices of San, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa a low murmur in the air. Jongho shifts his weight from one foot to the other, something he wants to say right on the tip of his tongue.
“Hyung…” he says quietly, an uncertain air about him. Hongjoong hums, indicating that he heard him, and to continue.
Jongho clears his throat, his nose scrunching a little.
“I’m scared.”
The words cut through Hongjoong deeper than he expects, simple but devastating in their honesty. Of course Jongho’s scared – they all are, though few would admit it so plainly as he had. But to hear it from the youngest, his pillar of unshakable strength, makes the hopelessness inside him that much more formidable. His chest threatens to cave in from the amount of pressure he’s under. But he puts on as brave a face as he can muster, even though he knows that it won’t fool Jongho.
“I know,” Hongjoong says softly, forcing himself to meet Jongho’s eyes, “so am I.”
The admission hangs there between them, fragile and bare. For a fleeting moment, they aren’t leader and maknae, but just two people caught in the same storm, bound to the same fate.
Seonghwa’s door opens again, and the three of them tentatively come out.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asks, placing a cautious hand on his best friend’s shoulder, glancing at both of them. Hongjoong just nods, avoiding eye contact again, embarrassed at the knowledge that they all must’ve heard his outburst.
“Yeah,” Jongho mutters. Okay as he can be, considering.
Wooyoung collapses dramatically on the couch in the living room, San following suit. Both of them are in their own little world, talking quietly.
Seonghwa tries to meet Hongjoong’s eyes with no success, “You’re tired, Joong. You need to rest,”
Hongjoong laughs without humor, “The only way I’d fall asleep now is if you drugged me. Even then, I doubt I’d be able to.”
“What do we do now?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes flickering over to Jongho, no doubt hearing his raised voice earlier too.
That was the golden question, wasn’t it? What could they do? What kind of plan would even work? None of them had the faintest idea. Not without jeopardizing their safety, along with Mingi’s. Again, you’re an afterthought. It’s simply pack mentality, nothing personal against you. The hypothetical plan to get Mingi out of there and eventually turn Yunho into the police would inevitably result in your release. If there’s anything Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yeosang found out last night, it was that Yunho would not back down from a fight to keep you so easily. Not in the slightest. They’d have to wait.
“Has anyone heard from Yeosang?” San asks out of nowhere, looking at each of them. But they all look at each other, searching for a ‘yes’ from anyone and only getting silence in return.
“Maybe he’s still asleep?” Wooyoung suggests, looking at Hongjoong.
“Has anyone tried to call him? We don’t know if he knows what happened to Mingi.” says Seonghwa, already fishing his phone out of his pocket to check his texts, hoping to see Yeosang’s name in his notifications. Again, there’s nothing.
Hongjoong only just opens his mouth to speak, about to tell them he has Yeosang’s phone, when he’s interrupted.
Their phones all go off at the same time.
The chimes echo in the air, piercing the thick silence between them. No one moves for a moment, dread freezing them all in place. Their limbs are unresponsive, their hearts stop beating. Even the weather outside seems to take pause, listening in. Seonghwa’s hand shakes, staring at the banner notification at the top of his phone screen. Even after it disappears, he stares at where it had been.
San is the first to reach for his phone, still trying to be the strong one here for them. He can handle it, he tells himself. He can do it. He flips the screen toward himself, and freezes. His lips part, but no sound comes out. Wooyoung leans in to see as well, and immediately looks to Hongjoong again. His face is pale, his face contorted in fear. On autopilot, San stands up but doesn’t go anywhere, rooted to the spot, eyes still glued to the screen.
Seonghwa takes a shaky breath as he opens the group chat again, takes one look, and reels back like he’s been punched. A strangled sound tears out of him as he claps a hand over his mouth. Jongho is quiet as he looks at what had just been sent. His jaw clenches so hard, it looks painful. The same clenching and unclenching of his fists occurs again, panic snowballing in his chest. He too looks up at Hongjoong. For guidance, for comfort, for answers, he’s not sure. Anything.
Hongjoong doesn’t want to see. Every instinct in his body begs him not to look. But he does. He has to. He takes the phone from Seonghwa, who is happy to give it up, needing both his hands to hug himself tight, keeping all the fractured pieces of himself together.
It’s another video. Grainy, filmed from an overhead angle. No doubt from one of the hidden cameras, this one in the guestroom in that apartment.
It’s Mingi… and Yeosang.
Hunched over at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Next to him, Mingi slumped against the headboard, his face turned away, body frighteningly still. His arm is wrapped messily in a mostly reddened towel, and with his good arm he holds his side, protecting it from being hit or touched in any way. Dead or asleep, none of them could tell. The video stops when Yeosang looks up, dead straight into the camera, tears making his eyes sparkle in the low light.
And at the bottom of the frame, reflected faintly in the laptop screen: Yunho’s silhouette. Sitting back, smirking. Watching.
Hongjoong’s lungs seize, his heart in his throat, blocking all air from coming in or out. His vision tunnels. The truth is a violent realization of just one of his numerous failings over the past twenty-four hours.
The words tear themselves from his throat, raw and broken:
“Yeosang’s still there.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
While in the bathroom, Yeosang had begged Mingi to let him bring him to a hospital to check out his rib, and to prevent his arm from getting an infection, or at least to the dorms, where it’s safer. But Mingi refused, still listening to Yunho’s instructions. He’s sleeping now, though Yeosang didn’t want him to, still nervous he’d just…
He doesn’t even want to say it.
It’s been a couple of hours since he first found him like this, and looking at him still didn’t get any easier. Sure, he had advised him against sleeping, but he was actually grateful that he was. Yeosang didn’t want Mingi to see him cry. He can’t help it. He turns away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, finally letting everything out. At the height of his emotional catharsis, he doesn’t care who heard him anymore – he may as well have been alone in the whole building, crying his lungs out. Still, Mingi doesn’t wake up. Yeosang calms himself down enough to check on him occasionally, placing two fingers on Mingi’s wrist, checking for a pulse before moving back to his side of the bed. The collar of his shirt is wet with tears, and it hurts to breathe now, his nose red and stuffed. He sits like that, hunched over, until the dull ache in his neck and upper back forces him to straighten up again.
He makes direct eye contact with the camera. The very same one that had been pointed out to him by Mingi last night. They stare at each other for a while, sizing the other up. Yeosang doesn’t look away. Maybe he’s giving Yunho what he wants: letting him see just how terrified and broken down he’s become already, but he also lets him see his loyalty. He places a protective hand over Mingi’s ankle.
The message is clear: I won’t let you hurt him again.
He holds his gaze until his eyes begin to sting, and he finally tears it away, looking back at the man he’s now sworn to protect. In this caregiver mode, he stands up to assess him again – what he might need or want when he wakes up. Quietly padding to the door, he opens it as slowly and silently as humanly possible, not wanting Yunho to hear the doorknob clicking whatsoever. He opens it just enough to slip through, entering the kitchen on light feet, watching the hallway for any shadows or movement as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge for Mingi and himself. The fridge door makes a noisy clattering sound as he opens it, and he winces, pausing a moment in pure stillness, as if he could trick Yunho into thinking the fridge door just opened by itself or something. He doesn’t hear anything for a couple minutes, so he cautiously continues his task. Once two bottles are nestled in his arms, he takes a step back to close it again. He closes the fridge inch by inch, but it still makes a louder noise than he would’ve wanted, some of the soju bottles clinking against each other on the shelves. He curses them under his breath and looks over his shoulder to find…
You.
Standing like a ghost in the hallway, you don’t say anything initially, trying to get yourself to not look at the floor the whole time (and failing). Yeosang backs up against the fridge, startled. The cold bottles of water he clutches to his chest start to freeze his skin, but he holds tight to them like a shield. You step forward so you’re moreso in the space where the living room and kitchen combine, nervously looking over your shoulder towards Yunho’s room and fidgeting with your clothes.
“Y/N,” Yeosang whispers, “what’re you doing?”
You turn back around to answer him, but only meet his eyes for a brief moment before looking at the cracked open guestroom door. Your words catch in your throat. Daring to take a step forward, Yeosang watches you with a concerned expression. He’s ready to step in front of you again. To stop you from doing something that will just get yourself and Mingi in trouble. That small sliver shown of the room isn’t enough for you to see much of anything – just the foot of the bed and a slight lump under the covers on one of the sides of it. Yeosang snaps his fingers behind his back, hidden from the camera view, to get your attention.
“He’s fine,” Yeosang mouths. You take a breath, nodding and pressing your mouth into a line.
Unfortunately, you can’t do anything to celebrate that fact. You can’t see it for yourself. You had to trust Yeosang, and you did. The fact that he was holding two water bottles instead of one calmed you for now. You clear your throat, shifting your weight uncomfortably. The shift you subtly make from frail and nervous little girl to conditioned, perfect doll was rather disturbing to see, especially when Yunho wasn’t even in the room making you do this. This time he was behind the scenes, and you were in his place as instructed to be.
“He wants me t-to tell you something.” You inform him, the real you slipping through the cracks in the middle of your sentence. It’s clear who, you don’t have to specify. Yeosang’s skin crawls.
“Okay…” he says, bracing himself. His back hits the fridge again, offering little support or comfort.
You’re unable to meet his gaze, hands hanging at your sides.
“He wants me to tell you that…” You trail off, taking another deep breath.
When you speak, it’s obvious the words are not yours. The brutality of them do not fit you whatsoever. Yeosang supposes that’s Yunho’s version of some sort of sick joke: using you to relay this type of threat to him. Sick bastard probably thinks this is funny.
“If you even think about going to the police, he will carve that thought out of your skull himself,” you recite robotically, fulfilling your orders, “like he did to– to Mingi.”
Your mechanical voice cracks as you say his name.
Even still, Yeosang struggles to not shoot the messenger. He sets his jaw, gripping the waters a little tighter. He wants to snap at you, ask whose side you’re really on – but that was a question that just did not have an answer. You had no reason to be on anyone’s side. The message is so ruthless and bloodthirsty he almost misses the way your eyes begin to well with tears. He softens quickly. It was obvious he made you come out and say it, acting as his little stringed puppet just to survive and stay out of trouble, and it was obvious you hated what you were saying. You don’t revel in the violence of the words chosen for you. Your very eyes betray you, conveying your real emotions, still looking at the door more than Yeosang.
He makes a point to keep his head up, knowing that Yunho had to be watching.
“Is that all?” He asks rather coldly. Suddenly you were you again, bristling at his tone, looking at him apologetically. You swallow down what you’d actually like to say to him.
“He a-also wants me to tell you that he’ll see you tomorrow… at work.”
Your voice lifts at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Yeosang stiffens. How were they supposed to just… carry on tomorrow like nothing happened today? How the hell were they gonna explain Mingi’s arm to the stylists? He’s grateful that the weather is gradually beginning to cool, meaning he could wear long sleeves more often without drawing much attention. Yeosang decides he’ll ask Mingi again to go with him to the hospital either late tonight or early tomorrow morning before their schedules start. Unless Yunho happens to have gauze or large bandages laying around anywhere – which at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
He glances back towards you. This time, you meet his eyes.
You stare at him a second too long, like you want to say something else. Something real. Yeosang watches as your lips part, ready to speak again, and he wonders whether he’ll hear an original thought or not.
But nothing comes out.
A puff of air escapes your mouth instead, and you turn on your heel and vanish back down the hall. Back to him.
Yeosang exhales, and hurries back into the guestroom, closing the door behind him like he’s shutting out the world.
Mingi’s still asleep. Yeosang shifts into autopilot once again: placing a bottle on the nightstand for Mingi, checking to see if he’s breathing, making sure his arm isn’t swelling, lightly testing his forehead for signs of a fever with the back of his hand. Everything’s still okay.
He sits on the side of the bed he slept on last night, right next to Mingi. His stomach growls after a couple minutes of staring blankly at the floor, and he simply combats it with water. He’s not particularly jumping at the chance to go back into the kitchen again. The storm has begun to move away from Seoul, towards the countryside, taking the thunder with it. The rain remains behind. Yeosang eventually lets himself recline back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him – still wide awake, in case Mingi needs anything, but a bit more comfortable for himself.
Time ticks by slowly but surely. Yeosang gets so used to the sound of Mingi’s steady breathing and the falling rain outside the next couple hours, that when he hears anything other than that, he instantly sits straight up again, ready. Though he has nothing to defend either of them with, he’s not going to let anyone or anything harm them so easily.
He’s on alert again when he hears something different. Something real. Footsteps walk through the apartment, past the kitchen, stopping somewhere a bit too close for comfort near the guestroom door. He holds his breath, gripping the sheets beneath him to keep himself still. Mingi stirrs.
There’s a small, quiet knock on the door. Definitely not Yunho’s style.
He dares to get up from the bed, nearly tip-toeing to the door to crack it open again.
“Y/N?” He whispers again, surprised to see you out of Yunho’s room by yourself. Almost shocked that the door opens, you step back a little, looking a bit more dazed than you did earlier.
“I just–”
“What’re you doing?” He asks, looking behind you to see if Yunho was following you. He’s careful to not open the door too much.
“He’s asleep,” you whisper back. You say it so vehemently, so sure, that Yeosang believes you. He looks over his shoulder to see if he’s woken Mingi up, only to find him in the exact same spot and position he’d been in for the past few hours. When he turns back around, you have already begun to inch forward, trying to crane your neck to find a better angle to see into the guestroom, but not trying to run in there without permission. Some learned habits never die.
Yeosang hates to do it, but he angles himself in the way of your line of sight, shutting the door a little more so now you can only see about half of him.
“Y/N…” he says in a sympathetic yet firm voice, “you can’t come in.”
Your face crumples, and Yeosang can’t look at you anymore. Not while he’s doing this. You’re not thinking clearly, you’re not thinking through your actions. He can’t let you put yourself or Mingi in danger by letting you go in to see him.
Also… he doesn’t want you to see him like that.
You take another step forward, hoping he’ll move away, avoid being close to you again. But he stays.
“Yeosang, please?” Your bottom lip starts to quiver, though you try to keep yourself from crying. “Please, let me see him.”
“I can’t… you know I can’t.” He says, nodding towards one of the cameras.
And you do. You know exactly why he can’t let you in. You’re not doing yourself any favors by not turning around immediately, you know that. But something keeps you rooted there. Something you don’t want to give a proper name to, nicknaming it as just ‘concern’ and only concern.
Every part of you screams to run back to Yunho’s room, to pretend you didn’t try to defy him behind his back. Imagine the betrayal he’d feel if he found out the moment he fell asleep, you ran to another man – specifically Mingi. And to do so when he was just talking about giving you a reward, something you’ve been dying to hear from him for months. The trauma that your body remembers begs you; it knows better than your heart and mind what to do, how to survive. Turn around. Walk away.
Go back to him. Now.
But panic rises in your throat when you see Yeosang starting to close the door.
“Can you just tell him something for me?” You rush your words before it closes.
Yeosang sighs, but not out of annoyance. He keeps the door only about an inch open, “Okay.” He agrees.
It dawns on you that you have no idea what to say. You were just trying to buy time. Trying anything to hold onto the first flicker of hope in months. And the worst part is, Yeosang can tell. He watches you try to come up with something, looking at the floor as you scramble to find the right words. Nothing feels right in your mouth, nothing you can come up with holds any of what you actually want to convey. Everything falls flat.
Behind him, Mingi lifts a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, still unaware of the exchange mere feet from the bed as his body slowly begins to wake up.
“Tell him I… that I hope he’s okay and that, um… you know, I tried to come check on him.”
Yeosang nods, “Okay, I’ll tell him.”
Though it kills you to do so, you step back. Yeosang still avoids your eyes as he closes the door fully now, the lock clicking into place like the final nail being hammered into your coffin.
It takes a minute or two for you to move again. In a fog, you find yourself in the kitchen, grabbing water for yourself. You hold the bottle with both hands, already feeling the condensation start to drip off of the plastic. Your feet carry you back to Yunho’s room. Safe again. You didn’t do anything wrong. And Yunho was still asleep, looking peaceful. You take small sips and small steps towards the bed, feeling too restless to lay down again, but doing so anyway. As if he senses you even in his sleep, Yunho pulls you closer to him, breathing in deep and exhaling contently. His touch calms you, the scent of him clouds your racing mind. You don’t fall asleep again. You turn onto your other side, careful to not wake him up, and bring your knees up so you’re curled under the sheets. Yunho’s hand rests on your hip.
Your eyes flick up to meet one of the cameras. It stares back at you, accusingly. It knows exactly what you tried to do. And though Yunho was truly asleep, his eyes were still everywhere you turned. There were no such things as secrets here. The rain lessens, finally taking its leave and moving on. Yunho’s hand twitches.
You’re not going anywhere.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
“Stop it,” Yunho hissed, tying the rope tighter so that it dug uncomfortably into his skin. Once content with his work, he looks back down at Mingi, “Now tell me… Where. Is. My. Knife.”
Mingi can feel Yunho’s breath against his face, trapping him against the mattress. There’s nowhere to run. He can’t move. Trapped. Somehow, he still doesn’t give in, staring back at Yunho in defiance – albeit with fake confidence. Underneath, he’s frightened out of his mind. His very bones shake in terror.
“Song Mingi, do not make me ask you again,” Yunho warned through gritted teeth, “tell me. Now.”
“Fuck you.” Mingi says from behind Yunho’s hand. It’s muffled, almost unintelligible. Almost. But Yunho hears it loud and clear.
Unsatisfied with his lack of cooperation, Yunho grabbed Mingi by the throat, his fingers digging into the sides painfully as he lifted him up. Mingi’s shoulders screamed in protest as they were pulled back behind him, still attached to the headboard. His joints burn.
“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be making me angrier,” snarls Yunho, his voice low.
Mingi coughs and splutters slightly, unable to breathe much less speak while being held up by the throat.
“So,” Yunho continues, “I’d advise you to tell me where you’re hiding my knife. Quickly.” Every syllable, every consonant is enunciated, punctuated with barely contained fury.
Mingi struggles against him again, tossing his head to the side to try and break free of his grip, his vision going spotty from the lack of oxygen.
His eyes flicker over to the nightstand, then back to Yunho, who gets the message loud and clear.
Forcefully, Yunho shoves him back down, pushing his hand into his trachea.
He plants a foot on the floor for better stability as he leans over the side of the bed, pulling open each drawer until he gets to the bottom one. Mingi blinks tears from his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He hears the metal scraping against the wood of the drawer, the weight of it being lifted up and into Yunho’s hand. The very person he’d tried to keep it from.
He slowly straightened back up, tilting the knife at him accusingly.
“You’re so lucky I don’t break your fucking hands. Maybe that’d teach you to not touch things that aren’t yours.”
Maybe he was talking about the knife, but Mingi could tell in the intonation that he meant something else as well.
Yunho lets go of Mingi’s throat only to violently thrust the heel of his hand up, hitting his nose. Dangerously close to breaking it.
Even if it wasn’t broken, it hurt like a bitch.
“Fuck–!” Mingi chokes, spitting blood from his mouth as his nose bleeds profusely.
Yunho tsks, looking down at him in mock sympathy.
“I really can’t understand it, Min, I mean… I gave you so many reasons to not fuck with me. I was so lenient with you at first because you’re my best friend. Then you go and bring them here as an ambush, you disrespect, challenge and question me in front of them, talk back, raise your voice… even when you’ve seen what I do to her when she behaves badly. Mingi, did you really think I wouldn't correct you as well?”
He shook his head in disbelief, like he couldn’t believe what he’s saying was true. Yet there was no sadness, no remorse in his tone. It was only bitterly cold and final, with just a hint of disappointment.
Mingi forced himself to finally look at Yunho, only to see exactly what he expected to see: nothing.
There was nothing. No more anger, just inevitability. Void of remorse, of feeling, as if violence meant nothing to him – even violence towards a friend. To him, all of this was justified, it had to be done. His eyes are dead again.
“So much for best friends, huh?” Mingi managed to wheeze from under Yunho’s hand, “Why don’t you just kill me, get the message across to them easier?”
Yunho just ignored him. It was like his body was moving on autopilot, solely focused on completing whatever it was he planned to do to him and snap back into himself later.
But Mingi couldn’t stop himself.
“If you have to do all of this to feel in control…”
That did it.
Yunho just stared at him for a moment, void of emotion and unblinking. And then, with a sharp, almost bored exhale, he pulled his knee back and jammed it up into Mingi’s ribs.
The sound was sickening: a deep hit that nearly cracked his bones, air driven violently out of Mingi’s lungs. He folded inward instinctively, but the ropes kept him from curling all the way. His cry came out more like a strangled gasp, high and raw.
Mingi can’t respond this time, he just lay there, shuddering. A bruise already began to bloom beneath his ribs, a sharp stabbing pain accompanying every shallow, wheezing inhale. A final, brutal reminder of just how easily Yunho could take away what little fight he had left.
Without missing a beat, Yunho released his throat, knowing he’d instinctively try to take deeper breaths, only to make the pain in his ribs worse. Mingi coughed and did exactly that, taking as many breaths as he could in a short period of time, not knowing when he’d be denied proper air intake next. Each one had to be quick and shallow, but that only exacerbated his body’s need for air.
He whimpered as he watched Yunho shift on top of him, untying one of his wrists before holding it down, palm up on the bed.
Yunho twisted the knife in his hand, getting the proper grip on it.
“You won’t forget your place here so easily after I’m done.” He said lowly, cold enough to chill Mingi to the bone.
The knife had been cool at first, pressing to his arm like it was testing him, finding the best place to dig in. Then the drag – slow, steady, deliberate – turning cold steel into a blistering fire.
It was unlike any pain he’d ever experienced before. Searing, ripping, stinging without an end. Even past the – hopefully temporary – damage in his throat from Yunho’s hand, his screams of agony were loud and clear.
“I can’t hear you, Min~” Yunho had said in a sing-song tone, like he was onstage taunting the crowd.
The rope burned his wrists and kept him from fighting back or pushing the knife away from his arm. He screamed louder, only giving Yunho what he wanted. His broken voice begged him to stop as unbearable pain seared his skin.
Yunho took his time with it, making sure every letter was legible. He had hummed while he worked, like he was painting on a canvas. Several times, Mingi tries to jerk his arm free, kick Yunho off of him, but to no avail. Yunho would let him try, stopping for a moment to let him get it out of his system before he ultimately gave up. And he’d go back to work again, annoyed that Mingi had tried to stop him.
Each letter throbbed with each beat of his frantic heart, every pulse spilling more blood. A brand, a title he never asked for, forced into him and carved out as truth. Yunho swiped away blood as he wrote, like a tattoo artist wiping away extra ink. Nonchalant.
“Min, could you stop bleeding so much? This bedding was expensive.” He teased, laughing at his little joke.
Mingi’s screams and desperate cries rattle the bones of the apartment itself. Again, it was a miracle no one has filed a noise complaint, or called the police by now. But this time, he didn't go unanswered.
It was faint under how loud he was, but both men heard someone else shouting. A higher, frantic voice.
You.
It was at this point that Mingi blacked out. Physically and mentally. He had to. His body was operating at the highest level of stress it’s ever reached, the pain all too much to handle. He was grateful as the black spots in his vision multiplied as he got dizzier, feeling lighter. The pain diminished to a dull ache, like when you press on a bruise.
Yunho smirked at the sound of you. He did tell Yeosang he could use his doll, though in the moment it was said purely to torment him – but maybe those screams of Yeosang’s name that he heard really were from pleasure. Maybe he finally took initiative. He could hear you crying from across the apartment, but ignored it, fully concentrating on finishing what he’s started.
Yunho straightened once he was done, admiring his work. It was perfect. Relief flooded through him at the thought that maybe now he’d listen to him. He’d relearn his place, and everything would keep going smoothly. Everything would be back on track.
And he wouldn’t have to do this to him again.
He sighed as he took his phone out, casually snapping a photo of his assault on Mingi and sent it off to the group chat, too tired to send a caption alongside it. But right after he sent it, he wondered if a video would’ve been better. He shrugs. Why not both?
His hands were steady as he filmed. The camera captured the violence perfectly,
He lightly smacked Mingi on the cheek a couple times, even grabbing his face in one hand, attempting to wake him back up with an eerily quiet, “Come on Min, time to wake up~” like he was waking him up for school. He stopped recording, content with the material, and sent that off as well. That would send a clear message to them all. And hopefully, it would deter the others from getting their own little barbaric tattoo as well.
Mingi stirred awake, the stinging soreness hitting him all over again as he came to. Yunho wasn’t cutting him with the knife anymore, so at least he got to avoid part of that while unconscious. Still, his head felt way too light, and his whole body was groggy. He managed to tilt his head to one side without fainting again, and dared to peer down at his forearm to see how bad it was.
The sight made him wish he’d blackout again. Carved into his skin, an accusatory, permanent word:
공모자
Co-conspirator.
“You cannot have what’s mine,” declared Yunho, lifting Mingi’s chin up by the tip of the knife. “Get that through your head or I’ll carve it in there next.”
Mingi just closed his eyes and nodded twice, understanding.
Again, exactly what or who he was referring to was left ambiguous, but it was clear there was a double meaning to his words.
Once he saw that Mingi finally understood him, Yunho calmly dragged the flat side of the knife along the pillow by Mingi’s face, wiping the blood off of it. A strong metallic smell hit Mingi and twisted his stomach. He turned back to the other side, hoping to escape the overwhelming scent, and the reality of what’s been branded into him forever.
Yunho leaned over the side of the bed, picking something off of the floor. Mingi didn’t even try to kick him off again when he saw more rope in his hands. He accepted his fate. He resigned himself to shut up, stay still, and if he’s lucky, he’ll blackout again. Yunho watched him closely. This is what he wanted: for Mingi to come back down from his moral high horse, back down to a subordinate level. Truly, he hated to do this to him – after all, he was still his best friend – but he couldn’t convey favoritism. And if his best friend had to set an example for the others, then so be it. Still, there was a deep, slightly unsettled feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. It pissed him off, quite frankly, though he couldn’t place exactly why. He had to remind himself: anything he gets, he deserves.
Yunho finally climbed off of him, and off the bed, folding the extra rope in his hands, not needing it after all. He seemed content, not bothering to wipe Mingi’s blood from his hands. But there was still that nagging tightness in his chest. He glanced at the bathroom, his reflection catching his eye. Mingi’s blood caked parts of his clothes, tinted his hands red and pink, even spotting some flecks on the side of his face. He went over and slammed the door shut a little too loud, emphasizing his frustration. Safe from his reflection, he expected to feel a bit more at ease, but instead only felt that same emptiness, the boiling rage from earlier decreasing to hollow annoyance. He hated it.
Just to keep himself occupied, he began to clean the blood from under his fingernails with the knife. He stood there, watching his friend bleed. Usually during a correction, he was with you, and knew how to take care of you after one. Here, he was unsure. He takes deep breaths, in and out through his nose. Slowly, he starts to feel like himself again – whichever version the real one was now – and he’s able to relax.
Mingi didn’t move, and made no sound. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of the door. His eyes squeezed tighter shut for a moment, tears trickling down his face.
He mumbled something under his breath, still needing to spit blood from his mouth to talk clearly.
Yunho tilts his head, “Hm?”
Mingi cleared his throat, though it sent another sharp pain through him, like sandpaper against his trachea.
“She’ll never love someone she fears.” He rasped, his voice shredded and barely audible.
But Yunho heard it as if he had shouted it at him. He froze. Mingi doesn’t say anything else, eyes staring off at the floor, unfocused and blank. He waited for another blow, another round with the knife, but nothing came. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Yunho, but he could feel the change in the air between them. For a long, painstakingly tense moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Yunho blinked, his words racing around and around in his head.
‘She’ll never love someone she fears.’
Something in him began to crack like melting ice. His usual response would be to lash out again, inflict more pain and violence for even saying something like that to him – he was the one who knew you best, not Mingi. But he didn’t. Self-doubt fractures him. His grip on the knife loosens, suddenly feeling heavy in his hand. The words clawed at him, begging to be understood fully. You loved him, right? You told him so, prompted or unprompted, like it was second nature now. But Mingi targeted, knowingly or unknowingly, the very center of Yunho’s vulnerability and insecurities. His clever mind, always two steps ahead of everyone else so far, had no ideas or plans to prove him wrong. His throat closed up, heart beating irregularly in his chest. Childishly, he just wanted to yell at Mingi to ‘shut up’, and tell him that he’s wrong. But was he right? Were you so afraid of him you could never love him the way he wanted you to? Needed you to?
Yunho turned around, not wanting to give Mingi the satisfaction that his words had this big of an impact on him. His hands shook as he tucked the knife away, hiding it in his sweatshirt sleeve, just like Mingi had done with it last night when he passed by Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yeosang in the kitchen. His mouth was dry, and he was becoming rather erratic, and all he could think to do was just… leave. He had just unlocked the door when he heard Mingi speak again.
“Yun…” Yunho looked back over his shoulder.
Mingi’s body shuddered violently, and he had to spit more blood out of his mouth before saying, “You’re… still my best friend.”
Lightning zips up Yunho’s spine. His skin crawled, and he couldn’t understand why. An unfamiliar feeling wrenched its way through his body, yanking on his heart. The admission rattled him. All cockiness and superiority instantly evaporate. He was hit square in the chest by memories of the two of them all at once, all while he looked at his best friend’s broken body. By his doing. It was an ugly feeling, to feel this raw and exposed to someone, especially to him. He finally realized that there was nowhere to hide, not from Mingi. Not with the one person who knew him best, sometimes even better than he knew himself (especially this past year).
For the first time in months, there is a twinge of something human in Yunho.
Remorse.
Again, Yunho doesn’t respond. At least not to his words directly.
“Don’t leave until I get back.” He said, his voice flat.
Mingi sniffled, tasting blood in the back of his throat. A flicker of hope dared to ignite within him, on the slim off-chance that he had gotten through to Yunho in some way. He both meant and didn’t mean his final statement. He wouldn’t consider them best friends anymore, but that was still his best friend’s body. Possessed by something that had been allowed to grow undetected by all like a parasite.
Yunho got the hell out of there, heading straight back to his room where he could make more sense of things. Where he has you.
And though he’s tied up, it’s like Mingi follows him the whole way there.
Ex Bestfriend!Nicholas/Wang Yixiang x Female!Reader
.ᐟwarnings: ex bestfriends to lovers, soft dom!nicho, angst, fluff, reuniting after time, crying, yelling, making out, praising, dirty talk, pet names, oral (f rec), fingering, hickies, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, aftercare, they’re are very in love, use of y/n :p
𓏸⠀ 𓈒 you reunited with nicholas, your ex bestfriend, and finally became what you were always meant to be.
.ᐟwc: 6.1k
You used to think Nicholas would be the one constant in your life. Through highschool and uni, family problems and heartbreaks, he’d been there. Your best friend. The boy who knew you better than anyone else, who made the world feel lighter just by being in it. And then, one day, he wasn’t.
The fight hadn’t been explosive, not really. No slamming doors or anything dramatic, just the kind of quiet ending that hurt worse. Nicholas pulling away. Excuses. A coldness you didn’t recognize in him until you were left standing alone, realizing he’d chosen to let you go. It had been two years since then. Two years of polite smiles at parties, of casual “hi”s that felt like knives, of pretending you hadn’t once been inseparable. Two years of burying what you never got to say—that you had loved him. And then, without warning, there he was again.
It was almost midnight when you ducked into the convenience store, legs sore and head heavy. The city outside was quiet, except for the occasional cars moving down the empty street. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright against the dull ache behind your eyes. You grabbed a cup of instant noodles and let the microwave hum fill the silence, leaning on the counter with your arms crossed. It was pathetic, maybe, eating alone at a plastic table on a saturday night. But it was also comforting, warm and familiar.
The door chimed. You didn’t think much of it at first, until the corner of your eye caught the silhouette. Tall, broad, blonde hair falling into his face, black hoodie hanging loose over a white tank top, cargo pants slung low enough to show the waistband of his expensive ass boxers. Nicholas. Your stomach dropped. He froze with a can of beer in his hand like he’d forgotten what he was doing. For a second, you just stared at each other across the aisles, two ghosts colliding in the most ordinary place in the world.
He lifted his hand in a small, awkward wave. You blinked, heartbeat quickening, and forced yourself to lift your hand in return. “Hey.” you said softly, the word catching in your throat. “Hey...” he echoed, voice low, hesitant. He grabbed another drink and moved toward the counter, but his eyes kept flicking back to you. The microwave beeped, startling you, and you busied yourself with peeling back the lid, pretending not to notice how his gaze lingered.
You’d just sat down and taken your first bite when his shadow fell across the table. “Hey, uh…” His voice was quiet, almost careful. “Can I talk to you for a second?” Your chopsticks paused mid-air. You looked up at him. He was older, sharper, looking better than ever and you felt two years of grief and anger press hot against your chest. “...Fine,” you muttered, setting the cup down. “But not in here.”
The night air was cool when you stepped outside, steam from your noodles curling into the glow of the streetlight. You sat down on the cold metal bench by the entrance, tucking your knees in slightly, shoulders hunched, wanting to make yourself smaller. Nicholas followed a moment later, drink in hand, sitting on the bench a careful distance away. Close enough that you could feel his presence, far enough that it hurt.
For a while, neither of you spoke. You busied yourself with another bite, noodles suddenly tasting like nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, jaw tight, thumb picking at the edge of the bottle’s cap. Finally, he cleared his throat. “How have you been?” You let out a short, humourless laugh, keeping your eyes on the noodles. “Seriously? That’s what you want to ask me?” He winced. “I just—”
“You left me, Yixiang.” The words slipped out quieter than you intended. “Two years, and that’s what you start with? ‘How have you been’ ?” He turned to you, expression caught between guilt and frustration. “It’s not that simple.” Your grip on the chopsticks tightened. “It is simple. You didn’t want me anymore.” His head snapped toward you at that, eyes widening. “That’s not true.”
“Then what is?” you whispered, finally looking at him. For a second, he just stared, lips parting like he wanted to answer but didn’t know how. His knee bounced restlessly, hoodie sliding off one shoulder. The weight of him sitting there made your chest ache. “It’s complicated.” he muttered. You shook your head, dropping your gaze back to the cup in your hands. “You always say that. You always hide behind that.” Your voice was soft, shy—but the words trembled with hurt.
Your hands shook as you set the cup down on the bench, the noodles suddenly impossible to swallow. Heat stung behind your eyes before you could stop it, and you hated yourself for it, for letting him see you like this. “You don’t get it,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You were everything to me, Yixiang. My person. And then you just—” You blinked fast, but the tears slipped anyway, sliding hot down your cheeks. “You just left. No explanation. Not even a goodbye.”
He froze, jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle move. His fists balled in his lap, knuckles white, like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. You shook your head, laughing bitterly through the tears. “Do you know how fucked up that was? I spent months waiting for you to call. I thought I did something wrong. I thought I wasn’t enough—”
“Hey, please, just—” His voice cracked, rough with desperation. He leaned toward you, hand half-lifting like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. “Just let me explain—” “No.” You shoved to your feet, swiping at your cheeks. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. “I can’t do this.” His eyes widened, panic flickering, but you couldn’t bear to stay. You grabbed your bag, the taste of salt and noodles heavy in your mouth, and turned away. Behind you, his voice chased after you, low and broken, “Wait.” But you didn’t.
The walk home was blurred. You barely remembered dropping your bag by the door before collapsing onto the couch, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. And then it hit. All of it. The way he’d looked at you, the way he’d said your name, the way two years of silence came crashing down in one moment. The tears came harder than before, hard sobs tearing out of you as your hand clutched over your heart, pressing hard like you could hold yourself together. But it hurt.
It hurt so bad it felt physical, like something was splintering inside your chest. You buried your face into your knees, the sound of your crying filling the empty apartment. Two years of grief and longing spilling out until you could hardly breathe. And then—Knock, knock, knock. You froze, breath catching. “Please.” His voice came muffled through the door.
“Please just let me talk.” You pressed a shaking hand over your mouth, willing yourself to be quiet, but your body betrayed you with another broken sob. There was a pause. A thud, like his forehead rested against the door. “I know I don’t deserve it. But…I can’t leave it like this. Not again. Please.” Your fingers trembled on the edge of the couch.
Every part of you screamed to lock him out, to protect yourself, to stay angry. But your chest still ached, your heart still beat for him, and it always had. Slowly, legs unsteady, you rose and crossed to the door. Your hand hovered over the knob, pulse hammering in your throat. You unlocked it. The door creaked open, and there he was. His tall body framing yours, hair a little messy, eyes shining like he’d been fighting tears of his own. “Y/N...” he whispered. And he looked wrecked.
The moment his voice cracked on your name, something inside you snapped. All the restraint you’d tried to keep on the bench, all the half-swallowed words, they came rushing out at once. “Why?” Your voice broke as you shoved at his chest with both hands. “Why did you leave me like that?” He stumbled back a step, not fighting you, letting you push, your fists landing over and over against his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” Each word came out strangled through sobs. “You were everything, Nicho. Everything. And then you just—” Another shove, weaker this time, your body shaking. “You left. Without a word, without—without me.” Hot tears blurred your vision until you couldn’t even see his face, just the black fabric of his hoodie beneath your fists. You hit him again, softer, and then your hands just stayed there, trembling.
“Why wasn’t I enough?” That’s when his arms wrapped around you, one locking tight around your waist, the other pressing flat against your back, caging you to him. He hauled you against his chest so firmly you could feel the rise and fall of his ragged breaths. “Stop,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough and desperate. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.” His grip only tightened when you tried to shove again, holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
You cried harder against him, fists curling into his hoodie, clinging instead of fighting. His head dipped, his breath hot against your temple. “I left because I—” He broke off, chest heaving. “God, I was in love with you. And I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought I’d ruin us if I stayed. I thought it’d be easier if you hated me.” The words hung heavy between you, his arms crushing you to his body, as though he could finally anchor himself where he always wanted to be.
You went still in his arms, the sob caught sharp in your throat. His words echoed in your head, like they couldn’t possibly be real. Slowly, you lifted your face from his chest, tear-streaked and trembling, until your eyes met his. “…What?” Your voice was small, almost childlike in disbelief. His jaw clenched. He looked wrecked—eyes red, lips parted, chest rising and falling too fast.
“I was in love with you,” he said again, firmer this time, like if he didn’t make you believe it he’d drown right there in your doorway. “Every second with you, I wanted more. I wanted you. And I couldn’t say it, because I was a coward. So I pushed you away, and it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” Tears spilled fresh down your cheeks, but this time you weren’t sobbing.
You were just staring at him, wide-eyed. All those nights you’d lain awake wondering, all those days thinking you’d never been enough. He cupped your face, thumbs brushing at the dampness under your eyes, his touch trembling. “I never stopped loving you. Not for a single fucking day.”
His words rang in your ears, his hands warm against your cheeks. You stared at him, mind racing with everything you’d buried for two long years. And before you could stop yourself, you surged forward and pressed your lips to his. Nicholas froze, like the world had just stopped turning. For a split second, you thought you’d made a mistake, but then you pulled back, eyes glossy, voice breaking as you whispered, “I love you so much.”
He blinked, stunned. “...You—what?” Your throat tightened. You gave the smallest nod, shoulders shaking. “I’ve always loved you. Even when you left. Even when I hated you for it. I still—” Your words cut off, swallowed by the weight of everything between you. And then he was kissing you. A desperate crash of lips that tasted of salt and two years of aching.
His hands slid down to your waist, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him as if he could make up for every second lost in one kiss. He groaned low against your mouth, disbelief tangled with relief, with hunger, with love. You clung to him like he was oxygen, fingers fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, the kiss deepening, messy and urgent. Two years of silence shattered.
You sank onto the couch, curling into his chest as if you could disappear there, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. “I missed this…missed being this close,” you murmured, voice muffled against his hoodie. “It felt so empty without it…without you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, sighing. “I missed it too. Every day. Even when I thought it was gone forever.”
Your fingers fumbled with the hem of his hoodie, tugging absentmindedly. “It’s crazy how much more…hot…and handsome you are now. Not that you weren't before!…but now, wow.” He laughed low and teasing, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Oh yeah?” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, making you chuckle and nuzzle against him. “You're so cute.”
For the next hour, you talked. You rambled about random things—your new favorite coffee shop, a cat you’d seen on the street, some ridiculous lecturer at uni, and he listened, laughing quietly, squeezing you whenever you shifted. Then you started going on about some girl from uni who had annoyed you endlessly. You didn’t even realize when he leaned down and captured your lips mid-sentence. You giggled into the kiss, heart skipping, and he grinned against your mouth before letting it trail down, brushing your jaw, your neck, lips soft but deliberate.
A shiver ran through you, heat pooling low, and you bit your lip against a moan you couldn’t stop. “I missed this...” he murmured in your ear, voice low, sultry, vibrating against your skin. You froze, body trembling under his touch, warmth spreading through you like fire, and realized—after two years apart, this right here, was exactly where you were supposed to be.
You pressed yourself closer to him as his lips found yours again, slow but hungry this time. Tongue tracing yours, teasing, exploring, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped. “Nicho…” you murmured, voice barely audible. His hands cupped your waist, thumb brushing lightly over your skin before sliding underneath your shirt, grazing your tummy. He pulled back just enough to whisper low, “So pretty.”
You shivered at the words, heart hammering, but his lips were back on yours almost immediately, kissing with a mix of reverence and desire that made your knees weak. His hand moved gently under your shirt, thumb stroking just enough to make you shiver and whimper again, pressing yourself into him, craving more.
His hand slid up to cup you jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheek as he pulled you closer. His lips met yours again, deeper this time, tongue teasing yours as he kissed like he’d been dreaming of this for years. You gasped softly into the kiss and your tug on his soft hair.
Eyes wide, full of longing and need, you whispered, “I need you, Yixiang…” The words made him pause just long enough to glance down at you, chest heaving, a mixture of disbelief and desire in his eyes. Your big, doe-like eyes staring up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, seemed to pull him in further.
He kissed you again, slower, savoring you, before his lips trailed to the side of your neck, his hand still gently cradling your jaw, teasing just enough to make you tremble. Heat pooled low in your belly, and though nothing else had happened yet, every touch and kiss was enough to make it feel like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.
He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, eyes dark. His voice dropped low, rough with desire. “Can I touch you?” You swallowed hard and whispered, breathless, “Please.” His hand slid further under your shirt, fingers brushing over the soft curve of your breast through your bra. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and he immediately kissed you again.
His touch grew bolder, more possessive. He slowly began tugging at the hem of your shirt, peeling it upward over your head. Your hair tumbled around your face, and he kissed you again, lips tracing your jaw, your neck, hands roaming everywhere. You were trembling, heart pounding, every nerve alight, completely lost in him, in the feeling of finally being in his arms, wanted, desired, cherished.
Nicholas pulled away, breathing hard, and pulled his hoodie over his head, leaving only the white tank top clinging to his body. His muscles shifted under the fabric, and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment, dazed, as he leaned back down, lips brushing your neck. His hand slid lower, caressing the soft skin of your thighs, fingers tracing upward slowly.
“Can I take this off?” he whispered, tugging lightly at the straps of your bra . You nodded quickly, breathless. His fingers worked with unhurried precision, unclasping the bra in the back before slipping it off and tossing it somewhere out of sight. For a second, he stilled. His gaze dropped to your bare chest, rising and falling with each shaky breath, and his lips parted in awe. “Holy shit, Y/N…” he whispered, almost like he didn’t believe what he was seeing, his voice thick with hunger. The heat in his eyes alone was enough to make you anticipate his next moves even more.
You felt his hands hovering in hesitation, so you reached up, grabbed them, and guided them to your chest. His breath hitched when his palms met your bare skin, and instinctively, his fingers curled, giving you a firm squeeze. A low groan rumbled in his chest as his fingers brushed over your nipples, teasing, circling, making you shiver under his touch. “Fuck…” he muttered, eyes dark as he kneaded your breasts, pinching lightly just to hear the sound it pulled from you.
And then his mouth was back on yours, devouring your lips in a hot kiss, tongue sliding against yours as his hands kept playing with your tits, squeezing, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You whimpered into the kiss, body arching into him with every touch. The mix of his rough hands and hungry mouth was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.
His lips broke from yours, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, your throat, lower and lower until he reached your chest. Without hesitation, he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud as his other hand squeezed your other breast firmly.
You gasped, head tilting back, fingers tangling in his hair as heat rushed through your body. He pulled back just slightly, lips glistening, and looked up at you through hooded eyes. “Prettiest fucking tits.” he murmured, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. The words made your face burn instantly, a shy blush painting your cheeks.
He caught it, chuckled softly against your skin, and then ducked back down, closing his mouth over your nipple again, sucking harder this time. His tongue swirled slow and deliberate, while his free hand kneaded the other breast, fingers pinching at your perked nipple just to hear the helpless little sounds it drew from you.
His mouth left your chest only to crash back onto yours, kissing you hot and deep before he pulled back just enough to yank his tank top over his head. Your eyes widened. The defined lines of his abs, the firm muscles of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders—he had gotten so much more toned, so much stronger.
For a moment, you could only stare, breath catching in your throat. Your shaky hands lifted on their own, brushing over the ridges of his stomach, caressing the warm skin making sure it was real. He chuckled softly at your touch and dipped down to kiss you again, hungrier this time, tongue sliding against yours with need.
One of his hands slipped lower, trailing across your stomach, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin. Slowly, teasingly, it slid down, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts until his fingers hovered just above your panties. He pressed against the thin fabric, giving you a small rub. You gasped into his mouth, clutching onto him desperately, a broken whimper escaping as your body arched into his touch.
His lips left yours again, trailing hungrily down your neck. He sucked lightly at the skin, leaving hickies along your throat, then lower to your collarbones, teeth grazing, tongue soothing after each mark. Meanwhile, his fingers rubbed soft, slow circles against your clit, enough to make your hips twitch and soft whines spill from your lips.
“Nicho…” you breathed, voice cracking around the sound of his name. He hummed low against your skin, kissing along your shoulder, before suddenly tugging your panties to the side. Without hesitation, his fingers slid into your warmth gliding through the wetness that made him harder and harder.
You moaned softly, body arching into his touch as your thighs trembled. His forehead pressed against yours, lips brushing your cheek as he murmured low, “So warm, baby…” The praise made your face burn instantly, a shy whine escaping as you clung to him tighter, your whole body buzzing under his touch.
His lips found your jaw, then the soft curve of your cheek, kissing gently in contrast to the way his hand moved lower. His thumb circled your clit in steady, maddening strokes that had you whimpering against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders. And then, without warning, he slid a finger inside you.
Your breath hitched sharply, a gasp tearing from your throat. He stilled for a second, watching your face, watching the way your lips parted and your eyes fluttered shut. His finger filled you perfectly—long, firm, stretching you in a way that made your whole body tremble. “Yixiang—” you moaned softly, yourwalls instinctively clenching tight around him.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, jaw tight as he kissed your temple. “So tight.” He began moving it slowly, dragging it out only to sink it back in as deep as he could, his knuckle brushing against your entrance each time. His pace was unhurried, making you feel every inch of him inside you.
Your hips rolled helplessly, chasing more, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body melted against his. The rhythm, his mouth on your skin, his hand working you open, it was overwhelming in the most perfect way. His finger slid out of you slowly, leaving you clenching around nothing, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness.
“You want more, baby?” he asked, voice low and gentle. You nodded quickly, breathless. “Please…” That made him smile, dark and hungry. He pulled his hand away completely, and you whined at the loss, but then his palms were on your thighs, gripping and dragging you a little further down the couch.
His fingers hooked into the hem of your shorts, tugging lightly as his eyes flicked up to yours. “Can I?” Your hips lifted eagerly in answer, and he slid both your shorts and panties down your legs in one smooth motion. When his gaze dropped to your bare, slick heat, he froze. His heart stopped for a second, lips parting, eyes wide with awe.
“Fuck…” he whispered, voice rough as his hands tightened on your thighs. He squeezed, caressed, spreading your thighs open wider before lowering himself between them, the heat of his breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. The anticipation made your whole body tremble.
His lips moved lower, kissing along the inside of your thighs, sucking at the skin until faint marks bloomed under his mouth. Each nip and kiss made your legs twitch, your breath coming faster as he worked his way closer. Then his hand slid between them, fingers parting your folds with deliberate care.
He spread you open slowly, groaning low when your wetness coated his fingertips, and moved it around in lazy circles that had you squirming helplessly beneath him. He kept his eyes on you as one finger pressed in again, sinking into your warmth inch by inch. Your breath caught, a shaky moan spilling from your lips at the intrusion.
And then, before you could recover, he leaned in, tongue dragging a long, slow stripe up your pussy. “Ah—” your moan broke in your throat, hips bucking up as your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling desperately in the blonde strands. He groaned into you at the way you tugged, the vibration shooting straight through you, making your walls clench tight around his finger as his tongue teased you mercilessly.
His finger began to move faster, curling deep as his tongue worked over your clit—sucking, licking, swirling. The combination made your back arch off the couch, a sharp moan breaking past your lips as you tugged harder at his hair. “Nicho—Ah!” you gasped, the sound dissolving into another cry when he pushed a second finger inside, stretching you further.
Your walls clenched tight around the intrusion, but his pace never faltered. His mouth stayed latched to you, tongue flicking and sucking greedily as his fingers pumped in and out, each thrust going as deep as he could. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his mouth, chasing the unbearable pleasure he was giving you.
The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, mixing with your desperate moans and his muffled groans as he devoured you. Then his free hand left your thigh, sliding up to your chest. His palm cupped one breast, squeezing, thumb brushing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers, teasing you in sync with the relentless pace of his mouth and hand.
He drove deeper, curling just right, hitting that spot inside you again and again until your thighs shook around his head. His mouth never let up, lips and tongue locked on your clit. Your moans spilling out uncontrollably, high and needy, your walls clenching tight around his fingers. He pulled back from your clit just for a second, lips glistening, voice rough against your skin. “You close, baby?”
Your head nodded frantically, voice breaking. “Mhm—!” That was all it took. Your body arched, trembling as the release hit hard. You came around his fingers, clenching so tightly it nearly pushed a moan out of him. But then, right at the peak, his fingers slipped out and his tongue replaced them, lapping up everything you gave him.
He drank you down like he couldn’t get enough, mouth greedy, tongue stroking and swirling until the sensitivity made you whine and squirm away. When he finally pulled back, your chest was heaving, hair a mess, skin damp with sweat. He licked his lips slowly, savoring you, before leaning up and crashing his mouth onto yours making you taste yourself on his tongue.
When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, lips swollen and slick from the kiss. His eyes searched yours, soft and fiery all at once, and then the words slipped out of him in a hushed, shaken whisper. “God, I’m so in love with you.” Your heart lurched, fluttering so hard it almost hurt, and before you could say anything, his arms slid under you.
He scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest bridal style. The sudden show of strength made your cheeks burn, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck. When he reached your bedroom, he set you down carefully, as though you might break, laying you against the mattress with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.
He leaned down, brushing his lips over your cheek in the softest kiss, his breath warm against your ear, “Let me show you how much I love you.” Your face heated instantly, blood rushing under your skin. You nodded, shy and desperate all at once, heart thundering in your chest. His hand rose to cup your cheek, thumb brushing along your skin, and he kissed you again softly, full of warmth. As the kiss deepened, his other hand slid down, caressing the curve of your outer thigh.
His lips trailed lower, scattering tender kisses across your chest before pressing one soft kiss on your tummy. Your heart pounded with how gentle he was being, until he suddenly pulled back. You watched, wide-eyed, as his hands moved to his belt. The clink of the buckle filled the room, followed by the quiet slide of fabric as he shoved his pants down.
Left in nothing but his chrome hearts boxers, the sight of his bulge, big, straining, impossibly hard, it had your lips parting, your pulse jumping erratically. Your eyes lingered as you propped yourself up on your elbows, lip caught between your teeth. He looked down at you with dark eyes, his chest rising and falling heavy, and you couldn’t resist.
Your hand slid onto his abs, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles before drifting lower. The moment your palm pressed against his bulge, he groaned, head tipping back slightly. You squeezed, slow and teasing, and his hips twitched toward your touch. “Fuck…” he cursed under his breath, voice ragged.
But instead of giving him more, your hands slipped away, gliding back up his body, over the ridges of his chest, the curve of his collarbone, until one hand wrapped lightly around his neck. You tugged him down, pulling him into another kiss, hungry and messy, as you sank back against the bed. He followed your lead, his weight pressing over you, his mouth moving against yours.
He shifted closer, sliding between your legs until his body pressed fully against yours. His bulge rubbed against your slick heat through the thin fabric, and the friction made a soft moan slip past your lips. His hand caressed your thigh, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin as his mouth found your neck, kissing, sucking along your jaw until your head tilted back.
“I missed you so fucking much, baby.” he murmured against your skin. Each word vibrated down your spine, making you cling tighter to him. Then his hand moved lower, hooking into the waistband of his boxers. He tugged them down in one smooth motion, and his cock sprang free, smacking up against his abs with a heavy thud.
Your eyes widened instantly. He was big—thick, long, flushed prettily at the tip, the sight alone made your thighs squeeze together. He caught your expression, the way you stared, and let out a soft chuckle. “Like what you see, pretty girl?” Heat flooded your cheeks, and you bit your lip shyly before nodding, unable to tear your gaze away.
He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before letting his mouth trail to your jaw and neck, murmuring hotly against your skin. Then he shifted slightly, grinding himself against your slick pussy, the wetness coating his tip, making him groan softly. “Lemme take care of you, baby, yeah?”
You nodded and hummed softly, “Mm.” Slowly, he positioned himself at your entrance, pressing just the tip against your folds. The sensation made you whine softly, hips arching toward him. He paused, letting you adjust, thumb brushing your clit in gentle, teasing circles before he slowly started pushing in, inch by inch.
You gasped at the stretch, fingers pushing in his shoulders as he filled you gradually, every movement measured, worshipful, and so achingly perfect. Your walls clenched instinctively around him, and the warmth, the hardness, the weight of him inside you made you even more wet.
He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hands tight against his chest, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. His forehead rested against yours as his voice dropped low and a little hesitant. “Can I move?” he whispered, eyes searching yours. You nodded breathlessly, voice trembling as you murmured, “Please…”
He glanced down for a moment, taking in the sight of the two of you connected, before easing himself out slowly. Inch by inch, he began to move, gentle at first, letting you feel every ridge, every stretch.Your moans were soft, mingling with his low groans as he gradually started to sink deeper and pull out, finding a rhythm. He pressed kisses along your jaw and cheek as his hand squeezed yours, keeping you tethered to him, your hearts beating together.
He started moving faster, each thrust deeper and harder than before, making soft whimpers and moans escape your lips uncontrollably. He kissed you hungrily, tongues brushing as he matched the rhythm of his hips to the movement of yours. He let go of your hand, sliding it down to grip your thigh tightly, fingers digging in. His other hand stayed steady, bracing over you as he plunged deeper.
You clung to him desperately, arms wrapping around his neck, pressing your body into his, moaning into his mouth as your lips met his again and again. As he kept moving inside you, the overwhelming mix of pleasure and emotion became too much, and soft tears started streaming down your cheeks.
He froze mid-thrust, eyes widening as concern flickered across his face. “Shit...did I hurt you, baby?” You shook your head quickly, breath hitching as you tried to speak through the sobs. “No…I just…missed you so much.” A low curse slipped from his lips, and he smiled, a mixture of relief and raw need in his eyes. “Fuck…I love you.” He kissed you then, deep and needy, before starting to move faster again, each thrust powerful, and driving you wild.
“I love you so fucking much…I’m so fucking sorry I left you...”. You shook your head against him, hands cupping his face, holding him close as you kissed him back desperately. His hand moved lower, brushing over your clit in perfect rhythm with his hips. You arched your back, moaning into his mouth, trembling with need. “I’m so close, Nicho…I love you!” you gasped, voice breaking as your walls clenched around him.
“Yeah, baby? Fuck…” His voice was rough, broken, full of need. “You’re everything.” He shifted slightly, sitting up a little and gripping your waist tightly, letting himself sink deeper inside you with each stroke. His other hand never stopped its messy circles on your clit. Your moans grew higher, more desperate. Your hair tangled around your face, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kisses—you looked so utterly undone that it made something roar in his chest.
His eyes darkened as he took in the sight, voice softening, trembling with raw affection.“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen…I love you.” he murmured, each word a promise and a confession, making your heart flutter even as your body melted around him. Your hands gripped his shoulders, tugging him closer, desperate for more.
You gasped, body trembling as the coil inside you tightened unbearably. “I’m gonna cum…!” you moaned, voice high and broken. He leaned down over you, pressing his chest against yours, lifting one of your legs and resting it on his shoulder. “Cum for me, baby.” he whispered, his hips hitting that spot inside you just right. Once. Twice.
Your body exploded around him, a high-pitched moan ripping from your throat as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You clung to him, digging your fingers into his shoulders, trying to hold on as your world narrowed to nothing but the heat and the feel of him inside you.
“Fuck… baby…” he groaned, voice low and raw. “You’re gonna let me cum inside?” You nodded frantically, breathless, whispering through your ragged breaths, “Please…Nicho…” With that, he sank fully into you, letting go completely, his thrusts deep and shuddering as he spilled himself inside you.
The warmth, the stretch, the way your body clenched around him made him curse under his breath, and he held you close as he rode out every last drop of release. Your bodies stayed pressed together, heartbeats pounding in sync, chest to chest, lips brushing softly as the waves of pleasure settled into a blissful calmness.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from your damp, flushed face, fingers lingering against your cheek before his lips found yours in a soft kiss.“I’ll never leave you again. Ever.” he murmured, his voice was serious, full of sincerity. “I’m sorry for everything.” You pressed your forehead against his, breath shaky and a small smile spreading across your lips. “I love you so much, Yixiang.” you whispered.
A gentle chuckle rumbled from him, eyes soft and filled with warmth. “I love you more, baby.” He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as your hands traced his shoulders and back. You let yourself sink into him, chest rising and falling against his.
Soft kisses trailed along your jaw, your temple, a hand brushing along your hair as he whispered little things you could barely hear—“So beautiful…mine…always mine…” You nuzzled into him, letting the warmth, the love, the relief wash over you, knowing that after everything, you were finally exactly where you belonged.
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ෆ ･ request? nope! ₊ ୧ genre: smut! . ↳ paring: nicholas x fem!reader
⦂ 𓈃 warnings/tags: oral sex (f receiving), face riding, fingering, eye contact kink, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, mirror play, light restraint, possessive undertones, rough pace, reader is called “good girl,” slight tears from intensity, explicit language ⦂ 𓈃 word count: 1655 ෆ ･ m.list!
₊ ୧ a/n: i just know his eye contact is so devious and i'm scared of eye contact bro. i also didn't have any individual work for nicho and i was confused as to why so yk i had to write something for my bby. . ↳ taglist!
the way nicho looks at you is enough to set your body on fire, even before his mouth is actually on you. it’s not soft, not fleeting, not bashful. it’s deliberate, heavy, demanding. like he’s memorizing every twitch, every breath, every second you give him. you’re laid out against the sheets, thighs trembling as his broad shoulders keep them spread, his head dipping lower until the heat of his breath fans over your bare cunt. he doesn’t just dive in, not right away. instead, he keeps his gaze locked on yours, dark eyes shining with mischief, tongue darting out to wet his lips like he’s about to devour a feast.
n: “don’t look away, baby. i want to see you fall apart for me.”
your throat works, a whine escaping you as you nod, fingers clutching at the sheets. the first swipe of his tongue is slow, purposeful, a drag from your entrance up to your clit. his eyes never close, never falter. they stay on you, watching the way your chest rises sharply, the way your lips part in a gasp. he groans softly at the taste, the sound vibrating against you, and you swear your whole body jolts.
his hands grip your thighs harder, nails digging just enough to remind you he’s not letting you go. his tongue flicks, circles, presses. all while his gaze pins you down more effectively than his weight ever could. every time you whimper his name, his pupils blow darker, like he’s feeding off the sound.
you: “nich- oh- don’t stop-”
n: “wasn’t planning on it.”
he smirks against your skin, and you feel it, the curve of his lips pressing into your most sensitive spot. then he sucks. deep, hungry, obscene, and your back arches, a cry ripping from your throat. still, he doesn’t break eye contact. you can’t even close yours for too long; every time your lashes flutter shut, his fingers pinch at your thigh, a silent command to open up, to let him see you.
you’re shaking now, toes curling, fingers clawing at the sheets before finally tangling in his dark hair. his tongue dips inside you, fucking into you with messy, sloppy strokes before dragging back up to your clit, laving it with deliberate pressure. drool mixes with your wetness, his chin glistening as he moves his mouth all over you like he wants to drown in it.
n: “look at you- fuck, you’re so pretty like this.”
his voice is low, wrecked, and it sends another wave of arousal flooding through you. he noses against your folds, lips wrapping around your clit again, this time sucking harder, pulling a moan so loud from you it almost embarrasses you. his eyes burn into yours, almost smug, like he knows you’re seconds away from unraveling.
your thighs try to clamp shut around his head, but he pushes them wider, groaning into you as if he likes being smothered. he moves faster now, tongue circling and flicking with reckless precision, never letting up. the knot in your stomach tightens unbearably, your hips jerking, grinding against his mouth as you chase release.
you: “nicho, i’m gonna- fuck, i’m gonna cum-”
he hums against you, the vibration sending you spiraling, and that’s it. you break, body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you. your cry is strangled, almost sobbed, your whole body shaking as pleasure floods every nerve. nicho doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you a moment, just rides it out with you, lapping at every drop like he’s starved.
when it’s too much, your hands push weakly at his head, but he only pulls back after one last slow lick, his chin and lips glistening. he wipes it with the back of his hand, smirking as he crawls up your body, hovering over you.
n: “good girl, you didn’t look away.”
he kisses you, messy and hot, and you taste yourself on his tongue. his hand cradles your jaw as he deepens it, groaning into your mouth like he’s still unsatisfied, like he’ll never be full of you. when he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, dazed, staring up at him with your lips swollen and eyes glazed.
he grins, cocky and devastating, brushing a thumb across your cheek.
n: “round two? i’m not done watching you yet.”
he lays back on the bed like he’s been waiting for this exact moment his whole life, arms folded behind his head, smirk painted across his lips. nicho doesn’t even ask you to climb on top. he just tilts his chin toward his mouth, eyes glittering with challenge.
n: “c’mon, baby. sit on it. let me feel you.”
your whole body burns at the command, but the need in his voice leaves no room for hesitation. you swing a leg over his chest, straddling his face as your hands rest on the headboard for balance. the second you lower yourself, he’s already licking into you, hot and wet, tongue dragging slow and deliberate against your folds. his hands grip your thighs, guiding you down until you’re pressed fully against his face, and his groan vibrates right through your cunt.
he looks up at you, dark eyes locking onto yours. it’s dizzying. the pressure of his mouth against you, the obscene sounds of him eating you out, and that intense stare, all rolled into one. your hips twitch, grinding against his tongue without meaning to, and he just tightens his grip, urging you to move more.
n: “that’s it. use me. don’t hold back.”
his words are muffled under you, but the intent is clear. you rock against his mouth, desperate, needy, dragging your clit over his tongue as he sucks and flicks. he noses at your slit, groaning like he can’t get enough, the vibrations sending shocks through your whole body.
you try to glance away, overwhelmed, but his eyes stay locked on yours, commanding. it’s too much. the way he won’t let you look anywhere else, like he needs to see every second of you falling apart on him. your thighs tremble, squeezing around his head, and he lets you, moaning like he loves the weight, loves being smothered by you.
you: “nich- oh, fuck- i can’t-”
he doesn’t let up, tongue swirling fast, lips latching onto your clit with a greedy suck. your hips grind down harder, chasing the edge, your moans spilling freely as you ride his face like you were made for it. the knot in your stomach snaps suddenly, and you break with a cry, body shaking as your orgasm rips through you.
nicholas doesn’t stop. he licks you through it, groaning as you soak his mouth, his face glistening with your wetness. you collapse forward, arms trembling as you try to steady yourself against the headboard, but he only smirks against you, eyes still pinned on yours.
when you finally lift yourself off his face, his lips are swollen, chin dripping. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to lick what’s left.
n: “fuck, you taste so good when you sit on my face baby.”
he pulls you down for a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, deep and filthy. his grin is smug when he finally pulls away, voice rough and low.
n: “i’m not stopping ‘til you can’t walk.”
you don’t even realize how fast things escalate until nicho has you sprawled across his lap, back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing along the waistband of your shorts before slipping beneath. you shiver at the touch, but what really makes your breath catch is the way he leans in close, lips brushing your ear.
n: “keep your eyes on me, baby. don’t look anywhere else.”
he pulls your shorts down just enough to slide his fingers between your thighs, the first brush of his knuckles against your wetness making your hips jolt. he smirks against your neck, dragging his middle finger through your slick folds before pushing one in slowly. your gasp echoes in the room, but nicho’s dark eyes hold yours in the mirror across from the bed, steady and burning.
he doesn’t ease you into it. soon there’s a second finger joining, plunging deep, curling upward until you cry out. his palm presses tight against your clit, rubbing with every thrust, building the pressure fast. you can’t look away, not when his stare is so commanding, not when his lips curl into that knowing grin every time your face twists in pleasure.
you: “nich- please, faster-”
n: “ask nicely. look at me while you do.”
your chest heaves, cheeks flushed, but you obey, eyes locking onto his as you beg. his pace immediately quickens, fingers driving into you harder, wetter, the sound obscene in the quiet room. you clutch at his forearm, trying to ground yourself, but he’s relentless, curling his fingers just right until you’re keening his name.
he groans low in his throat, watching you fall apart on his hand like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. his thumb circles your clit now, faster, rougher, and your body seizes, the coil in your stomach snapping violently. your orgasm crashes over you, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cry out, unable to break eye contact even as tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
nicholas doesn’t stop until you’re trembling against him, fingers finally slowing as he pulls out, glistening with your release. he brings them up between your parted lips, pressing them against your tongue until you taste yourself.
n: “good girl. you look so fucking perfect when you cum for me.”
you whimper around his fingers, dazed and needy, and he leans in to kiss you. slow, filthy, deep, before pulling back with that devastating smirk.
n: “next time, i’m gonna make you cum without touching you. my eyes would be the only thing fucking you.”
synopsis:from the moment you two made eye contact he hasn't been the same. it's like you've got him completely under your spell, not that he was complaining. when he wants to be more than a stranger in your bed you push him further away. choi soobin has what it takes to be your lover and more, he's sure of it. but after all he's done for you, was it worth all the pain and frustration?
word count: 17.3k
warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, intoxication, foul language, stds and other sexual diseases, depression, parenting struggles, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex while inebriated, voyeurism, sex while pregnant, oral sex (m&f receiving), and breeding kink
note: tada! the long awaited part two of atilwat has arrived! I'm very happy with how this came out, i've been grueling over this fic forever now and i can confidently say this and atilwat are my magnum opus of 2025!! (also this is not proof read sorry) i hope you guys enjoy it, it's a bit long so take some time to read! also p.s. today is my birthday! i've been trying hard to release this on time, i wanted to celebrate with this lmao. but thank you for all the support an love towards this series, i really appreciate everyone who thugged it out with me bc ngl i was going through it with school and work, which really affected my writing time and abilities. but we made it!! let's go! cheers and happy reading!!
Soobin doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s been driving down various roads for how long now. He just knows he needs to get away from you.
Was he being immature? Rude? Irresponsible? Yes, but so were you.
He’d just confessed his undying love for you, expressing how you mean the world and more to him, and all you did was dismiss him. You lied straight to his face.
While he was usually level-headed, like any normal person he has a breaking point. And today was that day.
Without much of a thought, his feet took him outside and into his car, and Soobin began to drive.
It’s been 20 minutes since he left the apartment. He contemplates turning around.
But as he stops at a red light he closes his eyes and as if it’s been burned into his retinas, he sees your crying face. You’re shaking your head as you refuse to face him.
“No I don’t,” You whisper.
The sound of your voice echoes inside his brain, it's haunting.
The car behind him honks, and Soobin’s eyes shoot open. The light is green now.
He begins driving again, farther and farther away.
Maybe this was for the best, he thinks to himself. He’s been entranced by you the moment you two first locked eyes, this could be him finally waking up from the illusion you presented him.
Another 45 minutes later Soobin pulls into the parking garage of his sister’s apartment complex, putting his car into park and turning off the ignition.
He noticed during his drive that the sky was pitch black, not a single star up above.
Soobin can’t even bring himself to leave the car. He sits in the driver’s seat, quiet and alone. And all he can think about is how you’ve made a permanent home in his heavy heart.
With a sigh, he closes his eyes and leans back into his seat, jaw clenched as he tries to figure out where it all went wrong.
Wedding bells.
That's the first thing Soobin hears when you two make eye contact for the first time. They’re loud, rattling his brain. Or maybe that was just the music blasting from the speaker right by his ears.
He’s currently forced up against the wall of some random’s living room, gripping his red solo cup of Sprite for dear life, all alone.
Yeonjun has ditched him to lock himself in a vacant room with a girl he just met. Taehyun and Beomgyu are stoned out on the balcony, and Kai’s thighs are currently a comfy seat for a pretty little freshman with bleach blonde hair.
And Soobin was pulled into this mess to be the designated driver.
He’s in an uninteresting conversation with a couple of classmates he kinda knew when his eyes linger to observe the crowd.
He’s taller than 98% of the people here, (the other 2% were getting their dicks wet) so it immediately catches his eyes when he notices someone the same height as him, maybe even taller.
It takes him a second but he realizes you’re in fact not taller than him, but instead you’re sitting on the kitchen counter surrounded by friends.
Your side profile seems to glow as you’re turned away from the yellow ray of the ceiling light of the kitchen. You’re in nothing but a short denim skirt and a floral hand tied halter top. Your hair flows down your back in waves as you tuck a lock behind your ear.
He’s so busy admiring you, he doesn’t realize you’ve turned away from your conversation with your friends and caught him in the act.
Your eyes are intense, even in the dimly lit room. It’s like you can read his thoughts, his soul, his desires. Pair that with your plump and juicy lips seducing him, your messy hair framing your face.
One look from you and Soobin is sold.
He feels his heart begin to race, his cheeks heating up it’s almost painful. His hands are sweaty and his throat closes up. He has to look away, but his eyes find their way back to you.
You’re unmoving, gaze trained on him like a lioness on a hunt for her prey.
Soobin chugs his soda, and for the sake of his life he excuses himself from his acquaintances, and hurriedly rushes down the hall to the bathroom.
After forcing a couple out, he leans against the bathroom counter with his head in his hands. There’s only one thing on his mind and it’s shaped identically to you, the mysterious girl sitting on the kitchen counter.
Soobin looks at himself in the mirror, yet he can’t since it’s covered in watermarks and slightly scratched in the center. But he looks at his reflection regardless, trying to control himself. Even he’s never seen himself look this… disturbed. With a sigh and scratch of the head, he stands back up.
Was there such a thing as love at first sight?
The look of fear, confusion, and surprise is apparent on your face as you wake up. Soobin didn’t expect you to remember last night, mainly because he had little memory of the events that led to this moment as well. But seeing your expression harden at the sight of him had his stomach turning in unpleasant ways.
He can’t seem to pinpoint the reason for your reaction though. Maybe it’s because you were hungover, maybe you didn’t want him here, or maybe it’s because you’ve caught him in the act of trying to leave. He’d already slipped on his shirt.
You suddenly begin to cough and turn away, trying to get your throat under control.
He doesn’t know why, but Soobin waits for you to stop, there’s an inkling of worry building inside him as your coughs begin to subside.
“Fuck, my throat is so dry,” You croak, voice crackly as you were fresh from sleep. Soobin’s head swivels away before you turn back around, unable to even look in your general direction.
He reaches over and picks up his pants from the floor and quickly pulls them on. He glances at you, your attention is now on your blankets as you rub the sleep from your eyes.
“I-I’m sorry,” He sputters out, unaware he’s even apologized until you look up at him in surprise. You blink, likely processing this information.
“Why?” You ask him. You’re hugging your blanket protectively against your chest, your hair is sticking out in random directions, and you still have remnants of last night’s makeup on your face.
Despite all of this, your eyes still hold the same intensity from last night. Pair that with the warm bright sun peeking through your window and the softness of your sheets. It’s a view that Soobin never imagined he’d witness, a juxtaposition to yesterday’s setting, yet his heartbeat speeds up nonetheless.
“For what happened. It’s a little weird, don’t you think?” Soobin shuffles in his place. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as you both are stuck in silence. He waits for your answer patiently.
You suddenly scoff, a smirk lacing your lips as you run a hand through your messy hair. “Is this your way of telling me you gave me something?”
Just like that, Soobin's calm facade crumbles. “No! Oh God, no!” He immediately shakes his head, like an excited dog’s tail. Is that what he made it seem like?! Soobin was clean- he was sure of it. He wasn’t the type to sleep around, and he went to every yearly check up-
Your laughter has him quickly realizing this was a joke.
“I’m joking,” You chuckle, lips curved up in a smile. Soobin sighs, his stress levels lowering. As you giggle to yourself, Soobin quietly watches as he finishes pulling on his socks. You have a pretty smile, and an even prettier laugh.
You look up at him again from your spot on the bed, and Soobin swears his heart skips a beat, a single smile from you could heal all of his problems.
“Don’t take what happened last night too seriously, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.”
Those words specifically have Soobin’s fantasy disappearing faster than a plume of smoke.
The air suddenly grows stiff and stale, it’s like time has suddenly stopped and trapped him inside of your room.
He’s ashamed to have even thought he had a chance with someone like you. Of course, he was nothing but a good fuck to have around. You could have anyone, you’d probably pick someone more entertaining and social than himself. To you, this was simple fun.
So Soobin just nods, grabbing his wallet and keys off the floor and excuses himself.
“Wait, you slept with L/n Y/n?!” Beomgyu sounds flabbergasted as Soobin takes a giant bite of his pizza. He nods innocently as he chews.
His friends all look at one another. It was rare for Soobin to have romantic feelings for someone, even rarer for him to date, but to sleep with a complete stranger? That was practically unheard of.
“Was she good?” Taehyun asks shamelessly, he leans over the table, wanting to hear every detail. Soobin shrugs. “No idea, I can’t remember a thing.” His friends groan, disappointed and annoyed.
“Then how do you know you guys even slept together?” Beomgyu argues, stealing some of Yeonjun’s french fries. “I mean I woke up in her bed, bare ass naked, I’m pretty sure we fucked.” Soobin scoffs before he takes a sip of his soda.
“Or! You two went to sleep and later got really hot so you both stripped and slept naked?” Kai suggested. “Yeah, like that’d be possible.” Yeonjun chews with his mouth open.
Soobin rolls his eyes. “Can we stop talking about this? It was a one time thing, she made that very clear.” He sounds almost sulky as he says this, taking another bite.
His friends shrug and change the subject back to their original topic: how Beomgyu ended up almost getting arrested last night.
Soobin wasn’t exactly following along with his best friend’s grandiose story. If he was being honest, he didn’t know your name until today. His friends had obviously figured out Soobin had ditched his position as DD that night, but had no idea as to why.
When he revealed the reason, all he had to do was describe you for the boys to immediately know who you were.
Apparently you were one of the best friends of Yu Jimin, Lee Heeseung’s ex and current girlfriend to Shin Ryujin. You didn’t necessarily have a reputation, but you were known to have a big personality and lots of friends, aka the exact opposite of him. You would never in a million chances hang out with someone the likes of Soobin.
As he’s lost in thought mindlessly eating, he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out to see an unknown number calling. He reads over the contact, it seems familiar.
“Who is it?” Kai asks. Soobin shrugs, answering it. “Hello?” He clears his throat.
“Hey, is this Soobin’s number?”
The sound of your voice has him standing straight up at the table, knocking his chair over in the process. It’s so abrupt he causes Yeonjun to jump in his seat.
“Y-Yes, yeah this is him,” He prays he doesn’t sound stupid. You're quiet on the other line, as if you’re thinking. He hears you hum, there’s some shuffling.
“It’s Y/n. Do you think you could spare me a minute?”
Soobin could spare you more than a minute. He could spare you an hour, a day, a week, the rest of his life if you wanted. Of course if it meant he got to see you like this.
Your tight little crop top is now pulled up over your breasts, your panties pushed to the side as Soobin’s raw cock slips in and out of your heat like a mad man. You lay underneath him with your legs wide open, moaning as you grip his sheets, eyes fully rolled back.
What started as a simple conversation about last week ended with you both fucking like two dogs in heat.
“Harder,” You moan, eyes blown out as you selfishly cry for a release. Soobin does as he’s told, because right now with the way you look under him, he’d be a fool to not listen.
“Kiss me.” You order again, and Soobin dives in, snatching your lips in a tantalizing sloppy kiss. You’re so soft, warm and inviting, he can’t resist you at all. It’s like he’s been put under a spell the second you entered his life.
He feels you clenching around him and Soobin lets out a whine, how the hell did he spend an entire night with you and now he can’t even last 10 minutes?!
He doesn’t get the chance to figure out the answer, because you suddenly push him away.
Immediately Soobin begins to panic.
“W-What- Why’re you-” He’s cut off when you push him against the mattress, your hands dance their way to his hard yearning dick, and you begin to tease him.
“How does a quiet guy like you have such a big fucking cock?” You mutter as you begin to pepper kisses across his face. Your question has Soobin feeling both embarrassed and proud. He thought he was pretty average.
“I- didn’t know- ah!” Soobin gasps when you delicately run a finger over his tip. The feeling of you leaning over him, your chest pressed against his, your legs tangled together, and your soft gentle hands rubbing his hard on, Soobin can’t think straight.
You distract him even further by littering his neck with hickeys, earning more and more soft whimpers from him.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Soobin grunts, eyes closed shut as you jerk him off. His announcement has you sitting up again, your hand moving faster and faster.
“Cum for me baby,” You urged, your voice so sweet and alluring. He feels you kiss his tip and that completely sends him over the edge.
Soobin can feel his body shake as he cums, he’s out of breath and as he comes down from his high, you’re still sucking his cock.
His chest is rising and falling dramatically as he finally opens his eyes to take a peek at you.
You’re looking up at him with those innocent eyes, tongue tracing the length of his softening dick. You pause and lick your lips, before asking him a simple question.
“My turn?”
Everything about you has Soobin in pure awe. From the gentle curves of your body to the fine details of your soft eyelashes, he observes you as you sleep soundly in his arms.
You two were currently cuddling in his bed, you’re smushed against his side while he cradles you like a doll.
Well, it was more like you passed out from exhaustion after Soobin pounded you for almost 2 hours straight to be exact.
But you look absolutely too adorable right now for Soobin to not admire you. Your little snores make him smile, and the way you fit perfectly into his favorite hoodie has his heart fluttering.
He’s no longer watching TV, but he doesn’t care because he’s already seen the entire series twice now. All of his attention is focused solely on you.
It’s not very often he gets to see you like this.
Usually after spending time together, you had a habit of either leaving as soon as possible or kicking him out. This would mark the first time you ever spent actual time with him.
In a peculiar way, Soobin finds it entertaining to see you act so docile and vulnerable with him. It’s an odd juxtaposition to how you act in bed: bratty and bossy.
You like to be manhandled, but always have something to say to him. Whether it be instructing him how to eat you out, telling him to shut up, and most often, teasing him to the edge, you always knew how to push his buttons.
Soobin is unfortunately a pushover. He lets you do all these things in the hopes of you returning his budding feelings.
Sure during sex he can be dominant if he wants, but really it’s because he knows you want it too. Your eyes are so telling. He can read you like an open book with a single look.
So he also knows that you have no interest in him other than sex.
He hasn’t found the courage to ask you out on a real date yet, and his friends are horrible at convincing him that you’d say yes.
You suddenly sigh and turn to lay on your back, head still tilted in his direction.
Soobin watches you as your breath regulates again, you’re still deep in your sleep. He brushes a stray hair out of your face and decides to get some rest too, finally closing his eyes.
He dreams of you and wakes up hours later to an empty bed and his favorite hoodie missing.
Soobin doesn’t know exactly what entails in being someone’s fuck buddy. His friends have way more experience than him when it comes to doing these kinds of things, but this? No one ever warned him about this.
You assured Soobin that you two wouldn’t get caught, that no one would even know. And of course he listened, he trusted you. But when you pulled aside your bikini bottoms, sitting atop him and his hard cock, Soobin began to realize why you were insistent on doing this.
The thrill of others catching you two in the heat of the moment, it was enough to have him bucking his hips up into your cunt like a madman.
The water in the hot tub was already erupting with bubbles, add splashing of water from you bouncing on his cock and you had created a nasty sea storm.
Your lips are locked onto Soobin’s your hair is wet and stuck to your skin, but neither of you could care less.
Soobin can’t believe it, your pussy was hotter and wetter than the actual jacuzzi, and he might actually lose his mind if you kept teasing him like this.
He can feel your erect nipple piercing through your thin bikini top, pressed against his chest. You’re whining against his mouth as you can’t seem to stop the movement of your hips.
His lips travel down to your exposed neck, and he suddenly decides he must cover you in marks. You’re moaning so loud right into his ear, it’s true music.
“Someone’s gonna hear you,” Soobin murmurs, as if he wasn’t also panting like a dog. “Why, you want them to join?” You laugh as you grind yourself on top of him.
He doesn’t take your joke lightly, grabbing you by the ass cheeks as he slams you down harder onto his cock.
You have to bite your tongue to shut up, your face contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
“No one gets to see you like this, only want you wet and pretty for me,” He growls into your ear, his jealousy rising at the mere thought of having to share you.
He’d rather consume you whole than even let a sliver of you be taken from him. And you let him devour you with no resistance.
u free tmrw? let’s grab coffee need to talk
Soobin reads your message over and over again as he sits in his car in the parking lot of the cafe you suggested.
He’d arrived a couple of minutes earlier than the time you agreed on, he was so worried that traffic would set him back that he left 15 minutes early.
Luckily for him, there was no traffic, unluckily he didn’t want to seem too desperate so now he’s hiding out in his car.
But right now his heart is racing, his fantasy has turned into a reality. He was finally going on his first date with you. Granted, he didn’t get to ask you out like he’d originally planned, but he didn’t mind when you messaged him first.
As he sits in his car, his attention is stolen by a familiar figure. You’re walking across the street to the cafe, looking gorgeous as ever. You’re in nothing but a simple pair of pants and a hoodie thrown on, your hair is a bit messy from the wind but he thinks you look perfect.
As you disappear from his view as you enter the cafe, Soobin looks down at his own outfit, suddenly feeling overdressed. Would you be able to tell he was excited?
He fiddles with his glasses, cleaning the lenses and adjusting them as they sit on his nose. After a few more minutes of stalling, Soobin takes a deep breath and exits his car.
Maybe you guys could go for a movie after, or maybe visit the river. He wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could.
Soobin slows to a stop as he approaches the large glass windows of the cafe to peek at you from outside. You’re sitting at a table tucked in the corner.
Leaning against your seat, you busy yourself by sipping your mug and looking around the cozy interior of the cafe. The warm lighting is so soft against the cold gray sky outside.
Snapping back into reality, Soobin builds the courage to finally walk to the front door. He opens it and steps inside, he’s greeted by the warm air and strong, dense smell of coffee. He barely hears the doorbell ring as he starts making his way towards you, wearing a shy smile and his heart on his sleeve.
Soobin notices your knees are facing the passenger door as he drives you back to your apartment.
Actually, your entire body is leaning away from him, as if trying to jump out of the car as soon as possible.
Soobin holds in a sigh as he tries to focus on the road ahead, but it’s hard when he’s trying not to have a mental breakdown. All because just one hour ago you’d made a confession: you were pregnant with his child.
You’d dropped the bomb at the cafe, successfully crumbling all of Soobin’s expectations.
The music plays softly in the background and fills the void as you two drive in silence. But there’s a lump in Soobin’s throat that is fighting to get out. He wants to say something, needs to.
He promised you he’d be there for you, that he’d be a helping hand. Soobin didn’t need to read your eyes to know you didn’t believe him. And if he were being honest, Soobin wasn’t sure if he could believe himself either.
A baby. His baby.
There was so much that came with bringing life into the world, and as a college student, Soobin wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.
He’s not even sure why he agreed to support you if he were honest. You just looked so scared, so vulnerable, he couldn’t bear to see you so helpless.
You said you would give the baby up for adoption upon giving birth, which meant no real responsibilities for the two of you, but the fear and guilt still weighed in the air.
Your apartment couldn’t arrive fast enough. Soobin slowly pulls into the lot, putting his car in park in an empty space. You quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out of the passenger side before Soobin can even reach for his buckle.
“Wait-” He’s barely able to catch the sleeve in time, forcing you to stop and look back at him.
You two don’t say anything, as if you were scared that speaking would make everything worse. The words pile up in his mouth, Soobin can only stare at you. His hand is shaking as his fingers tightly grip the thick cotton material of your hoodie.
You look panicked. His stomach drops.
“I-I’ll call you, yeah?” He stumbles over his words as he finally lets go of you. His hand falls to your seat. You just nod and your arm resumes your side, you step out of the car.
He watches from the comfort of his car as you hurry inside. You don’t turn around to wave goodbye.
Not that you ever did before.
It takes longer than expected for Soobin to actually call you back, but three weeks later you’re running out of Soobin’s apartment in angry tears.
And he’s stuck standing at the bathroom door holding a bottle of water in shock.
All he’d done was tap you on the shoulder to hand you the water, and you slapped him away before dashing out the front door.
He breaks out of his daze and finally shuffles to the door, its gaping wide open.
Soobin’s apartment building was massive, a total of 15 floors with more than 30 rooms each. You could be anywhere, but he ventures down to the garage anyways.
There he finds you crying to yourself as you sit in your car, all in your lonesome.
He watches from a distance for a while as he contemplates whether or not to go and comfort you. But ultimately he feels guilty, because you wouldn’t be crying if it weren’t for him.
Had you never met Soobin, you might be living an entirely different life right now.
You wouldn’t be experiencing constant nausea and pain. You wouldn’t have moved out of your apartment into his.
You wouldn’t be pregnant.
Soobin swallows thickly and sluggishly makes his way back to the elevator. He rides it all the way back to his floor and he quietly reenters his apartment.
The water bottle sits alone on the kitchen counter unopened. He ignores it and sits on his sofa with his head in his hands. The only thing on Soobin’s mind is you.
What were you thinking right now? How could he comfort you, make you feel better? You’ve suffered so much, the least he could do is make the situation a little more bearable.
As Soobin tries to think of an answer, he soon realizes he doesn’t have one because of one simple reason: He doesn’t actually know you.
He has no idea what you like and dislike, how you think, how you like to be comforted. You’re the idol of his affection, the one person who could make him fall to his knees with a single plea, yet you’re also unfamiliar and unwilling. An extreme case of one-sided love.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, but eventually there’s a knock at the front door. Soobin is slow to get up and answer it.
You stare up at him with red eyes and pouty lips. Even when you cried you were pretty, it was baffling.
He steps to the side and you come in, your entire demeanor has shifted to someone who is full of shame. It’s heart wrenching to watch.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You cough out, refusing to make eye contact. You’re focused on the floor, shoulders slumped as your hair hides your face from him. Soobin notices the sleeves of your shirt are still stained with your tears.
Instead of accepting your apology with words, Soobin leans down and tilts your head up to look up at him. There’s something about your flushed face and teary eyes that makes him feel territorial.
He enraptures you into a soft kiss, one that quickly evolves into a kiss of sloppy hunger. He pulls you down the hall and into his bedroom, hands slipping underneath your shirt to feel the heat of your skin.
Because Soobin does know one thing about you, and that’s how to make you feel good.
Soobin wakes up to your hair in his face. Your back is pressed against his chest as he has his arms thrown over your figure. His nose is nestled into the crook of your neck, he can hear your gentle snores as he struggles to open his eyes.
He must have not closed his curtains all the way last night, because the morning sun peaks through and shines right into his eye.
WIth a groan, Soobin rolls over and checks the time on his phone. It's 7:37 am. He has a class at 8:10. It takes him 12 minutes to drive to school, 9 on a good day with no traffic. He should probably get out of bed and get dressed so he could leave right about now, but the warm heat of your body underneath his blankets is much too alluring right now.
So instead of getting ready, Soobin decides he can skip a lecture for today and snuggles back into bed with you. He could probably beg Wooyoung later for his notes.
Just as he’s about to fall back asleep you begin to rustle around, conveniently rubbing against him. Your movements actually cause Soobin to hold his breath. His eyes shoot open and he lies beside you frozen.
You calm down and find a comfortable position, but that does nothing for Soobin’s half hard dick poking at your behind.
A part of him wants to wake you up, just so he could indulge in himself, the other knows you’ve also woken up three times in the middle of last night to either pee or puke.
So Soobin decides the best thing to do is to torture himself and stay as still as humanly possible so that you wouldn’t notice, and hopely by the time you wake up for work his morning wood is gone.
But again, things never go as planned.
Soobin is busy trying to distract himself by imagining all of the least attractive things he can think of when he suddenly lets out a strangled moan.
You’re rubbing him. With your hand. You were awake.
“W-Wait,” He hiccups, turning you around so you can face him. You still look sleepy, but you smirk at him nonetheless.
“Should I call out today? Hmm?” You hum, your hand is now fully in his boxers, your thumb running over the head of his cock.
“Fuck yes please,” Soobin exhales as he closes his eyes. He feels you shift, then you tug at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them off.
You sit up and stretch your arms before climbing on top of him, sitting atop his hardening cock. Soobin sucks in a breath, God he loves being engulfed in you.
You rock your hips slowly, finding a comfortable rhythm for this lazy morning. You both don’t bother to fully undress, just enjoying the moment together.
He’s so consumed by his own sensual pleasure, Soobin doesn’t realize you had reached over and grabbed your phone from your nightstand until you start to speak.
“Hi, can I speak to the manager?” You ask, slightly out of breath. You’re still on top of him, hips bobbing up and down as you talk to your management on the phone.
“Yeah, I can’t come in today, feeling sick again.” You moan, one of your hands falling onto Soobin’s chest. His heart is beating rapidly, his lust growing by the second.
Your movements slow, making him frustrated. Your attention should be on him. “-have enough hours to co-over!” You gasp as Soobin lifts you slightly, holding you by the hips so he can take control, thrusting into you hungrily.
“I-I’m fine! Just got a really bad cramp.” You lie, glaring at Soobin. He only scoffs, he knows you like it, you wouldn’t be clenching around him like a vice if you didn’t.
You quickly hang up the phone, tossing it to the side. “You sound so hot when you lie, did you know that?” Soobin teases as he lets you resume control.
“Shut up and fuck me already,” You groan. He smirks, proceeding to flip you over so you lay on your back.
You two share a soft and sweet kiss, tongues meshing together as he slowly fucks himself deeper into your cunt.
“Always so needy,” He jokes, but you don’t hear him, basking in the pleasure.
The blank page on his screen is blinding. His cursor blinks at him, waiting for him to begin typing. But the words never come, because how can Soobin even write an essay when all he can’t think about is this morning.
Just hours ago you and Soobin were sitting in the doctor’s office, getting your first ultrasound. The little pea-sized dot in your tummy was his baby.
“Actually,” Your doctor clears her throat. “You’re just far along enough that we can try and see if we can detect the baby’s heartbeat.”
Soobin’s eyes go wide as she moves the transducer around your gelled belly. He’s laser focused on the screen trying to search for the little blob the doctor referred to as your baby.
“Here we are,” Your doctor hums as she slows to a stop. Soobin holds his breath, he doesn’t realise he’s leaning closer to the screen. The entire room is in complete silence, the anticipation has his stomach twisting.
Then, from the scratchy low quality speaker of the computer screen, out bellows a single thump. And then another. And another. It’s fast yet regular, it feels familiar to Soobin.
“Oh my god,” He whispers, it’s barely audible, but the doctor hears and it makes her chuckle. “Isn’t it unreal?” She asks him, and Soobin can only nod, eyes still stuck on the screen.
He knew you were pregnant, but to hear the baby’s actual heart, it was so- Soobin whips his head around to you.
He doesn’t know what to expect with your reaction, but he never really expected to see you with your eyes closed shut and wearing a frown of discomfort.
And now he’s sitting at his tiny dining room table, trying to focus as he has to write about how minimum wage affects the economic state of the nation and how the problem of poverty can be solved. But how can he when he can’t get the look of pain on your face out of his head?
He’s dazed when you come waltzing in. You changed out of your old outfit into something more comfortable: yoga pants and his sweatshirt.
“I’m going to work, want me to pick up dinner?” You ask, opening the fridge to grab a cup of juice. But Soobin doesn’t answer, his eyes are glazed over. “Soobin?” You ask, still digging through the fridge.
“Soobin, hey!” You snap your fingers in front of his face and he magically comes back to reality.
“Huh? Sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Are you okay?” You ask, looking at him concerned. “Yeah, just tired.” He lies, rubbing the back of his neck. You step back and nod slowly.
“Okay, well did you want me to pick up dinner tonight?” You ask again, and this time he responds.
“Sure, whatever you feel like.” He complies, looking back at his blank screen. You watch him, confused but also curious. He starts to type slowly, but ends up deleting it all. His head ends up in his hands as he struggles to even form a sentence.
“I’m gonna get going, okay? See you later.” You say. Soobin grunts you goodbye, just as you lean over and ruffle his hair. His head shoots up, eyes wide as you giggle to yourself and leave with a mischievous smile.
You shut the front door as you leave and Soobin is left alone, his cursor still blinking against the blank sheet of paper. At this rate he’s never gonna pass his class.
With a sigh he slumps in his seat. He can’t get the image of the ultrasound out of his head.
It’s then that he remembers: the doctor gave you photos of the ultrasound. Last he saw the photos, you were holding them in your hand as he drove you two home. Where did you put it?!
Soobin soon finds himself digging around the bedroom, hoping you hadn’t thrown the photos away or taken them with you. But luckily for him, you’d tucked the strip of photos into the back of your nightstand drawer.
It was slightly bent, but he smoothed it over, his thumb grazing over the familiar little fuzzy white dot in the sea of black.
He makes his way back to the kitchen, holding the photos gently as he sits back down at the table. His document is still blank, but Soobin doesn’t care and he opens a new tab. He begins to type immediately:
What to expect when pregnant?
“So! What was it that you wanted to talk about?”
Soobin finds it hard to breathe at the moment as he squirms in his chair. Sitting across from him, his boss Jung Hoseok smiles unknowingly.
“You know, I’m actually surprised you asked to speak to me personally. You’re a diligent worker Soobin, I’m loving your results.” Hoseok grins as he overlooks a file on his desk. “Keep up the good work and I’m willing to promote you from assistant manager to manager. Maybe even the branch manager!” He chuckles as he tosses the file to the side.
Soobin clears his throat, sitting up straight. “Actually sir, that relates to what-” “Oh come on Soobin! You don’t have to call me that here, we’ve known each other long enough. Call me by my first name.” Hoseok interrupts.
Soobin is sweating. Hoseok’s good mood was making him nervous. “Well, uh, Hoseok. Sir.” His mouth feels numb as he repeats his name, but the other man gets a good laugh out of it.
“I wanted to talk to you about my position actually.” Immediately his boss’ smile falls. The air grows thick and it’s like there’s a loud buzzing noise filling the room.
“What exactly are you telling me Soobin?” Hoseok’s eyes are dark, they scare him. Soobin has to look away, focusing his attention on the wall behind him as he forces the words out of his lips.
“I-I-I’m ex-expecting.” His voice is small, it’s like he’s whimpering. Immediately Soobin’s eyes meet the ground.
For a couple of seconds, no one moves. His head remains slumped, his hands shaking as they rest on his knees. Then his boss adjusts his seat and sighs.
“... Expecting what? Am I missing something here?”
Soobin whips his head up in surprise, he actually raises a brow at Hoseok, looking at him like he’s lost his mind. His boss is equally confused.
“I’m expecting… a baby, Hoseok.” He speaks slowly this time, but by the time he finishes his sentence, Hoseok’s signature smile returns.
“Really?! Oh my, congratulations! And here I thought you were resigning! I would’ve really thrown a fit if you tried leaving haha!” He laughs hysterically, and Soobin finally loosens up.
“Uh, thank you. I just wanted to see if I could request more hours or ask for a promotion of some sort.” Soobin tries to shrug his worries off. “Oh yeah, sure sure. I’ll talk to Seokjin and Yoongi, I’m sure we can figure something out.” Hoseok waves him off.
“Now tell me, when is your baby due? Boy or girl? Do we have any names picked out yet?” Hoseok leaned over his desk as if he wanted to gossip.
If he were being honest, he believed this meeting to go a lot rougher. Hoseok was notorious for being a dedicated and hard worker who pursued professional perfection like a rocket. Soobin half expected to get demoted, or worse, fired.
But there was a spark of excitement in his boss’ eyes that was shocking. It seemed like he had a soft spot for children, lucky for Soobin.
“In August, it’s still too early so we don’t know the gender yet. I’m not sure about any names.” Soobin answers.
“But thank you, really. My partner's been really sick recently. She hasn’t been able to go to school or work much. I don’t want her to worry about our finances right now on top of the baby.” He admits.
Just last week you came home crying angry tears. You confessed your manager decided to reprimand you for all of your call outs by giving your shifts away to other coworkers. “We’ll be okay,” He patted your back as you cried into his shoulder that night. Soobin’s sad attempts to comfort you did nothing to soothe your wails. Hearing your frustrations led him to wanting to do better for you.
Hoseok’s smile softens. “Oh I completely understand. My sister was always tired or in pain when she was pregnant. I tried to be helpful when I visited her. I can’t imagine what your girlfriend is going through.”
Girlfriend. That word makes his cheeks hot.
“Y-Yeah, I really want to relieve her stress in any way I can.” Soobin coughs.
Hoseok suddenly claps his hands. “Well that settles it! I’ll talk to the guys, we’ll get back to you as soon as possible about this.” He smiles as he stands, signaling for Soobin to be on his way as well.
“Thank you sir, I’m really, really grateful.” Soobin tries his best to convey his thanks. “Don’t mention it! Just invite me to the baby shower,” Hoseok winks as he leads Soobin out of his office.
Soobin wasn’t even sure if you wanted a baby shower, given your circumstance, but he nods anyway. “Yes, of course.” He says before turning around to head back to his desk.
“Oh! Soobin!” Hoseok calls out, and he backtracks. “Yes?”
Hoseok pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t forget to talk to HR and apply for paternity leave, you won’t want to miss out on special quality time with your little one.”
You’re so quiet, Soobin has to gently kick your leg to get you to talk.
“S-Sorry! What was the question?” You stutter, laughing at yourself in embarrassment as you try to smile your pain away.
“What are you going to school for my dear?” Soobin’s mom asks you from across the table. She has a sweet smile on her face as she holds her mug of tea.
As you nervously explain your career path to his parents, Soobin watches intently, sitting next to you.
Today was the day he introduced you to his parents. And tell them about your pregnancy.
If anything, Soobin should be the one who is nervous. His stomach feels like it might collapse on itself, and he can’t stand up properly without gripping onto something for stability.
The entire 30 minute drive was so nerve wracking, that Soobin actually had to pull over and calm himself down for 10 minutes.
He shifts in his seat and makes eye contact with you. You give him a sheepish smile which oddly comforts him. He guessed he liked knowing you were also anxious.
“So remind me again how long you guys have been dating? His last girlfriend lasted 5 months,” His dad jokes, laughing loudly.
Soobin cuts in before his parents can say anything else embarrassing. “Since August, so about two months? Almost three.” He lies. You laugh awkwardly as you nod in agreement.
You and Soobin decided it’d be best to let his parents assume you two were dating. That way they’d feel less awkward about the pregnancy, but also so that they wouldn’t react like your parents, whom you’d visited just two weeks.
You two haven’t exactly figured out what to tell his parents after birth, but he assumed you two would decide eventually.
“Oh that’s so nice! I’m so glad Soobin and you are getting along so well.” His mom smiles and stands up. She pinched Soobin’s cheek, making him whine, before walking to the kitchen.
“Now, who’s hungry? I’ve made some mandu-guk, kimchi, and japchae. I also grilled some meat and made spicy pork!”
She sets the plates of food out, everything looks appetizing. But your face contorts at the strong scents, and you quickly excuse yourself to the bathroom.
“Sorry, uh, she really has to pee I guess.” Soobin laughs. His parents stare at him with an unsure expression. “Soobin, you never really bring your girlfriends to visit us. Are you sure this girl is the one? She seems awkward and stiff.” His dad admits.
“I know, just trust me.” He winces. “I mean she barely speaks to us! I don’t know if I can trust my baby with someone who can’t even hold a conversation with your father and I.” His mom sighs.
“She’s just nervous, she’s usually not like this.” Soobin defends you. Hearing his own parents nitpick at you begins to make his blood boil, slowly forgetting his nerves.
“And now she won’t eat your mother’s cooking? Now that’s just plain rude!” His dad exclaims.
Soobin slams a hand on the table, scaring his parents and even himself.
“Sorry sorry, I’m sorry. We wanted to tell you this later, when she’s ready, but I guess we can’t keep hiding it.” Soobin rubs his hands over his face.
“What is it? Soobin?” His mom sounds worried. Fuck. He wishes you were here to help him, but you were probably trying to hide the vomit from your nausea in the bathroom down the hall.
“Don’t tell me you’re in trouble with the law and you’re covering for her.”
“What? No.” Soobin sighs. “Mom, dad. Y/n is pregnant. We’re having a baby.”
The room becomes so silent you can hear the ticking of the clock that hangs in the hallway. And with every tick, Soobin’s heart pounded with fear.
Suddenly he hears a sniffle, and he immediately looks up to find his mom crying. “Mom, please don’t-“
“I’m so happy!” Her voice breaks as her husband leans over to hug her. He gives Soobin the warmest smile. “You’re all grown up, aren’t you?”
Soobin feels his own tears well up in his eyes. He blinks them away, nodding with assurance. “Yeah. I am.”
“You told them?” You step out from the hall looking ashamed and scared. “Mr. and Mrs. Choi, I’m so sorry, I never meant to burden Soobin. I get it if you hate me but please don’t hate him-“
“Y/n, it’s okay.” Soobin smiles at you, and pats your seat for you to sit.
You look confused, almost in denial. “…It’s okay?” You squeak, your eyes looking at him for approval.
“It’s more than okay.” His dad interjects, wiping a tear. “We’re so blessed! Oh my baby is having a baby!” His mother weeps.
You stand still unable to move your eyes from his joyfully woe parents. Soobin has to stand up and guide you back to your seat.
“What’d I tell you? It’s okay.” He whispers into your ear, and you finally relax.
He’s staring. A lot. It’s too obvious for anyone to not notice.
But Soobin can’t find it in him to tear his eyes away from the little stuffed bunny plush stuck in the claw machine. It sat pretty on a little shelf, its light gray fur looked so soft, paired with the plush pink nose, the stuffed animal was unarguably adorable.
Personally, Soobin didn't really care for any plushies. But he knew you did. When you moved in with him, you created a designated spot on the bed for your favorite little bear.
And this stuffed bunny was the perfect companion in Soobin’s eyes. So after staring through the glass for a solid five minutes, he finally fishes out some cash out of his wallet and inserts it into the machine.
It dances alive, corny music playing as lights blinked to the beat. The automated voice instructs him that he has 2 tries to win a prize and cheers him on.
Soobin moves the joy stick around, trying to get the right angles before he hits the button. The claw goes down, and narrowly misses the bunny. He frowns and huffs. This second time he moves the claw a bit to the right. He’s off by a couple centimeters again.
As the claw machine turns off, Soobin quickly pulls out another bill, stuffing it into the machine. It turns on again, repeating the same process. He was determined to win this bunny, even if it meant he’d go broke.
By his 12th try, Soobin is starting to get increasingly frustrated. He’s contemplating sticking his arm through the hole and just snatching the plushy himself.
“Soobin! Dude, we were supposed to meet at the lobby, what the hell?!” Yeonjun shouts as he and the others approach him.
We’re gonna miss our reservation if we don’t leave right now.” Taehyun reminds them. “Okay, just give me a second,” Soobin waves them off as he tries to use his height to see the best angle.
“Okay your second is up, let’s go.” Beomgyu says sarcastically, only to earn a cold glare from Soobin. “Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”
He presses the button once more, only to fail another time. He lets out a long and tired grunt, closing his eyes. The bright neon colors of the claw machine were starting to burn his retinas.
“What’re you trying to get? Let me try,” Kai suddenly speaks up, wiggling his way to the front. Soobin concedes, allowing Kai to pay for his own turn. “The bunny.” He mumbles. Kai only nods and in three swift moves him aligns the claw perfectly, catching the stuffed animal in one try.
“Damn, that was smooth as hell,” Beomgyu laughs. Kai pretends to tip a hat before handing the prized bunny plush to Soobin. He swipes it, looking more glum than he did before.
“What? I thought you wanted it?” Kai asks as they all begin to make their way to the restaurant they reserved.
“I did. Thanks I guess.” He mutters. Just like he suspected, the plushy was incredibly soft. He hopes you like it.
“I didn’t know you liked plushies too Soobin, when’d you start collecting?” Kai asks enthusiastically. Soobin looks away embarrassed, stuffing a hand into his pocket. “It’s not for me, it’s for Y/n,”
“Bro you are such a simp.” Beomgyu suddenly guffaws. Soobin doesn’t hesitate to punch him in the arm.
“Fuck off,” He growls. “I’m just trying to be nice.”
“You do know you guys aren’t dating, right?” Taehyun asks, and now Soobin is even more ashamed. “I know we’re not.”
An awkward silence fills the group. Soobin knows they’re all staring, exchanging looks as he walks ahead of them.
So instead of talking about his feelings, he looks at the stuffed bunny, petting its soft fur. He wonders what your reaction will be.
Somehow he pulls himself out of his car and into the elevator, going up to the 5th floor. It was late, Dokyung was probably already asleep. His sister and his brother in law might be too. Maybe he should just go back home.
But the thought of facing you again is more painful as time passes.
You and Soobin have been together for 10 months, almost an entire year together, yet you can’t seem to admit you’re in love with him. He’s in denial, he knows you love him.
But what if you really didn’t?
There were multiple times he could point out where you treated him more like a friend or a brother rather than a partner.
You used him constantly, it was painful.
He steps out of the elevator and makes a beeline to his sister’s door. He raises a hand to knock but hesitates.
Was this right? Was it worth it? Was he making a mistake? Soobin cut his sister off after she exposed his ruse, but in the end she had good intentions. He and you were planning on fooling his parents, especially his mother.
His sister might have been harsh and stern to you, but he also knows that she probably had predicted this exact moment would happen. Her words that freezing night in February were colder than the ice, maybe he should have listened.
Soobin’s hand falls to his side, he’s lost all his confidence.
How could he face his sister? After all the mistakes he’s made since then, she’d only make him feel worse by bragging about how she was right. It would grind his already shattered heart.
He should just go home and talk to you-
The door to the apartment swings open suddenly, and Soobin comes face to face with his sister. She looks frazzled, her hair is thrown into a messy ponytail, she’s still in her pajamas, but she has a jacket on top. She wears slippers, her purse lays over her shoulder.
But the second she realizes it’s Soobin standing in front of her, she lets out a giant sigh. “Oh my God.” Her voice is shaky, and she immediately pulls him into a tight hug. She then pulls away to grab him by the cheeks, checking him for any signs for injuries or mess before hugging him again.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” She breaks down, crying into his shoulder. Soobin hugs her back, feeling relief for the first time tonight. But he suddenly pulls away, grabbing his older sister by the shoulders.
“What do you mean you’re glad I’m okay?”
Soobin feels a bit relieved learning you were having a boy. He’s only ever babysat Dokyung a handful of times, and the idea of raising a little girl was frightening to him.
But then he’s reminded that you two were not in fact raising a baby, just growing one.
He didn’t have to worry or think about these things, because they would never come to fruition.
Yet he still fantasizes.
He goes to bed and dreams of taking his son to the park, going shopping together, and playing around the house.
He sees you in every dream too. Sometimes you’re smiling serenely from afar. Others you’re right there next to him, being a mother looks good on you he likes to think.
The only disturbing part of his dreams were the fact that he could never actually see the face of his son. Whether it be blurred or he’d be turning away, it’s as if he can never see his face clearly. It bothered him, he was so curious, what would a baby between you and him look like?
As he turns to your napping figure on the couch. You lay on your side, a throw blanket over your legs as you snore gently. You’re so tired you don’t even realize that the Tv is still on, playing the next episode of the show you were watching.
Soobin quietly pads over to the couch, leaning down to pick up the remote that had fallen to the ground as he turns off the TV.
He kneels beside you, watching as your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern as you sleep. If he could choose, Soobin would hope that your baby boy would look like you more than him.
Sure, he understood he was above average when it came to looks, and he’s sure you’d probably want your son to have his height, but Soobin would feel more satisfied knowing he could look at his own son and see you in him.
You and your soft eyes and pretty smile. Your soothing voice, your healthy hair. Your smooth skin, your wonderful laughter, all of the above he wishes for.
You suddenly sigh and turn over and Soobin leaps back up to pretend he was never there. You don’t wake though, and he calms down.
You look so comfortable, the thought of joining you was enticing. Falling into his urges, Soobin lifts the blanket and scoots you over to make room for him. Even though half of his body is hanging off the couch, he hugs you close and closes his eyes.
Just as he’s about to fall asleep, you wiggle yourself around to face him. Soobin opens an eye to find you yawning as you blink yourself awake.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” He mumbles. You only grunt and nod, snuggling into him. You go back to sleep, and as Soobin holds you in his arms, he can only imagine what it’d be like to nap with not only you, but your son.
To hear the word “Dad” come out of his son’s own lips seems like a dream far away.
“Still haven’t told me what all this is for,” Soobin groans as he fishes his dick out of his pants, unzipping his jeans and letting them fall down to the floor.
You ignore him, pulling away from his kiss to sit on the bed, legs wide open and waiting for him. You’re uncharacteristically sweet today, wearing a soft smile and adoration filling your eyes.
“You’re being really nice today,” He smirks, throwing off his shirt before laying you down on the mattress. “Is it because it happens to be a certain someone’s birthday?” He plays dumb.
“I know another way we can celebrate you if you insist,” You tease, pushing him away, but he playfully yanks you back towards him. “I’d rather not,” He murmurs against your lips, capturing you into a kiss.
Today was Soobin’s birthday, December 5th, and so far he’d argue this was the best birthday he’s had yet.
This morning you snuck out and bought his favorite pastries from the local bakery down the street for breakfast. When he went to class after you sent him off with a sweet smile and a wave.
After acing his last final exam, he went straight to work, where his coworkers gifted him a mini cake and a signed card, and even sang him a cheesy birthday song. As soon as he was off the clock his friends whisked him away to go get dinner and drinks.
But all day you’ve been sending him the most risque texts: of you begging for his cock, a photo of your bare ass, an audio of you moaning his name as you touch yourself, and lastly an old video of yours where he had recorded you in the mirror as you rode him in his desk chair.
Now it’s late at night, he’s slightly drunk, and you’re wearing the prettiest lacy lingerie set he’s ever laid eyes on, with a wet pussy on full display.
“Happy birthday Soobin,” You whisper as if it’s a secret. He thanks you by stuffing you full of his cock.
Outside the snow falls rather hard than delicately, yet it’s still a beautiful scene to watch from the comfort of his bedroom window.
Soobin yawns. It’s late and practically everyone in the house has retired for the night except for you and him.
Both you and Soobin were spending Christmas with his family this year. He’s just finished laying out the little cot on the ground beside his bed for him to sleep tonight, making it as comfortable as he can. His mother had originally been so worried when she found out you two were going to spend the night.
But Soobin assured her he’d be fine sleeping on the floor for one night, it would have to be done because his twin bed would not fit the both of you, nor would the snow let up enough for him to drive you guys back to the apartment.
Feeling more tired by the second, he sits on his old mattress just as you walk into the room.
There’s something that makes Soobin’s stomach flip as he watches you make yourself comfortable in his childhood room.
You’re fresh from the shower, drying your hair with your towel as you wear an old large pair of sweats and a long sleeve. Both of them were his.
“You might want to hurry if you want hot water,” You warn him, standing in front of his mirror. “The water was getting a little cold as I finished.”
Soobin hates cold showers with a passion, but he doesn’t mind suffering from them if it means he gets to see you like this.
So instead of hurrying to the bathroom, he pats the empty space beside him on his old bed for you to sit. You don’t hesitate to plop down next to him, letting him take the towel from your hands as Soobin begins to gently dry your hair for you.
With your back to him, he thinks your eyes are closed, enjoying the quiet serene moment. That is until you speak up.
“So,” You hum. “When were you going to tell me you have a furry fetish?”
Soobin drops the towel. “What?!”
You raise your hand and point across the room. On his wall was a hung poster of his favorite girl group Kara, the members all posing as each one of them is wearing a variant of animal ears and fuzzy matching gloves.
Soobin physically spins you around to face him, you give him a teasing grin. “I don’t- It’s a poster! I got it for free when I was a kid, leave me alone!” He complains as you begin to laugh.
As he pouts, you stand to hang your wet towel on his old desk chair. “I’m just joking with you, I know,” You chuckle and stand between sulky Soobin’s legs to pull him into a hug. He gratefully does so, resting his head atop your tummy. You run a hand through his hair, the other one rubs small circles into his back.
Soobin closes his eyes and sighs. He loved being close with you like this, a fantasy he wishes he could live in forever.
“Your nephew’s really cute,” You say, but it’s so quiet it’s practically a whisper.
Soobin hums in agreement, eyes still closed as he listens intently to the sounds of your womb and growing son. “He’s funny too, kept poking my belly earlier.” You giggle. He feels the baby kick as you laugh.
There’s a new unique sense of comfort and familiarity as you cradle him.
Soobin cracks his eyes open, taking in the scene: the room he grew up in, lit by the dull yellowing light of his lamp. The quiet hum of the A/C unit blowing warm air throughout the house. Your soft skin and the gentle smell of your santal body wash. It all seems too good to be true.
Your right hand moves from his hand down to cup his chin. You gently guide him to face you, peering up at you like a curious puppy. And to him you’re an angel heaven sent.
“Come on, go shower so we can go to bed.” You say delicately, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes.
Soobin frowns, but stands up anyways. He often forgets how much taller he is compared to you. He doesn’t exactly keep a record of it. But he towers over you, your head tilted up to look at him curiously.
His hand comes up to caress your cheek and he leans down to kiss you.
It’s unlike any other kiss you two have shared, where sex is usually involved and made of raw lust. This kiss was innocent, full of endearment and vulnerability. A simple kiss to convey his true feelings.
You kiss him back with the same vehemence and Soobin feels hopeful.
In January you seem happier, even though you spend your days going to work and doing nothing all day. You barely passed this last semester, all thanks to Soobin’s help, but with your pregnancy progressing you decided to take a break and skip out of qthis upcoming term.
Soobin notices your new relaxed state quite quickly.
“Uh, whatcha doing there?” He tries to hold his laughter in as he walks up behind the couch.
You don’t move from your spot, eyes focused on the TV. You spoon yourself another bite of your ice cream, not even paying attention to him. “Eating ice cream,” You say monotonously.
He watches you with amusement, leaning over to observe you closer.
You’re slouched down, a fluffy blanket laid tucked on top of you, and your bowl of Ben & Jerry’s sits not in your lap, but rests right on top of your bulging belly. Your hands rest on your sides when you’re not feeding yourself.
The image of you using your own stomach as your own personal table was incredibly entertaining to Soobin, so much so that he pulls out his phone and snaps a photo.
You hear the click of his camera and actually turn around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. Soobin giggles to himself as he looks at the photo, his hand covering his childlike grin.
“What? Did you take a picture of me? Why?” You ask, holding the bowl in your hand now as you try to lean over to get a look.
Soobin’s laughter slowly dies down, and he ruffles your hair before showing you the photo. You scoff, pouting even as you realize why he’s been giggling at you. “It’s not funny,” You pretend to be upset, but he can see through you.
He hops over the couch to sit next to you, snuggling into your side. “Oh but it is,” He teases. You roll your eyes and sigh, returning your bowl back to its spot on your tummy.
“Want a bite?” You ask, offering him a spoon. He opens his mouth and allows you to feed him. “This is good, holy shit.” He’s astonished, having never actually had a bite of your favorite ice cream.
“I told you!” You laugh. “Want some more?” You spoon him another bite, which he graciously eats.
“As long as you feed me.” He continues to joke. You pretend to scorn him, wagging a finger in his face as if to lecture him.
“You’re playing dirty.” You hum. His grin widens. “I thought you liked me better when I played dirty.” He retaliates, smirking at you.
Instead of fighting back like he thought you would, you sigh and sit up, pushing him off you.
“Come on Soobin, don’t act like you’re my boyfriend, we aren’t dating.” You say in a joking tone as you walk to the kitchen.
He stays stunned on the couch, smile fallen and body limp.
Soobin watches with pure adoration as you are sat on the ground, legs splayed out as his nephew shows you every single one of his toy dinosaurs he has in his room.
Dokyung’s current obsession was dinosaurs, and the young boy was happily yapping to you about the many figures he’d brought from his toy box. You’re sitting beside him, listening to every little thing he has to say, nodding along and even asking questions.
You and Soobin have come to visit his sister and her family, a request from Dokyung after he enjoyed your company at Christmas. You didn’t mind seeing his nephew, as you found him amusing. In fact you liked him a lot.
The two of you are busy reenacting a dino fight when Soobin’s sister taps his shoulder.
“Hey can we talk?” She asks, already leading him to her bedroom. “Uh, what’s up?” He asks nervously, hanging by the door as his sister settles atop her mattress.
“Nothing, just wondering why you never told me you were expecting?” She hides her irritation behind a stiff smile.
Soobin knew this would happen. He’d been anticipating it all day. All week actually. He’s been mentally preparing for this moment that he’s already got his responses memorized.
“It was a surprise, really.” He recites. “Neither of us were really expecting for this to happen.” He shrugs.
“But I want to be there for her, She’s already going through a lot with the changes of her body, it’s the least I could do.” His sister nods as she listens.
“How chivalrous of you.” She chuckles. “But raising a kid is hard, there’s so many things you have to consider before deciding to have a baby.”
“I’m worried Soobin, you’re both so young and still in school. Mom and dad are excited but they aren’t gonna always be able to help. They’re getting old too, you know.”
Soobin feels guilty as his sister speaks. If only she knew what you planned to do after birth, none of these were a concern of yours for that exact reason.
“You’re going to have to make a lot of sacrifices, I know my husband and I did with Dokyung, but we’re grown adults with stable jobs. You and Y/n should have thought about this more.”
Soobin’s heart grows heavier with each word. The concern in his sister’s voice is killing him inside. This woman practically helped raise him. Him and his siblings have a large age gap, his sister being 10 years older than him. She would take Soobin with her on errands, babysit him every summer break, feed him meals when his parents were working late.
Does he have the heart to hide the truth from her?
“Soobin, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I promise. I just want you to make the right decision. Okay?” She looks at him with earnest eyes and he just nods.
His sister stands, walks over to him and gives him a hug. “You know you can always come to me for help, right? I’m here for you.”
She pulls away and gives him a soft smile. Soobin can’t dare to look at her and lie. So he swallows thickly, lips thin.
“Sis, there’s something I need to tell you.”
The drive to the hospital is unbearingly slow despite the fact that Soobin was driving 20 kms past the speed limit.
“Slow down,” His sister hisses, she’s gripping the door handle stiffly. But Soobin ignores her and speeds up.
In fact, he doesn’t even hear his sister and her warnings of him being pulled over or causing a crash. Instead all he can hear is your name. Over and over and over again, he can hear your name, see your face, feel your touch. It’s fleeting and that scares him.
Upon entering his sister’s apartment, Soobin was quickly informed that you had suddenly gone into labor and could not contact him. You called his mother and let her know that Soobin was missing and that you were going to the hospital. His mother contacted his sister who was just about to go out and search for Soobin, just to find him standing at her doorway.
And now Soobin is zooming to the hospital, his body is moving on his own without any control.
Everything was his fault. He shouldn’t have left, he shouldn’t have yelled at you, he shouldn’t have made you cry. Soobin felt guilty beyond belief. His tears begin to flow, and suddenly he’s blind, he can’t see.
“SOOBIN STOP! BRAKE! BRAKE!!” His sister is slapping his arm as she screams, and he instinctively hits the brakes, stopping centimeters from the car in front of him. The car lurches to a stop. Soobin’s knuckles are white as they are wrapped around the wheel, but they’re shaking.
“Get out.” His sister’s voice is coarse yet quiet. He doesn’t move, still breathing heavy as he tries to calm his heart. “Soobin, get out.” She’s stern this time, unbuckling herself and his own seatbelt. She steps out and runs around the car and opens his door, practically dragging him out of the front seat.
“Go sit in the passenger,” She instructs, and he nervously follows her directions. His sister now sits in the driver’s seat and continues the drive.
Soobin sits lifelessly in the other seat, tears silently flowing down his face as he tries to fight his own emotions before it’s too late.
Soobin looks around the empty apartment. Since you’ve moved in, it feels more like a home now. Before you lived with him, Soobin’s apartment was plain, he only had the necessities, with barely any decor.
But the second you stepped inside you changed everything, with your houseplants, copious amounts of throw blankets and pillows on his couch, and your need for a candle to be found in every room.
He likes how your clothes filled the empty gap in his closet. He likes how your skincare and makeup litter the bathroom counter next to his toothbrush. He likes how you hung up frames and posters on his bare walls.
He likes you. And you like him back too. At least he thought so.
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.
Soobin bought you flowers, chocolates, reserved your favorite restaurant for dinner, and gifted you the purse you’ve been eyeing online for the past month. He never asked for anything in return, because just being with you was a gift enough for him. He couldn’t care less about gifts, he just loved spending time with you.
But when you saw all of this, all that he did for you, you looked at him confused.
“Thank you, these are beautiful,” You smile as you hold the flowers and glance at the purse.
“But Soobin,” You have to look away as you put the flowers in a vase. “Isn’t Valentine’s Day for couples? We aren’t dating.”
Those words from last night lead him to his question now: What was he to you?
Your actions and words never matched up, and Soobin was constantly filled with confusion.
One day he acts as your boyfriend, your lover, your husband if you will. And the others he was a stranger. You treated him like he was expendable.
You two weren’t a couple, this was something you constantly insisted on, but neither of you can’t seem to pull away from each other no matter how hard you try. This awkward stage of will-you-won’t-you was frustrating to him.
The only thing was that Soobin was a bit of a coward. He’s always struggled to express his true feelings, and with you it’s even harder when he has what feels like his entire life on the line.
Sometimes when he’s alone, his brain reminds him of the consequences of his actions- more like the consequences of his inaction. With his inability to convey to you his own desires, you walk all over him like a rug.
But Soobin knows deep down you do care for him.
He can tell with the way you look at him, how your eyes always soften when he’s in view. You speak to him with such a sweet tone, even when you’re unhappy.
He notices the little things you do, like how you called his mom a week before his birthday to learn how to cook his favorite meal. Or whenever he’d come home late from work you’d stay up to help him get ready for bed.
That time he went out with the guys for Yeonjun’s birthday, and he got so drunk that you had to pick him up from the club. You held his hand the entire drive home and tucked him into bed with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to see him in the morning.
You might not outright say it, but you like Soobin. Your actions scream louder than any word.
He just wants you to be happy, and if that means he has to suck it up and let you ruin him for your own dignity, he’d do it, absolutely.
The sound of the front door opening has him sitting up, his senses high alert. You were finally home.
Yesterday after you had rejected his gifts, you unexpectedly spent the night at Minjeong’s. You claimed it was because she was feeling extra lonely since Valentine’s Day would have been her anniversary with her ex, but Soobin knows better than that.
You open the door and immediately you two make eye contact, faces frozen in fear.
“Hi,” You choke out, hurrying to lock the door and take your shoes off. “Hey,” Soobin stands up, awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets.
You purse your lips and drop your bag onto the dining table, almost waiting for him to speak first. He doesn’t want to, but he does.
“How was Minjeong?” He asks, voice dry. “She’s holding up alright,” You clear your throat. He nods though you don’t see as you busy yourself in the kitchen.
“So, um, I was thinking we need-” “Hey Soobin,” You interrupt him. He looks up and sees you staring right back at him.
“I-” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday, You were just being nice, and I see that now. Thank you, really, for the gifts.” You smile at him, but it’s not genuine.
“It’s nothing,” He lies through his teeth and returns your smile. You sigh and look relieved. As you disappear into the bedroom, Soobin remains standing in the middle of the apartment, just as confused as before.
You’re staring so hard at the couch, Soobin is starting to think you’re trying to mentally set it on fire or something.
“No, it’s too long, and the color is too light and I don’t like the material.” You decide and shake your head. He scoffs, and follows you as you walk down the aisle to the next one.
Currently, he was stuck inside of an Ikea with you, in search of a new couch. And you were taking it very seriously.
The only thing was that his old one was completely fine, it was a little beat up from the last couple of years of wear and tear, but it was still sturdy.
But he needed to get you out of the house, and what better way than making up a fake excuse to go out and furniture shop?
After Seollal at his family’s house, you’ve been depressed, and for good reason. His sister’s forced confession damaged not only his reputation, but your mental health. To Soobin that was not acceptable.
You already struggled with your own family, he’s seen it with his own eyes how broken you become when your parents disowned you.
Not to mention your recent mental breakdown at 2 am. You’d woken up in tears, sobbing so hard he was afraid you’d break.
He refused to see you hurt like that again, so he was going to use everything in his power to make you feel better.
“What about that one?” He drags you to a different showroom, this one was a stark difference from the fake and moody one you two were just at. It’s bright with pops of color coming from the house plants and window drapes.
But you frown, shaking your head as you watch Soobin sit on the neon blue sofa. “No, that thing looks so uncomfortable. And it’s way too small, your legs barely fit.”
Soobin gets up and sighs, following you as you examine each and every showroom with the eyes of a hawk. You guys barely arrived 30 minutes ago, but he was already wanting to go home.
“How about that one? It’s kind of nice.” He suggests, pointing to an earthy green mid century modern sofa.
“The color isn’t cute, I want something practical.” You argue, already onto the next showroom.
He doesn’t even know why he’s trying to help when you already have a vision. But seeing you act all serious has him worked up. He liked it when you were direct and stern, it turned him on.
“Oh what about this! This is cute! And it’ll fit in the living room.” You plot yourself onto a beige loveseat, sinking into the cushions.
“Whatever you want.” He smiles, enjoying your interests. You pat the seat beside you and he sits down, leaning all the way back.
“Not bad, right?” You look at him expectantly. “It’s kind of stiff, but we just have to break it in.”
He turns to you and smiles, you looked like you were actually enjoying yourself for once.
“Come on, let’s go to the next one, maybe we should get a sectional!” You stand up and pull him with you, leading him to another room.
One by one you try out each couch, not fully satisfied.
“This is the last one, “ Soobin warns. “Just sit,” You roll your eyes and the two of you sit side by side. This sofa was dark gray in color, three seats with a chaise lounge included, and extra soft.
“Woah, it’s like sitting in cotton candy.” You sigh. “I don’t want to get up, this is bad.” Soobin nods in agreement. You close your eyes and lean against him.
“I think this is the one. I could nap here all day.” You yawn. “Are you sure it’s not just because you’re tired?” He teases. You pinch his side, making him giggle.
I want this one. Maybe a lighter shade of gray if they have it,” You add. Soobin hums, too lazy to find the tag right at this moment to keep note of which sofa to buy.
Right now, here with you was perfect. Even if you guys were in a crowded furniture store with hundreds of other people who were busy shopping.
He couldn’t care less where you two were, it could be in the middle of nowhere, a haunted house, a busy freeway. Soobin would go anywhere for you.
As long as he’s got you, everything will be okay.
Soobin thought that when you got pregnant, your lust would die down.
It did not. In fact it was amplified.
“We can’t do this here, I’m at work.” He tries to push you off him, but you’re persistent, kissing up and down his neck.
“We’re at a work party, you're off the clock, and no one is here. We’re alone.” You insist, rubbing his hard on through his pants. “You like it don’t you? You like it when I let you fuck me anytime anywhere.” You mock him.
It was true, while he lived the comfort of having sex at home, he can’t forget the adrenaline you give him when you two are out and about.
But fucking inside of conference room where just a few feet away all of his coworkers are socializing and could potentially hear or catch you two? That was a bit terrifying.
“Please? Fuck I’m so horny,” You whine, already unbuttoning his shirt. “You look so good I can’t help it.”
This is news to Soobin. The theme for this year’s annual work celebration was Blast from the Past! so he’d gone and worn a denim on denim look: a denim button up paired with a random tie and jeans. His hair was down and messy, and he’s been eating barbecue chips for the past half hour straight.
“What?” He has to laugh, thinking you’ve gone crazy. But you don’t relent and continuing to unbuckle his pants and shoving your hand down his boxers.
He’s ashamed to admit he’s already half hard the second you pulled him into the empty room. Now your soft hands are massaging his erect cock like it’s your job, kissing up and down his exposed chest.
You’re getting on his nerves. You always act like a brat when he’s under pressure.
So he removes you from him, earning a grin from you as he pushes you against the table, seating you so that your legs are wide open for him.
“You never listen,” He scowls, lifting your dress up and pushing your panties to the side. “I’ll listen now,” You blink up at him innocently. You begin to play with yourself in order to relieve the tension, head rolling back.
Soobin slaps your hand away, grabbing your wrist and pinning you down. “Liar, you always like to test me, don’t you?” He doesn't let you answer as he quickly lines his cock to your seeping hole, sliding in without warning.
You let out a sensual moan, fully laying down on the table now. Your free hand pulls down the top half of your dress to reveal your plump and aching tits. You look like you’re fresh from a painting.
“Why aren’t you moving?” You groan, trying to grind yourself against him. Soobin stands there taking you in with a smirk plastered all over his face. He sees how your face begins to turn red as he refuses to look away from you.
He finally leans down, grabs you by the jaw and whispers, “Always a slut for my cock, aren’t you?”
You gasp and clench around him. He can’t take it anymore. Without warning he begins to thrust into you like a piston, fast, swift and hard. You can’t control your moans, you’re breathing heavily as he holds both of your wrists in one single hand above your head.
The other hand quickly goes to cover your lips. “Be quiet, want someone to find us?” Soobin growls into your ear. He’s barely holding on himself as he mocks you.
“You want my boss to come in here and see you all fucked out on my dick, yeah baby?” He threatens and you can only bite your tongue. “Don’t worry baby, no one but me gets to see you like this,”
“All hot and wet for me and me only, right?” You nod desperately and he removes his hand from your mouth. “You love my cock so much you just had to have my baby, didn’t you?” His hand goes to rub your swollen stomach, before traveling down to your clit.
“F-Fuck!” You squeak out as he simultaneously plays with your clit and pumps you full. “God you’re so fucking tight, I-I’m gonna cum,” His tough act begins to crumble as he struggles to chase his own high.
“Want me to cum in you baby? Or you wanna drink it up like a good girl?” He brushes a lock of hair out of your face, caressing your cheek.
“Don’t pull out I’m so close,” You cry, hands searching for him. You were always pretty, but seeing you beg for him was something else. Soobin can’t help but kiss you, ramming into you with so much intensity and vulgarness he completely forgets where you two are.
You cum in seconds, he follows you with insane speed, the way you convulse around him has him falling through the cracks. You’re both breathless and tired, but your lips stay connected.
Eventually he peels himself off you, pulling his softening dick out of your warmth. Both of you are sticky and wet, sweating like you’ve run a marathon. But his eyes are trained on your pussy as his cum leaks out, thick and white.
Unconsciously he sticks a finger into your sore hole, pushing it back in. You wince, catching your breath. “Soobin-”
He shuts you up by sticking that same finger into your mouth. “I don’t want to waste a drop.”
“Beomgyu! Get your ass over here and help me with this banner!” Jimin orders, she spots Beomgyu hiding behind a tree. The man sulks as he’s been found, trudging over to the canopy.
“I never signed up for this! I just came to drop off the catering” He whines, but Jimin doesn’t care, handing him the banner to hang.
“Can you shut up? At least you’re not lugging around the damn table!” Yeonjun yells. He’s currently dragging the folding table all over the patio area, under orders from Ningning.
“More to the left- no my left! No go back, more to the right now- your right!” She tells him and he obediently listens, though he seems tired.
“Hi! We picked up the cupcakes!” Minjeong sings as she and Aeri arrive, though they’re not carrying a thing. “Uh, where?” Soobin asks, confused.
“Here! We offered to help,” Taehyun announces as he and Kai waltz over to the canopy, carrying the boxes of cupcakes. “Low sugar with whipped cream frosting,” Aeri recites as she and Minjeong begin to organize the food on another table.
“We need chairs! Where are the chairs? Beomgyu you were supposed to bring the chairs!” Jimin glares. “I would grab the chairs, but I’m holding your stupid banner!” He argues.
“Go get the chairs! Ugh, Kai, help me with the banner, you’re taller.” She waves off Beomgyu.
“Well, looks like the baby shower planning is going well,” Soobin jokes as Yeonjun approaches, finally free from Ningning’s grasp.
“What are you doing? Don’t just stand there, do something!” He complains. “Nope, I’m gonna go pick up Y/n’s dress and drop it off, then I’ve got to grab the drinks and ice.” Soobin states.
“Save me!” Beomgyu sobs, only for Jimin to glare at him again. “Hurry up! We need more chairs!”
“Actually, I can grab the dress, Minjeong and I are gonna leave to go do Y/n’s hair and makeup anyways,” Aeri checks the time. “But you can take Beomgyu with you, I think Jimin might burst a vein if she has to be with him for another minute.” Minjeong whispers.
Soobin sends her a thumbs up and pulls his best friend away from starting a spat with Jimin. “Let’s go grab the drinks! We’ll be back.” Soobin waves a goodbye.
“Turn on the A/C, I’m melting,” Beomgyu groans as he jumps into the passenger seat. The cool air hits his face, refreshing the pair.
“So, why are you guys throwing a baby shower again? I thought you guys were gonna chuck the baby or something?” Beomgyu asks. Soobin punches his arm, making him cry.
“We are not chucking the baby, we’re just giving the baby up for adoption for the time being.” He corrects.
Beomgyu looks confused. “For the time being? You mean you plan to get custody later?” Soobin goes quiet.
If he were being honest, he might be a bit attached already to your unborn son. He hasn’t said anything, but he can’t bear to even think about signing the adoption papers.
“No,” He sighs. “I just- I might just ask for full custody if Y/n says no.” He admits. Beomgyu’s eyes bulge out of his head. “So you’re saying you’d become a single dad?!”
Soobin slowly nods. The idea was daunting, but he believes he could do it. He knows his mom will help, they’ve spoken a few times privately since Seollal. He considered moving back home to make his life a bit easier if it came down to it.
“Soobin, you can’t be serious, this isn’t some kind of game you can speedrun. This is a real human being that you’re gonna have to raise for 18 years-” “I know Beomgyu,” Soobin says tensely.
“But you don’t get it.” He clenches his jaw. “You won’t get it until you’re in that room, and the doctor shows you the ultrasound and you get to see your baby grow- did you know you can hear their heartbeat?!” Soobin stops at the red light, looking over his best friend with desperation in his eyes.
“I can’t get the sound out of my head.” He reveals. Beomgyu goes silent.
“And what about Y/n? You said you’d do anything for her, right?”
Soobin continues the drive, eyes trained on the road. “Yeah, but maybe not this time.”
The car is quiet again, the radio so low it’s a whisper. Beomgyu suddenly lets out a howl, his head leaning against the glass window.
“You’re insane,” He mumbles. “But you’re also my best friend. So if you’re really going to go through with this, I’ll be there.”
Soobin smiles. “Thanks Beomgyu, I appreciate it.” The other man just nods, looking out the window.
“Just so you know, I’ll help out but I am not changing any poop diapers. Give those all to Yeonjun.” Soobin begins to laugh, feeling relieved from his friend’s support.
He waits until you’re asleep. Outside on the balcony, the air is cool and there’s a slight breeze. It’s way past midnight and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open as he presses the call button. It rings five times before his mom picks up.
“Hello?” She sounds like he’s just woken up. ‘Hey mom, sorry, did I wake you?” He worries.
“Huh? No, no, I’m fine,” She lies. “How are you? Did you eat today?” She asks. “Yeah, yeah,” He answers.
They go through the formalities, checking on each other’s health, asking about their days and such. But eventually, as the night goes on, the topic changes to something more serious.
“And how is the baby?” Soobin goes stiff. “Fine, the doctor says he’s healthy.” He hears his mom hum on the other line.
Silence.
“Are you still going to give up my grandbaby?”
He hates this question.
“Soobin, are you listening to me?” She repeats and he fights the urge to yawn, losing as he leans against the railing of his balcony. “I’m listening.” He assures her.
His mother sighs, mumbling something under her breath. “You do know what you’re doing right? That baby deserves to be with his dad and mom.”
“No yeah, I know,” He hums. This was the fifth time they’ve had this conversation in the last two months.
“I know that you and Y/n are struggling, but that’s why your father and I are here. We love you Soobin, and we love Y/n too, please don’t do this.”
He closes his eyes, making a face. “Don’t say that.” He urges. “But why? You two are so good together. You love her, why can’t you two make this work for your son? Put your differences aside! Couples have differences and fight all the time, you two need to learn to compromise.”
Maybe it was because it was late and he was extremely tired, or maybe it was because he hated the way his mom talked about his relationship with you like she knew better. But either way Soobin snaps.
“Y/n and I- We- stop acting as if we’re dating mom, you know we aren’t.” He sighs and rubs his face. “You can stop pretending.” The line is quiet, and he wonders if he should just say goodnight and end the call.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something from inside move. “Hold on,” He murmurs. “I think Y/n’s up.” He immediately mutes the call, tip toeing inside. He makes his way to the bedroom, from the door he sees you cuddled up with the blanket. Your back faces him.
“No she’s still asleep,” He says into the phone as he unmutes the call. As he turns to leave, he shuts the door. He doesn’t want you to hear any of this.
“Soobin, I just want what’s best for you,” His mother finally says. “How do you know this is good for me? For all you know, I could be digging my own grave,” He argues, stepping back outside onto the balcony.
He hears his mom shuffle, then hum. “Well, I see how you are with her, and my son, you glow.” His heart aches as he hears her speak with such sincerity. “You look at each other with love, and now you can share that love with your baby. You two just need to sit down and talk.”
“I-”
Soobin sucks in a breath. He can’t speak. He can’t respond, argue. Because he wants his mother to be right, he desperately does. Just the idea of living that fantasy of growing a family with you was enough to bring him to his knees.
He’s tried so hard to get you to like him back, so hard to break down your walls. He just wants to be able to love you openly. No more lies and secrets.
The only thing stopping him is you.
“I’m gonna go to bed mom,” He bites his cheek, holding back. “Okay,” he can hear the tone of his mom. She’s disappointed. He hears that more often these days.
“I’ll talk to you next time, okay?” They bid farewell and instead of going back to bed with you and sleeping his stress away, Soobin goes to the living room and sits on the couch.
The one you picked out and he built.
He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep there until the early morning when the sun blinds him. Quietly he slips back into the bedroom and into the mattress next to you.
Just like last night, your lonely back faces him.
“Y/N!” Soobin bursts into your hospital room looking like he’s run through hell and back. He scares you awake, Beomgyu jumping up from his spot on the waiting chair.
“You made it! Thank God,” Beomgyu looks more relieved than Soobin. “I was starting to get worried, they said I would have to go into the room with her when it was time to push,” He gags. “Thanks,” Soobin pats him on the back as Beomyu slips out of the room as soon as possible.
His attention turns to you.
You’re sitting on the hospital bed, wearing your gown and hair in a mess. Just like him your tears have dried up on your face, leaving streaks.
He hesitates.
His body wants to move, his legs are screaming at him to run to you, pull you into a hug, kiss your face and promise to never leave you alone again.
But his brain stops him. Just hours ago you’d rejected him and broken his heart into a million pieces.
You suddenly start sniffling, and his body reacts automatically, coming to your side. He can’t bring himself to hold you just yet, so he settled by petting your hair as you cry.
“I’m sorry,” He begins to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I should have- I was being stupid and I-” He shuts up when you lurch forward and hug his waist, sobbing into his shirt.
He finally relaxes and leans over to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling you closer. “I’m an idiot I know,” He murmurs and kisses your head. “Please forgive me,”
You can’t even answer him properly, you're crying so hard your body is shaking violently. So instead he just holds you, holds like you're made of glass until you fall back asleep from the pure exhaustion this entire night has been.
Soobin lays you back down, wiping your tears from your cheeks.
You didn’t deserve him. He was a jerk, and he could never forgive himself for what he’s done to you. He was selfish for trying to force you to pursue him, for feeding into his own desires. If only he could go back in time.
Quietly, he attempts to leave you to rest on the little stiff loveseat by the window. Except the grip tightens around his hand. He looks up to find you awake again.
“You should try to rest, you’ll need the energy.” He tells you, though he doesn’t move.
You shake your head, confusing him. But suddenly you scoot over, and gesture for him to lay with you. Soobin is surprised. After everything tonight, you still want him around.
Feeling guilty, he struggles to squeeze in without hurting you. But once he’s next to you, you snuggle into his side, your head resting on his chest. He holds you dearly, his other hand playing with your fingers as if to distract himself.
“You were right, you know,” You suddenly speak up, breaking the comfortable silence. Soobin quirks an eyebrow, confused on what you were talking about.
You shift so that you could face him.
Even with your tired eyes, tear stained cheeks and pouty lips, your beauty amazes him. He feels lucky just to have made eye contact with you.
“I love you,” You whisper, as if you were scared to speak up. “What?” He mumbles, unable to believe you.
“I love you Soobin,” You repeat. “I… I’ve been lying to myself, to you. I’ve loved you for a long time now. I’m sorry.” You look away, feeling ashamed. Your tears return and he does you a favor by gently guiding you to look at him again.
Delicately, Soobin kisses you. His heart begins to bloom as you two become intertwined. This was all he could ever want, and you’ve finally gifted him his greatest award: your love.
“Do you hate me?” You ask in between kisses. He smirks. “How could I ever hate you baby?” He teases, kissing your salty tears away. “Because I’m such an asshole, and you always treat me so well,” You hiccup.
His lips return to yours as a way to reassure you. “I love you so much. There’s nothing you could do that could make me hate you.”
You shudder under his touch, pulling him by his collar, trying to get closer. Your anguish has him pulling away faster than you or he wants.
“You need to rest,” He insists, despite the fact that he’d rather kiss you for longer. But he can see and tell you’re exhausted. He can sacrifice his affections for the time being.
“Don’t go.” You pout. “I’m not going anywhere, never again.” He promises, fixing the pillows to make the both of you more comfortable.
He watches as you yawn, your sleepiness consuming you. Just before you fall asleep though, he whispers in your ear.
“Can you say it again?”
You glance at him, eyebrows furrowed. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck and sigh. “I love you Soobin,” You mumble into his soft skin.
And his heart soars, he’d been waiting to hear those words all along.
“I spend nine- almost ten months carrying him in my womb, and he comes out looking just like you,” You frown. “It’s like I’ve been scammed.”
“He’s got your uh, your eyebrows I think? Baby it’s okay, look how cute he is,” Soobin giggles as he sits beside your hospital bed, carrying your sleeping son. He’s been in the outside world for a total of three hours, yet he’s the cutest baby ever.
“Eunjae, you’re gonna be handsome just like your daddy, huh?” You lean over to gently boop the baby’s nose.
“Eunjae? When did you pick a name?” Soobin asks, you two had never really talked about names ever. “He picked it himself,” You shrug.
Soobin is even more confused now. “What do you mean he picked it himself, Y/n he’s three hours old.”
Before you can answer, there’s a knock on your door. “Hi mom and dad! How are we doing?” The nurse asks as he comes in holding what seems to be paperwork.
“Good so far.” Soobin answers. “Great! I’ve actually got some documents for you guys to sign, as well as the birth certificate,”
He hands you the papers, and you read over them. As you flip through the documents, you stop at a specific one.
“Um actually, we aren’t going to be needing this one anymore,” You hand the nurse the paper, he reads it over. “Sounds good, I’ll come back later once everything is filled. Let one of us know if you have any questions.” He says as he departs.
“What was it that you gave back?” Soobin asks. You’re already signing some papers as you speak. “The adoption papers.” You don’t look at him, but Soobin is smiling.
You finally look up at him and smile back, this one was real and filled with pure love.
“We can’t give up on this little guy, he’s too adorable,” You coo as you poke your son’s cheek. The baby squirms in his arms before resuming his sleep.
Soobin watches as you fill out the birth certificate, there’s a weird sense of pride he feels as you complete the documents.
“You know I like the name, Eunjae.” He agrees. “Well you better like it, I already wrote it down on the certificate with permanent marker,” You joke, making him chuckle. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple.
“I love you,” You say. He smiles at you. “You’ve told me that like 150 times since last night.” He pretends to complain.
“And I never get tired of saying it.” You grin, sealing your vow with a kiss. And for Soobin, he never gets tired of hearing those three words, patiently waiting for the next time they slip from your lips.
He’d wait for you tomorrow, the next day, a week from now, a month, a year, a decade, a century and for eternity.
synopsis: your relationship with choi soobin is not a normal one. one might see you two out in public and assume you are lovers. his mother thinks you two are soulmates. your friends keep telling you to just date the guy already. but how can you bring yourself to date a total stranger? well maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to have a baby with him.
word count: 14.9k
warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, intoxication, foul language, stds and other sexual diseases, depression, postpartum depression, parenting struggles, toxic familial relationships, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex while inebriated, sex while pregnant, oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, and breeding kink
note: i literally just finished this and like the psycho i am, I'm uploading it right away! i really hope you guys like it, this is my first time ever writing angst, as well as touching on the subject of pregnancy. this is part 1! i plan to do a part 2 in Soobin's pov bc I just like to make things harder for myself! also I had so many different entries I used all 30 photos for my dividers sorry for how plain it looks TT pls lmk how you like it! i want to be able to improve as i continue writing! much love <333
He’s surprisingly timid despite his appearance. That was your first impression of Choi Soobin.
You two were at a party. It was homecoming season, the summer heat still resonating through the air even after the sun had set. You were cramped inside an apartment while the entire place was flooded with college students drunk off of cheap liquor.
Your friends are busy gossiping about Jimin’s Psych professor cheating on his wife with his new T.A. You’re next to them silent, teetering between buzzed and tipsy. Your eyes drift off into the crowd, and maybe it’s because you’re currently sitting on the kitchen counter, but you feel as if you can see everything and anything.
Everyone’s heads are turned away from you but one.
A tall, awkward-looking man with tousled dark hair stares at you from his position across the room. He’s alone, back against the wall, two hands nursing his solo cup.
Your eyes connect for just two seconds before he looks away, he distracts himself by taking a sip of his drink.
You continue to watch him. This seems to make him skittish, he doesn’t know what to do. So he just downs his drink and excuses himself from his spot, struggling to push through the crowd to find refuge down the hall.
He’s weird, you think.
“Who’s that?” You tap Minjeong’s shoulder, roughly pointing out the man just as he ducks behind the corner.
“Huh? Oh, I think that’s Soobin, one of Heeseung’s friends maybe.” She makes a face as she is unsure. You sit back up and look around again. Soobin is gone.
You don’t think about him for the rest of the night.
He’s handsome, this stranger.
The room is dark and you can barely see, but you know he is. He’s got soft skin, a tall round nose, and pouty lips that kiss the skin of your neck just right.
You don’t have to speak a word for him to know how to handle you, his hands do all the talking as they pull off your clothes, dancing against your bare body. You get chills every time you feel his breath tickle your ear.
And when his cock slips inside your heat with ease, you exhale with a smile. You lean into his touch, he’s more gentle than you could ever imagine.
Your moans fill the room just like he fills you. You two are dancing in sync to the musical rhythm of what was pure raw intoxicated sex.
With every thrust you can feel your high climb up and up, you’re clawing for a release, and you’ll get it no matter what. A hand on your breast, another on your clit, anything to stimulate you more.
Sex has never felt so good. Maybe it was because you were drunk, or maybe it was because you were super horny, who knows? What you do know is that this was a high you never wanted to come down from.
He flips you around like a doll, and hungrily kisses you like you’re his dying meal. You can’t help but clench. Your hips move on their own, grinding up against the stranger. You consume him as he consumes you.
You beg God for the moment to never end.
Soobin is pulling up his pants as you sit on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your sheets. You’re a bit ashamed that you can’t seem to remember what happened last night.
“I-I’m sorry.” Soobin suddenly apologizes, he can’t look you in the eyes. You have no idea what prompted him to say such a thing.
“Why?” You ask, adjusting the blanket to cover your chest a bit more. “For what happened. It’s a little weird, don’t you think?”
You turn away in thought. Sleeping with a stranger was nothing too new to you. You’ve had a few one night stands, they were enjoyable enough for you to not be bothered. Purely physical.
But maybe that wasn’t normal to him.
“Is this your way of telling me you gave me something?” You joke. Soobin freaks out, eyes bugged out of his face. “No! Oh God, no!” He shakes his head defensively.
You let out a chuckle, looking up at him tiredly. “I’m joking.” He sighs, calming down and proceeding to finish getting changed.
“Don’t take what happened last night too seriously,” You hum. “It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”
You see Soobin falter for just half a second, it’s so fast you almost think you imagined it.
He just nods and walks out the room, letting himself out.
That was not the last time you saw Soobin. Because you soon find yourself pushed up against him in a bed time and time again. You don’t even know why you keep going back to him, you have to ask yourself this question as you lay next to him late at night.
The sex was good, obviously. But was that really just it?
You turn your head, beside you Soobin sleeps peacefully, mouth hung wide open. His arms are strewn over both you and his bed, legs hanging over his mattress.
Could you see yourself being more than sexual partners with this man? Could you see yourself dating him? See him as a lover?
You had no real feelings of want or need to be in a relationship at the moment. There’s too much emotion involved, too much pressure and thinking. Too much vulnerability.
You shift away from Soobin, your back facing him now. It’s colder at the edge of the bed so you have to pull the blanket up higher.
He feels you leave him, as he subconsciously scoots closer, wrapping his long arms around your torso like ropes. This time you don’t move.
You fall back asleep as you tell yourself over and over again that all of this was purely physical. Don’t get attached.
It was supposed to be a funny little game, it was supposed to be a joke. You agreed to this, how would you have known that this would be the outcome?
You were always so careful, maybe this is some form of karma, for all your thoughts and bad decisions.
Eventually it had to catch up to you.
You sit nervously at the table, foot kicking up and down as you try to distract yourself with your cup of water. Waiting felt like forever.
Finally you hear the ding of the front door bell, and you look up to see him.
Soobin smiles at you. It’s stiff and awkward, but you try and smile back. He sits across from you like he’s in a business meeting.
“Hi,” He almost whispers. “Did you want to order anything?” You ignore his greeting, gesturing to the register to your left. He looks over then returns his attention back to you. “No, I'm okay.”
You nod and observe him. Maybe it’s because when you two usually meet, you’re both naked, but Soobin seems a bit dressed up. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt and knit cardigan, paired with a nice pair of jeans. He’s wearing glasses, you didn’t know he needed them.
“Something wrong?” He suddenly asks, and you’re made aware you’ve been staring for too long. “Huh? Sorry, I- I was just thinking,” You lie.
Soobin nods and clears his throat. “So, you wanted to talk?” He reminds you. “Yeah, yeah.” You mumble.
Yesterday you had randomly messaged him in the middle of the day, asking to meet at a little coffee shop nearby your place. It wasn’t often you asked to hang outside the bedroom.
“About what?” Soobin’s question was one that you were dreading for the past week and a half. But hearing them in person were different than imagining them.
Your chest tightens and your head feels dizzy. Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you struggle to speak. The words collect at your throat, stuck there as your mind grows fuzzy.
You’d rehearsed this so many times, why was it so hard when it was the real deal?
You finally look up at Soobin, his dark eyes are surprisingly bright and warm. His expression is confused, his brows furrowed together as he tries to read you. You suddenly remember why you’re even doing this. You owe it to him.
“I’m pregnant.”
You have to look away. You’re scared to see his reaction.
“A-And I think I’m going to go through with the pregnancy.” You cough out. “Once the baby is born, I’m going to give them up for adoption.”
This was your decision. You’d thought about this over and over again, and you felt this was what you wanted to do.
You considered not telling Soobin at all, because well, you were admittedly scared of how he’d react. This stranger you slept with, would he care if you had his baby?
In your head, you believed you could keep quiet about this, cut him off, run back home and never have to worry about seeing him ever again. But something kept tugging at your heart to tell him.
You take some courage and peek at the man across from you. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from Soobin, but the pure look of shock on his face was different than you were thinking of.
You make eye contact, and Soobin finally blinks. He looks around the coffee shop, trying to find something else to focus on. “Uh, when-when did you find this out?” He asks.
“Almost two weeks ago.” You answer. You decide to not tell him you and your friends decided to do that stupid Tik Tok challenge where everyone takes a pregnancy test.
Yours was the only one that came out positive.
Soobin only nods his head, rubbing his hands as he struggles to form a sentence. You can understand what he’s going through. That same night you found out, you locked yourself in Jimin’s bathroom and took three more tests to confirm those two little lines.
“You don’t have to be involved.” You speak up. “I just wanted to tell you.”
His head shoots up at you in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “No, no I want to be involved, yeah.” He says this with zero confidence, it does nothing to convince you.
You look outside the window. It’s no longer summer, the leaves are now brown, the sky gray and cold. The transition to autumn felt abrupt and rushed to you.
“Okay.”
Your interactions with Soobin after that become limited. You wonder if he’s avoiding you. Or if you’re avoiding him.
Deep down you feel as though you know the answer to that question. So you were surprised when he called to ask you to move in with him out of the blue.
“Like right now?” You ask, pressing your phone against your ear as you fold your laundry on your bed.
“Not exactly,” Soobin sounds unsure of himself on the other side of the line. “But that way I can be of more help.”
You set down your clothes to properly hold your phone. You’re sure what he’s saying is true. It would be nice to have someone around at home most days. Your roommate Gaeul hasn’t been too fond of your morning sickness.
But the only thing stopping you was the fact that you would be living with a stranger.
A stranger who’d knocked you up with his baby before you even had a real proper conversation.
“Y/n? Are you still there?” Soobin asks. You hum, going back to folding your clothes. “Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be right away, we can wait a bit if you want. But maybe it’ll be better that way.”
You hum again and the two of you bid goodbye before you hang up the call.
Living with Soobin. You wonder how that would be.
Right now everything was changing: your body, your diet, your entire life. You’re sick all day, you feel like a zombie as you force yourself to go through your routine.
You still go to class every day, though you almost always never know what’s going on with how horrible you feel. You work through your shifts gripping onto any shelf, counter or ledge in your vicinity.
You always need to pee, your boobs are starting to hurt as they grow, forcing you to go out and buy new bras. You can barely hold a meal down without puking it all back up, you’re constantly fatigued, but no matter how much sleep you get you’re uncomfortable and restless.
Plus, there was an upside to living with Soobin, he lived alone and his apartment was nice and spacious. You don’t know how he scored a single unit apartment the size of his by himself, but he also had a decent paying job and was the youngest of three, apparently his parents had money.
Would having Soobin around help ease any of that? You guess you’ll just have to see and find out.
Moving day doesn’t go as planned, because of course you need to vomit your guts out in the middle of organizing your boxes.
You’re leaning onto Soobin’s toilet for dear life as you hurl your insides down the bowl. Each breath you take seems to upset your stomach more than the one before.
“Are you okay?” Soobin asks nervously as he stands by the door, head peeking out. Instead of answering him with words, you puke up your earlier lunch.
You don’t know if he stands there the entire time, or if he’s gone off to run away, but eventually you feel your insides calm down. You take the time to rest your head against your arm, closing your eyes as you barely have the energy to do anything but breath.
Your mouth feels gross, your throat is dry and it hurts to swallow even your saliva. With whatever energy you have left, you flush the toilet and stand yourself up to rinse your mouth in the sink. As you do, you look at your reflection in the mirror.
You look haggard. There’s no trace of the woman you were just two months ago. You suddenly feel as if you are losing yourself. You couldn’t recognize your reflection.
Tears well up in your eyes and your vision is blurred as you cry to yourself quietly. This was all wrong. This wasn’t what you wanted. You wished you’d never chosen this. You wished you’d never slept with him, that you never met him.
You wished you were a better person.
You feel a hand tap your shoulder, and you quickly whip around and swat it away.
And it’s like you wake up. Soobin stares at you, taken aback as he holds a water bottle. His hands are up as if to show you he has no bad intentions. He looks as innocent as a young boy.
“I brought you water.” He hiccups.
You can’t figure out why in the moment, but this act of kindness frustrates you. You wipe your tears quickly and push past him, escaping out the front door to sit in your car.
The guilt sinks in later.
Makeup sex was for couples. And apparently for you and Soobin.
Though you weren’t sure if this was exactly that.
“S-Soobin-!” You gasp as he sucks the skin of your neck, his thrusts are much more gentle than you’re used to, yet this turns you on more.
“Hmm?” He hums, looking at you with lust-drunken eyes. As you lay on your back, arms thrown over his shoulders and legs splayed wide open for his access, you look up at the man. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. His lips are puffy from how hard he’d kissed you earlier.
“What’s wrong? You okay?” His hand instinctively goes over your tummy. This embarrasses you for some reason, turning to look away. “I’m fine.” You lie. Soobin pauses for a moment, before leaning down to kiss the side of your face, coaxing you to face him again so he can kiss you some more.
“Let’s keep going then. Let me make you feel better,” He murmurs, his voice so deep it tickles your ear just right.
You don’t argue with him.
“You’re due in August of next year, the 5th.” Your doctor informs you as she rubs the transducer against the gel on your skin. On the screen in front of you, you can see the black and white photo of what looks like a little blob.
“Your baby is about the size of a grape. Not a lot of facial features have been formed yet at this point.” She points at the little white thing on the screen, and begins to show you exactly what is the head and where the bottom is.
You end up turning away, you can’t handle looking for too long.
You don’t want to get attached. You told yourself this from the beginning. You are not a mother, you’re simply carrying the baby to term.
Soobin on the other hand looks both fascinated and mortified. His eyes are glued to the monitor, he keeps nodding when the doctor speaks. It almost disgusts you how eager he seems.
After the ultrasound you’re required to do a physical exam, then some bloodwork. You wince as the nurse inserts the needle into your arm, you can feel your blood flow through your arm and up the tube to the multiple vials beside you.
“You don’t like needles?” Soobin asks. You open your eyes and find he’s moved from his seat to stand next to you. “No, who likes needles?” You ask rhetorically. He scoffs at your question.
You ignore him, maybe it was your hormones, but everything seemed to be irritating you lately. You suddenly feel lightheaded, resting your head against the hospital bed.
A hand reaches your free arm. You look down, it’s Soobin. He’s slowly inching towards your fingers, before he clasps you in his grip, giving you a reassuring squeeze.
You start to regret your earlier feelings, realizing you should be grateful he wanted to go with you to this appointment. You had never considered how hard it would’ve been going alone.
You give him a squeeze back, and out of embarrassment, close your eyes and turn your head. You feel Soobin pet your hair, it’s comforting.
“Just one more vial, then you’re done, okay?” He whispers to you. You nod and subconsciously lean towards him.
You never expected your parents to react the way they did. Your mother in tears and your father in disbelief. And in the end it wasn’t a happy moment.
You’re sitting in the passenger seat as Soobin drives you both home, the weather seems to mimic your emotion: it’s pouring rain.
You’ve been crying even before you got into the car. Your hometown was about 3 ½ hours away from your university, and you hadn’t seen your parents in months, so imagine their surprise when you arrived home with not only a boy, but his baby.
In fact, you weren’t even dating him, you were living with him and having his kid, but you weren’t dating.
You arrived at 12:30 pm just to leave an hour later. You’d planned to spend the night.
You never expected your parents to be happy. They always preached for you to get your degree and marry before settling down. You obviously ignored all of that.
But a small sliver of you thought they’d forgive you. You were their daughter after all. A parent’s love should be able to overcome such things, right?
You’ve never had the best relationship with your parents, but they've always had your back. This time they didn’t. You can still hear your mother’s sobs, they’re louder than the rainfall hitting the windshield as Soobin zooms down the freeway.
The car suddenly slows down, and the harsh rain falls to a gentle splash. You wipe your eyes and look outside. Soobin parks at a rest stop. He turns off the ignition and unbuckles his seat.
“W-Why’re we here? Where are you going?” You hiccup, confused and anxious. “I’m grabbing us lunch, do you want to come with me? You can stay in the car if you’d like.” Soobin opens his door but doesn’t step out yet.
You look back outside. There’s a bunch of stalls lined up, all of them have steam coming out from the piping hot food. You suddenly remember you haven’t eaten much since this morning. When you told your mom you were visiting, she excitedly informed you she would have a feast upon your arrival. You obviously didn’t eat a single bite.
You turn back to Soobin with a nod, and unbuckle your seatbelt. You open your door and step out, allowing the rain to hit your face. It’s almost refreshing. You two rush underneath the canopies, not wanting to get too wet.
“What’re you craving? I think I'm gonna get sotteok sotteok.” He leads you to a stall. “Me too,” You decide, something spicy sounded nice. “And gukbap. And cider.” You add. Soobin laughs and nods his head, calmly ordering for the both of you.
As you wait in line for your food, you can’t help but stare at Soobin.
This man was the father of your child, your baby daddy if you must. How does he feel about that?
You’re reminded of your mother’s screams from just earlier.
“Let’s go find somewhere to sit.” Soobin miraculously carries the tray of food in his hands, and the two of you sit down at the nearest clear table.
You two dig in, though you’re a lot slower and less vigorous than usual. You stir your soup absentmindedly, taking a sip every few seconds. You take nibbles of your sotteok skewer, and don’t even open your cider.
“Are you okay?” You usually hated hearing that question come from his mouth, but right now it felt different.
“I’m sorry.” You apologize. He looks at you with a full mouth. “If you don’t finish your food that’s fine, I can eat it.” He assumes you’re talking about your sudden lack of appetite.
“No, I mean I’m sorry about my parents.” You correct. “They said some pretty mean stuff back there to you.” You mumble.
Soobin goes quiet. He swallows his food and wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking.
“And they said some really mean stuff to you too.” You take a big bite of your skewer to avoid talking.
You both continue to eat in silence, that was enough of that conversation for the rest of the day.
“Feel good?” Soobin asks, though you can’t say anything because you were currently leaning against your seat in the car while Soobin’s fingers slid in and out of you.
You’re breathy, panting as you reach up and behind to grip the seat head for stability. You feel a bit exposed as you were still parked in the parking lot of the rest stop. Soobin had moved you guys to a far off corner away from the rest of the cars.
The windows are foggy, the radio plays softly, though they’re drowned out by your moans. You’re too aroused to care if people can see you.
Soobin leans over the console box, enrapturing you in a tongue twisting kiss. Your hand finds its way to his hair, running though his locks as he speeds up his pace.
His long veiny hands, his fingers are thicker and rougher than your own, it’s like they reach all the right spots. He’s curling, digging inside your gummy walls, trying to reach deeper and deeper.
Your breath hitches as you feel your orgasm approaching, your head is spinning from your high. Soobin pulls away from you, your lips are strung together by a single line of saliva.
You look at him dazed, a look of lust.
Soobin continues to stare at you, his thumb coming to rest against your clit as he shoves his index and middle finger in your sopping pussy.
Maybe it was the direct and intense eye contact, or the adrenaline of being caught, but you come with so much passion you have to grip onto the door in order to ground yourself.
Your walls clench and convulse around Soobin’s thick fingers as he slowly pulls out, your cum leaves them glazed. As you try to catch your breath, you watch him stick his fingers inside his mouth, he sucks them decadently.
Finally, he wipes your mouth with his thumb, licking it clean. This man knew how to push your buttons in all the right ways.
“Let’s go home,” He announces, starting the car again and putting the car in drive.
When your second trimester rolls around, it’s as if your morning sickness magically disappears. You can stomach just about anything now, in fact your appetite has grown.
Your bump is slowly coming in, it’s still small enough where you can see your toes. But you no longer fit any of your jeans, and have opted to wear sweatpants 24/7 as it’s the only thing that fits you.
“These are kinda cute,” Minjeong holds up a pair of maternity chinos. “Jesus Minjeong, she’s trying to look like Rihanna, not a fucking politician.” Ningning swipes the chinos and hangs them back on the rack. Your friend sulks and takes solace by your side.
“Did you think they were cute?” She asks you. You pout and shake your head. “Sorry. I didn’t even like the color.” Minjeong’s frown deepens. “Hey!” Aeri shouts, waving you down. “Look at these jeans! They’re cute and baggy,” She shows you a pair of medium wash jeans.
The legs are nice and wide, and not too long where you’d be tripping over them. “I can try them on,” You agree. She happily puts them into the cart.
“I found this cute maxi skirt, do you like it?” Jimin saunters over and presents the flowy white skirt. “Oh this is totally giving Rihanna in the Bahamas vibe, you have to get it.” Ningning answers for you. You laugh and nod for her to add it to the cart. “I’ll try it on.”
You guys pile on a few more articles of clothing before heading to the fitting room where you proceed to have a tiny fashion show for all your friends.
“I kind of like that one!” Jimin nods as you try on a cardigan. “No, she looks frumpy, don’t get it.” Ningning is brutally honest.
“I think you should definitely get the skirt, the jeans, the overalls, the two tops we liked, and at least get the dress, it was totally a skims dupe!” Aeri says as you head back into the fitting room to change into your clothes.
“I like the sweater,” Minjeong reminds them. “Oh that one was cute, yeah, especially now that it’s starting to get cold outside.” Jimin agrees.
You step back out, grabbing the clothes you liked in one arm and the ones you didn’t in the other. “Let me help you,” Jimin grabs the no pile and hands it to the employee up front.
“I liked them all, “ You admit. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, you were much too busy and anxious during your first trimester.
Because of that you also didn’t spend a lot of time with your friends. You found it hard to be around them and not feel sick or uncomfortable.
But now you were getting back into your groove, and they seemed to notice it too, it reminded you of old times.
“The total is going to be $223.47.” The cashier announces, and suddenly it’s like your morning sickness has manifested itself.
“Maternity clothes are that expensive?! We’re literally at Target!” Minjeong squeaks not so subtly to you and the others.
“We could all pay together, maybe-” “No it’s fine,” You cut off Jimin. “I’ll just get the jeans and the one top please.” You tell the cashier, and he removes the other items.
“Y/n, what the hell?!” Ningning glares at you. “I can get more next time,” You tell her. “I just need something right now, I’ll get bigger anyways, I don’t want to get one size just to outgrow it again in a few weeks.” You argue. Your friends sigh and try not to say anything as you pay.
But as you all walk back to Aeri’s car, you feel a bit ashamed.
No wonder your parents were so angry, you’re too young, too financially unstable to be with a child. You could barely afford a pair of jeans and a shirt, that you’ll probably discard once all of this is over.
You look down at your growing belly, you still find it hard to believe there’s a baby growing in there, despite you being actual living breathing proof.
At least you won’t have to constantly buy diapers and formula, you think to yourself as you get in the car.
“What do you mean you’re cutting my hours?” You ask your boss, staring him straight in the eyes. He sighs, grimacing at you from his seat.
“You’ve been constantly calling out or you will leave early from all your shifts. You are not here when we need coverage, I can’t keep scheduling you if you’re not going to be here.” He decides.
You actually scoff at him in disbelief. “I wasn’t here because I’m pregnant. I’ve been physically vomiting any food that enters my body. I was losing bodily fluids more than I can intake, I was sore all over, I had little energy. I couldn’t help that I wasn’t here.” You argue, your anger fueling your adrenaline.
“I get that, I do Y/n- but I can’t keep giving you-” “But I’m here now, I’m better now!” You cut him off. “My morning sickness is gone, I don’t have a lot of nausea. I can still do my job.”
Your boss sighs again, leans back into his chair as his lips go thin. “I have employees who are hard workers and need the hours. I’m required by store policy to give them hours as they are eligible.”
You sit in your chair, and it starts to seep in that no matter what you do, no one is listening.
Then your boss says something to you that almost breaks you.
“Y/n, I’m doing this to protect you. Don’t you want to be able to rest more and stay at home?”
“Should we get orange juice or apple juice?” Soobin asks you as you two stand in the refrigerated section of the grocery store.
“Apple. We don’t like orange juice, it’s too tangy.” You grimace and grab the gallon from the shelf.
When you place the juice into the shopping cart, you realize Soobin has been staring at you like you’ve grown horns out of your head. “What?”
“We?” He repeats, pointing to himself. You suddenly realize what he’s asking, and laugh. “No, we.” You gesture to your growing stomach, you meant the baby.
“Oh,” He seems embarrassed as it finally clicks to him on what you meant. “I was gonna say, I prefer orange juice.”
“We can get that next time,” You let him push the cart as you guys slowly pick up more groceries for the week.
Some meat (no pork, not after you’d gotten sick from throwing up breakfast sausage three weeks ago), vegetables, fruits (you liked to freeze some of them to make an icy snack), and of course ice cream.
“Same as usual?” Soobin asks and you eagerly nod, allowing him to open the freezer door and fish for your favorite flavor at the back of the top shelf, perks of having a tall baby daddy you think.
“Two Half-Baked ice creams from Ben & Jerry’s, pint sized.” He sets the tubs of ice cream into the filled cart in a grandiose manner, you applaud him.
“You’re a Godsend.” You sigh happily. A skip in your step as you guys finally make your way back to the cash registers to check out.
But half way there, something catches your eye. You pause, no longer following Soobin down the main aisle.
You make a detour at the baby section.
Your attention has been swiped by an adorable little onesie, decorated with a drawing of a smiling sun and a couple of blue birds. Three birds to be precise, a mom, a dad and a baby bird.
You grab the foot of the onesie, it’s smaller than your palm. How can something be so little-
“Y/n?” You whip around. Soobin stands in front of you. He watched you.
“I was just looking.” You explain, dropping your hand from the onesie entirely. He nods, though his gaze is trained on where your fingers once were.
“Okay,” He clears his throat and looks away. “I think they’re having a sale on the pastries, mind if I grab some?” You quickly shake your head, and Soobin runs off to the bakery section.
Once he’s out of sight, you return your attention back to the onesie. It’s fallen off the hanger, it’s laying on the floor.
Quietly, you pick it up and place it back on its hanger, putting it on its rack. You read the tag, the size was for newborns.
You walk back to the cart and begin to walk slowly to the line for the registers. “The croissants were half off.” Soobin shows you as he meets you again. You smile and nod.
Were babies really that tiny when they’re born? A small part of you wants to know.
You wake up to the smell of something sweet. That’s unusual.
You sit up, scratching your belly as you walk out the bedroom and into the kitchen, where you find Soobin preparing what you hope is breakfast.
“What’re you doing?” You ask, eyeing him. Usually you were the cook in the household, Soobin was a mess in the kitchen, most of his meals came out inedible.
He jumps at your voice, not noticing you were peeking over his shoulder. “You scared me!” He yelps and you smile. He must have been really focused.
You look at the pile of pancakes he has stacked on a plate, they look messy, but good. “I made you breakfast. The doctor said you have to watch what you eat, remember?”
He was right, just yesterday you two went in for a visit. Your doctor made it very clear that you needed to be eating healthy if you wanted the baby to be born healthy and to have an easy delivery. You needed to watch your sugar intake in case you developed gestational diabetes, common in pregnancy.
“You made all of this for me?” You question, still in disbelief that Soobin, a man who favored sleep over most, would wake up early to make breakfast.
“Well,” Soobin shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “For you, and for him.” He points and you look down at your bulging belly.
Yesterday you found out the gender of your baby. You were having a boy. A baby boy.
You unconsciously run a hand over your stomach, it’s warm, the skin smooth. You were going to have a son.
Your heart skips a beat, and you have to physically pinch yourself back to reality.
“Thank you,” You try not to seem too happy. “Yeah,” Soobin seems to follow suit. “Here, I made you a plate already, I also got sugar-free syrup.” He drizzles some over your stack before placing the plate in front of you.
You carefully take your fork and chop yourself a bite, surprised at the burst of flavor and how not burnt it tasted.
“Are there blueberries in here?” You ask inquisitively. Soobin seems delighted you realized. “Yes!” He grins. “I thought plain wheat pancakes would be boring, so I added some blueberries. They’re good right?”
“They’re delicious,” You hum, taking another bite. You must have been enjoying the pancakes too much, because you suddenly feel a fluttering feeling in your stomach, almost as if-
You suddenly drop your fork, it clatters onto the floor and Soobin spins around. “What? Does it taste bad now?” He’s so confused as you look up at him for your seat with wide, shocked eyes.
“I-I think- I think he moved.” You point to your tummy, and you look down as if to confirm what you felt.
“What?” Soobin also is surprised he suddenly is on his knees, crouched down to match the level of your stomach, placing a gentle hand on top.
You two wait in silence, waiting patiently only for nothing to happen. Were you wrong?
“Maybe he’s shy, we’re putting him on the spot,” Soobin jokes, though you notice the sad look in his eyes. You suddenly get an idea.
“Hold on,” You say, and direct Soobin to lean in and press his head against your belly, allowing him to hear and feel intensely. “Keep your hand here,” You instruct. He listens obediently.
You go back to your plate of pancakes, using your finger you rip off a piece and begin to eat again. You chew, swallow, and wait one more time. It’s so quiet in the apartment, you could hear a pin drop.
Then it happens. That fluttery feeling again. It’s like a tickle on the inside. But the second it happens you and Soobin gasp, looking at each other with pure joy.
“He moved, oh my God he moved!” Soobin laughs with joy. “He moved!” You repeat. “He moved, he moved. God, he moved.” Soobin rubs his hand over your stomach excitedly as you giggle.
You two stay like this for a moment, before you make eye contact once more, and it serves as a reminder of the reality of the situation. Your chuckles die down, and Soobin stands back up, going back to the kitchen counter to finish and clean up the mess he’d made. You turn back to your food at the table.
“It almost felt like we were dating there for a second.” You try to make a joke.
Soobin is quiet for a moment, you can hear him flipping a few new pancakes on the stove.
“But we’re not, right?” He says flatly.
You decide to not answer that as if it wasn’t already obvious.
“Oh!” The sonographer gasps, she wears a bright smile as she turns to you excitedly. “You can see his hand, it’s like he’s saying hi!”
She moves the transducer around and points to the screen. And just like she says, right there is a tiny hand, all five fingers spread out as if waving out to you. Each finger is thin and long, the palm round and sturdy looking.
Soobin leans forward and presses his index finger where the little hand lays on the screen. The entire pad of his finger is bigger than the hand alone.
Your heart clenches. How odd, you almost can feel your baby’s little hand wrap around Soobin’s finger, a fragile yet tight grip.
“How precious,” The sonographer grins, and Soobin pulls away. You notice his attention has shifted from the screen to his index finger.
“Dad, looks like he’s got your nose.” The sonographer suddenly says, and you both jolt, heads whipping around to the screen once more. You can see the side profile of the infant.
“And mom, I think the baby's got your lips, he’s going to be so handsome!” You’ve never been called mom before. No one has called you a mother, or regarded you as one, not your friends, coworkers, hell not even Soobin.
It’s strange to hear, it makes your heart rate speed up.
You never really considered that your baby would, well, look like you. Sure you knew that the baby growing inside you was yours, but you never took the time to imagine how he would look like, what he’d sound like, what his name-
You have to stop yourself from overthinking.
You weren’t a mom. You weren’t supposed to name him. You shouldn’t care about how he looks or how he’s sound.
You shouldn’t care about any of this, all of this was temporary anyways, right?
It’s 3 am in the morning and you’re trudging yourself to the bathroom because your bladder is crying to be released.
You rub your eyes, the bright light of the bathroom blinds you. You sit on the toilet and yawn. As you finish, you wash your hands with your eyes still closed.
You were exhausted, no matter how much you slept, you were never comfortable enough to fully get a good rest.
You’re about to turn off the lights and leave, when you catch your reflection. You’re wearing nothing but a camisole (which has ridden up over your growing belly) and your panties.
Despite it being November, you run warm now that you’re growing a baby. Wearing too many layers has you sweating like a pig at night.
Funny enough, Soobin is always cold, he naturally drifts towards you in his sleep, his icy hands resting against your hot skin.
You turn to the side, and you’re surprised how big you’ve gotten. You’re almost proud.
You shake your head. You need to stop acting like this. You have nothing to be proud of, nothing to think about. You just need to go to sleep and mind your business-
Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a kick from your stomach. You look down, perplexed. Do babies read minds?
You doubt that, but that seemed like too much of a coincidence for you to let it pass. You rub your hands over your bare belly, almost as if you’re apologizing.
Why do you feel guilty?
You swallow thickly and turn off the lights, leaving the bathroom to go back to bed. You enter the bedroom and see Soobin has taken your spot in bed, probably trying to find warmth in whatever was left from your body heat moments ago.
Nudging him, you slip back under the covers, letting him cuddle into your side, seeking your heat.
You naturally reach up to run a hand through his hair, it’s soft and fluffy and smells like fresh santal.
Sometimes you envy Soobin.
For many things: like not having to deal with abnormal changes to his body, he doesn’t gag or feel sick by certain scents or foods, hang with friends without the stares, have a job that pays and schedules him fairly, loved by his parents no matter what he does.
You feel as if you suffer so much, just for him to continue a life of pleasure.
But as you lay together in bed, you’re reminded that you’re not the only one whose life has changed drastically this past year.
Soobin has had a stranger move into his home, puke her guts everyday inside his toilet for months, pays the rent for both of them, helps her stay caught up with schoolwork, goes with her to every doctor’s appointment, buys her all her weird cravings, cooks her food despite his challenges in the kitchen.
He runs her a bath when she’s too tired to shower, brushes her hair while she eats ice cream on the couch, pleases her sexual needs before his, he comforts her whenever she cries, even if it’s over the littlest thing like her struggling to put on her socks.
You cradle Soobin’s face in your hands. You hope your son looks like him. An innocent newborn shouldn’t look like someone as guilty as you.
You push Soobin away, turning the other direction. How could a horrible person like yourself be with a person who is giving and humble like Soobin?
“Merry Christmas!” Soobin’s mom is overjoyed to see you two at her front door. She immediately pulls you both into a bear hug.
“Hi mom,” Soobin smiles. His mother pulls him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Have you been eating well? Sleeping well?” She asks him. He nods obediently. His mom turns her attention to you.
“Y/n! I’m so happy to see you again.” She grins and without warning pulls you into another hug, petting your hair.
“Me too,” You giggle nervously. You liked Soobin’s mom, you two previously met months prior when Soobin revealed to his parents you two were expecting a child. She was an incredibly sweet woman.
“How are you? Healthy? How is my grandbaby?” She leans down to cup your stomach, already baby talking to your unborn son. You try to relax and act normal, but your eyes flit over to Soobin, who tries to hide his grim expression.
Soobin has yet to inform his parents on your decision of adoption.
“Oh, come in come in! You two are probably cold! It’s freezing out there, snowing down a storm.” His mom ushers you both inside, allowing you two to remove your coats and shoes before entering.
“Everyone’s here already, your sister-” “UNCLE SOOBIN!” A voice interrupts and you hear the sound of tiny feet running quickly. You look up and find a little boy running full speed towards you two.
“Dokyung!” Soobin bends down, arms wide open as he catches the boy in a strong hug. The boy laughs loudly as Soobin tickles him.
Soobin stands back up, carrying the toddler in his arms as he faces you. “Dokyung, this is Y/n,” He introduces you. You give the boy a soft smile and wave your hand. “Hi Dokyung, nice to meet you,”
He stares at you expressionless and you stare back. He looks so much like Soobin, like twins. You feel like you’re seeing double.
Not only that, but Soobin holds him so naturally, as if he were made to carry him, to raise a child. Dokyung looks comfortable as he lays in Soobin’s arms. It does something to your brain.
“Why is your tummy so big?” Dokyung suddenly asks, leaning down from Soobin’s grasp to pat you. You’re taken aback by his brash question, but what can you expect from an innocent child?
You find his curiosity endearing, and end up laughing. “There’s a baby inside, I’m pregnant.” You explain, rubbing a hand over your stomach as if to show.
Dokyung blinks at you. “Why?”
You blink back. How were you supposed to answer that?
“It’s almost time for dinner, are you hungry Dokyung? Grandma said she made lots of food for us,” Soobin jumps in and changes the subject.
“No I want a cookie, mommy said I can eat a cookie because it’s Christmas!” Dokyung squirms out of Soobin’s arms, and drags him further into the house.
“He’s cute, isn't he? Dokyung is Soobin’s older sister’s son,” You almost forget Soobin’s mother has been here the entire time.
“Yeah, he’s funny,” You smile as you follow her to the living area. “We’re all so excited to have you join us this year for Christmas. And with an even newer member joining next year! Dokyung will be overjoyed to play with his new cousin!” She chuckles and you falter in your step.
You almost resent her for even mentioning that to you, but you can’t find it in your heart to do so.
“Happy New Year,” Soobin mumbles as you return from a midnight bathroom run. “Hmm?” You hum, unsure you heard him right.
“Happy New Year,” He repeats, his voice gruff as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. He looks good.
You crawl into the bed, but instead of going back to sleep, you decide to sit up in front of Soobin.
He stares at you, eyes tired, while you’re practically wide awake.
You brush his hair out of his eyes, gently dragging your hands down to cup his cheeks. You lean in and give him a soft kiss . Your tongue licks his lips, asking for permission to enter. He grants it.
His own hands travel up your sides and to your neck, almost directing you how to kiss him.
You moan into his mouth, unable to control your reactions around him. You lean against his chest, you can feel his heart beating fast, it excites you.
Suddenly you pull away and Soobin looks at you dazed and confused. You pull him to the edge of the bed, already tugging at the band of his sweats. He complies, you two don’t have to speak to know what the other wants.
Soobin is already halfway hard, but you can feel him thicken up as you drag your tongue across his length.
He holds your hair back and away from your face as you suck him off, you’re gentle and teasing tonight. In that dark room you look up at him with sincerity, you want to show him how grateful you are.
Your tongue swivels around the head of his cock, your cheeks hollowed out as Soobin throws his head back as he cums, you drink up every last drop until he’s begging you to stop.
He falls back onto the mattress, you crawl up next to him into his arms. You press a kiss to his cheek and whisper:
“Happy New Year,”
‘sorry not feeling good gonna stay in tonight :(‘
You press send and within seconds you see bubbles pop up, your friends giving you their best wishes, hoping you will recover soon so you can join them next time.
But you’re actually fine. But you don’t want them to know that.
You toss your phone onto the counter, and practically skip to the couch, giggling like a giddy child.
“I can’t believe you’ve never watched The Princess Bride, it’s a classic!” You squeal as you lay on the couch, Soobin sits on the other side, letting you rest your feet on his thighs.
“Is it? I’ve never even heard of it,” He shrugs. You gasp and gawk at him, making him crack up. “Is that bad? Stop looking at me like that!” He points at you accusingly.
“I don’t want to hear a word from you until we’ve finished the entire thing, okay?” You prompt. He jokingly nods, and pretends to zip up his mouth and lock it with a ‘key’. You playfully take the ‘key’ and tuck it into your pocket. “Okay press play!”
As you predicted, Soobin is entranced by the movie as soon as it begins. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye every half hour or so, and his eyes are glued to the screen.
You find it silly how easy he is to read, his expressions give him away so easily. The way his mouth is gaping wide open in shock, how loud he laughs when he finds something funny. You especially like the way his lips pout when he’s paying extra attention to the movie.
Eventually, Soobin has wiggled his way to your side, you both sharing the throw blanket.
For some reason you can’t keep your eyes off Soobin. Even if your head is turned to the TV, your gaze falls to the man beside you.
Soobin abruptly turns to you, giving you a quizzing look. “What’s up?” He whispers, eyes flickering back to the TV then back to you. You shake your head and yawn.
“Nothing.” You lie, and lean against his shoulder, deciding to close your eyes for just a moment.
You feel Soobin gently resting his cheek against your head, and you fall asleep to dream land.
You feel as if you can’t breathe. Not because Soobin’s mom tied your hanbok a little too tight, but because you were currently sitting beside her son, posing for their annual family photo.
Soobin’s sister is holding Dokyung in her lap, her husband to her left. Soobin’s older brother is with his girlfriend, in matching hanbok.
“Okay, everyone hold still! Honey, go press the button,” Soobin’s mom ushers her husband, and the older man steps out form his place to run and press the camera button on the propped up phone. He hurries back to stand beside his wife.
You put on your best smile, a hand resting atop your belly and the other in Soobin’s. Your h hand is sweaty and damp. You hear the phone click, and there's a bright flash. You blink as your smile falls, feeling dazed.
“Hold on! No one move yet! Let me check to see if it’s good!” Soobin’s father calls out, and everyone remains in their spots.
“Oh Dokyung!” The old man laughs. “No silly faces yet, just smile!” He chuckles. Dokyung’s mother giggles and fixes his hair as the toddler seems to find the situation silly. “One more time, smile everyone.”
He runs back to his wife’s side and you all smile in silence once again. The camera clicks, there’s a flash, and you feel even more tired than before.
“Perfect!” Soobin’s dad cheers, and Dokyung takes it as a sign to run off. As his parents chase after him, you let out a sigh you had no idea you were holding.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?” Soobin helps you stand, and you fake a smile, fanning yourself. “Just need some air, I’m going to step out for a bit, I’m stuffy,” You tell him, letting go of his hand to head towards the front door.
You quietly make your leave, slipping on your outside shoes as you step out onto the small porch. You sit down on the steps, the air is brisk and cold, it feels like you’ve swallowed something minty with every breath.
It’s dark outside, the clouds cover most of the sky and it looks like it might snow again. Behind you, the bright and warm light of the house is contrasting. It’s full of life and love. You can hear Soobin’s family all happily conversing and every once in a while Dokyung's laughter.
As you sit and listen, admiring the peaceful outside, you hear the door open. You bet it’s Soobin here to check on you.
But you’re surprised when the person grunts as they sit down beside you, looking up at the dark sky.
“If you stay out here for too long, you’ll get sick.” Soobin’s older sister lectures you with a soft tone. You turn to her, confused why she of all people is talking to you.
When you two first met during Christmas, she kept everything cordial and short, you two barely held a conversation alone, almost always someone else was involved. Not to mention half the time you were playing with her son.
“I was about to head back inside,” You lie. She takes a deep breath and nods, still not looking at you. You decide to turn your attention back to the scenery in front of you. You two sit there in awkward silence for a couple more minutes before she finds the courage to speak up again.
“Soobin told me what you plan to do after this.” You pause. She’s talking about after birth. “Yeah,” You cough out.
She finally looks at you, and you look at her. You originally thought the two siblings look nothing alike, but facing her now you can see the resemblance. No wonder Dokyung looked so much like Soobin.
“Why are you doing all of this? Are you trying to hurt him more?” Her tongue is sharp and unrelenting, it throws you off guard.
“What?” You squeak out, flabbergasted by how upfront she was. Soobin’s sister drops the facade, the way she clenches her jaw you can tell she’s stressed.
“Why go through with the pregnancy? Why involve my brother? Why are you even here at our Seollal celebration? Why are you lying to my parents? Why are you doing any of this?” Each question feels like a knife piercing your heart. You feel as if you can’t breathe.
Out of fear you whip your head around, eyes focused on the cold concrete ground. Soobin’s sister waits for you to answer, she sits patiently.
Why were you doing this? You’ve never asked yourself this question, whether it be because you don’t know the answer, or because you do know and are scared to admit you do. Either way you have no way of explaining yourself.
“If you’re just going to give up on this child, there’s no reason to get my family involved.” She argues. “All you’re doing is making everyone around you suffer. My brother doesn’t deserve to have someone as selfish as you control him like a puppet. He’s his own person, let him make his own decisions.”
“I don’t know what you did to entrance him, but my brother is naive and genuine. He’s known nothing but love from the people around him. How could you force him into this when he’s obviously not ready? You’re not ready, that’s why you’re giving the baby up, right?” She taunts you.
“I hate how you have my parents believing in this faux relationship you two have. Do you know how happy my mom was when Soobin told her about you? Her children are her treasures, imagine how she’ll feel when she finds out her youngest son was taken advantage of by an immature, irresponsible girl like yourself. You should be ashamed.”
Her words cut deeper and deeper into your already low ego, and you don’t realize you’ve been crying until you let out a sniffle.
“I-I’m sorry,” You choke out. Soobin’s sister stays quiet this time as you break down in front of her.
“I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You repeat over and over again. Deep down you know that no matter what you say, she won’t believe a word you say. You’ve already broken her trust even before meeting her, how do you expect to gain it back?
“Sis, what the hell?!” You jump at the sound of Soobin’s voice, he sounds furious.
“Don’t you yell at me! Someone needed to talk some sense into her-” “And why do you think you’re the right person to do so?! You have no right to do any of this!” Soobin steps in front of you as his sister takes her stand.
“Soobin, I’m doing this for you, for us-” He cuts her off with a scoff. “Sis, I’m not a child anymore. I can take care of myself. This is my business, not yours.”
You’re wiping your tears as you watch the two siblings fight. Soobin’s sister may be older, but he towers over her. She glares up at him, then at you.
“Look what she’s done to you. You’ve never acted like this before. You’re letting her lead your life.” She jabs a finger in your direction.
“No she’s not. Leave her out of this. If you have something to say, you say it to me and only me.” Soobin is stern. Why was he doing all of this?
His sister looks bewildered how her younger brother could ever utter such a thing to her face. She opens her mouth to speak again when the front door opens once more.
“What’s all this noise? Dinner's almost ready, it’s time to come inside,” It’s Soobin’s mother. Her eyes first land on her two children, taking in their angry expressions. Then her gaze falls to you, hiding behind Soobin with tears in your eyes.
“Dear, why are you crying?” She asks, stretching out hand for you to take. You don’t move, not that you could anyways, because Soobin’s sister begins to yell again.
“Mom, no!” She hisses. “Do you even know who she really is?! She’s using Soobin!” The man mentioned sneers at his sister. “Will you shut up?”
That little insult lights a fire within his sister. She tears away from her brother, and instead confronts their mother.
“Mother, you need to listen to me. Soobin and Y/n aren’t dating. They aren’t keeping the baby. That woman is going to give the baby up for adoption because she’s a selfish brat who wants to go back to partying and being lazy.” She’s almost begging, grabbing the older woman’s hands and holding them between her own.
Soobin’s mom is rightfully shocked by this information, her face says it all. She looks at her son, who stands defeated. She turns to you again, and you wish you had turned away because there’s betrayal written in her eyes.
“Y/n, is this true? Soobin?” She switches between you both, searching for answers. You look to Soobin, waiting for a sign, something, anything.
“See? Mom, you believe me right?” Soobin’s sister almost sounds proud of this. You then realize that Soobin can’t tell his mom, and you suddenly realize his sister was right all along.
You let out a huff and stand up. All eyes are on you.
“Yes ma’am, it’s true. I’m considering giving up the baby for adoption.” You feel as if you’re trying to swallow a lump in your throat as you speak. “Soobin and I have already discussed this. We think this is the best option. I’m really sorry for deceiving you.”
And then it’s like the world goes silent. Like you’ve been drowning and you’re falling deeper and deeper underwater. You’ve fallen so deep, the sound of the world disappears.
What happens next is a blur. You don’t remember much other than Soobin taking your hand, grabbing your belongings and dragging you to his car for a long, tense drive home.
You feel relieved.
For some reason you sound distorted, but it doesn’t seem to bother your son.
You’re singing him to sleep, he’s swaddled in a blanket, but you can’t seem to make out his face.
You walk around the kitchen, patting his back, gently moving back and forth in hopes of soothing him. The second you stop he begins to cry a loud scream of terror. You’re panicking, you don’t know what to do.
Where the hell was Soobin? He should be here, this was his baby too.
You’re searching the apartment, trying to be a good mother while searching for the man in question, but he’s nowhere to be found.
You try to call out for him, but you have no voice. There’s no sound. None at all. It’s so quiet something feels wrong.
You realize you’re empty handed. Your son is gone, missing. The panic begins to settle in quickly.
You’re spinning around, you’re no longer in the apartment, but your local grocery store. It’s crowded, everyone seems to be getting in your way as you try to move.
You try to stop someone, anyone. You need help, your baby is gone, your son, someone took him, you’re sure of it.
Someone kidnapped your baby boy.
Why was no one worried, why was no one helping you?! It was like you were all alone in this.
As you begin to hyperventilate, you spot a familiar figure.
Soobin. You run towards him but it’s like you’re moving through water, slow and frustrating. You try to shout at him, but you forget you can’t make any noise.
So you run and run, but Soobin is getting farther and farther. And even worse, you’ve realized it’s him with your son.
His large back taunts you as he cradles the infant, walking a mile with each step he takes.
You eventually fall and give up. You’re all alone out there, and not a single soul seems to care.
You wake up with tears rolling down your cheeks, and Soobin shaking you awake.
“Y/n, wake up,” He sounds worried. You blink your eyes open and quickly wipe your eyes with the back of your hands.
“Are you okay? You were crying in your sleep,” Soobin asks. You ignore him and stand up, speeding to the bathroom.
“Y/n,” He’s following you, but somehow you evade him, running inside the bathroom and locking it.
“Y/n? Y/n. Y/n open the door please,” Soobin knocks. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
How can he say something like that to you? You hate hearing him say such nice things. You wish he’d never said yes to you. You wish he never asked you to move in, you wished he never treated you well.
You sit on top of the toilet, trying your best to cry quietly, because you know you’d be worrying him more if he can hear you.
Soobin is still talking to you through the door.
You’re wiping your eyes with toilet paper when you feel your stomach flip flop and you stop breathing.
Your hands ghost over your belly, as if it would disappear if you touched it. You’re actually a bit relieved.
Your son was right here with you.
In April, you’re shopping for yourself when you are stopped by someone you wish you hadn’t run into.
You were looking at shoes. Now that you were getting closer and closer to birth, your body was changing more rapidly. Your old sneakers and boots no longer fit your feet without your ankles being strangled.
With what little money your job gave you, you planned on getting the most comfortable pair of slip-on shoes.
“Excuse me, do you have these in a size-” “Y/n?” Your conversation with the employee is interrupted by a familiar voice that has shivers running down your spine.
You pause, not wanting to turn your head. Maybe you could pretend you didn’t hear, that you were not Y/n, and they would leave you alone.
But this person is relentless. You can hear them approach you as you try to talk to the employee again.
“It is you. Y/n, it’s me, Yeji.”
Hwang Yeji, your ex best friend from high school. You guys never really had a falling out, you just went to different universities. You later found out two years ago that she was talking shit about you to make herself look better to her new uni friends after you reunited at a party.
You turn around and put on your bravest smile. “Oh, Yeji, hey,” Maybe it’s because you’re nervous that you begin to hug your stomach.
You see Yeji’s eyes wander down, then back up at you. Shelooks stunned. You don’t blame her.
“Oh my god. Congratulations!” She puts on a fake smile and goes in for a hug, you put up a hand to stop her. “Thanks. You look good.”
“You look good too!” Yeji laughs, though you know she’s probably rolling around with excitement on the inside.
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long!” She squeals, grabbing your hands as if to hold you down. “I’m fine, I actually-“
“We need to get lunch and catch up, are you busy right now? Do you have time? I know a really good kalguksu place nearby here, the owners love me! My boyfriend and I are their favorite customers. You remember my boyfriend Jeno, right?”
Of course you remember Jeno, was she dumb? He was the boy you grew up with, your childhood crush since you were 10. Yeji knew you liked Jeno back when you were younger, yet she still went to date him. You hear they’re pretty on and off now.
“Yeah, I do-“ “Great! I'm actually shopping with him right now, I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you too! You can invite your boyfriend too,” She assumes. “Unless you’re alone?” She flashes you a malevolent smile, and you’re reminded of the hell she put you through just years before.
It’s then that you’re grateful Soobin insisted on joining you, because he arrives just on time to save you.
“Y/n! These shoes look nice and comfortable-” He stops abruptly when he notices Yeji. He approaches you slowly, and is even more taken aback when you yank your hands from her and practically hug him.
“Uh, Hello,” He awkwardly bows, looking between you and Yeji as if unsure what to do. You turn back to Yeji. “Sorry, I am busy actually. My boyfriend and I still have some shopping to do for our baby.” You smile sheepishly.
“I just love being a mom, you know? I can’t wait to give birth and have more of his kids, because we’re so so in love with each other, isn’t that right babe? Anyways see you Yeji, tell Jeno I said hi!” You say before dragging Soobin away.
You two barge out of the store, leaving the woman in shock. “Who was that?” He asks in a hushed tone, he keeps turning back to get a glimpse of your ex best friend.
You have to grab his arm and pull him down the street, trying your best to not seem embarrassed or angry as you storm off.
“No one important,” You huff. You can tell Soobin is staring at you again as you finally let go of him to walk ahead.
You end up slowing down, running out of breath faster than you can imagine. Soobin stops as you rest against a wall.
“So I’m your boyfriend when it’s convenient for you? Is that all I am to you?” Despite his harsh words, he sounds more confused than anything.
You look up at him, trying to find the right words, because you didn’t want to admit that you wished everything you said to Yeji was true.
“It was just a lie. She was getting on my nerves.” You spit out. Soobin sighs, running a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He looks irritated, all because of you.
“I’m sorry,” You apologize, trying to show your sincerity through your eyes. Soobin does nothing but look at you, his silence louder than any words he could have said.
You weren’t dating, but you two fucked like you were. That was 100% true.
You’re laying on your back as Soobin laps at your puffy cunt like he’s a starved man.
With every flick of his tongue you let out a whimper, Soobin temporarily stops grabbing you by the jaw. He turns you towards him, allowing him to have access to your pretty lips. He kisses you like his life depends on it, biting and licking your lips.
You’re out of breath, feeling winded and tired, yet you can’t help but move your hips closer and closer to him. This connection between you two was carnivorous, and you wished to be devoured.
“You’re such a fucking slut,” Soobin growls at you, as if he hadn’t just sucked the life out of you while he pumped his fingers in and out of your dripping hole. You only moan, craving him to move and give you that sweet, sweet release.
Every part of him, his face, his chest, his arms, his fingers, his thighs, his cock, you love it all. You love how he spreads you open in all the right ways, how he's both rough and gentle with you. How he knows what gets you off, the amount of control you trust him to have over you and your body.
“You want more baby?” He asks, his tone switching to something softer as you grind yourself against his hand. You nod, desperate. He does as he’s told, and goes back, holding your legs wide open as he slurps you up.
Your hands find their way to his head, groping his hair as you push him further into you. You can feel your stomach coil up, your breath hitching. You try to find some stability, gripping the bed sheets, Soobin’s hair, anything to keep your sanity.
Your orgasm crashes into you, wiping you out completely. As you come down from your high, your body relaxes, losing all energy. Soobin drags himself up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He looks down at you like the prey you are. You’re unaware of what’s to come next, your eyes are closed.
You feel the bed dip and hear it creek as Soobin joins you. Your eyes shoot open as you feel him rub his tip against your entrance. You’re met with a lustful man, his eyes droopy as he cages you beneath him.
“Wanna give me one more, please?” He’s so polite, you answer with a simple nod. Soobin smiles, and with a single swift movement, enters your already throbbing pussy.
You hear him whine, something about how tight you felt, but you can’t concentrate. You feel as if you’re seeing stars from just trying to adjust to his size.
Soobin takes no time to start moving, his thrusts are deep and consistent, a rhythm you’ve come to recognize. You pout at him from your position, craving more of his touch. You lift your arms up, asking him to hold you.
He does more than just hold you, Soobin consumes you. His body wraps itself around you, he becomes all you can see, hear, and smell. Your senses are flooded with him.
He’s like a drug you think, the way he stimulates you, heightens all of your reactions. You get a taste and you’re hooked.
You lock lips, arms snaking around his neck, pulling him to you as your lips and tongue move in sync with him. Soobin’s hands roam your naked body, from teasing your perky nipples to rubbing your round belly affectionately.
His hips begin to move rapidly, falling out inconsistently. He’s whining into your mouth, chasing after that high you will so gracefully give him.
“Fuck- Cum in me,” You gasp. It’s not a plea, it’s an order.
And Soobin listens, standing up to hold your legs together. His thrusts become crazed and rampant, his voice creeping out as he can’t control himself anymore.
Soobin collapses as he cums inside you, shaking as you milk him dry. After you lay beside him, his cum dripping out your cunt and onto the sheets, you can’t help but admire the man.
He lays there, glistening in sweat and breathing heavily. His eyes are shut, a hand is thrown over his face as if to shield him, to you he looks like an angel who just descended from heaven.
You observe him for a moment longer before pulling yourself to sit up. You turn to look back at Soobin, his cheeks are flushed a bright red. You reach over to caress his face, drawing him to finally open his eyes and look at you.
“Let’s take a bath, hm?” You ask quietly. You swear his cheeks get brighter. “Yeah,” Soobin answers, letting you help him up as you two make your way to the bathroom to clean up.
The summer heat is settling in, you’re sweating, thirsty, and uncomfortable, but you have the biggest smile.
Despite your objections, your friends insisted on throwing you a small baby shower. So here you are, standing under a canopy in a public park, surrounded by the most supportive people you know.
You’re wearing a custom crocheted dress your old friend Sakura made just for this occasion, how she got your measurements without your knowledge, you have no idea. But it’s beautiful, you feel beautiful.
Aeri and Minjeong dolled you up, doing your hair and makeup for today, while Jimin and Ningning helped set up the party decorations.
There’s a little table with desserts, another larger one with catering, and folding chairs for everyone to sit on. Jimin even ordered a backdrop for everyone to be able to take photos together.
You’re sneaking a bite of a cupcake when a hand sneaks around your waist, causing you to spin around. “You’re not supposed to be eating that,” Soobin teases, and you playfully roll your eyes.
“It’s just one bite! Here, finish it for me then,” You lift the cupcake to his mouth, feeding him the blue iced dessert.
Soobin takes a small bite, grabbing the cupcake and placing it back on the table behind you, wiping his mouth with his thumb.
His gaze lingers on you for a little too long, you feel goosebumps grow on your arms. Usually you’d tell him to stop, to leave you alone. But today you were allowing yourself to indulge in your desires.
“I didn’t know Minjeong invited your friends too,” You say, looking over to the small crowd of people in front of you. Soobin doesn’t turn to look, his attention focused on you.
“Yeah, I guess she knows Beomgyu through Heeseung.” He murmurs. You can see Soobin’s best friend conversing happily with a group of guys. Your friends were mingling well.
You had all these friends gathered here today, yet not a single family member was in the midst. Yours were nonexistent for reasons you and Soobin knew long ago. But after Seollal you found out he’d temporarily cut contact with his sister. You don’t like knowing that he did that for you.
His mother was having a hard time coming to terms with your decision. She still calls and checks up on you two, but she always sounds sad and disheartened.
You shake your head and try to not think about that stuff, you were supposed to be happy right now.
As you’re trying to find something to lift your spirits, Soobin speaks up. “Did I tell you you look pretty today?” Your head whips around, a little shocked he could say something so blatant to you in public.
“I mean you’re always pretty,” He doubles down a bit nervously. “But you’re especially beautiful today.” His honest words have your cheeks turning red, you’re lucky you’re wearing foundation to cover them.
“Thank you,” You mumble, looking away from his deep intense eyes. They follow you and your every move.
Feeling bold, you reach over and grab his hand, and you can visibly see Soobin’s mood perk up from this single physical gesture.
“Come on, I think Jimin said she’s got a game prepared, I need you to win me that body lotion set.” You pull him towards your friends.
You hear him laugh, and his grip tighten around your hand. Maybe you can be selfish for a bit longer.
It’s the middle of June, and you’ve never been more thankful for Soobin’s apartment having an A/C unit than ever before.
In your old apartment, you always had to fight the heat by doing whatever you could to stay cool. The building was older and despite it being listed as having air conditioning, it really meant a plug in house fan.
You’re currently sitting on the couch, watching a show you’ve been binging all morning. Earlier in the season, a side character revealed she was pregnant, and now in this episode, she was arguing with her husband over baby names. Neither of them could come to a conclusive name they both liked.
You look down at your stomach, you’ve grown so much. You were due in a month in a half, so you were almost bursting at the seams.
Naming your baby was a topic you never really pondered on. Mainly because you felt like you didn’t need to with your decision. But a part of you is curious. You stare at your stomach for a while, internally fighting your conscience on what to do in this situation.
To name really anything you are giving ownership and possession of it. To name a person, you are giving them meaning, personality and a life.
As if urging you to make a decision, your son kicks, his leg pressing against the walls of your womb. You can see the left of your stomach jut out a bit more and usual.
If you do it alone, with no one to witness and persecute you, there is no harm done, right? You ask yourself this question over and over again until your baby moves again, almost as if telling you to hurry up.
You bite your lip, sucking in a tight breath.
“What about… Dongmin?” You say out loud, and it’s like the air grows thick with anticipation. You’re not sure who you’re asking, but you’re waiting for something, anything to give you an answer.
“Or Hyunsoo.” You wait. No one responds. Your anxiety slowly turns into hunger, you want an answer.
“Jisung, Leejoon, Seonwoo, Eunsung!” You begin to list off any name you can think of, eager to get a reaction out of anything. “Hajin, Juyoung, Eunjae-”
Your entire stomach flips. Your son is kicking, punching your side like his little life depends on it.
“That one?” You ask, bewildered that he would react so excitedly. He seems to calm down for a second, maybe it was a bluff.
You bite the inside of your gum, unsure how to read the situation. “Do you like that name?” You ask again, and there’s no response. You hold your breath, testing the waters once more.
Eunjae. Choi Eunjae.” You state loudly. Almost immediately you get a reaction, your son moves about in your belly like he’s doing somersaults.
You begin to laugh, you never thought a single name could elicit something so grand from within your womb.
“Is that right? Your name is Eunjae, Choi Eunjae.” You say again, and you feel your insides tickle.
As you’re enjoying yourself, the silent apartment begins to consume you, reminding you that you shouldn’t be smiling at all. You shouldn’t even be naming your baby, you shouldn't be doing any of this.
The guilt starts to seep in, and your laughter soon transforms into cries of agony.
At 3 in the morning you wake up and realize Soobin is not in bed. Why are you awake as well? You have to use the bathroom, but you have a feeling that’s not the same reason as why Soobin is missing.
After using the restroom, you creep out of the bedroom, yawning as you pad down the hall. What was he doing up so late?
Walking into the kitchen, you see the sliding door to the balcony is open.
And Soobin is outside, leaning against the railing as he’s talking to someone on the phone. His voice is muffled and quiet.
You tiptoe closer, you know you shouldn’t spy, but your curiosity got the better of you.
“I’m listening.” Soobin sighs, pressing his phone against his ear as he yawns, struggling to stay awake.
“No yeah, I know.” You watch him hum, leaning against the wall for support.
Whoever he’s talking to must have asked a question that irritates him, because he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Don’t say that.”
He lets out a long and tired sigh, you see him rub his face. “Y/n and I- We- stop acting as if we’re dating mom, you know we aren’t.”
It’s hypocritical, you think. You say it all the time, you and Soobin aren’t dating. You guys are not in a relationship, and you practically preach that you two will never ever get together.
But when you hear him say it out loud, those words you never imagined him speaking, you feel like every spark of hope left in your body has gone off and died.
And the fact that he was telling this to his mom.
You don’t want to listen to what else he has to say, you march back to the bedroom and throw the covers over your head.
You don’t want to cry, you can’t cry, you don’t deserve to cry. You brought this on yourself, you know this. So why were you so heartbroken?
You’re biting your tongue, clenching your fist in hopes of subduing your tears, when you hear Soobin walk back into the room. He stops and stands by the doorway.
He’s there for a moment, and you have to hold your breath.
“No, she’s still asleep,” You hear him say into the phone as he walks off back to the balcony. He shuts the door hastily behind him.
“What’re you doing?” Soobin asks, sounding threatened. You look up from your spot on the floor, caught.
“I’m packing.” You say simply, as if it weren’t already obvious. “Where are you going?” He questions further, stepping into the bedroom and staying by the door as if to block you from leaving.
You look up at him and scoff. “I’m not going anywhere.” You shake your head. You see him relax a bit. “Not yet at least.”
“I mean, once I have the baby in a couple of days, there’s no reason for us to be living together anymore, right?” You remind him. “I’m just packing now so that I don’t have to worry about it afterwards, to make things easier for us.”
Soobin stays silent as you turn back around and go back to folding and placing your clothes back into your suitcase.
“But you ended your lease, where will you stay?” He shuffles deeper into the room. “I’m gonna stay with Minjeong until I find a new place.” You try to ignore him to the best of your ability.
“Why don’t you just stay here until you do? Why move out just to move in with your friend?” He argues, and you get the feeling this has nothing to do with inconveniencing your best friend.
You huff, and roughly throw in your folded jeans into the suitcase, you can’t find it in you to turn to him, already hurt. “You know why Soobin,” You can see him sit down on the bed out of the corner of your eye.
“There’s no reason for me to stay, it’s not like we’re dating or-” “Then why aren’t we?!”
Soobin’s voice causes the room to shake, and your head snaps at him, eyes wide that he could utter those words at you.
He stares at you intensely, his fist are clenched in anger, his brows furrowed as he is desperately searching your face for an answer.
“We act like a couple, talk like one, sleep together like one- why can’t we?” His voice is so quiet, so meek that you’re reminded of the Soobin you first met that fateful night at that stupid party.
You immediately look away, you can’t even focus on your clothes anymore. He’s asked you a forbidden question.
“Tell me Y/n. I don’t get it.” Soobin pushes. “I’m your boyfriend when you need someone to provide, when an old friend annoys you, when you need to fuck. But suddenly you throw me out the window the second I get too close. I don’t know why but I want to understand you.”
Your gaze is fixed on the floor, your hands resting on your knees as you try your best to not break down in front of him. You couldn’t let him see you cry, you knew he hated it.
“I-I love you, you know?” Those words open the flood gates.
“I’d do anything for you. I already do. I let you use me, twist me around, break me down. Just because I want you to just like me back. I feel like I’m doing everything I can in my favor, but you-” Soobin stops and sighs, getting off from bed to kneel beside you. He grabs your hands and has you face him. You shut your eyes and keep your head down.
“I hate seeing you cry,” He mumbles, lifting your head to wipe your tears with his thumb. You try to pull away, but he’s got a firm grip on you.
“Y/n,” His voice is soft. “I don’t know what’s stopping you, I know you love me too, I know you do.”
You finally open your eyes, and a part of you is relieved your tears have blurred your vision, because you can’t bear to see Soobin’s face once you disappoint him.
“No I don’t,” You lie, shaking your head. Soobin’s hands fall from yours, and you turn your back to him, hiding your sobs as best you can as you immediately regret your words.
You need to apologize, but you’re wiping your tears away when you hear Soobin get up in a rush. He’s out the front door before you can realize. You struggle to get up, hobbling out the front door.
You reach the hallway window just in time to see Soobin speed off, his car furiously disappearing down the street.
“Fuck.” You cuss yourself out. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-”
You suck in a breath as you’re leaning against the hall wall when you feel warm liquid run down your legs. Were you seriously so upset that you peed yourself-
A sudden spike of pain shoots up your uterus and you feel as if you can’t breathe. You almost fall to your knees, forcing yourself to stand until the pain dissipates. That’s when it hits you.
Holy shit your water broke.
You waddle back inside the apartment, insearch of your phone. You try to relax your breathing as you find it laying on the bed. You need to call Soobin. You don’t care that you two just had a fight, you needed to-
Your mind goes blank when you hear a familiar ringtone play loudly from the kitchen. You walk over and find Soobin’s phone ringing on the counter. On his screen is a photo of you from the babyshower. It’s a photo you hadn’t realized he’d taken.
You were laughing at your friends, cradling a plastic baby doll in your arms. You looked so happy, that day he called you beautiful.
You feel your eyes well up again, but your sniffles are interrupted by another sharp pain. This must be contractions or something, because you felt like you were dying as well as needing to take a giant shit.
But without Soobin here, you don’t know what to do. You never planned that today would be the day, your doctor promised you had at least another week.
You stand there by the kitchen counter, agonizing in pain. You know you should call an ambulance, that you should call your family, your friends. But the only person you can think about is Soobin.
The man you’d hopelessly fallen in love with was long gone, leaving without a trace.
Reader is maki's gf buuuut maki lets nico eat you out. Why? Cause he wanted to learn "properly". Everything else is history.
-#
ur giving me a run for my money this was so nghhhh da inspo nd that one comment “why they running a 2man on a burger” LOL but i had to make this into a love letter this is so mind blowing ty # anon
tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; bf!maki, bf bsf!nicholas, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, “condescending,” “objectification,” thoughts of this being pseudo-cheating, maki sharing you, oral (f receiving), clit stim, ruined orgasm, lwk they pretend like you’re not there..., reader is referred to as “maki’s girl” a few times, the tws i’ll explain under the cut!
this was also inspired by one of my favorite nsfw asmrists on reddit u/-basilbasilbasil- and their audio about pussy inspection it just screams this scenario which is why i added those tags just in case if someone reads it and finds it uncomfortable! was also totally inspired by fumabun’s kissing ranking, just translated it to pussy eating lolz anyways
“okay. pretend like they aren’t wet already.”
“how am i supposed to do that.”
“just pretend, dude. i’m teaching you how to eat box, they’re not supposed to be wet already.”
your bottom half is already bare, pussy open to both nicholas and maki. embarrassingly wet in front of them, you still couldn’t believe that maki– your fuckass boyfriend– was scared to try eating you out, so he asked nicholas– his best friend– to eat you out. it’s hard to pretend to sit there like a sex toy for their use, but i guess it’s all worth it for maki’s experience– and better yet your sex life and pleasure.
“some guys just lay there, some guys just spread their legs, but you gotta hook your arms under their legs like this,” nicholas demonstrates by using his strong arms to clutch onto your legs. his hands slide down your inner thighs to spread them out a little more. maki sits up further on your bed to see nicholas’ next moves. “see when you have them like this, you have your eye on the prize.” maki nods at nicholas as he starts lowering his head.
he flicks his tongue only slightly against your clit. you jolt at the sudden movement, “you wanna start off by only focusing on the clit. this is the clit. remember it. don’t be stupid and not know where it is because if the two of you break up, that’s gonna spread.” maki side eyed nicholas at his passive comment only for a bit before nicholas continued. “bob your tongue like this– it makes them wet, making them ready for you to eat up.” although nicholas’ tongue was out, causing his speech to get slightly unintelligible, maki still knew what he was talking about.
as nicholas carries on, your thighs twitch and soft moans fall from your lips. maki was good for calling nicholas out of everyone to eat you out. nicholas pull back only slightly, “see how they’re flowing? you can also thumb at them like this to get the same effect. just focus on the clit for a little bit.” nicholas’ thumb is rough, different from maki’s hands. your breath hitches and start breaking when your head is thrown back in your pillows. “see that? notice how they react too. if they’re unfazed, that’s how you know you’re fucked.”
maki simply nods and hums once more. “and listen too. listen for the smallest things. you wanna know if they’re groaning like they’re hurting, humming like they’re bored, or actually whimpering for you.” nicholas points at his ear to indicate his ‘teachings’ to maki.
“okay, after a few minutes, clit stuff isn’t it anymore, focus on their hole,” nicholas starts off first before coming back down to your pussy. “pussy juice is addicting, so don’t go all in. savor it. if you go crazy style, they’re just gonna get weirded out.” maki peers over your thighs once more to watch nicholas. “watch. take your tongue, cup it like this,” nicholas shows maki his tongue slightly curled before coming back down, “scoop up their wetness.” nicholas uses his curled tongue to push your leaking pussy juice against his tongue to taste you. nicholas smacks his lips once before muttering and flexing his jaw, “fuck, your girl tastes good.” maki jerks his head, “wait, what’d you say?” nicholas shakes his head, “nothing.”
continuing on, nicholas starts up once more, “use your tongue and mouth at their entire pussy– like make out with it– watch.” nicholas uses his plush lips to envelop your pussy. his tongue drags up your labia and back up to your clit while closing his lips around it. maki’s looking intensely as if he’s taking notes up in his brain. nicholas keeps at it, “here, you kinda just freestyle. watch how they move and react. you might wanna snake your tongue down… kiss up in it… bite and suck at their lips… flick your tongue inside… tongue them back up… do whatever they like.” as nicholas talked, he reciprocated his words to his actions. if he talked about tonguing you, he tongued you. if he kisses you, he kisses you. almost down to an art.
nicholas’ hands found themselves squeezing at the flesh of your thighs and ass as he watches you unfold on his tongue. your hands are gripping at your sheets, knees are bent up, legs closing in on the sides of his head. while your cries are growing louder. each moan, whine, and croak of pleasure is getting nicholas so fucking hard. his pants are tent up by how his cock is straining at his boxers. shit. if he had a girl too, he’d feel so fucking bad, but your pussy is heaven to him. the way you’re melting on his tongue and taste like pure gold. thank god this isn’t technically cheating on maki.
right when you feel the knot in your stomach inches away from snapping, nicholas pulls away. you whine, “what–! fuck–!” nicholas lips his lips from your sweet juices, his eyes are zeroing into yours. fuck. he feels so wrong for not letting you cum but, you are maki’s girl. “you’re up, man. eat your girl out like i just showed you.” maki exhales deeply before switching with nicholas, “i’ll do it better than you. no one will make my girl cum like i do.”
“sure, dude.”
might extend this with the maki part and make it like a ramble?
summary: you run into him in the hallway of the hotel, it's late and you're exhausted from the concert, but he thinks you should grab a drink and you can't help but agree
prompt: Hi! Sooo it might gonna be a little similar to into the aurora, but I kinda let my mind wander about what would it be like (probably really really lucky) to bump into yunho after a concert (like you know as a fan) and eventually have a one night stand with him..
note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i hope this is what you were looking for!! honestly it got away from me there in the middle, i'm just also very in love with this man. i hope you enjoy!! <3
warnings: idol!yunho, fem!reader, one night stand, slight injury and brief description of a bloody cut, oral (f receiving), protected sex, semi rough sex, free use kink, praise, *slight* brattiness / teasing, size kink, use of the pet name 'tiny', big dick yunho. please let me know if I missed any.
pairings: yunho x reader
genre: idol x non idol, self insert, smut-a-thon with some fluff
word count: 8.8K
my masterlist
Everything about your night feels absolutely electric, the feeling of the music still buzzing in your skin, your legs exhausted from standing, your hands numb from clapping. Now, laying in your hotel room after the show on top of the
comforter, you replay the little moments in your mind. It was lucky you were able to go, a ticket given to you from a friend who could not longer make it, a VIP seat almost at the barricade. It had been perfect, it didn’t even matter that you went alone.
Flipping over onto your stomach, you pull your phone back out and scroll through the videos you were able to take during the show – every second of footage shockingly good quality. They’re handsome, of course, but the power in their dancing and the magnetic charisma of each and every one of them is overwhelming, the videos paling in comparison to the feeling of being mere feet from the stage’s edge.
Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s already twelve-thirty in the morning. You have a bit of a long drive to make in the morning, especially if you’re going to make it back to your apartment to get some work done, and you really should get to sleep. If you didn’t start winding down now, you never would.
Despite your sore muscles, you drag yourself off the bed and into a warm shower, washing off the show and trying to relax. You keep your hair dry, already freshly washed and dried that morning, but take your time removing your makeup and refreshing your skin before you get dressed for bed. You’re tucked in already, cozy in your gray sweats and oversized black hoodie, when you realize how hoarse your voice feels after the show.
There’s nothing in the mini-fridge and no little bottles of courtesy water left on the dresser, so you’re stuck with tepid tap water. With a sigh, you pull on a pair of fluffy socks, pick up the small empty ice bucket, grab your room key, and head out into the hall. It’s late, and the hotel is quiet around you, everyone in their respective rooms fast asleep.
The ice machine is around the corner, down the hall, and set back in an enclave next to a vending machine. You fill your bucket up, stifling a wide yawn, before shaking off the sleepy feeling and closing the lid of the ice dispenser. Turning on your heel, you turn the corner and collide directly into a chest.
The man was walking at a good clip, turning the corner himself, so you rock back on unsteady footing, tripping backwards and colliding with the floor hard. The ice bucket in your hand slips, and the sharp metal edge of the lip of the bucket cuts across your palm, flaring a sharp line of pain in your hand.
“I’m so sorry!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching down for you.
“It’s okay,” you shake your head, brushing off some wayward cubes of ice that landed on you, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
When you look up your breath catches in your throat.
“Still,” the man says, crouching at your side and softly gripping under your forearms to help you to your feet, “I was too busy looking at my phone. Are you okay?”
“Uh,” you fish in your brain for anything to say, “yes, yeah, I’m fine.”
Now on your feet, you realize just how tall he is, especially standing so close. His eyes are kind, soft and brown, an embarrassed blush across his cheeks, and he keeps his hands resting on your arms as he looks down at you.
“I really am sorry,” he says again.
The shock of recognizing him is wearing off and you take a small step back, waving him off, “I promise, it’s fine. Thank you for your help though,”
His eyes widen suddenly and he reaches for you, taking your hand in his and turning it over in his wide palm, “Your hand!”
Across the heel of your hand, a deep cut runs across the fleshy base of your thumb where the sharp edge of the ice bucket dragged across it. Blood wells over, smeared across your skin where you skidded on the floor when you fell. Looking at it now, you can feel it, a slow throb of pain radiating out.
“Oh,” you manage, grimacing.
“Now, I’m really sorry,” he says, and when you glance up at him you can see how red his ears have gone.
“I think it looks worse than it is,” you pull your hand back and smile, “you don’t need to worry.”
His eyebrows are knit together in concern and as you lean down to pick up the discarded ice bucket, he glances down the empty hall, and then back to you. “Let me do that,” he drops down, gathering the ice that has scattered on the hotel floor and dropping it into his own empty bucket to discard.
You rock back on your heels and watch him as he fusses around you, clearly embarrassed, and you take the moment to look him over. He’s much more handsome up close, but without the makeup and styled hair, he looks so real.
“I’m y/n, by the way,” you say.
He looks up, meeting your eyes again and smiles, “I’m Yunho,”
“I know,” you say, and now you know you’re blushing yourself.
“Oh,” he helps you to your feet again, “you’re a fan?”
“Kind of,” again, you wish for nothing more than a filter over your mouth.
His eyes widen a bit as he takes in your words, “Kind of a fan,”
“Sorry,” you shake your head, “my friend gave me her ticket, I only knew some of your songs before, but the show was amazing. I’m a fan now,”
He grins, “Oh, well that’s nice, thank you.”
There’s a bit of a pause between you, and you know it’s time to let him off the hook. You should go back to your room and figure out the cut on your hand and go back to your original plan of going to sleep. You should let him get back to his room and whatever his plans were for the evening. You should.
“Well, I should let you go,” you take a step away, and his hand leaves your elbow, “but it was nice to meet you, and really, the show was incredible.”
You start to step away, but he stops you, “Wait, wait,” Yunho steps in front of you, blocking your path back up the hall, “at least let me take care of your hand, I feel terrible.”
“Oh, no I think it’s honestly fine,” you smile, “like I said, it looks worse than it is.”
“You have a first aid kit in your room?” He asks, and something in his expression tells you that he already knows you don’t.
“Not exactly,”
“Then let me patch you up,” his smile is warm and inviting, everything about his presence easy and comfortable, “it’s the least I can do.”
“You travel with a first aid kit?” You raise an eyebrow, but let him take your hand again so he can take a look at the cut.
“No,” he shakes his head, “but our managers do,”
“Fine,” you concede, “I guess it can’t hurt.”
“Good,” he nods and gestures with his arm for you to follow, “my room’s just down here.”
A flutter of anxiety washes through you, the idea of being in his room strange and sudden. You had been minutes from sleep not that long ago, and now here you are walking into Jeong Yunho’s hotel room. It feels a little like a dream, but think that at least in a dream you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself in front of him and cut open your hand, you would have said something cool and flirty, so definitely this is just reality.
He opens the door with a keycard and holds the door open for you, “Come on in,”
You thought he would have a roommate or at least a manager in the room, but when you step over the threshold and the heavy hotel door shuts behind you, you realize that his room is just like yours, empty with one queen sized bed and clothes and travel supplies littered around.
“Obviously I didn’t think I’d have company,” he jogs across the room and grabs the clothes up off the floor, tossing them into an open suitcase and flipping it shut. He sweeps away some wrappers off the counter top too and pushes them into a waiting wastebasket.
“Oh, it’s fine,” you laugh, “you haven’t seen my room.”
It’s cute how nervous he seems to be, and when he’s done clearing away the clutter he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He looks up, and realizes that you’re still standing in the entryway. “Sorry, here, take a seat and I’ll get the first aid kit.”
He physically steers you into the room and back towards the edge of the bed. He ducks into the bathroom, and you hear him shuffle around, clearly digging through items, before he comes back with a handful of supplies. “This should be good,”
“I appreciate this, by the way,” you tell him, “I’m sure that you’re exhausted after the show.”
He sits next to you on the edge of the bed and drops the first aid items between you, before taking your injured hand back into his and sweeping a warm wet washcloth across your skin. “Honestly, after a show I can never sleep.”
“Really?”
“I’m always too keyed up,” he shrugs, carefully wiping away the blood away from your hand, staining the washcloth pink, “it’s such a rush of energy and then suddenly nothing,”
“They have a word for that,” you say, hissing slightly when he presses a little too hard across the cut itself.
He lifts the cloth and looks up from his work to your eyes, “Sorry, sorry,”
“I’m good,” you assure him.
He nods and more carefully sweeps the cloth over your skin, “You were saying?”
“Oh,” you run back through the thoughts, the conversation from a moment ago, “Oh! Yes, that feeling, they call it post concert depression.”
“That’s accurate.” He says, pointedly.
“Everything and then nothing,” you nod, “it must be overwhelming for you.”
He shrugs, but you can see he’s nodding too, and as he squeezes out a bit of ointment to apply to your hand he says, “It can be. You go from thousands of fans telling you they love you to your own thoughts alone in a hotel room within an hour. Nothing can really prepare you for how that feels.”
“I’m sure,” you murmur. With a glance around the room you realize how empty it must be, on tour with no one but your crew and group mates, far from home in strange places, sometimes with a heavy language barrier. The words leave you before you can catch them, “It seems kind of lonely,”
His fingers still and he looks up to you, “Sometimes,”
This close, he really is just a boy. Your stomach flip flops and you lean back a bit, blush heating your cheeks again. You can’t quite stop thinking about his beautiful mouth.
You can almost touch the pause between you, the silence stretching out and enveloping you both, but he clears his throat softly and looks back down to your hand, “I think you were right, it’s really not too bad.”
“I thought so,”
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” He asks, peeling open a bandaid.
“Not too much,” you shake your head.
He turns your hand over in his, the back of your knuckles resting in his palm, and you realize just how large his are and how small yours looks held in his. “Did you come to the show with someone?” he asks suddenly.
“No,” you shift, angling towards him a bit more to make the position more comfortable, “I came by myself, my friend only had the one ticket.”
He hums in acknowledgement and pauses briefly before he says, “Did you travel far? By yourself?”
You catch his eyes, your eyebrows raised, “Not too far, and yes. It’s only a three hour drive, I just didn’t want to drive back so late in case I was tired.”
Yunho nods, and refocuses on his task to apply two large bandaids over the cut, his long fingers smoothing out the edges of the adhesive tightly over your skin. He examines his work carefully to make sure it fits comfortably over your hand and murmurs, “There we go,”
You pull your hand back, flexing your fingers and testing out the feeling, “That’s perfect, thank you so much.”
“It was my fault you got hurt anyways,” he smiles, “I’m just glad it wasn’t too bad and I could help.”
You’re pretty sure you should get up and leave, but his smile is kind and warm and you can’t quite make your legs move. His eyes flick over you, his fingertips lingering on your injured hand, and when his ears flush red again he stands and clears his throat, “Well,”
“I should get back to my room,” you interrupt, jumping up and pulling down the sleeves of your hoodie, “but thank you so much.”
He steps back and towards the door, pulling it open and holding out an arm to let you pass through it into the hallway. When he follows you out into the hall and shuts the door he says, “Let me walk you back to your room, it’s late.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, but you smile up at him anyways.
“I want to,” he assures you.
There’s a pause, and you remember yourself, “Oh, right! It’s this way,” you wave him to follow you and start down the hallway back towards the ice machine, walking in step with each other slowly.
“So,” he glances down at you, “what do you do?”
“I’m a student,” you tell him, “in graduate school.”
“Oh,” he nods, “that’s impressive.”
You shrug, “I wouldn’t say that,”
“I would,” he shakes his head, “I was never very good at staying attentive during school let alone doing post grad. I had too much energy,”
“It makes sense you’re a dancer then,” you note, and with every sidelong glance up at him your stomach flutters. He isn’t flirting with you, he’s just being kind, but he’s still just as charming and it makes you wish for just a little more time with him.
“Mm,” he nods, “I have to be moving, I can’t help it.”
You’ve noticed that already, in the short time you’ve spent together. Even after the long show it seems like he is overflowing with energy. His leg bouncing, his fingers dancing, something unconscious vibrating under his skin.
Now that you’ve turned the corner on the hotel floor, you can see your door just ahead and you wish there was just a little more hallway. “Do you leave soon?” You ask him.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” he nods, “you?”
“Sometime in the morning, I think. I have some work to get done tomorrow and shouldn’t leave too late,”
As you approach your door, you slow your steps and he realizes you must be at your room. “This is me,” you gesture towards the door and turn to face him, “thank you for everything.”
He waves your thanks off and smiles, “It’s really the least I could do,” he says again.
“It really was nice to meet you,” you tell him honestly, “I’m just sorry I ran right into you to do it.”
“Oh, I’m not,” he says, and then you watch his expression shift as he backtracks, “well, I’m sorry I knocked you over, but I’m not sorry I met such a pretty girl.”
Heat flushes your face instantly at his words and you glance down, fighting a smile.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot, “I’m sorry, it’s late and I’m clearly making a bit of a fool of myself.”
You laugh immediately, looking back up to him, “Hardly. You’re actually very charming, it’s kind of annoying.”
He laughs, covering his mouth with one hand and taking a step away, “I’m annoying you, am I?”
“No, I just meant,” you sigh, covering your face with your hands, “I really just don’t think before I speak, I swear.”
“y/n,” your name on his lips sends a chill through you and you look up at him, “Don’t be embarrassed, I like it.”
“You like me calling you annoying?”
Something passes over his face at your words, a shift, and he says, “I do, it’s cute.”
Your stomach clenches, the conversation drifting into a new space you feel wholly unprepared for. You cross your arms, tucking your hands away and looking up to him, “You’re not what I expected,”
“No?” He grins, leaning on the wall next to your door.
“You don’t seem like an idol,” you explain.
He shrugs, “We are just people,”
“I’m getting that,” you say honestly. At a beat between you, you sigh, “How late is it?”
He pulls his cellphone out of his sweat pants pocket and checks the time before quickly returning it, “Almost two,”
You sigh, nodding and reach into your pocket for your keycard, “It’s late… I should go,”
He nods and watches as you swipe your card over the door lock and prop open the heavy door. Something is stalling you, pulling you back into the hall, but he makes the leap for you. He reaches out and gently touches your forearm, “Maybe I’m feeling bold because it’s so late,” he says and you look back to him, “but I’ve enjoyed talking to you, if you’re not too tired maybe we could have a drink or something?”
“You want to have a drink with me?” You can’t help the look of shock that crosses your face. “Well, yes,” his hand rests more comfortably on your forearm now, his thumb stroking your skin softly, just once, “if you want to.”
You shift back towards him, the door closing behind you now that you’re no longer propping it open, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he nods.
“Do you want to have a drink with me because you want to have a drink with me, or because you don’t want to be alone after the show?”
His eyes flick away, and you can see him think before he looks up and says, “Can it be both?”
His honesty makes this easier, knowing that he wasn’t feeding you a line just to be a flirt or trick you into something. You smile, “Yeah,”
“What about you?” He asks, taking a step towards you and closing the space between you, “If you say yes is it because you want to have a drink with me, or because you’re alone in a strange hotel room?”
He has a warm, flirtatious smile on his lips, and you’re suddenly extremely aware of the proximity between you both and between you and the door behind you. “Both,” you answer. It’s entirely possible you’re reading into things, but it’s also entirely possible Yunho is making a move and this night might end with him inside you. Warmth curls in your belly at the thought.
“So, what do you say?” He shifts a little closer, and you press a hand to the center of his chest to keep him where he is.
“Let’s have a drink.” You agree, “But I don’t have anything inside.”
He steps away and thinks a moment, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll come back,”
“You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?” You tease with a sly smile.
“Definitely not,” he squeeze your arm softly before he drops it, “I’ll be right back.”
He steps back and you move to open your door again. His eyes flick up to the number on your hotel room door and you watch him silently repeat the number to himself and commit it to memory. He tells you he’ll see you soon, and you watch him jog down the hallway in the direction of his room.
Once he disappears and you slip back into your own room things feel suddenly incredibly surreal. Meeting him like this felt like meeting anyone, bumping into a stranger and making a connection just like you would at a bar. The ten minutes between your door closing and Yunho knocking is fast, and you spend it picking up your space and cleaning up the bedding, quickly brushing your teeth, fluffing your hair and discarding the oversized sweatshirt.
His soft knock on your door has you jumping out of your skin, but you pull the door open and can’t help but laugh. He’s holding up a six pack of obviously cold light beers, and two bottles of soju, an incredibly cheeky grin on his face. He’s a flirt, then.
“Come in,” you wave him in, and he crosses by you to set the drinks on the desk and turn back to you. It doesn’t escape your notice that his eyes flick over you, your body more on display in a fitted tank top now that your sweatshirt was off.
“I’m not sure what you like,” he pulls a beer from the sleeve and holds it out to you, “but this is pretty light,”
“It’s fine,” you tell him, popping the top off the beer and discarding the twist off in the trash, “where did you get this anyways? It’s two in the morning.”
“The downstairs bar is open until three,” he explains.
“Ah,” you take a swig of the beer and watch him follow suit. It’s easier to watch him now that you both have acknowledged the heat between you, and you find yourself appreciating a lot of little things. His hands are large, making the bottle in his grip seem smaller. You find yourself staring at the soft edge of his jaw when he tips his head back for a drink, and noticing the broad set of his shoulders when he stands at his full height.
Yunho takes a few more sips of his drink, and once he’s had about a third of his beer, he reaches for a bottle of soju to mix in a shot. You hop up from your perch on the dresser and reach out to him, “Oh, wait, let me.”
His brow is a little furrowed, but he hands the unopened bottle of soju to you. “Okay?”
“I’m not a very seasoned drinker,” you explain, “but I do have a party trick or two. I think everyone should,”
With practiced hands you flip the bottle quickly, the alcohol inside spinning quickly into a whirlwind. Taking the neck of the bottle in one hand, you tap your opposite elbow firmly on the base of the bottle before twisting it cleanly around in your hands, all the while untwisting the cap. You present the open bottle with a flourish, the soju still whirling inside, and take a small playful bow. He’s grinning, and he claps at the trick, “That’s expertise,” he says.
“In opening bottles, maybe,” you pass it over to him so he can add his shot, and then add one to your bottle too, “in drinking, not so much.”
“Me either,” he confesses, “a drink here or there, but I’m not really one to overdo it.”
“You’re probably too busy,” you take a drink, and sidle closer to where he sits on the edge of the hotel room’s desk.
He shrugs, “it’s that, but also it makes your body feel terrible. If I don’t have a clear head it shows up on stage.”
“That makes sense,”
“Yeah,” he takes another drink, but you can see he’s already slowing down, “we have to be very conscious about our health, so drinking occasionally is fine but I don’t normally do it.”
“But you wanted to drink with me?” You ask, turning towards him more fully.
He smiles, “I thought it might be weird if I asked you to just keep talking in your room at two in the morning. Drinks are a good excuse,”
His honesty strikes you again, “I think I still would have said yes.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow.
You nod, taking another drink, and say, “Maybe I’m reading this wrong, but I don’t think you’re here just to talk, right?”
Yunho is quiet, his eyes flicking over you, “You’re very direct.”
“I’ve been told,” you smile, shrugging.
“I like direct,” he clarifies.
“Yunho,” you murmur, and you watch his eyes flicker at the sound of his name, “what do you want?”
He swallows, takes another drink, and swallows again, his throat tight, “If you’re saying yes, then I’d like to fuck you.”
The bottle in your hand slips a little and you grip down on it to keep it from falling, Yunho watches and smiles at your reaction. It cannot be overstated that this is not how you thought the night was going to go.
“Yes,” you decide not to think.
His hands are on you in a moment, one braced on your hip and the other cupping the back of your neck so he can drag you forwards along the desk and crash his mouth into yours. You like direct too.
“Fuck,” he curses softly when he breaks the kiss, “I’m sorry, I was going to be cooler about this, but you’re very cute.”
You hum a laugh against his mouth, feeling his smile, and shake your head a little when you break away, “I really don’t think we have to pretend if it’s just tonight,”
“Yeah?”
“Be yourself,” you kiss him again, “I’ll be myself. It’s only one night, so why be nervous the whole time?”
“I like you,” he grins, “I’m really glad I met you,”
“Ran into me,” you tease him.
“Ran into you,” he nods, “now come here,” The way he kisses is fast, firm, and insistent, his tongue dipping into your mouth and running along yours, a huff of warm shared breath between you. His hands hold you perfectly, fingers applying perfect pleasure as he squeezes you and it sends a dizzy rush through your brain when you realize just how small you are in his grip.
When you shudder a moan against his mouth, heat pooling in your core, he pulls back and stands up. Moving in front of you, he hooks his fingers in the top of your sweats and yanks down, taking your underwear with them. You brace your hands on the desk to lift your hips up so he can pull them all the way off and toss them to the side.
“Arms up,” he says, soft and firm, when he starts to pull your shirt over your head, and you comply immediately.
You can see the outline of his hard cock through his own sweatpants, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. He takes a step back to regard you and smiles, reaching down and catching one of your feet in his hands, still wearing your fluffy, colorful socks. “These are too fucking cute,” he teases you, and you blush.
“Stop it,” you laugh.
“I don’t know,” he drags a hand up your calf, under the hook of your knee, the top of your thigh, “Maybe you should leave them on, they’re kind of hilarious.”
“I clearly wasn’t expecting to get laid,” you start to say, but when his fingers dip down and brush your inner thigh, mere inches from your core, you gasp a breathy inhale.
“Still cute,” he smirks, and before you can retort he’s on his knees.
Looking down at him sends a rush of instant heat through you, and you barely register the fact that he’s slipped your socks off now and tossed them aside, leaving you fully naked and exposed to his gaze. His hands grip your backside and drag you forward on the desk, lining your hips up perfectly with the edge, and he pushes your thighs open to move forwards between them.
He’s moving fast, rocketing past teasing kisses and harmless groping, but you don’t seem to care. There’s a time clock on the night, and you’re sure once he’s had his fill he’ll leave and move on with his tour and his life, but you’re oddly okay with it. He dips low, hooking your legs over his shoulders, “Lay back,” he instructs.
You ease back on the desk, still staying propped up on your forearms so you can look down between your legs and see the dark mop of his hair, but providing him the access that he needs. He presses close to the apex of your thighs but doesn’t quite touch you, softly he blows a stream of cool air over your exposed clit and you jolt. “You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen,”
His words make you arch your back just slightly, involuntarily, and you let out a breathy moan, “Oh my god,”
“Do you want my mouth on you, pretty girl?” he asks, pressing wet kisses to your inner thighs.
An image of his mouth flashes in your brain, his plush bottom lip, his perfectly curved cupid’s bow. The way his tongue juts into his cheek when he’s teasing. You’re surprised at how easily you beg for him, “Please, please,”
He chuckles, bringing his arms under your thighs now and reaching around to brace your hips. His hands settle over your stomach and lower ribs, and he presses firmly down with his hands when he realizes you’re still propped up and not laying flat like he wants you. You drop back, letting your head rest against the hard desktop, the cool chill of the wood adding to the prickling sensation of goosebumps across your body.
“Say please again,” he tells you, and your words catch in your throat when he licks a firm stripe up your slit.
“P-please,” you shudder, and he listens.
He devours you, hungry for every drop of your slick arousal, and desperate to hear every little pant and moan you make when he focuses on sucking softly at your swollen clit. He dips his tongue inside you, hot and pulsing, and you groan, trying to rock your hips but finding that his hands are holding you exactly where he wants you.
When he delivers a sharp suck, your brain whites out, “Fuck, fuck,” you’re reaching for something to grab, to hold, and you desperately grip one of his hands. He twists it, catching your hand in his much larger one, intertwining your fingers and keeping it pressed to your stomach as he works you.
“There you go,” he pants when you arch against his tongue, flicking your clit perfectly from side to side.
“Yunho,” his hands grip down on you when you say his name, and pleasure curls tight inside you, ready to burst. “Yunho, I can’t,”
He doesn’t respond, simply works his mouth against you faster, firmer, his nose bumping your clit. Your free hand laces into his hair, gripping tightly and he groans against your heat. Your hips are bucking softly, chasing the sensation, and he shifts the tempo of his tongue to match your needy thrusts and perfect the pace you need. It’s seconds before you’re about to fall over the edge, your thighs shaking and your legs tightening around him. You pant his name again, and he presses closer, the added pressure tipping you over into a tidal wave.
The sound that leaves your lips is desperate, a crying choke of pleasure as you arch back, legs locked tightly around him, and your hand slipping out of his hair to come down hard on the table and brace yourself there. When your moans turn to soft whimpers, he slows, lapping at you softly through your aftershocks and pressing kisses to your inner thighs.
“Oh my god, you’re good at that,” you manage, recovering your breath.
He leans back, untangling his hand from yours and gently unhooking your legs from his shoulders. He holds you up, since you had wriggled off the edge of the desk a bit and helps ease you up to a sitting position again. He looks overwhelmingly pleased with himself, a wet glisten of your arousal across his mouth and chin. His hair is mussed from where you grabbed it, his cheeks flushed pink, and you want nothing more than to tackle him and kiss him soundly.
Yunho stands to his full height and offers you a hand, “Let’s move somewhere more comfortable,”
“Yeah,” you nod, a little breathless still.
He steers you to the bed, tipping you backwards so you can collapse onto the mattress and you watch him as he undresses. He pulls the loose tour t-shirt over his head and you can’t help but admire him, watching him carefully as he moves to shuck off his sweats. He’s incredibly lean, taut sinewy muscles that jump with every flex of his hands or shift of his body. Bruises litter his shins and knees, and you catch more along his elbows and forearms, a collection you suspect is from how hard they dance.
When he drops his boxers, you can feel your eyebrows jump up and he laughs at your expression. “What?” he teases.
“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “you know exactly what.”
He blushes, his ears running red, and he clears his throat a little awkwardly before moving forwards to kneel on the mattress between your open legs. He sweeps a broad hand up your thigh, kneading your skin softly and says, “You still good?”
He’s nervous, you realize. You suspect that in his past he’s had a few negative experiences given his expression, girls who maybe shied away or feigned some excuse to end things early. Despite his intimidating size though, you’ve never wanted anything more, and you can feel the low throb of your core return as you look at him.
“I’m still very good,” you assure him, reaching up a hand.
His expression clears slightly, “Yeah?”
You change tactics, shifting up fully to a sitting position and reaching up to catch the back of his neck and pull him down, “Don’t be so full of yourself,” you tease him, hoping to lighten the tension, “I can take you just fine.”
He smirks, falling over you easily and holding himself suspended above you, “you think so?”
You really hope you can, but you double down, “Easy.”
The head of his cock connects with your entrance suddenly with a shift of his hips and you jerk, surprised at the sudden sensation, and he pushes forwards just enough to slip the head of him inside you, a hungry sly smile across his face now that he knows you’re back to playing. He pulls back when you gasp, a laugh on his lips and shakes his head, “You’re not ready yet.”
You want him so badly it makes you feel needy, a squirming urge to rock yourself against his cock until you come or until he fucks you into the floor, and you push him back with a hand on his shoulder just slightly so you can better meet his gaze, “Yes, I am,”
He smiles down at you, pleased with your bratty insistence, and shifts back up to kneel between your open legs again. He pulls you up by your hips, dragging your body into a better position, and for a moment you think he’s about to throw hesitation out the window and do it, but he doesn’t. He strokes himself with one hand as he looks down at you, and then lines your hips together, positioning you so he can let the hard straight length of his cock rest on top of your mound.
From here you can feel the hot length of him, from the base against your pubic bone to the tip that just covers your navel. Yunho squeezes your hips in his hands as he looks down at you, “You really think you’re ready for this, tiny?”
The nickname has your muscles clenching around nothing, your fingers tightening in the sheets, and a breathy groan slips out of your lips.
“Oh,” he smiles, “you like that, don’t you?”
Before this minute you didn’t, but here with him above you, proving with every inch of his body just how much larger he is than you? You want nothing more than to be caged in by him and used just the way he wants you. “Yes,” you manage, “please,”
“Please?” He chuckles, sliding back.
You nod, your hips jerking up and trying to catch some friction against your clit as he drags his cock back off you.
He shakes his head, “I’ve got to work you up to it, tiny.”
You want to respond, you want to say something teasing and clever, but the words die on your lips when he dives two of his long fingers inside you. He reaches the tender soft spot inside you easily, something that you could only hit just right with your favorite vibrator, but he catches it with ease and flicks his finger against it perfectly, his thumb landing on your clit to deliver punishing circles.
Your hips work against his hand, grinding down desperately for more pressure and he delivers it, picking up your needs immediately.
“Please,” you blink up, catching his eyes, “please fuck me,”
He shakes his head, “Only if you come again,”
“But,” you start to say, but a firm push of his hand and the addition of a third finger has you choking back a moan and arching into his hands.
“Are you close, pretty?” his low voice sparks pleasure up your body.
All you can do is whine a yes, nodding as you press your eyes shut and let the sensations roll over you. Heat flushes your chest, spreading a blush up your neck and face, and all you can hear is the wet sounds of his fingers working your sopping core. He hums softly in approval and it sends you over again, wrenching your body tight and up, your hips raised and bucking as you crest into your second orgasm.
Yunho’s wide palm comes down quickly over your lower stomach and he presses you down hard to force your hips back to the mattress and he continues pumping his fingers, holding you steady through your release. You barely register it when his fingers leave you, your head spotty and dazed, but you come back to yourself at the feeling of his cock nudging your clit.
“Wait, wait,” you’re panting, clearing your vision with furious blinks, “condom?”
“Shit,” he backs up immediately, “of course, I’m sorry,”
“It’s okay,” you shake your head, “I’m on birth control, we should just… we don’t really know each other,”
He hops off the bed, reaching down for his discarded sweatpants and searching through the pockets. “No, no,” he tears open the foil packet in his hands, “I have one, I just got a little carried away.”
“Perfect,” you sigh.
He rolls the condom over his length, checking the tip and smoothing down the base to fit snugly around him before tossing the empty packet back over the side of the bed and returning to his original position.
“Ready?” He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance again.
“Yeah,” you grip his shoulder, “yeah, I’m good.”
He nods, and seems focused. He takes one of your knees and presses it up, folding you back and opening you up wider, and then lines up his hips perfectly. “Fuck,” he breathes, shifting forwards and pressing into you just a bit, “you’re so tight,”
The press of him already is overwhelming, and it’s no longer his length that you’re focused on but how thick he feels, stretching you wide and sending a hot flush of pleasure up your chest. “You feel,” you stutter out, unable to finish your thought.
His hips jut forwards again and you whine, his forehead dropping against yours for just a moment as he holds himself controlled and steady, “Tell me,” he prompts you, moving in deeper.
“It’s so much,” you manage, and he smooths the damp hair back from your face to get a good look at you.
“Too much?”
“God, no,” you didn’t know it could feel quite like this.
“Yeah, tiny?” He sinks in further and groans.
“Please,” your hands shift down and you pull him closer, your nails digging in to his firm backside, “more,”
He’s losing his composure now, and his eyes roll shut when he finally thrusts forwards more sharply, sinking his entire length inside you and bottoming out. He’s stretching you fully, filling every little warm place inside you that you didn’t even know you had, and fleetingly you wish you could feel him more fully, no thin latex separating your warm wet walls from him.
“Fuck,” he starts to roll his hips, fucking you softly as he works your body up to taking more, “tell me how you feel, baby,”
“Full,” you answer immediately, “I can feel you everywhere,”
“God,” he chokes, his hips stuttering, “can you take more?”
“Yunho,” you catch his cheek in your hand and bring his eyes to yours, “I need it,”
“Yeah, tiny?” He teases, thrusting just a little more firmly.
The need inside you for more is deep though, and you can’t wait any longer. “No, Yunho,” you level him with your look, clenching your muscles tight around his hot length, “Fuck me, do whatever you want to me, I just,” you search for the right words, “just please,”
He answers with a firm thrust, and when he watches your eyes roll back and hears the moan that leaves your lips he understands. “Is that what you need?” He holds you firmly and ruts into you, “you like it harder?”
You’re sure you answer him because you hear him laugh softly in response, but your mind is hazy and disconnected, nothing but the feeling of his thick heat hitting every place you need it to, bringing you up faster than ever.
“Yeah, pretty?” He’s everywhere, collapsed over you and desperate, one hand on your thigh to hold you open, the other locked now in your hair, his breath hot over your damp skin, his pace never faltering, “you just want me to use you?”
Your body arches deeply, shifting the position of him inside you and you choke a whine out, gripping onto him tightly, “Please, please,” you can’t stop.
“Shh, shh,” he kisses you hard, his hands holding you roughly, “you’ll take what I give you,”
You nod against him, unable to find anything but pleasure and the tight feeling inside you. He dips his thumb into your mouth, running the pad of it along your tongue, and you suck his digit gently, before he pulls his hand back and firmly flicks his wet thumb over your pert nipple.
“God, Yunho,” you thrust up to meet him, your hips connecting fast and firm, “I’m- I’m,”
“Come for me,” he directs, “come and I’ll fill you up,”
Your brain shorts out, and the hot sensation that you’ve been chasing turns stifling, crashing into you and turning you into a quivering mess, your muscles locked and jerking against his hold as you come hard and fast.
He tumbles over behind you, the feeling of your walls pulsing down on his length sending him into a spiral, and you hear him curse, panting, losing his grip on you and fucking into you desperate and fast until he comes, collapsing over you and pressing your cheek into his sweaty chest.
His heart is beating hard and fast against your cheek, and it takes a moment before you both recover and he can ease himself off of you, out of you. He discards of the condom in the waste basket, and turns back to you, realizing you haven’t so much as moved an inch since he left you.
“Hey,” he sighs, sweeping a hand through his damp hair, “you okay?”
“So perfect,” you sigh.
He smiles, “Can I get you anything?”
Your limbs start to come alive again, and you ease yourself up into a sitting position against the headboard, pulling the sheets over you, “Water?”
“On it,” he slips his boxers back on and returns with a glass of cool water.
You’re not sure what his next move will be, staying or going, but you know what you wish he would do. He surprises you when he collapses back onto the bed next to you with a sigh, resting a wide hand on your thigh and squeezing you, “You’re amazing,” he says.
“You did all the work,” you chuckle, “I feel like I should be telling you that.”
He shakes his head, “No, it was great,” you look down at him and his eyes are gently shut, his mouth open softly as his breathing evens out.
You watch him for a few minutes, and it’s clear he’s not going to be moving any time soon, he looks spent, a second away from sleep, and judging by the late hour you figure it’s better to let him stay if he wants to. You grab your phone off the nightstand and start to set an alarm.
“Yunho,” you murmur, prodding his shoulder gently, “what time do you need to be up?”
He hums, shrugging.
“Hey,” you nudge him again, “you can sleep here if you want, just tell me what time to get you up.”
“Nine?” he blinks his eyes open, “I can go if you’d be more comfortable,”
“No, no, stay,” you ease down into the covers, and he shifts to slide in beside you, “I’d like it if you did.”
“Good,” he sighs again, reaching across the empty space between you and pulling you back into his chest. He snuggles into you, spooning you close and relaxing against you, “because I really hate sleeping alone.”
Warmth heats your chest, and you finish setting the alarm before you relax back into his embrace, “Me too.”
You sleep, but you wake twice before the alarm, the first time to Yunho’s hips rolling against your backside, his cock hard again and straining against his boxers and looking for friction. He fucks you soft the second time, spooning you still and holding you open, gentle thrusts and his fingers massaging your swollen bud until you come gentle and easy against the warm plane of his chest.
The second time he’s gone, and you think for a moment that he’s left entirely. You’re not necessarily surprised, but he had seemed nice enough to at least say goodbye after fucking you twice and holding you all night.
The sound of your hotel room door makes you jump, and you pull yourself up, holding the fluffy white comforter to your front and running a hand hastily through your hair.
Yunho’s back, freshly showered and already dressed for the day in stylishly baggy light wash jeans and an oversized blazer. “Oh,” he smiles, “you’re up!”
In the light of day, seeing him cleaned up like this has the reality of the evening crashing into you sideways. You had made fun of him, flirted with him, begged him, fucked him, and now you’re still sitting naked in front of him like a mess while he’s looking like what he is, an idol.
“Hey,” you manage.
He holds up a hand and you see now that he has a coffee cup and a small white pastry bag, “I brought you some breakfast,”
You’re really not even sure what to say he’s being so sweet, but you smile, watching as he drops the bag and coffee cup off on your side table. “Thanks,” you take the coffee happily, and he pulls a few packets of sugar out of his pocket.
“I didn’t know how you like it,” he says, a little sheepish, “but I didn’t want to wake you,”
“No, no, this is perfect, thank you so much.”
“I have to get going,” he sits on the edge of the bed, turned towards you, his hand resting on your knee with such easy familiarity, “but I wanted to make sure you got up too, I know you have a long drive back.”
Something inside you melts, “Thank you, Yunho, that’s so nice of you,”
“I also,” he shifts, a smile on his lips, “I had a lot of fun last night.”
“Me too,” you nod, resting your hand on his.
“It was really nice getting to know you,” he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his other hand coasting down your bare back.
You sigh against his lips. It had been a long time since you had had a soft morning like this, and the feeling of his hands on your skin again and his warm kiss on your lips has you feeling weightless and dizzy.
Yunho leans back and squeezes your knee gently, “I really do have to go,”
“It’s okay,” you smile, “I get it, but yeah, I had a good time too.”
Yunho takes your hand in his and turns it over, “How’s this feel?” he nods his head towards your injured palm.
You had honestly forgotten about it, “Completely fine, don’t worry,”
“Good,” he drops a kiss to your palm with a teasing eyebrow raise and stands, smoothing down his jacket.
“Well,” you would get up and see him to the door, but you blush and hold the comforter a little higher over your chest, “have a safe rest of your tour,”
“I will,” he nods, “you have a safe drive,”
You nod, and you expect him to go, but he shifts, glancing at the floor for a moment and then back up to your eyes. “I put my number in the bag,”
The sentence doesn’t quite make sense to you, “You what?”
“My number,” he explains, looking at you a little more clearly as if that will explain, but he says, “if you want,”
“Want to what?”
He laughs at your expression, “Text me, if you want to message me sometime.”
“Oh!”
“Only if you want,” he says, and when you start to open your mouth to respond he gestures for you to stop, “otherwise we can leave it here. Either way, I’m glad I met you.”
“Me too,” you nod earnestly.
His phone dings in his pocket and he sighs, his eyes closing in annoyance for a moment, “Okay, that’s my cue. Drive safe,” he says again and starts to slowly head for the door, “and maybe I’ll talk to you,”
“Maybe,” you respond, noncommittal but you already know your decision.
He smiles, “Okay,”
“Okay,”
He pushes himself towards the door with a groan, “Alright, I’m going. You look pretty in the morning by the way,”
A laugh breaks out of your chest, “Thank you?”
“I just thought you should know,” he shrugs, flirtatious and teasing, but with the sound of the door opening and swinging shut you know he’s gone.
It takes you about three seconds to tear the bag open and see if he was being serious. Tucked into the pastry bag, nestled on top of the wax paper, is a little card with his number written out and his name, Jeong Yunho, as if you wouldn’t remember his name.
You key it into your phone immediately, a message open and waiting. You bite your lip, nervous and unsure of what to say, but then you hear his parting words ringing in your ears again. You type the message out and send it immediately, not pausing long enough to think too hard or overanalyze the decision.
You look handsome in the morning too, just so you know.
You toss the phone aside and leap out of the bed, needing suddenly to walk far away and clear your head. You pull the hotel robe around yourself and sigh into your hands, recounting the night and the way his soft sweetness made your stomach flip flop. You start to walk towards the bathroom, ready to start a warm shower and clear your head, when you hear the soft ding of an incoming message, and you can’t help but smile.
cw: [felix is a fuckboy but also a gentleman. inexperienced reader (not a virgin). corruption kink if you squint. one night stand dynamics. protected piv sex (always protect yourselves!!). dirty talk. clit play. masturbation (f). multiple rounds and positions. hair pulling. aftercare. female ejaculation if you squint. mentions of oral sex (f receiving). mentions of disappointing past sexual experiences (reader).]
wc: 6,8k
smut. mdni. 18+ only.
🌃
He notices you retrieving your hand and you blush, caught red-handed, quite literally.
“Were you trying to touch your pretty clit?” Felix smirks evilly, slowing his thrusts inside of you.
Your cheeks are burning.
“C’mon. Were you?”
You whine, missing the feeling of Felix’s cock hitting that spot that has your walls clenching around him repeatedly. It’s almost as if he wanted to tease you, and you feel insanely shy right now, unable to meet his lust filled eyes. He doesn’t stop fucking you, though, albeit slowly, excruciatingly so.
“Yes.”
You try to hide your face behind your hands but Felix stops you from doing so, wrapping his hand around your wrist, and then he uncovers your face. There’s something extremely intimate in his gesture, and he doesn’t know why he did it in the first place, but he can’t help but find you cute like that.
“Yeah?” He rhetorically asks, thrusting a bit harder inside of you, so unexpectedly it makes you yelp. “You were gonna make yourself cum on my cock? You were gonna make a mess on it, weren’t you?”
You avoid his gaze once more, now hiding your face in his neck. He holds you closer, fucks you harder. You’re so sweet and innocent and he was the one corrupting you and it felt incredibly hot to think.
“You’re so fucking cute,” he chuckles.
Then, he carefully slips his arm under your leg, and spreads your legs open. This way, he can see better where he is buried inside of you, and also allows you to touch yourself freely and in a more comfortable position.
“Do it. C’mon, do it,” Felix grunts, “touch yourself,” he encourages you.
He wants you to enjoy this as much as he is — which is a lot, and he wants to see you making yourself come for him. You are so fucking beautiful under him, that he’s somehow hypnotized.
You slowly move your hand back to where it previously was, a bit higher than where Felix is moving in and out of you. Of course, you’re quick to find the spot of your interest, but feel shy and vulnerable under Felix’s intense gaze.
“Theeeeere you go,” Felix breathes out, his low and deep voice makes you gasp, goosebumps all over your arms and legs, “there you go. I wanna see how good you’re feeling.”
You slowly, timidly, start stroking your clit. Felix lowers his gaze to look between your legs and grunts, fucking you not faster, but deeper instead.
“Feels good?”
You nod. “I want you to do it, though.”
Felix snaps his head up in your direction, pecks your lips. “I will touch you,” he promises, “but I want you to make yourself cum first. Then I’ll touch your pretty clit all you want. All night long if you want me to.”
With his promise reverberating in your mind, you find the motivation to rub yourself faster, albeit still kind of shyly, the same way you do at night when you find yourself alone in the comfort of your bed. Your orgasm feels right there, right around the corner — only a little bit more and you’ll be able to reach it. At the same time, it feels impossible to reach. Especially when he’s looking at you with those eyes, when he’s fucking you so deep and slow.
You fall back on the mattress, burying your face in your hands as a desperate, frustrated sob escapes your lips.
“I can’t. I can’t.”
Soon, you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling your hands away from your face.
“Of course you can. Just relax. You’re getting too much into your head,” he whispers on your lip with a relaxing and comforting tone. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
He guides your hand back between your legs with a delicacy no one ever showed before, encouraging you with his understanding eyes.
“Maybe you need more? More kisses? More dirty talk?” He asks, “tell me what you want.”
You avoid his gaze when you gasp out, “more dirty talk is okay.”
“Mhh, yeah?” Felix chuckles, “you want to know how good you’re making me feel? How hard I am just f’you?”
He’s like a dog unleashed now. Whispering, moaning, gasping out how your tight pussy feels, how wet you are, how he wants to keep fucking you all night long. His thrusts turn sloppy, the wet sound of him fucking you faster and deeper, mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin has your toes curling automatically.
“Gosh, I don’t want to stop fucking you,” he bites down on your collarbone, “you’re gonna make me come. Your tight little pussy is going to make me come so fucking hard.”
It brings you to the edge. You’re so close. He notices, by the way you throw your head back and start gasping for air as your own movements on your clit become rougher and inconsistent.
“Yeah. Yeah, like that,” Felix praises you, “good girl. You’re so good to me. Look so pretty when you’re coming f’me, yeeeah.”
He watches in awe as your whole body trembles and shakes with the force of your orgasm. He shouldn’t be so surprised, really, he’s watched countless of girls experience an orgasm with him. But right now, it’s like you’re a sight entirely new to him, and he can’t tear his eyes off you — couldn’t even if he wanted to, mesmerized by every single detail that involves you.
“You’re gonna make me cum so hard. Sweet pussy. Makes me wanna keep coming all night.”
Before he can fully realize it, he is coming, emptying himself inside the rubber with a choked gasp, stilling his movements as he comes. When he’s finished, his arms give out, and he lets himself collapse on top of you. It’s not something he usually does, and he’s not used to it. It feels intimate and weird at first, but the weirdness of it all vanishes as soon as you wrap your arm around his waist to pull him closer and bury your hand in his hair as he regains his breath.
You don’t go as far as kissing him, you know better than that, but you do think he might appreciate the aftercare. One night stands are a thing, but acting as an asshole during sex is another. And even though Felix isn’t usually the cuddly type with his hookups, he also knows this is your first time doing this, sleeping with a stranger, and he doesn’t want you to feel bad about it, nor think of him as an asshole. So he, too, wraps his arm around your waist and buries his face into your neck.
“Was it… okay?”
You ask after a while, feeling kind of stupid and embarrassed by your very question. It’s a sensible question, though.
Felix lifts his body from yours, and the cold air hitting your skin makes you shiver. “Okay?” Felix repeats, his heart swells up when you nod timidly. “You know, I truly meant everything I was saying. It was amazing, really.”
“Are you sure?” A timid blush creeps up on your cheeks. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
Felix looks down at you, bites his lip. You wince a little when you feel him pulling out of you, holding himself by the base so that the full condom doesn’t slip off. “Look at this, sweetheart,” his voice comes out nearly as a growl from how deep it is, “you made me come so much.”
There is, in fact, an obscene quantity of Felix’s cum trapped inside the latex. You feel kind of proud of yourself for that, if it’s really because of you. Maybe you shouldn’t believe the words of a fuckboy, but there’s something extremely convincing in the way he said it.
“You can tell me if it wasn’t anything special, you know…”
Felix smiles at you understandingly. He slips the condom off and ties a knot on it to avoid making a mess on the sheets. He’s lying down beside you a second later, kissing your lips. It takes off guard both you and him, the spontaneity of the gesture. Especially since it’s the first time your lips meet when you’re not having sex. It felt nice.
“It was good. Really good.” Felix promises. “Maybe you were a little shy at first, but we can work on that.”
You have a feeling that your cheeks are incandescent by now.
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” you lower your gaze to avoid meeting Felix’s eyes. “It’s been a while. Like, a long while.”
“It’s okay,” Felix’s warm voice soothes the awkward feeling inside your chest. “Did you like it?”
“God, yes,” it slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “I mean— you know I don’t have much experience. In fact, I don’t have any experience since my ex and I only fucked twice and then that’s it,” you ramble on, “but yeah. It was, like, insanely good.”
Felix is now focused on another part of your rambling on.
“He only fucked you twice?"
“Hm mh. I had my first time with him. Kinda regret it now, but yeah. He fucked me once and then a second time a few weeks after. We broke up shortly after.”
“What the fuck?” Felix gasps. “No, like, seriously. What the fuck? I mean, not to be cocky and shit, but if I was your boyfriend, we’d never leave the bed.”
“Stop.”
You hide your face in your hands, and Felix chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer, resting his chin on your head.
“He only fucked you twice. Gosh, what a loser,” Felix comments, more to himself than to you. “I would literally fucking bend you over every surface of my room and fuck you until I have no cum left in my balls.”
You let out a tiny squeak, not used to hearing such vulgar words come out of somebody’s mouth when directed at you. But it feels nice to hear, especially because God, you’d let him do that. Is it possible that you trust him so much with your body and your pleasure? Felix is a stranger after all.
“I mean, you… you could do that… if you want…”
Felix’s brows raise. “Oh?” He teases, lifting your head by the chin to make your eyes meet his.
“Don’t make me say it again,” you whine, embarrassed by your own thoughts.
Thoughts on how good he felt when he was buried inside of you. Thought of how you want to feel him again, how you’d let him take you in every position that comes to his mind. There’s something of Felix that attracts you like a magnet, and you find yourself unable to resist his charm.
“No, no, no,” he grins devilishly, “if you want me to do it, I need you to say it.”
He loves the way he’s slowly starting to corrupt your innocence. While you’re not innocent physically speaking, because you’ve had sex before, you still are when it comes to dirty talk and vocalizing your wants. Felix loves that he’s the first man experiencing this new side of you. He loves to know that he’s the first you’re experimenting with him sexually wise.
“I… I want you to— don’t look at me! You’re making me shy,” you whine.
Felix smiles at you, then moves to kiss you on your neck.
“Fine. I won’t look at you when you say it.”
But it’s worse, because he starts kissing your neck so sensually, teasing you with every drag of his tongue against your skin that you find it impossible to focus on what you have to say. He licks and kisses your neck the same way he’d done to your pussy before, with the same urgency, the same want as he presses himself between your thighs, semi-hard already, his pubic hair brushing against your skin.
“I want— gosh, Felix, you…”
His kisses move from your neck to the valley of your chest. He cups one of your breasts and sucks a nipple inside of his hot mouth, rolling his tongue against it, making you gasp out for air. He blows cold air on it and you tug at his hair.
“C’mon, sweetheart… say it,” he sucks it back inside his mouth, lapping at your most sensitive area as he grinds on you.
“I want you to… bend me over and fuck me.”
He presses against you harder, rougher. Then he pulls back to look at you and you suddenly feel shy.
“With pleasure.”
Felix thinks it’s impossible to be this cute and hot as the same time like you are. He feels the urge to fuck you and blow your mind as he makes you feel a pleasure you’ve never experience before, but he also feels the need to hug you and cuddle you and just keep you in his arms. He’s not the type to do the latter, though— not anymore. All he’s got to offer now is sex and a fun night, nothing more. He’s done with all that relationship bullshit. Opening his heart to someone, making himself vulnerable and for what?
He immediately notices how you become shy the minute he kneels on the bed, right in front of you, already hard and shameless.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
You’re not exactly lying to him, no. You’re just omitting your insecurities— that’s a whole different thing. Felix doesn’t think the same, apparently.
“If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” he gently tapped on your knee, “you don’t have to say yes just because I want to.”
You don’t want him to misunderstand your silence.
“No, no, it’s not that. I want to do it, but I’m kind of nervous.”
“Nervous? Why?”
You sigh, “I don’t know… I’m scared I’ll just end up embarrassing myself… I’ve never done this before.”
Felix finds you the cutest.
“I’m sure you won’t embarrass yourself. And even if you do, I’m not an asshole— I won’t make you feel bad about it.”
You have got a feeling that God did indeed create the perfect man — Felix. And of course he would make him an emotionally unavailable fuckboy.
“Are you sure?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, forgetting that you’re having this conversation while both butt naked, you lying on his bed and him kneeling on the mattress with his cock out.
“Believe it or not I’m a gentleman.”
You somehow believe him. After all, when you first saw him, you didn’t get the impression that he was some obnoxious fuckboy— you thought he was a sweet, shy man who also happened to be incredibly handsome. And then he’d approached to you and was honest with you, you appreciated that. Whatever happened after that was very, very much wanted by the two of you.
It’s a matter of seconds before he has you on your knees, chest pressed on the mattress and Felix behind you with his fingers on your hips. He enters you slowly, listening carefully to any sound you make — gasps, whimpers, if you wince or hiss in discomfort. He feels much bigger from this position, and Felix knows you’re already sore, so he doesn’t want to push your limits.
But you really crave him, and you’re so wet, and he slides inside effortlessly, filling you up to the brim until his hips meet your ass.
“You’re so fucking hot like this,” he bites his lip. “Can I pull your hair?”
You grip the sheets and nod, your hips moving to accommodate Felix’s movements and to meet his hips as well. “Yes. You can— pull it.”
“Aren’t you perfect?” Felix grunts. You think he’s asking a rhetorical question, more to himself than to you, so you just ignore him. “Sweet tight pussy taking me so fucking well. You’re fucking creaming around me, holy sh—”
Talking dirty comes as natural as breathing to Felix. You’ve experienced the benefits on your body. His voice makes you become instantly wet, and his words really do the trick, nearly pushing you off the edge.
“Felix…”
“Wait— wait f’me, sweetheart. Gotta fuck you nice and deep, huh? Gotta— make you— mine.”
He fucks you hard. Not fast, just really deep thrusts inside of you that make your toes curl. You’re nothing but a panting and moaning mess for him.
“There you go. You’re taking me so well, fuck…”
He hunches over you, presses his body flush on yours until you both fall on the mattress into a position that’s kinda like missionary, except you’re lying on your tummy and you’re not facing each other. You like this new position. You feel confident enough to start moving your hips to encourage Felix’s movements.
Felix intertwines your fingers with his. He reaches his climax with a choked grunt, in your ear, and fills up the second condom.
You reach your own high, as well, by the friction caused by Felix’s rough trust and your clit against the material of his bedsheets. Felix insists you might’ve experienced some sort of female ejaculation, because there’s a small patch of… something wet on his sheets.
You’re too embarrassed to speak, but Felix smiles at you and pulls you closer, crashing his lips on yours, telling you repeatedly how cute you are.
—
The third time he fucks you, his back is resting against the mattress and your body is pressed on his as he thrusts slowly inside of you.
Felix’s bedroom reeks awfully of sex, and your bodies are now shiny with sweat after three rounds in a row. This time, however, feels much different than the previous two. It’s a bit more intimate now, with Felix’s hands all over you and his lips on yours. He licks into your mouth, grunts as you sink down on him once more.
“Feels good?” He asks, breathless, eyes staring right into yours.
His hair is all messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead. Still, he looks gorgeous.
“So good.”
He fucks you and holds you close and makes you cum exactly like that— with his cock buried deep inside of you and his arms around your waist, your foreheads pressed together. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good when sleeping with a complete stranger.
Then, the funniest thought pops up in your head — you blame the post-orgasmic state you’re in. Despite technically being a stranger, Felix doesn’t quite feel like one. Within the span of three hours you’ve shared more with him than you had with your ex whom you’d dated for a few months.
He’s gentle when he pulls out, heads to the bathroom only to come back with a wet towel in his hand. He gently starts to wipe you between your legs, delicate and slow when you wince, sore.
“How are you feeling?”
Thoughtful and caring. Not only is he incredibly hot and a sex God. Felix is also thoughtful and caring. He is willing to provide a complete stranger who was supposed to be nothing but a hookup pretty good aftercare. With the way things are going, it’s better if you leave his apartment as soon as possible if you don’t want to start catching feelings for him.
But Felix doesn’t let you, no.
“I’m alright. My legs feel funny, though.”
He lies down beside you.
“Mh, yeah, I figured,” he smiles at you. “I didn’t hurt you, though, did I?”
“You didn’t, it was perfect.”
And it was.
You hated that you felt that kind of connection there with Felix, because it kind of stings to know that nothing can ever happen between you and him— not in the way you want it to happen. Maybe Felix would be okay with hooking up from time to time, but that’s not something you want, you’re sure of that. You yearn for intimacy and connection on a deeper, emotional level, and while the sex with Felix is something out of this world… it is not enough.
“Something on your mind?”
You thought you could hide your emotions a little bit better than that. Or maybe Felix is just exceptionally good at reading others, who knows.
“Not really,” you lie, “my brain is all fuzzy.”
He seems to buy it.
You think he’s going to ask you to leave any second now. After all, that’s all you’re here for, aren’t you? You are his conquest for the night, and maybe you have overstayed your welcome at his house. You’re prepared for the worst possible outcome.
You definitely weren’t ready for a fourth — and final, round, but you’re not complaining.
He takes you right there. He’s got you in missionary once more, but it feels nothing like the first time. Everything feels so much better now. The first time he fucked you were shy and nervous and kept overthinking every little thing. Right now, though… it’s slow and sensual and messy, and you’re both tired and clinging onto each other desperately. There’s no rush this time, neither of you is impatient.
Whispers of praise is all that comes out of Felix’s lips. He keeps telling you how hot you are, how good you’re making him feel, how he can’t get enough of you. The praise is not even that dirty right now, it’s mostly wholesome, and you’re scared it’s starting to fuck with your head. This feels almost like making love…
Felix presses all of himself deep inside of you as he comes, filling up the fourth condom. You’re impressed by his stamina and feel definitely a whole lot more confident in yourself for turning him on that much. He makes you come, too, then rests his body on yours, tired and spent.
“Wait, I have to get you another towel,” he tries to speak but the words come out kind of slurred from how tired he is.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to. I can just clean myself up with the towel you gave me earlier. It’s still wet and pretty much clean.”
“Mhhkay,” he yawns. You see his eyes flutter shut and you can’t believe how cute he looks right now. “Thank you f’ trusting me,” he mumbles, sounding already half asleep. “’M just resting my eyes. ‘M not fallin’ asleep…”
You’re surprised when he wraps his arm tighter around you and pulls your body closer.
You’re not stupid, you’re very much aware you’re not supposed to stay the night. Although you’re not exactly experienced in the hookup field, you do know the basics — that’s just how things go. You vow to only regain your breath and the proper functioning of your hips and legs and then you’ll go.
It’s incredible the way Felix manages to look breathtaking even when he’s asleep. He truly is perfect. Angelic features, combined with a charming personality and amazing skills in bed. From what you’ve discovered so far, he’s also a pretty decent, respectful human being with a functioning brain.
What a shame it is, that he doesn’t do relationships…
—
Felix didn’t mean to fall asleep. He swears he was just resting his eyes…
When he wakes up, something’s different than the night before. It takes him a while to figure out what it is, but when he does, an upsetting feeling invades all of his senses. You’re not beside him. You’re nowhere in sight, actually.
Felix sits up on the bed to take a better look around the room, but you aren’t there. Your clothes aren’t on the floor anymore and your bag is also gone.
He should be relieved, though, shouldn’t he? He got what he wanted — he got to hook up, and the sex was amazing. So yeah, he got laid and now he’s back to his everyday, ordinary life.
He shouldn’t be upset. Why is he upset?
A part of him is disappointed in himself that he wasn’t a gentleman and didn’t make sure you got home safely. He literally passed out the night before and didn’t even hear you get up and leave the house. He truly hopes you’re alright.
Another part of him, though… yeah, that’s the part of him that would’ve liked it if you’d stayed the night. That’s the part of him that would’ve loved to wake up in your arms, or for you to wake up in his. It’s that part that makes Felix think it really sucks that you’re nowhere to be found. Fuck, he didn’t even get your number — forget it, he doesn’t even know your full name. Why is he so upset, then?
Felix doesn’t do relationship. He hasn’t been in a relationship in a long while and he most definitely isn’t looking for one.
Although he must to admit, at least to himself, that last night, with you… it was strange. It wasn’t like the sex he usually has with those random girls who only want him for his body and then that’s it. Maybe it’s a bit delusional of him to think that, but Felix kind of thinks that he felt a connection to you while you were sleeping together. Even the sex was different. It wasn’t just purely fucking to get off, and it wasn’t even, like, super kinky or anything. In fact, it was probably the most slow and passionate and intimate sex he’s had in a long while.
You were different.
Yes, cliché. He knows how this may sound. He slept with countless of people before and then bam! One night he goes out, meets the umpteenth girl, brings her home and suddenly realizes she’s different. It sounds ridiculous even to himself, but that’s just how things are. He can lie to everyone else, but he can’t lie to himself. There was something different in you and that’s a fact.
Maybe it was the way you’d looked at him with those innocent eyes at the club. Maybe it was the way you’d trusted him with your body and your pleasure, allowed him to be the one to do certain things to you. Felix thinks there’s more than that. He’d also felt it while he was having sex with you, the way you had looked at him, the way you had spoken to him… and the aftercare, too. It’s not something two strangers do so intimately. Lying in the bed next to someone else and hug them, craving their skin on his, was something Felix never experienced before.
And of course you’d disappear without a trace. Not even a single hand-written note saying ‘It was fun!’ or something like that. Felix leaves those kind of notes, sometimes— when his hookups are already asleep and he’s just about to leave. He does it so that the girls don’t feel bad about what they did, but also because that way Felix himself doesn’t feel like a complete asshole towards them.
Now here he is. In his empty bedroom, with the covers that still smell like you and the memories of the night you had shared. Is it weird that he wants to see you again? See where this feeling in his chest leads him to?
“Listen, I’ve gotta be honest. I don’t do relationships, I’m not that kind of guy. A night is all I can offer you.”
That’s what he had said to you. That’s what he said to all the girls before you.
You were unique even in your response.
“Maybe a night is all I want.”
He lies there, reminiscing how the past night went. From the hungry kisses in the backseats of the cab and some inappropriate touching, to the way you’d stopped him right from eating you out in the middle of his living room.
You’d looked at him with the same innocent eyes, and said, “I know I acted all confident and stuff back at the club, but… this is actually my first time doing this.”
And Felix had nearly fainted, looking at you with wide, surprised eyes. “Wait… are you… a virgin?”
You’d let out a tiny squeak. “No! That’s not what I meant! I meant it as in — it’s my first time doing this with someone I just met.”
He remembers the way he’d felt inside. How his fingers were shaking as he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. He remembers the slow, passionate kisses that followed, and how you ended up on his bed.
Felix’s mind goes back to when he undressed you, and then you him. How he’d taken his time kissing every inch of your body as he removed every piece of clothing covering your skin. He remembers how shy you looked when he gave you head. If he focuses hard enough, Felix is sure he can still taste you in his mouth. The way you fell apart onto his tongue, pulling his hair gently as not to hurt him… he shivers at the memory.
He remembers how nervous you looked when he was about to enter you. How you’d avoided his gaze and whispered, “I’m sorry if you’ll hate this with me. I don’t have much experience…” And how he’d kissed you and reassured you he could never hate it.
And the rest… well, is kinda history.
Felix sighs, draping an arm over his eyes as he accepts defeat. He’s sure he’s never going to see you again. He knows nothing about you except for your name, but for what he knows you could’ve made that up. It was the first time he saw you and you had told him that you’re not the type to go out at parties or hang out in bars. Hence, he’s probably truly never seeing you again. That’s too bad.
With a grunt, he forces himself into the shower, still unable to stop thinking about you.
—
Ten days later, he’s still thinking of you.
Two weeks later, he dreams of the night he had with you. Everything felt exactly as it did the night you’d stayed at his place. He could feel your touch on his skin vividly, as if you were in the same room, next to him. Except you aren’t, and the memories of you and what you and Felix did are the only things left to him.
Three weeks later, he goes to the same bar, hoping to find you there. He doesn’t. Nobody knows who you are apparently. Well, to be fair Felix only gave a description of your general physical appearance, but it’s hard to find someone whose full name you don’t even know.
One month later, he decides it’s best if he gave up. And he does.
—
Six weeks later, he sees you again.
His friend Chris had insisted to have breakfast in that coffee place downtown for the longest time, and that morning, Felix caved in and, rolling his eyes, he had accepted. Only to walk in and freeze in his tracks, caught in a trance starring… you.
You — wearing a green apron with the logo of the coffee shop embroidered on it. You — with your hair put neatly, so that it doesn’t fall on your eyes whilst you take orders. You — with the brightest smile on your face as you speak to an old couple, writing down their order on your paper block.
You.
“Felix? You alright, mate?”
Chris elbows him, showing concern for his friend.
“It’s her.” It comes out in a whisper.
“Huh?”
“The girl. The one I met at that club. C’mon, I told you about her!”
Chris’ expression changes all of a sudden.
“The girl?” He asks in disbelief.
“Huh. Her. She works here, apparently.”
You haven’t noticed Felix yet. After all, you’re across the room, and he’s completely out of your sight, but Felix can’t take his eyes off you. You’re so different than the last time he saw you.
Today, your makeup is a lot more natural, your clothes less revealing, but you look stunning nonetheless. In Felix’s eyes, you’re even more beautiful.
“Ah. You’re gonna talk to her?” Chris asks, and Felix doesn’t know what to say.
Of course he wants to talk to you, but… what is he even gonna say?
Should he pretend he didn’t spend the last weeks trying to forget about you? Pretend he didn’t run to the bar and asked about everyone if they knew anything about you? After all, he still isn’t sure why he was so desperate to find you again…
But now he did, and this was his chance. It’s all up to him.
“I don’t know…”
Chris frowns. “You don’t know? I thought you liked her?”
Liked… that would be… what, an understatement? Felix feels kind of ridiculous. He’s intrigued by you, yes, and hasn’t been able to sleep properly since that night because thoughts of you are always plaguing his brain, but…
What kind of wishful thinking is this, that you too still think about him and that night?
“I— do I? I mean, we slept together but— we didn’t really talk. She’s practically a stranger…”
“A stranger who caught your interest, though. That gotta mean something, man.”
Does it?
It does, Felix is sure of that. But he’s scared. He doesn’t do relationships, it’s just how he’s built. Commitment is scary, and the possibility of getting his heart broken is something he does not want to think of. But… you caught his interest in a way no one has ever done before.
And that scares him even more than all that fear-of-commitment bullshit.
“I’ll… I think I’ll go talk to her.”
Chris smiles at his friend encouragingly.
—
In the middle of the chaos that is the coffee shop this morning, amongst all those voices, you hear someone call out your name.
You recognize the voice. God, how could you ever forget it?
Your knees buckle as you turn around.
“Hi.”
He speaks first. You take a moment to look at him. He’s exactly like you remembered.
You nearly drop the paper block and pen. Your kneels buckle as you stare at the man in front of you, so different than that night, yet the same. The same cute freckles decorating his cheeks, the same perfect little nose, the same blond hair kept half up half down. The same lips you kissed so many times whilst he made you his between his bedsheets.
“Felix…”
It’s almost like one of those scenes you see in movies — where everything stops and nothing else exists beside the main characters, staring into each’s eyes.
Seeing Felix again is not something you saw coming. In fact, you were convinced you were never going to see him again after that night. You don’t know how to react.
“I’m… uh, how… how are you?”
It’s as if you were paralyzed, staring at him as if Felix were an hologram, the product of your imagination. But it’s not your imagination playing tricks on you, and you’ve got tables to serve. Your coworker snaps her fingers at you to get your attention.
“I’m… I’ve been… I’ve got a table to serve.”
This is definitely not the kind of answer Felix was hoping for, but what was he expecting? You’re working, after all. You shouldn’t drop everything for him, and he respects that. But what if… what if you hate him? What if you don’t want anything to do with him?
“Right…”
You’re out of his sight in a matter of seconds, leaving him with a gut-wrenching feeling pervading his whole body. Maybe he already had his chance and he blew it, and he won’t get another one.
“Felix?”
Your sweet voice snaps him out of his spiral of negative thoughts. His head snaps up to look at you, in front of him, with your beautiful eyes now filled with nervousness.
“Yes?”
You fidget with the hem of your apron.
“My break starts in half an hour,” you tell him. “If you… have something you want to tell me, we can talk then.”
Felix’s heartbeat picks up its pace. Yes. Yes. Of course he’ll wait. He’ll wait until you finish your entire shift if it’s the only chance he has to talk to you. After all, he’s been waiting for this moment for over a month, what difference is half an hour more gonna make?
“I’ll wait.”
—
Chris, Felix’s friend, decides to wait outside. Decides would be an understatement, given that Felix practically shoved him out the coffee shop as soon as he saw you take off your apron and tell something to your colleague.
And now Felix is alone, sitting at his table, kicking his leg and reminding himself to breathe in and out as he tries to organize his thoughts into coherent sentences.
“Hey,” you mumble as you approach him, “sorry for making you wait. Mornings are always super busy.”
“It’s okay. It’s— I had nothing to do anyway. It’s okay, really.”
You smile at him.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Felix nods. After all, this is just a coincidence.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here either,” he admits. “My friend’s been wanting to take me here for months.”
“Right…”
Felix sighs. He looks at you and remembers all the time he spent replaying that night into his brain, memories forced into a loop he wasn’t able to stop.
“You know. I’m glad he dragged me here. I’ve been… looking for you,” he confesses.
“You have?” You frown.
Felix nods. “Please, don’t think I’m a creep. It’s just— I tried looking for you at the club we met. Asked about you…”
You’re even more confused now. “Oh… why?”
This is not how Felix imagined the conversation going, but what was he expecting?
He looks into your eyes, and his heart skips a beat. “I was hoping I’d find you again.”
“Felix…”
“You left without saying goodbye. You— you didn’t leave a note or… say anything. You just disappeared.”
Your eyebrows raise in surprise.
“I thought… that’s how one night stands worked?”
And you’re not exactly wrong. Felix himself did that a few times. So why does it sting so fucking bad?
“I— you’re right… it’s just… I keep replaying that night in my head. I just…”, he pauses, takes a deep breath as he looks you in the eye, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Your eyes widen. Your fingers and hands tremble. Could this mean that… perhaps…
“Felix, what…”
“Go out with me,” he blurts out, taking you off guard.
You sigh.
“Listen, Felix, I…” you swallow the lump in your throat, not sure how to phrase your thoughts. “That night was… amazing. But I’m at a point in my life where I… I think I want more than just casual sex. I think I want a relationship, something serious.”
There’s an alarm going off inside Felix’s head. It’s that part of him that he’s terrified of commitment. It’s that part of him that’s screaming to get up and run, the part of him that’s telling him that he’s not made for a relationship.
But the feeling inside his heart is telling him something entirely different. It’s a new feeling, something Felix is not used to. It’s another part of him, telling him that you’re worth it, that it’s the right decision.
“I want something serious, too. I think…”
You look into his eyes. Felix sees the uncertainty. He’s expecting rejection.
“You said you don’t do relationships…”
Felix is met with the reality of his words and actions, and it stings way more than it should.
“I know. But you’re stuck in my brain. I’ve tried to forget about you, and nothing worked. That’s gotta mean something, right?”
You stare into his eyes and he looks and sounds sincere. You have mixed feelings about this. Part of you is happy to see Felix again, because you too haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. But there’s another part of you who’s scared to get hurt. That’s the part that’s stopping you from listening to your heart and giving in.
“I suppose it does…” you mumble, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’ve… been thinking about you, too.”
Felix’s eyes lit up.
“You have?”
You nod. “I guess that night felt like something more than just a hookup. That’s why I’m a bit scared.”
“I’m scared, too,” Felix destroys the walls he’s spent years building. “I’m not good with feelings. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship, but that night with you meant something to me, too. It felt different than just a hookup.”
A shiver runs down your spine at the memory of the way Felix had looked at you as he fucked you. The way he’d touched you with such care and reverence. The way he’d held you afterwards. Maybe this is the right thing to do… maybe you should trust your gut.
“It felt different for me, too.”
Felix smiles. Inside of him, it feels as if something has just healed. His whole body is pervaded by calm and peace.
“I know I said I don’t do relationships… but there’s something about you that makes me want to try.”
“Maybe we should take it slow. Know each other before jumping right into a relationship.”
Felix’s body relaxes a little as he realizes you’re right. You’re right. You’re in no rush.
“That sounds… perfect, actually,” he smiles. “Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime soon?”
genre: comfort, kinda angst ig, suggestive towards the end
wc: ~1.0k
warnings: drugs and alcohol, panic attack, bad trip, greening out, throwing up, lmk if I missed anything
The room was hazy, and the feeling hadn't even hit you until you found yourself in Seonghwa's lap. Something told you this was about to be a long night. "Sorry," was all you could muster before your tongue was heavy in your mouth, and your lips felt glued shut. Why was there a stamina bar on your ability to speak now?
Tonight was the last party of the semester, and you decided that it was the perfect night to try getting crossfaded again. Unfortunately, this was a secret to your sweet boyfriend, and even to you up until you were 8 shots in. You just wanted to stand outside with your friends for a moment, but the alcohol had other plans, wanting company in its wake.
The music was excruciatingly loud, and everyone's voices were becoming more and more indecipherable. You felt like a husk of a person as the bright neon lights of the room blurred together, but the only thing that worried you was bothering your sweet boyfriend, who so graciously let his friends, your friends, and friends of those friends have a party in his place. How dare you get so fucked up that he can't enjoy his own party?
The only thing that drew you out of your downward spiral was Seonghwa gently shaking your shoulder. Green out avoided.
It felt so hard to keep your eyes open now, and even harder to keep tears from slipping out of them. It felt like you teleported every time you blinked, and every time, everyone's faces looked more and more concerned. Were you really that gone?
"Probably shouldn't have let her take such a huge rip, sorry man." Was that San's voice? Words made sense for once, and it just had to be San sealing your fate. The tears came back, but Seonghwa, ever so attentive and vigilant, was quick to disregard everything else and get you somewhere at least decently quiet.
His room. When the fuck did you get to his room? You were on the couch, then the hall, then San was talking. Oh.
Your furrowed brow was enough of a hint for Seonghwa to realize the gears were turning in your head. That machine was quickly shut down with silly YouTube videos on his phone. Green out avoided.
The music was quieter now, the lights weren't so bright anymore, and it smelled so much nicer. Then the door opened, and your head whipped around to see who it was. You were paranoid, but why? It was just Hongjoong and Yunho. Their faces looked concerned. That's why you were paranoid. Did you look like you were going to die or something? Were you going to die? Your heartbeat sure as fuck made it feel like you were.
And here we were. Third time's the charm, the charm being a panic attack you were too high to do anything about. It wasn't like it was your first time drinking or smoking, but you definitely weren't a pro like everyone else seemed to be, and definitely not in the case of mixing. Your hubris told you otherwise in the moment, though.
Being yanked upward into a sitting position didn't help your case, because when did you even lie down? The way everything spun and blurred sent an instant wave of nausea over you. The three of them were quick, much quicker than you could've been in this moment. Who got a trashcan? When did you even look like you were going to puke? It didn't matter once you were emptying your dinner into it.
Lying back down in Seonghwa's bed felt like heaven, but not for long. The thoughts were back, the sinking feeling returned, and your heart was still beating way too fast and hard for your liking. You kept telling yourself that you'd come down soon and that you'd be fine, but it was all lost when the shaking and twitching began.
Then, like finding an oasis in the desert, a blanket was pulled over you, a warm chest pressed against your back, and a screen was in your face again, now playing Animal Crossing videos. It wasn't enough, though. It was almost fully cemented in your mind that tonight was the night you died or lost your mind. The shaking persisted.
"I'm glad you're here with me." The words were soft in your ear.
"I really like when you're with me in my room." You were in his room with him. He pulled you closer, pressing soft kisses on your shoulder. He didn't completely hate you for ruining his night, and if he did, he wasn't showing it. What if he was just pretending for your sake?
"It was so loud out there," he continued, almost as if he could read your mind, "I prefer it here with you. It's comfortable." His words sounded kind of forced, but they felt like some sort of spell that made the high calm down.
His soft voice in your ear presented a different challenge now. That hazy pulsing feeling was going straight to your stomach now, and you were still too high for Seonghwa to even consider having sex with you. You felt like a pervert. Your boyfriend was here, trying his best to distract you from the impending doom you concocted for yourself, and all you could think about was him whispering in your ear while he pressed you into the mattress. Green out averted, but at what cost?
Closed mouths don't get fed, at least that's what you told yourself before murmuring out the words, "I'm horny," before your speaking stamina was depleted once more.
The soft laugh from behind you gave you all the answer you needed to know that you were correct in your assumption that your boyfriend was capable of doing the bare minimum. This double-edged sword was simultaneously the best and worst thing for you. You were too high to get fucked, but at least your boyfriend wasn't a monster, and now you had a motive to keep your sanity in check because it would be so cruel if you could never have sex with him again.
