Pairing: Bf!Mingi x Reader x Yunho x Wooyoung
Summary: Sometimes while dating Mingi it felt as though you had a second boyfriend that neither of you fully acknowledged, his best friend, Yunho. The tension between the three of you builds until even Wooyoung senses it. Wooyoung wants to help push the three of you together and maybe get some fun out of the deal.
Genres + Warnings 18+ Minors DNI! dom!Yunho, switch!Mingi, switch! Wooyoung, sub!reader, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected p-in-v, double penatration, breast play, multiple orgasms, creampie, degradation, (lmk if I missed any, I probably am)
A/N: My longest writing to date and first one with multiple partners. I've been really nervous to post this so please be nice lol. I loved writing for these three though and could see this dynamic playing out in so many different ways. Let me know what y'all think. This is a work of fiction and in no way a real representation of the band or members.
Word Count: 7,720
Dating Mingi, in ways, was a dream come true. Having met in a dingy bar after being ditched by your friend, the two of you hit it off very well. He understood you in ways that didn’t seem possible at times. In return, you had a way of reading him that no one else seemed to be able to.
That was, except for his best friend Yunho.
The two had known each other for years before you came along. At first, their relationship seemed daunting. It felt impossible that you would ever get to the level of understanding of Mingi that Yunho had. Yunho seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense Mingi’s emotions–a sense that took a while for you to learn. However, it would’ve taken longer without the taller man’s actions.
With how often Yunho was around, you got to know the slightly older man as well. You formed a bumpy friendship–jealousy preventing you from getting too close at first. Over time, you got over it and accepted him as a part of your life with Mingi, falling into a routine with the two of them.
The three of you would often hang out in the apartment you shared with Mingi, whether it was to play video games, watch movies, or just sit around. It started out with small actions that made you feel seen by Yunho. Your favorite snacks brought without you having to ask, explanations of inside jokes when he saw confusion on your face, and small unexpected gifts like he would get Mingi when he had bad days.
Mingi didn’t think anything of it, knowing Yunho would do the same for him. In fact, he became thrilled at the idea of the two of you getting closer. He even encouraged you to turn to Yunho if he was ever too busy to answer. He didn’t see how he could be upset at the idea of his two favorite people becoming friends. Even when Yunho started to tease you like he would, Mingi didn’t think anything of it.
As harmless as it was at first, you didn’t miss the small smirks Yunho would send your way. The glances when he believed Mingi wasn’t looking, or even the small brushes when walking past you. A tension growing between the two of you, that you weren’t sure what to do with.
Coming home from work one day, you couldn't help but tense up hearing both of their voices as you entered your shared apartment. You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag down on the kitchen table, exhausted after the long day.
“Hey, baby. How was work?” Mingi called from the living room. He was enthralled in some game you didn’t care to learn about with Yunho, the two clearly battling.
“Fine, just long.” You answered as you grabbed a drink from the fridge. Entering the living room, you waited beside the arm of the couch, not wanting to interrupt their match. Mingi sat closest to you, Yunho was in the arm chair on the other side of the couch.
“How’d the project go?” Yunho asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Good, finally got the one executive to drop his impossible idea.”
“Told you, he’d come around. My baby’s too pretty to argue with.” Mingi spoke with a proud smirk causing you to chuckle.
“Yes, I’m sure he changed his mind cause he thought I was pretty.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the thought.
“Do we have competition with your coworkers now? We’re-Mingi’s gonna have to show them you’re off limits.” Yunho spoke, trying to correct himself quickly.
Your eyes widened at his insinuation, the innuendo not lost on you. You felt yourself tense up as you glanced at Mingi, who was now biting his lip–at Yunho’s words or just in concentration you didn’t know. His eyes hadn't left the screen in front of him as far as you had seen.
Yunho glanced at you again, a red tinge to his ears. His eyes strayed from the screen just a second too long, giving Mingi the advantage he needed to end the match. Mingi let out a cheer at finally winning, before placing his control down and extending his hand out to you. You set your drink down, placing your hand in his.
“Come here, baby.” He spoke softly, eyes meeting yours as you did as he asked. You moved to sit by Mingi, your legs across his lap as he gently massaged your calves. You didn’t glance at the other man as you closed your eyes and relaxed into your boyfriend’s massage.
Yunho cleared his throat before you heard him stand. “She’s clearly had a long day, I’ll leave you two be.” You opened your eyes to see him gathering his stuff, avoiding eye contact with either of you.
“You don’t have to, we can play another round, right, baby?” Mingi asked, looking at you for a moment before turning back to Yunho.
“I’m sure, take care of your girl.” He answered before you could even open your mouth, eyes drifting to you at the end. There was something in his look, it was familiar to you, but not from him.
Desire. A muted fire as he clearly fought to push it down.
You stayed still until he finally made his way to the door and made a swift exit.
Mingi glanced between the two of you, biting his lip. He couldn’t deny the attraction building between the all three of you, but just like you, he didn’t know how to act on it. He didn’t know what to say or how to address what was happening. He wasn’t sure it was something you wanted, let alone Yunho.
You entered a standstill where Yunho continued to push further and further. Tension building with each visit he had to your apartment. You weren’t sure how to approach the subject, not wanting to upset Mingi with the interest you now held for his best friend, or vice versa.
Enter Wooyoung.
Wooyoung wasn’t around as often as Yunho, but had become a more frequent guest recently. Often joining the two in the gaming sessions, or some other random hang out. However, the few encounters that the three of you had with him were enough for him to grasp an understanding of your dilemma.
He had a perceptiveness as he watched the three of you interact. Something akin to a hawk watching his prey. He caught on to your attraction to both men.
The adorable embarrassment that broke out as Yunho mercilessly enjoyed teasing you. The seemingly lack of care that Yunho had for Mingi or anyone else being in the room when he did it. He also caught on to Mingi’s excitement at watching the two people closest to him not only get along but thrive in each other's presence.
Wooyoung could tell you wanted to say something, to quit walking the tightrope between the two. However, what he didn’t know is where the line was drawn only having an outside perspective of the situation.
“So, have you three fucked or something?” Wooyoung asked one evening after following you into the kitchen.
You almost choked on your drink at the blatant question. “What?! No!”
“Oh, don’t be like that. You three are thirsting after each other like a fucking camel in the desert.”
“I don’t–”
“Spare me the denials. Everytime Yunho flirts with you, I swear Mingi gets a fucking hard on and you make heart eyes at both of them more than San does to Yeosang.” He spoke with his arms crossed, leaning on the counter next to you. A knowing smirk was on his face as a heat rose to your cheeks.
You felt pinned to the spot, the hair on the back of your neck standing on edge. Your eyes glanced at the exit from the room, wondering if he would block you from taking it.
“Woo, just drop it please.” You pleaded after a moment dropping your head so as to not see his face.
“Oh, I can see why they tease you…” He spoke and you snapped your head back up to meet his eyes. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”
“Not you too.” Your head fell, avoiding eye contact once again.
“Not sorry, you’re just too cute.”
Rolling your eyes, you attempted to head back to the living room. As you passed Wooyoung, his hand caught your wrist.
“I can help, you know? I see what you want, I can be that final push.” He told you, smirk on his face as he glanced between your eyes and lips.
“Why would you do that? What's in it for you?”
“A night of fun if I play my cards right, and the bonus of getting rid of the weird tension between you three.” He answered honestly, dropping your wrist with a shrug.
The gears in your head started to turn at his idea. Your boyfriend wasn't the easily jealous type, not with his friends anyway. Yunho though? Different story. Could Wooyoung really be the catalyst to get one of them to act–to admit to what they truly want?
“How do you want to do this?” You finally asked after a moment.
“You're down?”
When you nodded he couldn't stop the laugh that spilled from his lips.
“Orai! We'll do it naturally. Just storm out of here like you were going to after I teased you. Trust me to take care of the rest.”
Giving him a nod and taking a deep breath, you moved to leave the kitchen with a huff.
You planted down on the couch next to Mingi, burying your head in his chest with a groan. Your cheeks red, with embarrassment, and you held a disbelief in your actions. Were you really trusting the younger man to push you all together, just like that?
You felt Mingi chuckle before you heard it. “Everything okay, baby?” He asked as his hand dragged through your hair. You moved to glance up at his face.
“Yeah, just Youngie being a menace.”
“Ah so nothing new.” Yunho joked as he continued the video game he was playing from the armchair next to you.
“It’s not my fault she looks hot when she blushes. I mean look at ‘er” Wooyoung spoke, now leaning on the wall separating the kitchen and living room. His arms were crossed as he bit his lip, eyes not leaving your form. You felt Mingi tense under you as Yunho let out a chuckle of disbelief, pausing his game and placing the controller down. Wooyoung’s eyes flitted between the three of you, watching the reactions with a playful smirk.
No one spoke for a moment, an awkward silence filling the void.
“Well, that’s interesting. So Yunho can flirt all he wants but the minute I do, you get all tense?” Wooyoung asks with a scoff, a hand coming to rest on his hip.
“I don’t–”
“He doesn’t–”
“Bullshit.” Wooyoung stopped the older men’s arguments before they could even start. You sat up to give Mingi space as he started to fidget under you.
“Don’t try to deny it when I could cut the tension in here with one of your shitty knives.”
Mingi scoffed and readjusted himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So you’re not hard right now?”
Wooyoung had him, caught red handed. Mingi stayed silent, ears turning red as everyone turned to face him.
“Wait, you’re really–”
“Shut up!” Mingi barked before Yunho could finish his question.
“Dude, it’s okay. Had you– I would've– We could’ve–” Yunho struggled with his words until Mingi cut him off.
“Could’ve what?” He gave a slight chuckle in disbelief.
“Could’ve fucked.” Yunho answered bluntly, eyes locking with Mingi's.
“Dude, I don’t just want a one night stand.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I– Fuck I don’t know, which is why I never said anything. How can I explain what I want when I don’t know? Let alone what you two want.”
“We can work that out, man. Just let me–”
“Just fuck already.” You had almost forgotten Wooyoung was there until he approached. However, you remember his words–his reason for still being here.
“Why so you can watch?” Yunho fired back with a smirk.
“You gonna let me?”
“That's not for–” Yunho trailed off as he glanced at Mingi. Mingi who was back to biting his lip. A desire burning in his chocolate orbs as he met Yunho's gaze once more.
“Well, that just leaves you, baby girl. What do you think?” Yunho asked, eyes not leaving Mingi's, as if locked in a silent conversation only those two understood.
“I'm open to it, so long as both of you are.” You answered, glancing between the two.
“Yeah? You want all of us? Want us to share you?” Mingi asked softly, eyes searching your face.
Biting your lip, you nodded, eyes not leaving his.
“Words baby girl, or this goes no further.” Yunho spoke up, causing your eyes to snap to his.
“I want this. All of it, whatever it is.”
Mingi darted forward lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. Closing your eyes, you leaned into him. His hand coming up to cup the side of your head as his tongue teased your lips. You let him in, tongue barely fighting back as Mingi dominated the kiss. Desire burned through your veins and you moaned into his mouth.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” Wooyoung spoke and Mingi pulled back with a chuckle.
“Just wait, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” His eyes glanced between the other two men in the room.
“Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?” Yunho asked and earned nods from across the room.
“Bedroom, baby. Be ready for us. We’ll be there shortly.”
You stood and felt Mingi tap your ass on the way past as he watched you make your way to the hallway. Entering your shared bedroom, you quickly stripped down to just your underwear before sitting in the middle of the bed.
Your thoughts drifted as you fiddled with the bed sheets beneath you. It only took a moment for doubt to claw its way into your thoughts. Doubt that maybe they didn’t want this, didn’t want you, that maybe they figured out Wooyoung's plan and found it off putting.
However, those thoughts were quickly pushed back as the doorway filled with the familiar bodies.
“Look at that, she listens so well.” Yunho commented as he brushed past Mingi to enter the room. He went to the far side of the bed while Mingi moved to kneel on the edge closest to him.
“Told you she’ll be good for us.” Mingi spoke, eyes meeting yours as his hand came to rest on your ankle. “Want a run down for what’s about to happen?”
“Yes, please.”
“Thought you would,” He chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles into your ankle. “Yunho’s gonna lead tonight, what he says goes, he knows your safe word but may also use the stop light system. You remember both?”
“Yes, twilight or red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for keep going.” You answered, earning a hum of delight from Yunho who was working his way behind you on the bed. Wooyoung made his way into your line of sight at the end of the bed.
“Good girl.” Mingi praised with a smile. “Ready?”
“Yes.” You answered softly. A hand came up from behind to softly cup your jaw. Yunho's chest pressed into your back as his legs came to rest on the outside of your own.
“Yes, who?” Yunho asked, causing you to tear your eyes from Mingi’s.
“Yes, sir.” You quickly corrected seeing the dart glint in the older man’s eyes. He chuckled with a nod as he let go of your jaw.
His hands trailed down your sides, moving to your thighs to pull them over his legs and expose you to the two in front of you. The dark spot already spreading on your thin panties doing little to hide the desire filling you. Mingi’s hand started to drift up, but didn’t get anywhere near where you wanted him, causing a whine to fall from your lips.
“Don’t whine, baby.”
“Fuck, she’s soaked.” Wooyoung spoke as he moved lower to get a better view.
“Oh, yeah? Dirty girl, we haven’t even touched you yet.” Yunho spoke as his hand drifted to the top of your panties.
Hooking his fingers into the thin material, he carefully pulled them off your legs, groans leaving the men in front of you as they stuck to your core for a moment. Leaning into Yunho, you felt how affected he was, his hard cock pressing into your back.
“Look so pretty, I wanna taste.” Wooyoung spoke up, moving on to the bed. His hand rested on your other ankle.
“Yeah, wanna prep our girl for us?” Mingi asked with a smirk.
“Get your little slut ready?” Yunho added, as his hands slid up and down your sides. His eyes locking with Mingi’s for a second.
Wooyoung glanced between the two taller men, eyes holding a silent plea for permission from either one. Yunho's legs stretched yours open just a little more, giving him a slight nod.
Wooyoung moved quickly, as if afraid Yunho would steal you away. He crawled up to lay himself between your legs. His eyes met yours, a smirk on his face as he dove in. Flattening his tongue he lapped at your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. He then slowed down, his tongue exploring more, as he tried to find the spots that would make you a mess. His tongue moves down, pushing its way in, lapping up your essence as his nose bumps your clit.
A moan tumbled from your mouth, head falling back on Yunho's shoulder.
“Oh, she liked that… Hmm, imagine riding his face, bet you she'd look hot.” Yunho spoke with a smirk, glancing at Mingi.
“Maybe some other time.” He answered and you turned your head toward him.
Some other time?
With all three of them?
Wooyoung's words rang around your mind, just a night of fun. This wasn't the same for him as the other two in the room. Either they didn’t know that, or didn’t care.
Before you could think too much about the implication of his words, Wooyoung used his hands to spread your lips and teased a finger at your entrance. Slowly pushing his finger in, you moaned as he curled it a few times. Pulling it out, a second finger joined shortly, beginning to thrust, creating a pace to push you closer to the edge.
“God, she's so tight.” Wooyoung mumbled, glancing at Mingi. His thumb replacing his mouth for a moment.
“Yeah? Just wait till she’s wrapped around you.”
Wooyoung bit his lip, a deep groan muffled by it as he began a scissoring motion.
Yunho's lips found your neck, sucking the sensitive skin as his hands moved to unclasp your bra. He then slowly dragged the straps down your arm, hands brushing down your arms. Throwing the material on the floor, his hands dragged themselves back up, leaving goosebumps in their way. His hands soon found your breasts, kneading the sensitive mounds.
Moans continued to pour from your mouth as Wooyoung’s fingers brushed the spot he had been searching for.
“There it is.”
“‘Bout time.” Mingi chided, rolling his eyes as he moved closer to your head. His lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss. His tongue enters your mouth and easily takes control of the kiss. He soon pulled away, moving to your sensitive neck opposite of Yunho, before kissing down to your chest. Your hand moved to his belt, attempted to free the bulge growing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.
Wooyoung hummed into your pussy, winding the coil in your core tighter as your other hand found his hair. Tugging him closer, he groaned again as he felt you clench. Your other hand grips around the outline of Mingi's cock, sending his groan through your chest.
Your eyes clenched shut as you crashed over the edge. Wooyoung's fingers gave a couple more thrusts before slipping out of your slowly. His mouth not leaving you as he slurps up the rest of your cum.
You lost track of whose hands were where as they moved you to straddle Yunho. Legs on either side of his, you couldn't stop yourself from grinding into his growing desire. Your eyes crack open to watch his reaction.
Yunho’s eyes slip shut as he groans. His hands hold your hips still as the other two move behind you. You could hear clothes being removed, but kept your eyes on the man under you.
“So greedy, you just came and you already want more?” He teased, slowly opening his eyes once more. His pupils wide as they stare into you. “Give me a color, baby girl.”
“Green, so fucking green, sir.” You spoke, desperation clear in your voice.
Your hands moved to his shirt, pulling at the obstructing material. He chuckled and moved to pull it off, throwing it to the floor. His lips then captured yours in a fierce kiss. He moved to lay on his back, pulling you with him. Your hands found his belt and began to unbuckle it. Making quick work of it and the button of his pants.
Yunho pulls away from the kiss to help you remove the obstructing materials. His erection curvses toward his abs, precum already leaking from the tip. You couldn’t stop the gasp that left your mouth. Wrapping your hand around his length, your finger tips didn’t quite touch. While his length was right there with Mingi’s you were definitely concerned about him fitting.
“Is it bigger than you expected?” Yunho asked softly, wrapping his large hand around your own. He guided your hand to lightly pump him a few times as his other hand moving to your waist. You found yourself nodding as you moved closer to him.
“It’s okay, he’ll go slow.” Mingi spoke now behind you. “He’ll fit, you can handle it, baby.” Mingi’s lips found your shoulder as he urged you closer to his best friend.
“I’ll be slow, sweet girl. Still green?” Yunho asks as Mingi raises you up. You give him a nod as you untangle your hand from his letting him guide himself to your entrance. You leaned into Mingi, letting him hold you up as you slowly sunk onto Yunho’s length. The stretch causes your eyes to shut in pain, your hands finding Mingi’s and grasping tightly.
“Almost there, doll. Just a little more.” Wooyoung spoke from beside you, his hand moving to touch your clit. His lips kiss your cheek, pulling your attention away from the stretch for a moment.
You moaned softly as your hips finally became flush with Yunho’s. You gave yourself a moment before moving your hands to his chest to lean forward.
“Ready, baby girl?” Yunho asked and you nodded. “Use your words for me.”
“Yes, sir, please fuck me.” You begged, eyes meeting his dark orbs. He smirks as his hands replace Mingi’s on your hips.
Raising yourself up, you moan as you sink back down. Yunho helps you create a rhythm as you move your hands beside his head. Your breasts bouncing with each rough thrust.
Mingi's hands move to your neck and slowly trail their way down your back. Upon reaching your ass, he gave it a light smack, jolting you forward and dragging a loud yelp from your throat.
“Woo, hand me the lube. Top drawer.” Mingi spoke softly, and Wooyoung pulls away from you to open the nightstand and give Mingi what he requested.
Hearing the lid pop open, you glanced over your shoulder to see your boyfriend smirking.
“Gonna try something new, baby.” He tells you, gently pushing you forward. Your chest presses into Yunho’s. Yunho’s hands move to grip your ass, using it as leverage to move you, but also spread you open. You felt Mingi drip a good amount of lube down your back and to your other hole. The cool feeling causes you to clench down.
“Oh fuck, so tight… I think you're forgetting someone though, baby girl.” Yunho spoke, bringing your attention back to him. His head tilted to bring your attention to Wooyoung.
He sat next to Yunho, biting his lip while slowly rubbing his hard on. His eyes followed your movements, hand moving in tandem with every lift of your hips.
“Why don't you help him out while Mingi gets you ready?” Yunho suggested with a smirk. You nodded, your hand moving to replace Wooyoung's.
You feel Mingi's middle finger start to make its way to your other hole, gently entering and earning a groan from Yunho as you tense once more. Your eyes meet Wooyoung's as you move your mouth to the head of his erection.
Your tongue swirls around the tip before you lower your head to take him in your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, Wooyoung groans as your nose brushes the hair around his base, his cock hitting your throat. His hand tangles in your hair creating a makeshift ponytail, as one of yours grips his tense thigh. You let him guide your head as you lose yourself in the sensations.
“Look at her, already cock drunk.” Wooyoung spoke with a groan.
“Mmm, so perfect like this, taking me so well. Such a perfect little slut.” Yunho whispered in your ear, dragging a moan from your throat.
“Oh, fuck.” Wooyoung groans, throwing his head back once more.
A second finger thrusts into your ass causing you to pull back and suck in a deep breath. The pain of the stretch mixed with the pleasure of Yunho hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. Your eyes roll back for a moment, as Yunho's thrusts become harder.
“I'm close, baby girl. Where do you want me?”
“Inside, please, inside.” You beg as Wooyoung's hand tightens around your hair. He taps your lips with his tip, prompting you to open your mouth again.
“Yeah, dirty girl? Want me to fill you up? Have you stuffed full by the end of the night? Give it to me then, cum for me.” Yunho growls into your ear. You moan around Wooyoung's length as his pace increases. Yunho then began thrusting up harder into you. With Mingi still working you open, your eyes slide shut, thighs shaking as you crash over the edge.
Yunho wasn’t far behind. After a couple of thrusts, you felt him pulse as his release coated your walls. Wooyoung’s moans grew louder as he tumbles over as well, his cum pouring down your throat. He then slowly pulls out, telling you to swallow what was in your mouth. You do so, sticking your tongue out as proof.
You then collapse onto Yunho’s chest. Mingi sucks in a breath as he pulls his fingers out and Yunho spreads you open for him. Glancing back at your boyfriend once more, you see a smirk spread across his face. A whine leaves your lips as Yunho gently pulls out with a light pop. You feel his cum start to pour out until Mingi quickly scoops it up with a finger and pushes it back in.
“Is she good and prepped?” Yunho asked after a moment, looking over at his best friend.
“Yeah, she’s ready.” Mingi spoke. His hands move to wrap around you, pulling you up and into his chest. He angles your head to capture your lips, noisily kissing you. You smile into the kiss, letting him take control and enjoying the feel of his plush lips against yours. There was a dopey feel to your movements, as though you were up on cloud nine.
“Wooyoung, you want next?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Wooyoung scoffed as Yunho slipped out from under you, allowing the younger man to take his place. His cock was already hard again, hitting his abs as he positioned himself at your entrance.
“Calm yourself or you won't be cumming again.” Yunho ordered. A dark glint now in his eyes as he stared Wooyoung down. Wooyoung's pupils dilated as he left out an involuntary whimper. He bit his lip as he stared up at Yunho. The noise causes you and Mingi to break apart.
“Oh, you like that? Like when I put you in your place, you little brat?” Yunho taunted, hand moving to grip Wooyoung’s chin. A smirk spread across his face as Wooyoung could only nod.
“Fuck.” Mingi cursed as he gripped himself.
“You like that, too?” Yunho asks as he glances at his best friend. He let out a small laugh almost in disbelief. “All three of you are gonna be my subs? I'm spoiled.” Biting his lips he moved away from Wooyoung and closer to Mingi.
The two shared an intense moment as Yunho tilted Mingi’s face toward his. Your boyfriend’s hands loosen around your body, carefully letting you lower yourself into Wooyoung’s embrace. You turned around in Woo’s arms to watch the two taller men.
Mingi’s hand came up to grip the back of Yunho’s neck, their foreheads meeting. Their lips then crashed together like a tidal wave, a groan leaving Mingi as Yunho bit his lip. You couldn’t stop the whimper that left your own mouth at the sight of the two.
“How hot is that? And you get to have both of them to yourself. How lucky are you, doll?” Wooyoung whispers in your ear, as his hands begin to trail down your body. His hand soon comes into contact with your clit causing you to moan and throw your head back against his shoulder.
“Did I say you could touch?”
Wooyoung moved his hand away instantly as if burned, placing them just above your hips. Snapping your head up, your eyes met Yunho’s. His eyes then dragged down your body leaving a burning desire in its wake. Mingi’s eyes stayed locked on Yunho, all three ears waiting on his commands. The three of you were like puppets, Yunho your puppeteer, controlling the show. His attention turned back to Mingi.
“Since you’ve been so good for me, I’ll let you choose. How do you want your girl?”
“Let me have that tight pussy, please Yunho.” Mingi begged, causing your eyes to widen.
You had never heard him beg before, at least not in the bedroom. He was always your dominant, making you beg and follow his instructions. You found yourself clenching around nothing and biting your lip in anticipation.
“Take it. Take our dirty girl.” Yunho ordered, releasing Mingi. Despite everything around you, you noted that this was the first time Yunho had called you theirs and not just Mingi's. An omission that you would’ve thought about longer if not for Mingi moving in between your legs.
Mingi’s left hand went to your hip while his right fisted his cock. He rubbed his tip through your folds a couple of times, coating himself in your juices before pushing in with a groan. You moaned, eyes meeting his as your hands moved to his arms at the overwhelming sensation.
You became lost in the sensation—in him. There was no care in you as to whose hands were where, or that more than one person was touching you. Hands began massaging your chest, while someone else rubbed at your clit. Your thoughts only on the man in front of you as he set a fast tempo pace. Mingi bit his lip, focusing on the spot he knew would have you coming undone quickly. Only to be stopped by a hand on his chest.
“Gonna finish her so soon? You didn’t forget about Woo again did you?” Yunho asks as he wraps himself around Mingi, eyes finding yours over his shoulder.
Unable to find your words, you shake your head.
“Didn’t think so, our good girl. Woo, you gonna take her ass?” Yunho spoke, tone slightly condescending as his thumb continued to circle your clit slowly.
“Fuck yeah I will.” The youngest man answered, thrusting his hips to rub his erection against your back, where it was still pressed.
“Then do it already, she’s close.” As Mingi ordered the younger around, you found yourself clenching down once more. “Shit, baby girl. You’re choking my dick, not gonna last if you keep that up.”
Wooyoung grabbed the lube from where Mingi left it on the bed. You heard him pop open the lid, moving you forward to coat his member in a decent amount. He then aligned himself with your puckered hole. His hands guiding and helping you sink down on his member.
“Fuck! So tight, gotta relax for me, doll.”
“Breathe, baby. Let him in. Fuck can feel him filling you.”
“Gonna take them so well, our good girl.”
They whispered sweet words in an attempt to distract you from the burning stretch. Mingi had never taken your ass before, preferring the feel of your pussy’s tight velvety walls. He only now second guessed that decision, seeing the bliss on Wooyoung’s face before he was even fully flush with your body. Upon finishing sliding in, the two gave you a moment to adjust as you lean yourself fully into Wooyoung.
“Shit, can’t hold back anymore.” Wooyoung spoke after a moment, beginning to thrust up into you, his nails carving mini crescents into your hips. His thrust pushed Mingi in deeper, causing him to groan as he leaned over you a little more.
“Look at her taking both of you. Sucking you both in, like she doesn't want to let you go.” Yunho teased.
The two soon found a rhythm, moving so one was always filling you. Moans continued to tumble from your mouth as your eyes shut in pure bliss. You felt yourself sink into the feeling coursing through you, becoming somewhat unaware of what was happening around you. Body tingling from the pleasure coursing through it.
“Wanna try something.” Yunho mumbled and Mingi suddenly stilled inside of you letting out a loud groan.
Your eyes snapped open to see what was happening, noticing Yunho still behind Mingi.
“Oh, fuck.” Mingi groaned as you heard the snap of Yunho’s hips.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. Relax, Mingi.” It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening, your eyes rolling back at the thought. The image of Yunho fucking your boyfriend being enough to push you over the edge, body spasming as you come undone.
“Shit, baby. Gonna… cum.” Mingi groaned into your shoulder as Yunho continued to thrust into him, jolting him into you more. Your sensitive walls clamping down around him.
“Yeah, gonna cum for us, Min? Fill our girl up?” Yunho spoke into his ear, causing Mingi to groan more.
“Holy shit, she's so tight. Fuck.” Wooyoung cursed as he tried to force himself to slow down, not wanting to come undone too early.
Curses tumbled out of Mingi's mouth as he all but collapsed on top of you. Your hypersensitive walls feel him pulse with each rough thrust from Yunho. It didn't take long till he was spilling inside you with a loud groan. Wooyoung's curses joined his as he tumbled over the edge as well. Their ropes of cum, covering your walls in white once more.
Yunho stopped his thrusts, groaning as he slowly pulled out of Mingi to savor the feeling. Taking a moment to breathe, Mingi stayed where he was. His hands rubbing your sides, to soothe you or himself you couldn't tell.
After a moment, Mingi pulled himself up and out. He helped to pull you off Wooyoung and you could feel the mess between your legs spilling onto the sheets. You couldn't find it in you to care though as you spotted Yunho sitting on the edge of the bed. A burning desire still in his eyes and he fisted his cock to the sight of you.
“Color?” He questioned, noticing your eyes on him.
“Still green, sir. Just sensitive.”
“Still want more? Even after all that?” He asked and you nodded, biting your lip. Your eyes dart between his clearly still hard cock and his eyes. You would do anything to help him with his problem once more.
“Damn, insatiable.” Wooyoung spoke with a smirk as he laid to the side, seemingly spent.
Mingi's eyes trailed your body, biting his lips as he looked at your swollen pussy. His cock twitched at the thought of going again, knowing your walls would wrap around him so well as sensitive as you were.
His eyes then moved to Yunho, taking in his form. His best friend had never looked more attractive. Pupils blown wide, biting his lips, with a hand wrapped around himself. Mingi was tempted to get a taste, but had a better idea as he looked at you once more.
“Wanna take her pussy together?” He asked, voice rough. He wanted to feel both of you as he came undone. To have you wrapped around both of them like they were around your fingers.
Yunho's eyes reluctantly pulled away from yours to meet Mingi's. A smirk pulled at his lips as he released his lower lip from his teeth. A brow raised at the idea, seeing the hopeful desire on Mingi's face.
“Think she can handle it?”
“Know she can. Right, baby?” Mingi asked, looking at you once more.
“Yes, please. I can take it.” The plea leaving your mouth without much thought. The two shared a look before moving.
Mingi was now behind you, maneuvering you to your knees. Yunho moved in front of you, taking your arms and wrapping them around his neck. You clung to him as Mingi aligned himself with your entrance once more.
Your eyes slid shut as you felt him push in. A moan fell from your lips as your nails dug into Yunho’s back. An overwhelming pleasure consuming you as he rubbed against your sensitive walls once more. Once his hips met yours, Yunho’s hand cupped your jaw. Your eyes blinked open, meeting his dark chocolate orbs.
“Color?”
“Green.” You answered without hesitation.
“You sure baby, you’re gripping me pretty tight.” Mingi questioned, almost teasing as he rested his head on your shoulder. His arms wrap around you completely, holding you to him.
“Yes, please. Ruin me.” You begged.
Yunho hesitated for a second before placing his tip at your entrance. His eyes glanced between yours and Mingi’s, as if trying to drag out this moment.
“Give her what she wants, Yuyu.” Wooyoung spoke, resting on his elbows, eyes just taking in everything in front of him.
Yunho cursed and began to push inside. You couldn’t help but tense up at the new intrusion, your breath hitching. The stretch feeling almost too much, like they were going to tear you in half. Mingi cursed and groaned, the feeling of you clenching around him with Yunho rubbing up against him, having him closer to the edge than he expected. Yunho’s head fell forward, resting on your shoulder.
“Relax, baby girl or I won’t get a chance to ruin you.” Yunho growls, holding on to what little control he still has.
“I’m trying.” You whined, feeling overwhelmed. The color yellow at the tip of your tongue. Discomfort and sensitivity almost too much for you to handle. Mingi’s arms being the steady anchor, grounding you.
“Don’t whine, baby. You wanted this.” Mingi growled into your ear. “You know what to say to make us stop.”
You stayed silent, not wanting to say it—wanting to see how this would go.
“Just take me,” Yunho muttered, not hearing anything from you. He continued to shove his way in. “Take us.”
His hips snapped flush with yours. Your eyes rolled as you collapsed back into Mingi, hands still gripping Yunho’s shoulders. If you weren’t in a daze, you would be sure that you broke his skin. An overwhelming feeling of fullness washed over you. Your sensitive walls pulsing around them.
Yunho and Mingi’s eyes met over your shoulder, the two giving you and themselves a moment to adjust to the feeling. Mingi’s arms loosen around you as his hand grabs the back of Yunho’s head, crashing their lips together again.
Their kiss seemed to break you from the daze you fell into. You met Wooyoung's eyes, a lazy smirk on his face as he watched the three of you together. He moves to kneel next to you, fisting himself as his lips find yours. Your eyes widen, not expecting this from him. He pulls back and turns your attention back to pillars holding you up.
Watching as Yunho bit Mingi's plush lip, forcing them open so he could get a taste. Their lips dancing together in a beautiful mess. Wooyoung’s lips find your tender neck, abusing the skin there for a moment.
Breaking apart, Yunho turned his attention to you. His lips crashed into yours and you felt more than heard the moan Mingi released. Wooyoung’s lips leave your neck as he moves closer to Mingi, giving his neck similar attention to yours. Mingi then gave an experimental thrust. Your moan spilling into Yunho's mouth, granting him access to your mouth. His tongue explored freely, his level of control to be admired as he soon joined Mingi. The two soon creating a rhythm that had you seeing stars.
You felt the daze return, the pleasure making you numb to everything else. Yunho pulled away from your mouth, allowing your whines and moans to spill freely into the air.
“Gripping us so tight, fuck. What a perfect pussy. Not gonna last.”
“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, just like you wanted. You're ours. Only ours.” Mingi growled into your ear.
“Say it, say that you're ours.”
“I'm…your's!” You managed to gasp out, causing them to groan.
Your orgasm came crashing into you like a wave, quicker than any you'd ever experienced before. It felt like a dam had broken open as you squirted around their cocks, drenching the sheets below you.
“Oh shit, she's gone.” Wooyoung spoke from over Mingi’s shoulder.
“Oh fuck, gonna cum.” Mingi groaned.
“Do it, cum with me.” Yunho commanded, their thrusts growing in intensity as he neared his peak.
The two came crashing seconds apart, spilling into you, coating your walls in white once more. Your mind went blank as your body shook from the intensity.
You weren't sure when they pulled out or who left to grab a towel, conscious only returning as Mingi carefully cleaned your legs from your mixed orgasms. A wince leaving your lips at the feeling.
“There you are, had us a little worried for a moment.” He spoke when he noticed your eyes registering him.
“Yunho? Wooyoung?” You questioned, not having the energy to look around.
“Right here, baby girl, already miss me?” Yunho teased as he leaned over Mingi’s shoulder. He planted a kiss on his shoulder before resting his chin in the same spot.
“Still here, doll.” Wooyoung spoke, head popping into your field of view. However, he was in the process of getting dressed, attempting to find his shirt in the different piles on the floor. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, v-line still on display for your viewing pleasure.
“Leaving already?” You croaked out, voice rough.
Wooyoung hummed, pausing his search for a moment as he thought on what to say. “You three have some things to discuss, I’m just gonna give you the space to do so.” He spoke softly, finally finding his top and putting it on.
A frown formed on your face as he then walked over to the bed and leaned over. “This won’t be the last you see of me, don’t worry.” He gave you a wink and then placed a kiss on your forehead, nodding to the other two as he left the room.
After the door shut, the three of you sat in silence for a moment. Your eyes glanced between the two men as Mingi finished with the towel, throwing it toward your laundry bin.
“Do you want a bath? We can start one for you.” Mingi offered, but you shook your head.
“We should probably talk about this.” Yunho spoke softly, eyes glancing between the two of you.
You hum in acknowledgement, moving to sit up slightly so as to be at the same level.
“I think… I know what I want now.” Mingi spoke hesitantly, eyes down, looking at the bed.
“And what’s that?”
“I want both of you... I want you both to be mine, whatever that looks like.” He spoke, eyes glancing tentatively at Yunho.
“And you baby girl? You want the same?” Yunho asked, eyes moving to you.
You nodded, “Yeah, it sometimes already felt like I was with both of you. I just want the confusion and tension gone.” You admitted with a small smile. Mingi’s hand moved to yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles as if apologizing for putting you through that. His eyes met yours and held a loving softness to them that had your heart melting all over again.
“I want you both too.” Yunho spoke, bringing your attention to him. “I used to think I was jealous of Mingi, thinking I just wanted you, but then there were times where I wanted to be in your place as well. I had thoughts of both of you, but after what Wooyoung did tonight, I realized I wasn’t necessarily jealous of either of you, I just wanted in. I just wanted both of you.” Yunho confessed.
“Fuck, we coud’ve done this so much sooner.” Mingi cursed, causing you to laugh.
“Let’s not think about that too much. Now come cuddle.” You spoke, opening your arms to both of them.
“You heard her.” Yunho joked as he moved. They wrapped themselves on either side of you, Yunho being a big spoon around you as you curled into Mingi’s chest. You knew by the end of the night he would end up the little spoon though, unable to resist having your arms around him.
Closing your eyes, you felt yourself start to drift to sleep.
“I think we’ll need to properly thank Wooyoung, you know?” Yunho mumbled into your hair.
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero bakugou & fem!reader. established relationship, unprotected sex, talk of condoms, subtle size kink, dacryphilia if you squint close enough -> bakugou is a responsible guy. he never forgets a thing. aside from the one time he forgets to buy condoms — no worries, you’ve always wanted him to hit it raw.
“no… fuck. damn it, i swear i —!”
katsuki never forgets condoms, ever. he’s big on safe sex, tested regularly doesn’t want any happy accidents before either of you are ready… but the one time he does forget to buy some, he genuinely nearly breaks down.
“f-fuck. sorry, baby — shit, i think we’re out.” bakugou rasps gruffly into your mouth — upset, begrudging. the bedside draw slams shut with a disappointing creak but it does nothing to dissipate heat in the air.
he’s teary eyed as he pulls back from your kiss swollen lips with the realisation. he hadn’t stocked up before he left for his mission in kuwait and you’d used the last of them that same weekend. the blonde sniffs it off as nonchalantly as he can, the fact that he’s about to cry, because he’s painfully hard against your clothed cunt and he hasn’t been able to properly have you in two weeks. a fist around his pulsing shaft and a memory of you bouncing back on him is barely enough for a man.
now you’re half naked underneath him and wet against his crotch, clothes still in a pathetic pile by the front door of your apartment because you’d welcomed him in with the same unexpected feverishness of a bustling city’s summer heat wave. heated kisses and burning touches that speak more than a week’s worth of yearning. katsuki feels stupid, he doesn’t know why he cries, perhaps it’s because he knows — no condom means no sex. he hates to leave you high and dry, hates to have to go take a cold shower until he can hit the stores tomorrow, but then your fingers curl in ash blonde baby hairs and you pull him back into you as though he’s rope slipping through his fingers. firm. grounding.
“maybe… maybe tonight we can try without?” you suggest because you’re so perfect, so undeniably good to him in ways the blonde isn’t even sure he deserves. your lips are glossy, your eyes are glassy and katsuki can feel your pussy smear over him with a layer of sweet glaze — clenching around nothing just at the thought of taking him raw. “i don’t want you to go. just want to be close to you.” you add, pouty. so pretty.
he should say no. he should insist on going down on you and rubbing one out in the shower later tonight. but there you are, squirming against his thickness that presses into your soft tummy, peering up at katsuki with those captivating, hypnotic eyes that plead for a slither of mercy. “please.” you whisper, the secret lying underneath your tongue next to every form of begging you know possible. you’re prepared to do it, if it means having him sink into you completely free of rubber. just skin on skin and the passion burning in your lungs.
“okay,” pearls of sweat form a halo around his head, sand blonde locks stick to the feverish skin as it drops to your bare shoulder. blood diluted with droplets of sin set a course for south and katsuki’s thick shaft pulses to life against you — as if to lead him into temptation — put it in. “god, fuck, okay. you’re gonna be good though? g-gonna let me pull out?” he manages a choked groan, rooted strongly in his chest like a sturdy oak tree. reverberating through your lush, syrupy cunt with enough bass to make you bend into him.
when you smile this time, it’s relieved and earnest — a beautiful glow that settles against the natural slopes of your features because katsuki strips faster than he ever has in his life. cock rock hard, wet and bare against you, seedy tip lathered in pre cum already married to your aching clit which he taps so lovingly against.
“n-no promises.” you mewl.
it’s so crude, no unlike the two of you, to be messy and raw. the heat of him blooms within you as bakugou lines up with your entrance, shallowly thrusting past the quivering hole with a grateful hiss. because he’s so lucky to be let into the gates of heaven. that you’ll let him fuck you even with the risk.
“can’t play around like that, baby, c-can’t say shit like that,” his breathing stutters, you squeeze around every hot, bare inch he gives to you. “…mmm fuck— ‘m gonna —!” katsuki heaves into your neck, lips on your pulse point to check you’re still with him whilst he bottoms out — pelvis flush against yours, thighs hiked high on his hip, dick dragging along your welcoming walls. “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
sum; accidentally encountering a large amount of incredibly graphic material inside a lost digital camera at a house party, only to be caught in the act and punished by the very same owners for snooping around things that didn’t pertain to you + . °..
+.°..
the foreign digital
heads-ups: dom!yun x fem!reader x dom!min // cohol consumption, oral (m/f rec), breast sucking, choking, dry humping, spitting, face slapping, unprotected sex (don’t), slight exhibitionism, bit of yearning, names used (bunny, bitch, dummy, slut+) 3waycumkiss, cumdump, cockwarming, toothrotting aftercare
wordcount: 8.9k
- aplogies in advance, allergic to proofreading rn will do tm
Your need to protect the device grew the more you took notice the amount of people that tripped over it in the small frame you observed. bumpy music filtering through your earlobes, the handfuls of strangers danced sensually against one another. your friends were now long gone with their hookups for the night whilst you stupidly fondled over a foreign camera.
The digital sat still in the middle of the living room carpet , nothing but heavy shoes tripping over it at least a dozen times now. Music stood loud, the rhythm bouncing against every single wall inside that three story house party you found yourself in, humans scattered like ants. Drinks and substances everywhere for everyone to share within their own respective groups, the herby smell of weed filling your nose.
The later the night, the drunker the people. You met with a mutual joining in on their drinking circle, filling shots and throwing your head back allowing the alcohol to burn the depth of your throat, lime being shoved in your mouth instantly to reduce its harsh taste.
You gave in, the many shots you took hazily dizzying your system, along the many cheers and drinking games, your tolerance going short circuit the camera becoming your one and only target now. It’s owner hasn’t come looking for it, either you take it now or it’ll be stomped over by the end of the night.
You made your way, crouching slightly to pick up the item.
Dark blue, detailed scratch on its logo as if in a way attempting to differentiate it from the rest due to its basic color. Certain it didn’t even work anymore you took ahold of the digital camera, its heavier weight soon gifting you the realization that it was definitely loaded with at least a battery.
You found your way into the nearest available room despite the incredibly loud music, dark colorful lights adorning each floor, your intent was to to try and fix your way into the film, peace and quiet was required to at best try to hear any audio it may have striving to find its owner.
Handling many doorknobs you found how the majority of the private rooms were locked, all kinds of people inter-coursing one another on the few that were cracked open. Reaching the third floor, you aimlessly walked down a long quieter hallway, a door with a chipped stolen “do not enter” road sign nailed onto it.
Smaller posters decorated the walls, various golden medals attached to the walls. The music went dim by a ton, like sound proof doors and walls were installed to the property. Entering the room you pushed the door shut behind you
Sitting on the edge of the bed the mattress was plush underneath your thighs, it was neatly done, a floral musky scent glued onto the sheets intoxicating your senses as you reverted your attention back to what you walked in for, immediately circling through the camera’s gallery.
clicking down the number of collections of albums.
The images looked innocent, concise, almost too picture perfect to seem legit. There were two consistent men taking over the albums, nothing too deep of an offense aside from a couple playful middle fingers in some of the images.
Adventures from shirtless tanning bodies admiring the coolness of the saltwater to rosy cheeks giggling amongst one another as snow glued to their darker locks in the winter weathers. The guys seemed to be in their mid twenties, they looked like they were having in every imagery, many years down the line of pictures and videos. fun nothing pretentious or weird?
You sighed, accepting the fact that the camera in fact did have their incredibly hot owners and it was due to be returned sooner than later. As you continue to let your eye guide you through the series of images you couldn’t help but to abruptly pause to the thumbnail of a hidden album under the title “yungi’s private”.
As if it were any other, you clicked on the privated album just to encounter a collection of other hidden videos and images followed by many named footage such as “yun-solo” and “min-solo”.
The thumbnail of “yun-solo”consisted a ruthless angle of a trimmed dick being lazily held in a darker setting, pretty set of ringed fingers dragging a stroke on himself sharply from the tip. A big gray hoodie dressed his form, scrunched up messily at the sleeves, he looked warm, cozy too cozy with the way he sat back onto what it looked like a gaming chair. His left arm extended, holding onto the camera from an upper angle that fully deducted his face from frame.
Keeping your eyes away was impossible now.
Intentionally, you glanced over at the other independent collection, it had the imagery of a shirtless man, broad shoulders and a shiny chest that combinated nicely with the ripples on his toned tummy.. unlike his friend, he had his face full on display, puffy lower lip folding into a harsh bite, same face from the previous pictures. you quickly figured the other man was his paler friend. The camera was positioned perfectly, both hands reaching down absolutely choking his cock like it was a threat. He was massive, even from the angle.
you quickly figured the man in the other album was his paler friend. You gasped to the realization, your hand going up to pinch at the bridge of your nose in embarrassment to the thought that you’ve just in fact completely intruded someone’s very private albums.. your eyes widened searching for the exit button on the smaller screen just to encounter an album just right beneath the previous two, left unlocked.. This one had a thumbnail that involved both the men
You felt like the biggest pervert in the world for what thoughts traced your mind when you saw that there yes was in fact a woman arched between them both on the freeze of the video.
you technically already saw things you shouldn’t have, why not proceed? what difference does it make?
Despite the incredibly graphic material on the thumbnail you wanted to see, you refused to let logic dictate your next move, you pressed the play button right in the center of the screen.
The video started calm, the lighting behind the scene looked too clean for it to be their first video together, the device was on an accurate stance. A masked girl sat between them, toyed with them both. Holding both their legs open with the stretch of her own two feet, she used her two hands to unexperiencedly jerk off their two cocks, You were now in a trance, watching countless of their videos together.
Loud and heavy
steps approached the hallway before the room you broke into, absolute panic rushing your nerves. You jumped up and looked all over the room for a place to hide like a sly teen getting caught watching porn for the first time.
Instinctively, you threw the camera as you heard the door knob turn now, quickly sliding underneath the gap below the bed.
You held your breath as if it’d help, all kinds of scenarios racing through your mind about how fucked you are if you’re caught in this stranger’s room practically just watching porn like a creep.
And that’s when you heard it.
a faint moan.. coming from the camera you left forgotten on an opened video playing from the bed.
Thinking you were in the clear you hear the repetition of followed groans and skin as if the video’s gotten louder on purpose.
Steps filled the space in the room, you can tell he was following the sounds coming from the device as his combat boots fidgeted around the room before rapidly reaching over to the bed and gaining possession over the camera,
“ahh. so cute.” the man groaned to himself to the obvious spot you hid under, video playing loud in his hands, he watched, reminiscing.
“think you dropped something, naughty girl.” he furrowed, fondling the camera between his heavy hand it disappearing right between his palm as he held it low for you to view, right knee of his pressing onto the ground as his left held his weight infront of the bed, silently pressing play on the recorded video, your eyes automatically glued onto the screen, as if it were your own unique kind of hallucination.
he cupped his palm over the speaker for you to hear the sound of his own moaning better, the fingers behind the digital scraped gently at the sides, perversions rushing straight to his bloodstream as he watched with you a video of him getting sucked off by some random girl, his best friend instructing her along the way.
* “Good girl, learning so well.”
the video announced, camera was being held by the man with softer features, him recording his best friend getting teased and squeezed to the point his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
You were growing hot in your uncomfortable position, your eyes roaming at the bottom half of the kneeled man, the video long forgotten. He wore tight jeans, the middle of his pants marking his thick bulge strategically, he wore a pretty chain on the front of his belt loop. his fingertips gluing tighter against the device.
If alcohol wasn’t involved you’d gather your senses, tell him off and immediately leave the party, but no here you were making the space beneath this stranger’s bed your safekeeping, willingly watching a video of himself getting sucked off on the camera you’ve been holding onto for the past half hour. His flushed face was so heavensent you felt your own body losing the fight against your morals.
Another tall man entered the room, catching you both by surprise. The one that toyed you turned his back facing the man that maintained his silence as he navigated the room, elegance following his every move, he moved slow, demanding, calculated. He radiated an intense heat you couldn’t explain, it genuinely made you tuck yourself in further. Big leather shoes creaked against the floor within each step he took, you watched through the mirror reflecting them how he wandered around, him babysitting a a cold beer in his hand.
“mingi’s not bothering you now, is he?”
your body jolted to the new voice, . Your lips zipped, thump being heard loud and clear where you were. The man laughed deeply, as if he understood your cravings from your silence of a response. though you hated to admit it your excitement grew larger to his kinetic energy.
you watched as Mingi’s eyes followed his friend’s directioning with such a communicative look it made you feel like nothing but an object below the two huge men. adrenaline rushed your veins in waves of burn and ache and you couldn’t take it anymore, the increasing need to be completely mutilated like the prey you were to them was inevitable.
They watched you through the night, both observing you from different spots in the house. Mingi noticed your obvious attention onto the camera first, letting you take it, the fucker allowing just enough time to storm right behind you, catching you by surprise.
The new man lifted his shiny shoe eye level and tapped once, twice, hard repeatedly against the lower bedframe you tucked beneath, his mean attempt to spook you. Remaining still, you shut your eyes tight hoping to disappear, but no you were there and they were there right infront of you trying to bully you into getting out of your hiding spot on your own.
“you have to be quieter than that if you wanted to be a pervert. cmere’ stand infront of me.” he spoke, firm, toned. he was meanly direct, head tilting sideways to your ignorance.
“you don’t wanna make yunnie mad, pretty baby.”
the other voice continued, earning an airy laugh from the other male, him taking his friend’s hint and joining in on the spot on the ground beside his bestest, kneeeling flexingly. The mirror attached to the closet door captured the way his back was shoved into that dress shirt he wore, his hair was well kept, head tilted slightly lower looking at the camera, hovering his hand right over Mingi’s and powering off the graphic scene on the little screen he held, tossing it onto the bed carelessly.
your breath quickened when silence filled the room, a tormenting feeling that was soon followed by the sound of shuffling infront of the bed, two pairs of heavy hands reaching, harsh, fast, meeting your now hyper eyes.
Yunho pulled and tugged, yanking at your forearm to force you out of under the bed, the other male reached in to pull you from your other arm both meanly gaining entire control over you and dragging you out fully with such ease it drove you to closer to insanity, giving up the fight almost immediately when the taller male gripped your arm tighter to straighten you up when you stood on your feet.
The men stood shoulder to shoulder before you, their set of eyes killing you with intense intrigue like you were a zoo animal exhibiting yourself just for them. Your chest hovered as they completely towered over you and fuck did you feel like just coming already. . The one whose porno you’ve just watched eyed you dangerously, unnoticeable grin on his face the second his eye traced down to the folded hands glued shut onto your thighs. He tilted his head back slightly, the dainty silver chain around his neck reflecting nicely against that warm lamp in the corner of the room. The other bored his eyes onto the expose of your cleavage not even making an attempt to dissimulate the fact.
Tensing silence sat exchanged between you three. mingi turned his head to face the door then back at you, asking himself the same question you were
why were you still there? why didn’t you leave?
smirk drawing onto his face as he puts two and two together.
“I won’t say anything, I didn’t see anything-“ you broke in attempt to break that sphere of tension in the air, only for
the quieter male furrowed a brow, folding his lip into a pretty pout to your negotiating as if he found it to be the cutest thing he’s seen all day, “isn’t it too late for that bunny?” the nickname tore through you, he gave you a condescending look, minimizing you below him.
“she looks so needy just standing there, doesn’t she?” spoke the younger male, smirk widening now as you switched your attention from his friend onto him. speaking about you like you weren’t standing right infront him.
The back of your knees bent slightly before the bed causing you to fall sitting down, both men taking advantage of the opportunity and caging you in further.
this turned something inside you
“look at you..”
you shoved at the other male that breathed down your neck, unaware of his initial taller figure. He held his composure, not an inch of his being moved by your tantrum.
fucked up, tired low eyes drawing you in
“watching my private videos by yourself on my bed? really, really bad look. how could you ever make that up to me?” , his voice silky smooth, collected with a hidden anticipation that trapped your body in a quiver. He knew his way with his words, eagerly scaring you over the edge for his own amusement. He slowly bent his neck down and took a better look at you, piercing eyes of his searching your face for an expression, an excuse, a reaction. but no, you were just as curious of what they’d do to you as they were of what you’d do to them.
“let me explain, I didn’t mean-“ you attempted to be the voice of reason, at the end of the day you didn’t mean to come across this room, this situation,
“-didnt mean to drool over mingi getting his cock sucked just now?”
“what I-“ you were left speechless.
“now tell me, silly girl. was it the fact that it was he himself that showed you that’s got you so heated?”
you gulped, your throat ran dry to the question, he had you cornered like no other, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it though, the way his eyes now shined with a hidden knowing, slanted smirk at his lips.
“i know she liked it.. not gonna get out or what?” mingi coursed at you, pitch coming out low and cocky. Like he knew the answer to his own question.
Many thoughts roamed your drunken mind, but the one that stood out the most was how badly you wanted to get fucked by the best friends that stood toe to toe with you.
Splitting their tall linked forms down the middle, you stepped your way towards the door. The tips of your feet stopping right infront of the bottom ledge of the frame. You raised your hand boldly towards the knob, taking last look back at the men you sorted your attention onto the knob, locking it.
“fucking knew it.” you heard the deeper voiced one say before rushing over to you and pinning you behind that very door you stood against, he held you still with your wrists above your head with a single hand of his. Face invaded the space of your own, his eyes now fucking into your needier ones. Standing too close, too quiet, the scent of his cologne infatuating your nostrils as he he stood bare inches away from you tilting his head to fit into the crook of your ear stopping there, not touching, just yet.
“oh just stop it. why fight what your body is so badly craving?” he pressed, free hand dragging from your neck up to pick at your jaw, tracing tentatively holding you tight nonetheless allowing the tiniest gap for you to free yourself if that’s what you chose. his breath was hot, delicate like a gush of wind that’d catch you by surprise. body warm, heavy, hugging, claiming, if it’d take him all night to get you to be his then so fucking be it. he didn’t care, not for a second. the moment he decides his interest for someone it’s them or nothing. he didn’t have to fight hard though, you wanted him just as badly.
you grabbed at his collar pulling him hard, “not fighting anything, you’re just taking too long to make me come is all.” you whispered, he harshly bit his lip, a crazy look forming on his lower pupils
That’s when mingi sucked in your mouth, passionately and lazily blending his lips along your own with precise intention to fully consume you as his. He hummed against you, savoring a hint of hard alcohol on you at the initial taste, despite his taller figure his entire body fit perfectly mush against yours. skillfully, he wrapped his larger hands behind your neck, deepening your mouth closer against his.
His knee broke your connected ones
“What is that you do, exactly..?” you asked away, hoping to get some but hoping to do so safely.
“just two friends who like to have fun, we haven’t went all the way at the same time.”
“how come?”
“nobody can handle both.” mingi, muttered, detaching his lips from yours to take a read at your face.
you smiled at this, knowing that you’d be the first. you l toyed the lips infront you again, latching your wet tongue onto the flesh,
“you upset about something?” you tortured yunho, speaking to him with your lips on his friend’s mouth, you thought you were teasing him but you only fueled your situation with him further. the slanted smirk he held twitched unnervingly, slightly. claiming your eyes in his own piercing ones. he nodded, barely, this awakened something inside you.
You unclasped your lips from mingi’s wet pop heard from your detachment once more, he whined lowly but quickly understood when he saw the look on his friend’s face. He unhooked your grip from the door, biting your neck harshly once, before fully letting you go.
You made your way over to his fiend’s who claimed a spot against the wall not far away from you two, eyes bored into your own, observing and reading the room to know when to attack next. You dragged your feet feeling each step closer to him filling you up with an intense feeling only he can make happen
Mingi followed, he grabbed the low of your top animaliscally twisting the fabric in his hand and using it to push you further into his friend, your body crashing into his, he looked down at you
“what is it, dummy? can’t talk anymore?” you couldn’t find the words to describe what it was you wanted, his form was toned against your body as you held onto him, he was a lot colder than the man you just made out with but you were determined to break his shell, you wanted both, one wouldn’t suffice knowing that the other existed.
You grabbed at the belt of his pants, to which he quickly swapped your hand away.
“behave.”
You respected, instead hands roamed the top half of his body, experimenting, desire rushing your head. Your eyes remained closed drowning in his clean linen scented clothing
- “weren’t you just pushing at me earlier now you’re begging me to fuck you?” the male mused, tongue peeking right into his cheek from your audacity. you making his self control grow difficult.
“so pretty like this. all bothered, begging for cock.” his eyes widened to the way your lips tucked deep between your teeth in attempt to hold yourself in control away from him, eyes of his following every bit of movement, reading. You stumbled slightly, he holding your weight. quickly readjusting your uncomfortable initial stance to hold that eye contact with him at a last attempt, “I wanna’ kiss, please yunho..” you tugged onto his arm now, he shushed you, followed by gentle ‘i knows’, placing his massive hand ontop your head rubbing gently, speaking to you like you were his personal little dummy to care for. Soft whimper coming from you at the gesture, he grit his teeth at the sound, reminiscing how soft and plump your lips looked against his friend’s. He wanted to taste your lips against the brush of his, part of him holding back to not one up mingi, given he did spot you first.
“really want mingi to have me all to himself?.”
Mingi only smirked Yunho’s way to your teasing, he sensing his best friend breaking within every plead you cried his way, his back stiffened when your nails raked against the center of it, circles swirling drawing shapes, words, faces. all that making your presence more evident. your face nudged his neck once more, lazily dragging lips face across the skin.
he cursed to himself, pressing your arms steady against your chest. The stance he held you in had you panting, inhaling and exhaling each others breaths just mere cenimeters away.
utilizing his other hand to form a light trail down your spine he finally landed a firm grip on your ass, using your mass to pull you closer to his body, grabbing you captive to him. like letting go was harder than holding on now.
“fuck..you..”
yunnie hissed against your lips losing his battle by sticking his tongue inside your mouth, stealing the breath right out of your system with his face. softer lips of his glided their way up your jaw drowning in your scent, he wanted to kiss and touch you everywhere at once, his hidden motives out in the open for you to see now.
Face of his scrunched in pleasure, to the feeling of your smaller hand tugging at his length again, he giving in. Long, fat outline in those thin dress pants he wore, the thin flowy material of his pants accentuated by the grip his knee had between your legs.
“you two. same time- please-“ you breathed, keeping that fact to yourself any longer was useless now, your cheeks grew hot to your own confession but fuck did they grow harder to the way the man’s eyes infront you flipped into something you can’t replicate even if you wanted to. Mingi heard you. fuck did he, the grin on his face wiped in one go and the knowing look him and his friend shared something only they would know all about.
hot and heavy breaths lingered between you both as you ate at each other’s mouths “fuck y/n- why couldn’t you just fucking wait?-” all teeth and tongue knocking you both out. mingi reached and stood behind you, cock rock hard against the plush of your ass, he kissed the left of your neck whilst yunho ravished your right.
Hands roamed everywhere you were so lost in the bliss in between breaths that you lost count long ago of who was who, messy fingers tangled around your hair, one grabbed at your neck, another stayed at your belly until you felt a hand suddenly wrap around and fully cup your cunt. Loud gasp ran away from your lips, mingi’s cock twitched on your ass at this. His hand tangled at the cloth of your pants before unbuckling them tentatively, slow digits fiddling around with your lips through your underwear toying with that soft wet patch that uncomfortably stuck to your pussy.
“forgive him, baby. mingi’s not one to waste time..”
“yeah.. sorry..” his voice rasped behind you at your ear, he held you so close that you felt your bodies almost morphing as one, he grounded himself strongly, carrying your weight onto his
“she’s.. fucking soaked, fuck yunho.” the man groaned, calling out to his friend as if he were his personal handler, his voice came out lot needier than intended right into the drum of your ear too. You clenched around nothing from his desesperación and you know he felt it through your thin clothing.
"yeah? you always this much of a needy slut? we've got you so hot and bothered over some little video?”
yunho's pupils dilated to the gluttonous moan that arose from your throat to his dirty speech, he humped his clothed cock onto your front, sandwiching you pressurely, following the opposite rhythm of his colleague's behind you.
his hand grabbed at your beasts aggressively, almost as if he was taking out his frustration for not holding himself back. you were irresistible, despite their own set of rules between the two, Yunho didn’t care if he’d catch a fight after with his friend as long as he’d have you, just for a second.
he nipped at your sensitive buds, electrifying pleasure ran your veins as he slid a finger underneath your spaghetti strap, hooking a careful digit around the thin stretchy material, pulling upwards slightly and letting go, a snap that stung good. He did it again each time harsher before completely ripping the material off of your shoulder, exposing your bare bresst from the fall of your top.
“Think Mingi would care if I burrowed a tit.” Yunho was explicit with his use of words, eyeing you like you were purely free use as his friend behind you chuckled knowing it’s him the one that sets shit into place instead. Asking for his friend’s permission instead of yours turned you on more than you can understand, it felt like they individually decided who owned what and completely left you out of the convo.
He bagan by pressing firm wet kisses around your areola, using his long fingers to grab at the outline of your flesh, cupping it perfectly for him to suckle as his. Sharp teeth grassed your hardening nipple but he continued ignoring where you wanted him to pay attention to most. He licked at the soft skin of your breast, sucking bare skin into his mouth and releasing with a giant loud pop, the harsh suckle quickly marking a bruised rink around the affected area. He hummed to the feeling of his lips against the plush of your pillowy boob, finally using a singular finger and pushing at your needy nipple.
“is this where you want my mouth?”
you nodded desperately, wanting for him to give you at least the bare minimum of sucking in your sensitive nipple, the teasing you sending you over the edge of insanity.
“use your words, my love” surprising kindness in his tone.
“yes please, give me something! anything!”
Yunho pressed his nose onto your breast his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking harshly, eyes looking up to you innocently like he didn’t just make you beg him to suck your tit. Mingi looked at the pornographic scene infront him from the crook of your neck, the scene being entirely too hot and entertaining for him to even be mad at yunho getting ahead with his mouth.
The toned man behind you grabbed at your hand, replacing the harsh grip you had onto his shiny locks, so the his own fingers, dragging your hand down his body himself slow, teasing, your attention reverting slightly. your other hand gripping at yunho’s hair beneath you to still show him your appreciation to his rewarding gesture. your eyes looked behind you, meeting up with his hungrier ones he reached for your mouth, gluing onto you the instant his eyes meet yours like the strongest magnet is living inside him for you. his fingers reached up deeper into your cervix, punishing, bullying his fingers into your core. He took notice at the way you struggled to kiss him back and he only kissed you harder owning your mouth as his like it didn’t matter if you didn’t put in the effort.
His lips were red from the kissing, fingers rough and the hand that guided you down his body had you cup the hard bulge in his pants, hand affirming a squeeze around yours so your own digits followed through with the gesture. He guided you down the middle of his crotch wrapping your fingers around the zipper of his jeans, slow dangerous drag that went loud in the air. Mingi assisted you by folding the jeans down along with his boxers just low enough for his cock to spring out loud and heavy against his stomach.
He was just as big if not bigger than what you saw him like on camera, tip mean and reddening by the minute. He grabbed at your hair forcing your head down to take a good look at his erection, removing his bullying fingers from your core you watched as he used the same two fingers and dragged them along the head of his dick, collecting his precum along with your arousal and letting you have a taste with both sets of dark eyes observing the obscenity.
You took the fingers in, smiling brightly as you wrapped your tongue around his digits, tasting the bittersweet of your mixes together, you took a couple of seconds to share eye contact with each of the men seperately.
big fucking mistake.
this turned something inside them both.
You were now being weightlessly lifted ass up head down in the air by the male infront you, he walked digilently across the room back to the bed and carelessly threw you on there, .instantly unbuckling his black leather belt with ease.
Sucking his teeth to the robbery, mingi followed behind removing the remaineder of his pants along with his shirt in one quick swoop. You took the initiative to remove your own clothing too beginning by unbuckling your pants but a firm hand stopped you
“won’t repeat myself so listen to me carefully.” the tall man spoke, fondeling with the long leather article of his belt in hand.
“you don’t do or say a thing unless you’re told around us, if you ever want to stop at any moment yell “safe word”, anything other than that will be useless. say ‘yes’ if you understand, dummy.”
“yes.”
“get rid of those pants, keep your panties on. I’ll take care of that. ” mingi followed up, handling his own length with a gripped palm, eyes dancing across the exposure of your skin as you quickly followed the instructions given. He seemed a lot tamer now, looks like the acceptance that you’ll actually be for him could’ve settled in now for him, the other though, you felt an intense underground feeling arising from him. He was shirtless now, the pale skin beneath his hoodie had been filled with heat and sweat, his breathing was subtle, controlled.
yunho took a singular long stride forward to you and held your arms neatly above your head, he dragged your bare body up with him towards the head of the bed, looping your attached wrists onto the frame, expertly. The belt felt cold against your skin, you attempted to create a gap of freedom but he tied you down with such precision it had you growing wetter by the second. His bare body dragged across your erected nipples as he climbed off of you, ripping the remainder of shirt you had left.
You bit your lip to his aggressiveness, opening your thighs wide, cunt marking clearly against your cotton underwear.
mingi groaned to the sight before him, he climbed to the butt of the bed, suckling each one of your ten toes before kissing up the inside of your legs, tongue trailing saliva between the inner parts of your thighs, the patched marks growing cool with the air. He abruptly stopped right infront of your crotch looking up to you with teasing eyes, using his tongue he ate your clothed mound. He was slow on you, licking up and down from your bud to your gape, humming to the bit of taste he’s possessed. his canines bit into the corners of the cloth, ripping them off of your legs swiftly.
The speed in which he reattached his mouth onto your ecstasy made you feel electric. he was mumbling disgusting words under his breath, fully eating your sex with all mouth, lips, and tongue. you felt every breath of satisfaction exhale from his nose the longer he tasted you, eating every portion of skin between your legs. He was selfish, hungry, eyes now tightly shut as he drowned full of you, you watched him beneath you how he blew cool air into your opening, his nose getting instinctively closer to the tight hole he was fingering scenes prior.
he stopped and inhaled in your scent humming noisily.
“smell so fucking good.”
“please don’t stop, i’m close!” you screamed closing your legs around his head suffocating him full of you.
—
“did the slut just fucking speak?”
you jumped at the input, the straight look yunho had on his face twitched annoyingly to you breaking an easy rule.
“i think she just did..” mingi urged, shifting lower around the space between your legs, allowing space for yunho to toy at your upper half. with the quick slap of his palm on your sensitive cunt, edging you devilishly.
The angry male grabbed at your face, he inserted three of his fingers into your mouth, pushing it back past your uvula causing you to messily gag around the digits. he using the long strings of your saliva as lube to use for his cock, he jerked off his length right infront your face before slapping you across the cheek once, that laid position you were in leaving you with no choice but to just take whatever he gave you.
“what are you gonna do about it?” you spat.
yunho slapped you across the face again,
your mouth was suddenly stuffed entirely with many inches of cock. the pale man bucked his hips downward fucking his pelvis into your face. you struggled around him choking up, gagging disgustingly but to him they were pretty tunes.
“dirty bitch knows how to take cock, you think you get to do whatever you want, huh?” yun reached down and held one of your legs up in the air, granting more access of your wound to the man that devoured desperately below.
the man went at their acts for several long minutes, pleasing you in more ways than one.
mingi stood up now, slapping his heavy length right onto your clit once, twice, the sensation overstimulating from the hardness of his cock. He held a condom wrap in his mouth, making eye contact with you instead of your pussy for the first time in a while, asking the silent question of protection.
you struggled to respond as your throat was getting violated by his companion above you, no fucks were given though, you simply reached up to catch the condom in his mouth, grabbing and tossing it across the room.
“dirty girl.” he showed at that.
Kissing the darkening spots he made himself on your inner thighs min slid into the spot between your opened legs, holding onto your available leg and sitting his body as close as possible to yours, balls connected to the wetness of your vulva. his length sat stiffely against your tummy, reaching your mid torso, you both taking notice on how far his cock will reach inside you
he pushed onto the low of your stomach, as he lined himself up with you
you hissed, feeling the burning of the stretch of his enlarged tip inside you, he massaged your thighs to help assist his way into you further quicker, all for his own selfish needs.
yunho was kind enough to give your mouth a break to not overwhelm you around mingi’s size, allowing you to experience what his best friend had to offer fairly. Adjusting his stance to carry your head onto his now kneeled thighs caressing the hairs at your crown. he helping you take all of his unnecessarily large of a best friend, placing his hand over your mouth whenever you’ve gotten too loud.
He finally entered far enough to where moving wasn’t as overwhelming due to his size. He fucked you senselessly, his thrusts were deep and full of lustful need. He grabbed at your waist for support fucking himself into you further. He was painfully skilled at using his cock, each stroke hitting walls you didn’t even know you had, loud moans leaving your mouth.
“you like the way minnie feels inside you, bunny? oh, I bet you do, slutty girl. bet you can’t wait for my cock next, huh?“ a dark voice whispered into your ear, you felt hands everywhere, curses, demands, you were growing dizzy, your orgasm nearing its finale.
“Look him in the eyes as he fucks you, he loves it, bun.”
“Do ya mingi?” you smirked up at the man who’s eyes had now’ve been drenched in the stickiness of his sweaty hair, mouth hanging open retrieving as much oxygen possible.
“yeah, baby. mph, wanna see your eyes lose consciousness when you come.”
He eye fucked you, gaze deep and focused on the fix of your face, memorizing every detail
you were desperately close to your orgasm, the man fucking into your cunt growing sloppy as he neared his too. yunho held your head up in place to force your look on his friend’s
both of you coming together messily all over eachother.
Mingi reached between you both scooping up the waste of his cum on your tummy, lathering the sticky semen in between his fingers, just to shove it past your lips again. He repeated the move and had a try for himself, humming to the taste.
his hand softly rubbed the sides of your hips, the marks of his fingers being left long to stick onto your sensitive body. he caved in, placing a peck at your lips before entirely climbing off of you, leaving you to the very patient man that held you from behind.
Yunho grabbed at your belted knot against the bedframe unbuckling you, replacing the restraint the leather had around your wrists with a single one of his larger hands dragging you across the bed making you harshly land on your feet, ass up face down onto the edge of the bed.
trouble was all you felt, and from the little you knew about yunho , you took notice that he wasn’t the kind to do just a little scolding at misbehaving.
"why can't you follow simple instructions, y/n?" he broke your train of thought.
your cunt was on full display to him arched prettily, your ass cheeks perked up wiggling and clenching around nothing, he spanked you once hard experimentingly, your knees bent to his lack of mercy against you, losing balance you gripped the sheets with the tips of your fingers.
“i add two, every time you move. that’s plus two for bending your knees just now.”
you groaned in frustration murmuring complaints under your breath onto the bedsheets against your flushed face.
“didn’t like the attitude, two more,”
“I didn’t have an atti-
“-two more.”
grabbing a handful of your locks, the man reached down meanly, dominantly his lips hovered the soft of your ear.
“ten total. you unwarrantedly spoke to mingi twice earlier, and you fucked with me three times just now. count along, miss one, and what.? answer.”
“two more..” you broke.
“atta girl.”
“i thought that earlier-?” you continued mumbling confused. pout at your lips from the large amount referring to how harshly he fucked your throat for firstly breaking the established rules.
“you’ve got me confused, silly. that from earlier was for me not for you.”
he interrupted, meanly reaching down rubbing your ass in his palm prior to your punishment almost as if he were to be apologizing to you beforehand.
He spanked you, hard, open handed slap that made your face scrunch shut.
“one.”
“good girl.”
another open handed slap landed onto your right cheek this one harder than the last, you twitched at the pleasurable pain. He tapped your lower back gently to remind you to stay still cheating your way out of added punishment.
“two.” you counted.
“good baby, when we’re done you can touch me again, okay?”
—
and he fulfilled his promise once he got to number ten, finally letting go of your wrists, the indents of his fingers marking at the flesh, he kissed you passionately, gently rubbing at the bruising skin, you moaned in mixed bliss. tucking your face into the collar of his neck.
“you were so good for me. we can stop here if you want, I understand if I went a little too far.”
you heard the seriousness in his voice, you wanted to go all the way, and get your two heaven sent cocks, despite the numbness from your behind.
“.. but want you inside me too, yunho..”
you stuttered tangling your fingers round his thick hair,
"acting like you weren't just fucked and spanked thirty seconds ago, you're fucking dripping for more?”
“fuck what am i gonna do with you.” he lowered beneath you, his breath ghosted your clit.
"she's begging for it" hovered yunho lips over your pussy just to open his mouth, sticking his tongue out and latching it flatly over every hole you were born with. speaking to your cunt as if it had a mind of its own.
you squealed from how he replaced the feel of his tongue with the insert of his member losing no time in sliding himself into you. mingi sat on the same bed you got fucked on, pumping his cock slow to your showcase, testing.
the tall man began slow, careful to not hurt you, the bruises on your thighs and ass forming and blending together eagerly. yunho increased his speed the more your pussy accepted him, he fucked the absolute shit out of you, the second he heard you mumble beg for yet more of him. His dark hair shifted along with the roughness he stroked you with, pounding into the deep gummy tunnel inside you. yunho grew animalistic as you now took all of him, he held back long enough even prior to your punishment, not even he knows how he held back from fucking you so long with your ass getting spanked so aggressively, your hole needy and leaky all over his face flaunting as your ass was being punished.
“still so fucking tight just for me?” he crashed into you deeper, pulling your head up from your hugging stance by your hair. mingi joined in once more seeing how you were reaching your limit, you were suddenly met with the sight of his erection, moist tip kissing the point of your nose, begging for mouth and tongue. You instinctively open your mouth allowing the man in, he’s now become a whimpering mess infront you, the overstimulating effect your tongue had on his head drove him over the edge.
“won’t last long, please yu-.” you sensed a different side to the wofie male you sucked, the tone in his voice dragging out with a whine.
did he just fucking ask permission to cum?
Your breath quickened, a pace irreplaceable, the male behind you broke your back harsher riding his own cock through his and your high, slow messy strokes still sliding in and out of your slippery walls as he approached his climax.
The older male pulled out of you with such quickness that you could’ve sworn you’ve gotten friction burn, along with the same speed the younger positioned himself over your head opposite side from yunho, both pumping their cocks rapidly ontop your face, the lighting creating two huge sticked shadows to place both sides of your face
“open.” the older male gaped at your jaw, milking his cock dry right inside your mouth. mingi followed not long after, deep groans leaving his lips as he grabbed onto your hair smearing leftover cum onto the low of your bottom lip.
you swirled your tongue to collect in your mouth as much of their warm release as possible, cleaning your own face up. The men stared in awe to this, their faces softening into something more similar to need from their postnut.
“wanna kiss.” Mingi licked his lips as if your cum-glazed ones weren’t enough to make the kiss sloppy, he pulled you by your glossy neck, making out with your tongue, him tasting the combination of everything in your mouth carelessly
yunho then legit stole you from mingi’s mouth, competively one-uping his friend’s kiss, he went for the big shots, messy, thick tongue battling between heavy breaths every one of your exhales became his inhales, same boldness to taste you all together.
Mingi took you back and you followed, not having a preference for who’s mouth was sloped on yours, if you were going to do something might as well go full out.
That’s when you felt two tongues fighting to explore your throat, nothing but flesh and liquid filling your mouths. Opening your eyes you watched as both friends kissed you at the same time , their eyes tightly shut but still not giving up the war to claim you as theirs despite it all.
—
after many long minutes of continuous kissing with the men you all laid your worned out bodies onto the bed that belonged to yunho.
your body felt flaccid between theirs, they squashed you, one man nudging into the soft of your neck from behind, hands wrapping around your waist. the other laid infront of you, legs of yours wrapped around their waist, their soft sleepy breaths fanning your temple.
You fell asleep sandwiched between both men, all of you nuzzling together as one, the aroma of sex and cologne still on its high point in the elder’s room. in the mix of your power nap, they carressed your body rewardingly, nothing but sweet rubs and kisses especially onto the areas they’ve gotten carried away with. both men stayed awake, thinking, watching over you, making sure you were okay after.. all of that.
—
“never saw you crack that way before, what’s gotten into you?”
“she didn’t feel like just a fuck, she was-“
“-everything.” the other finished.
“..yeah..”
you heard them lowly tipsly talk amongst each other, faking the rest of your nap the sounds of more bottles clinking together ringed in your ears.
“the way she begged for me, i couldn’t handle myself. don’t know why, her eyes flipped, took control over me.” yunho expressed, lazy fingers raking your sweat-filled hair. he couldn’t keep his hands away from you one form or another.
“-wanna keep her forever, too.” mumbled the other.
“no.. we can’t see her again, she’s dangerous.” replied his friend, both admitting to themselves that you were a serious case. mentally fucking them up with your intensity,
you moved against them slightly, you inhaled and exhaled deeply, chest falling and rising peacefully. your uncovered nipples growing hard again to the cool aftershock tension in the air, the men taking notice as they did absolutely everything having to do with you.
“wake her. won’t be able to stop myself again.”
You were now getting dressed with a set of clothing yunho picked out for you, your ripped clothes being held in a ball against your form. glancing at your cracked phone, dozens of messages and calls from the friends you’ve arrived arrived at the location with, saving your apologies for later.
the air was quiet as you dressed. the men had their faces turned opposite you like privacy was warranted after all you all did together, silent looks being shared between the two.
“gonna go now.” you felt a percentage of guilt to your announcement, yunho refused to turn his head to look back at you from his sat position on the bed as you left, fully dismissing your presence.
mingi though, walked you out all the way downstairs, dodging the leftover mess from the party.
the door closed behind you, all kinds of regretful thoughts raced your head to the way your threeway party ended. making your way out onto the street locating your parked car at the furthest possible spot you found available from the late time you arrived at the get-together.
that’s when you heard your name being called out from a distance, once, twice-
“hey, y/n!” the voice kept calling from behind you, a jogging Mingi approached you from a distance his clear skin reflected the street lamp beautifully, he was so much bigger out there infront you, somehow being outdoors alone with him made it all just so much more intimate.
His boba-turned eyes looked into your own, he pulled the familiar camera out of his pocket quickly opening up the gallery option from the menu before you had any time to protest.
It was suddenly empty. The storage has been completely cleared, every single picture, video, memory gone. The screen displayed a text popup that said ‘images will appear here’
“why’d you do that?” you questioned the handsome man.
“fuck those other girls, y/n. we want this camera full of just you. ”
“yunho’s going nuts right now too, he can’t explain it either.”
your eyes widened to the confession getting taken completely aback, not sure of what to think your mind roaming every single space provided by your subconsciousness.
“need to think about it, all so sudden.” you whispered. your heart jumping in excitement thinking that they were ready to never hear from you again as per usual hookups go.
“we’re not going anywhere, gonna wait for you to return to us, yeah? dunno. we’re not always this. wanna show you we can be kind and gentle too.” his hands, caressed your own, the touch completely different from what you met him as.
His friend stood from the longer distance, his long arms noticeably crossed against his chest as he leaned lazily against the front door to their shared house. His hair sat messy, eyes tucking in the shadows below the oversized hoodie he put back on.
His face sat expressionless, almost with a hint of disappointment for getting his feelings involved with a one night stand.
You looked at him, at a distance behind mingi, you smiling kindly trying to break off the sudden tension he formed against you. you then looked back up at mingi who stood infront you, delicate with his words around you at this new upbringing, eyes hidden with a worry that you’d run away if he pushed too hard.
you lifted your hand up to cup his worried check, pecking him in the the lips, softly. yunho’s tense body language softened around the edges at the sight.
“pick me up for dinner tomorrow at eight, don’t be late. wanna see you both matching too.”
mingi nodded and quickly jogged back to his place longside his best friendlike you’d change your mind if he stuck by too long.
He high-fived him amusingly and instantly shared the news, you saw how yunho’s eyes grinned before the rest of his face did, he looking to you and sharing back that same warm smile you granted him with prior to your comment.
They made their way back into their home, closing the big modern door behind them two, readying for tomorrow’s eight o’clock.
-proofreading tm, if not posted today won’t ever post it lol
You didn’t know this, but the guys could hear you. You thought that they were too invested in playing video games that they wouldn’t be able to hear you playing with yourself and your vibrator, but they heard every single noise coming from your room. They specifically paused their video game so they could hear your soft, stifled moans and sighs of pleasure, all three of them getting real fucking hard with every passing second.
You just needed release, honestly. It felt like it had been centuries since you had a nice, good fuck, and you were super pent up. However, a vibrator did nothing for you, and you didn’t have the energy to use a dildo. You struggled trying to get yourself to cum for a solid several minutes before officially throwing in the towel and calling it a day.
The second they heard the vibrator turn off, the men resumed their video game, all three of them trying their hardest to ignore the lewd sounds coming from your room just moments prior and their rock solid cocks. It certainly did not help when you joined them in the living room wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top— it was hot outside and in the apartment, and you weren’t about to sweat to death— and sitting down in front of the couch right next to Yunho’s legs.
You watched as the three of them fixated on their video game, unaware of the tension starting to build in the room. San was sitting in the arm chair and Mingi in the love seat, both of them stealing secret glances at you while Yunho did his best to keep his knee from bobbing up and down nervously as you rested your head against his leg, nor did he dare look down at you knowing that he would get an eyeful of your cleavage.
The second the round of the game ended, all three of them set their controllers aside and looked right at you. You, however, were still absentmindedly staring at the screen.
"Hey, roomie, you okay?" Yunho was the first to speak and somewhat hesitant at that.
He reached down towards your head and smoothed out your hair, making you tilt your head towards his leg. You let out a heavy sigh, your chest moving heftily, nearly getting all three boys to gag.
"Yeah... I'm fine..."
"That doesn't sound fine to me. Spill."
When you turned to look up at Yunho, your breasts pressed against his leg, making his entire body tense up and flush with heat. Then, you looked up at him with big, sad eyes that made him want to grab you and take you right there, but he held himself back because, oh dear Lord, you were his roommate for crying out loud.
"I'm just... Tired," you answered— and that was the truth. You were tired. You were tired of being so goddamn sexually frustrated, but there was no way in hell you were going to admit that to him or any of your other roommates. "Don't worry about it— It's not like you can do anything about it."
"Nuh-uh, don't do that girl thing where we ask you and then you keep deflecting and then get mad at us for not helping," Mingi spoke up, a little frustration in his voice.
"Yeah, plus, I'm sure if you told us, we could help in some way," San added, his voice nearly cracking as he realized the weight of his words.
"No, guys, seriously. I'm not doing that "thing", and I'm honestly just tired!"
"Would, uh, going to bed help?" Mingi asked while clearing his throat.
"You would think it would..." you muttered.
"Y/N, just tell us," Yunho prompted.
You pressed your lips together in a straight line then looked down at the ground. Oh, I'm just really fucking horny and frustrated and can't find a good guy to fuck is all. As if you could ever really admit that to your three male roommates.
"It's nothing," you said again. "I'm just going to go to bed. Good night, guys."
With that, you got up and left the three of them in the living room. You returned to your room, closed the door, and flung yourself onto your bed with a massive sigh. You stared at the ceiling while you tried to figure out what the hell to do about your fucking situation when you heard a light knock on the door.
"Come in," you said to the person on the other side.
Yunho walked in and closed the door gently behind him before joining you on the bed. You were still laying down and couldn't be bothered to sit up, so Yunho joined you and laid down right next to you, his body turned towards yours.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hi..."
"Look at me," he continued while turning you over so that you were facing him.
His hand caressed your head as the two of you laid across from each other, the repetitive motion easing your anxiety slightly and also turning you on a bit.
"Tell me what's wrong."
"I can't say, Yunho..."
"Then... Can I say something?"
You blinked and nodded. Yunho pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a brief second before trailing his hand from your head down your shoulder and to your waist, his fingers rubbing along the curve of your waist as he rested his hand there. You wanted to tear yourself from your roommate's touch, but he was just checking off all the boxes and making you feel just right that you wondered where on Earth he was going to go from there.
"We heard you earlier," he whispered.
He didn't need to clarify for you to understand exactly what he was talking about. Mortified, you covered your burning face with your hands and held back a scream, your entire body ready to burst into flames.
"And," he continued despite you praying in your head that he would not. "We would like to help... In any way..."
"Yunho, shut up," you nearly sobbed into your hands. "I'm literally so embarrassed right now."
"Y/N, I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say," Yunho let out a slightly exhausted sigh as he pulled your hands away from your face. "Whatever it is that's frustrating you, I'm sure we can help."
The second you looked into Yunho's eyes, your insides flipped. His eyes were usually soft and kind, but at that moment, he had the most intense gaze on you that made you feel like you were a piece of meat and he was starving to death.
That's when you did the unthinkable. You moved forward and left the lightest kiss on his lips before immediately moving back and looking at his reaction, your eyes darting back and forth as you observed every single detail on his face. Next thing you knew, Yunho's hand slipped to your ass, and he brought you forward, his lips meeting yours gently at first. It wasn't until you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head did Yunho get a lot more aggressive. He sucked hard on your lower lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth.
"Tell me," he breathed out, his hot breath hitting your neck. "What do you want?"
"I... I want to be fucked senseless," you responded in between kisses. "Until I can't cum anymore."
In response, Yunho pulled your leg over and around his legs, allowing him to press his crotch against yours, the large bulge sending shivers down your spine. You didn't expect him to be so packed, and he was still wearing his clothes, so it made you nervous to see exactly what he was working with.
"So, then," Yunho pulled back slightly, allowing you to breathe and regain the tiniest bit of sanity— he was an amazing kisser. "Will you let us help you?"
"God, yes, please," you agreed before the words could completely sink in. Gulping nervously, you asked, "What do you mean by us?"
You thought Yunho closed the door completely when he entered your room, but he didn't. Through the slight crack in the door, your other two roommates watched, their hard ons only getting harder and more painful. They wanted so badly to jump in and lend a hand, and they finally got that chance when Yunho turned to the door and said, "Don't just stand there and watch. Come help."
You sat up immediately and watched San and Mingi tentatively enter the room, their faces flushed, their eyes dark. They joined the two of you on the bed, all three men trapping you in the middle of them. Yunho was directly in front of you. He held your chin and tilted your head upwards.
"Suck my fingers, won't you?"
The filthy words leaving his mouth with the sweetest voice had your insides completely trembling. You took his hand in yours and slowly ran your tongue along his index finger before taking it into your mouth. Yunho's breath hitched as you looked up at him and sucked his finger so sensually. He was about to lose his fucking mind when you took another finger into your mouth, a slight whine leaving your lungs as your panties pooled with arousal and your hips moved back and forth impatiently.
San was the first to act. From behind, he reached in between your legs and started rubbing his fingers into your clothed crotch, your hips moving in sync with his fingers. But that wasn't enough. You needed more— way more.
Your hands hooked into the waistband of Yunho's pants and tugged down, his cock catching on the waistband before springing upwards. He was long and pretty, and you tried to calculate how big he actually was, but he barely gave you the chance to do so. He took his fingers out of your mouth and immediately replaced it with his cock. The tip hit the back of your throat almost immediately, making you gag. He placed his hand on the back of your head and guided you slowly until you bottomed out on his full length.
As you sucked Yunho's cock, San pushed you forward so that you were forced onto your hands and knees. He pulled your shorts down and immediately smacked your bare ass as if it was some sort of reflex, making you yelp and moan. His fingers rubbed along your wet folds a couple times before he sunk two of his fingers into your cunt, your toes curling as you felt him finger you roughly.
While San worked on you from behind, Mingi decided to work on your tank top. He scrunched up fabric in the middle and pulled downwards to release your breasts, the man inhaling sharply when he saw them jiggle slightly. He cupped your breast and massaged firmly before he rubbed and tugged on your nipples, your back arching as a result.
At that point, Mingi couldn't take it anymore. He pulled his own massive cock out and somehow moved your face towards his cock. When you took him into your mouth, you realized he was just as long as Yunho, but the corners of your mouth stung slightly because he was definitely girthier. A long, rumbling moan left Mingi's throat when you hollowed out your cheeks and began sucking obnoxiously loud. You were stroking Yunho's cock as you sucked on Mingi's, and San, who wanted some fun of his own, also pulled out his cock, willing you to stroke him too.
You took turns sucking all three men off, your saliva dripping off their dicks as your mouth watered more and more the longer you sucked. But, again, you needed more. You needed them inside you. You needed them to violate you.
Moments later, you were on your hands and knees on your bed once again. Yunho was lying on the bed underneath you, Mingi was kneeling behind you, and San was in front of you. They wasted no time in getting to work. Yunho slipped the tip of his cock into your cunt before holding your waist and sitting you down all the way.
"Oh, fuck! Yunho, you're too big," you nearly sobbed when you felt him hit your cervix when he bottomed out.
"Oh, then you're definitely going to lose it now," Mingi couldn't help but smirk when the tip of his cock prodded into your ass.
You cried loudly when Mingi forced his cock into you inch by inch, your tight hole spreading wide to fit his girth. Your cry was cut short when San stuffed his own cock into your mouth, the man shushing you as he did so.
"Yes, just like that," San groaned. "Fuck, you feel so good..."
You were so occupied by San's cock that you didn't realize Yunho was guiding your waist up and down. You only realized that you were bouncing when you felt Mingi's go deeper inside you. Tingles shot through your body as you felt their cocks rubbing and reaching all the right spots, and when Mingi smacked your ass before grabbing so tightly that his fingernails dug slightly into your skin, you felt tension build up in your stomach at an exponential rate.
Suddenly, San's breathing hitched. He grabbed the back of your head and pulled his cock, but before he could cum, you managed to take him back into your mouth. His cock twitched and throbbed as his cum spurt into your mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his jaw unhinging slightly as he came. After blinking the stars from his eyes, he looked at you and bit his lower lip while petting your hair, his cock still rock solid in your mouth.
You were quickly brought back to the situation when Yunho bucked his hips upwards, his cock practically ramming into your cervix as he came. Your legs trembled, and you let out a choked sob as you felt the tension snap within you. White filled your vision and pleasure swept through your body as you came hard. Yunho raised your waist off his hips entirely, and you squirted all over him and the bed when his cock left you, his own cum mixed with your arousal. Both his and your cum then rolled down your legs slowly, Yunho salivating at the sight and getting turned on all over again.
Mingi's cock was still deep in your ass, and he spread your asscheeks wide before pulling out, the sight of your gaping hole driving him insane. He just had to re-enter you because he was so close to bursting, and he desperately wanted to fill you up with his cum. He rammed his hips against your ass over and over again with so much force that you practically collapsed on Yunho's chest, and he was being so forceful that you were crying with pleasure so loudly that it echoed in the room. To make matters even crazier, Yunho sat up slightly so he could reach in between your legs and finger you quickly while San wrapped his hand around your neck and pressed into the sides lightly, choking you and making you feel absolutely wrecked.
Yunho's fingers curled inside you just right to the point where you came yet again, and this time you came so hard that you clenched tightly around Mingi's cock, the intense pressure making him cum with you. You gasped for air and moaned loudly when San let go of your neck to rest his hand on your cheek as if to praise you. He tugged on your lower lip with his thumb, making you instinctually take his thumb into your mouth and sucking on it.
Mingi pulled out and spread your ass once more to look at his work. He watched as your hole clenched around air several times before the cum he shot deep into you started coming to the surface and trickling out and rolling down your ass and leg.
"Shit, this is so fucking hot," Mingi uttered to himself as he couldn't tear his eyes away from you. "You're so fucking hot."
"Y/N is so fucking hot," San added as he tapped his cock against your cheek. "Very fucking hot... We should do this more often."
"What if..." you breathed out— you were still catching your breath. "What if I'm not done with you yet?"
"Hmm? You still don't feel good?" Yunho teased as he moved your hair from your face, willing you to look at him. "Do you want more?"
genre: non idol!au, college!au, fluff, kind of a slow burn with a very happy ending, mutual pining!!!!!!!! he falls first and hard, she too falls hard and fast :)))
word count: 25k, deadass.
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warnings: acquaintances to lovers, economics jumpscare, reader is a tutor and mingi is your not so average frat dude that does an athletic scholarship, eventual smut, praise kink!!!!!, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dry humping, lowk breeding kink mingi freaky, switch!mingi & reader, softdom!mingi, spanking (?), possessive!mingi, cockwarming (a lil!) / lmk if i missed any!
author's note: guys i finally locked in!!! this story has been such a bitch to write but i'm finally happy with it lmfaoaoo. the only reason why it took so long its cause i deadass remembered all my econ concepts from my first year at uni and i got flashbacks sooooo. if its inaccurate don't come for me. also ngl mingi ain't even that much of a fratboy, he is but he's a little nerd!! you'll see - i hope you guys enjoy!!
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
You hear him before you see him. The sound is impossible to miss—someone’s torn the universe open and stuffed it with a live wire; the room buzzes, vibrates, orbits around a single axis. Song Mingi is that axis, black hair messy from hands that are never his own, smile bright enough to reflect off the bottles lining the kitchen counter. It’s the kind of house party that exists more as myth than reality until you’re standing in the middle of it, your feet sticky with last weekend’s spilled vodka, your ears ringing from bass and laughter and the high-pitched screeching of people who either want to be him or be with him.
You don’t want either. In fact, you don’t really want to be here, but your roommate insisted—a rare Friday night without any assignments due—and now she’s traded you for a swarm of sweaty college kids in the living room. You’re left clutching a warm can of seltzer, surveying the landscape like a tourist on safari: here, the drunken pack of freshman girls hunched over a phone for a group selfie; there, the duo of varsity rowers relishing about morning practice, each trying to outdo the other’s misery; everywhere, the constant, inescapable gravitational pull of him.
He’s posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. She’s whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. It’s a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingi’s eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that he’s already bored. He’s hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.
You’ve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but he’s never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.
But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.
You don’t realise it at first; you’re half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the university’s new housing policy for the department group chat. There’s a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guard—the pure concentration of it, as if he’s seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.
Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe it’s the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingi’s mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.
Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, “Didn’t think this was your scene.”
You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. “It really isn’t, my roommate dragged me out.”
He grins, all teeth and promise. “I have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someone’s Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if you’re still talking to Mingi. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. He asks what you’re studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.
“If this soccer thing doesn’t work out, I’ll intern at some start-up company,” he explained. “Or I’ll sell feet pics.”
You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you.
By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back again—at your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.
You leave before he does. There’s no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitations—just a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You don’t look back. By the time you’re out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like it’s starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.
Inside, though, Mingi doesn’t. He’s still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesn’t move—drink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.
A shoulder bumps into his.
“What’s with that look on your face?”
Mingi blinks, like he’s just been pulled back into the room. “What look?”
Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. “That look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.”
Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.
══════════════════
Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kim’s Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and you’ve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, you’re already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.
Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.
He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t his class, or at least it hasn’t been for the past six weeks. You’ve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if it’s magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday night’s—smaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until he’s standing right next to you.
“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.
You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. “So, how’d you find the party?”
The question is casual, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than he’s letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway?
“It was... something,” you reply, deliberately vague. “Though I’m surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.”
He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. “What, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?”
“The evidence suggested a statistical probability.”
“Maybe I’m an outlier.” He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—smelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. “Or I just needed the right motivation to show up.”
Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.
“Hey,” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying it’s unstable in the long run?”
The question catches you off guard—not because it’s difficult, but because it’s astute. “Because expectations adjust,” you whisper back. “Workers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.”
He nods, considering this. “So it’s only reliable as a short-term predictor?”
“Yeah, you got it.”
Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questions—thoughtful ones that reveal he’s not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though that’s undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.
“The Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,” he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t that contradict what we’re seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.”
You stare at him for a beat too long. “That’s... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.”
A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if he’s won something. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, you’ve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. He’s taken actual notes. He’s asked intelligent questions. He’s made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. It’s disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what you’re saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.
“So,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?”
The invitation is transparent—he doesn’t need your help understanding the Phillips curve—but there’s something almost endearing about his attempt.
“Is that your go-to line?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. “Pretend to need academic help to get a date?”
“Only with the smart ones.” His grins unapologetically. “Is it working?”
You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. “No. Nice try, though.”
Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.
“You know what this means, right?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Now I have to come up with something better for Wednesday’s class.”
“Wednesday’s class?” You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. “You’re coming back?”
Mingi looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Of course. I paid for this course, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, “I’ve got a new reason to show up now.”
Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, he’s backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.
“See you Wednesday,” he calls. “Maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered that coffee date.”
You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know you’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, you’re already wondering what he’ll come up with on Wednesday.
══════════════════
True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like you’re the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.
At first, you’re suspicious—waiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.
You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. He’ll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformation—how he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.
It’s Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. You’ve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.
“I need to ask you something,” he says, no preamble, no charming smile.
You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. “Okay?”
He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “I need a tutor.”
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesn’t come, you set down your pen. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been getting the material just fine.”
“No, I haven’t.” His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. “I’ve been barely keeping up. The midterm’s in two weeks, and I’m—“ He stops, jaw tightening. “I need to pass this class with at least a B+.”
“You’ve been answering questions in class,” you counter, confused by this sudden admission. “You made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.”
Mingi’s laugh is hollow. “Yeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Look—“ He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.”
You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. “Why are you telling me this now? And why me?”
“You’re the smartest person in this class. I–I don’t know who else to ask…” His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. “I think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.”
Something doesn’t add up. You’ve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. “I don’t understand–”
Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. “I’m on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.” He runs a hand over his face. “My advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I don’t get at least a B+ on this midterm, I’m screwed.”
The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didn’t expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, you’ve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny him— to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask, softer now.
“Because it’s embarrassing?” He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. I’ve been fighting it since high school.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.
“I can’t afford a professional tutor,” he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “Most of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.”
You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But there’s something about seeing him like this—defences down, pride set aside—that makes it difficult.
“If I do this,” you say slowly, “there would be conditions.”
Hope flickers across his face. “Name them.”
“First, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the cost—this is work, not charity.” You hold up a finger. “Second, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.” Another finger joins the first. “And third, no messing around. This isn’t a backdoor way to—I don’t know—whatever it is you might be thinking.”
“You think I’m using this as an excuse to hit on you?” For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. “That would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.”
“I’m serious, Mingi.”
“So am I.” The smile fades. “I need this scholarship. Please.”
You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. “Fine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.”
The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.
As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isn’t just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was real—you’re almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. You’ve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if you’re falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, you’re already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.
Surely, this little arrangement you have going on won’t be a mistake… Right?
══════════════════
You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. You’ve been overthinking this all day—wondering if he’ll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.
At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. He’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “The line at the café was insane.”
You eye the coffee sceptically. “Is this a bribe?”
He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. “No, it’s a thank you. Here, try this.” He slides one cup toward you. “Oh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because I’m starving.”
The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.
“S’alright, I wanted to.” He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. “So, where do we start?”
For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal he’s been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for.
“So if technological progress is exogenous in this model,” he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, “then what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?”
“Exactly.” You can’t help the surprise in your voice. “That’s one of the model’s main limitations. It doesn’t explain where technological progress comes from.”
He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. “Which is why we need endogenous growth theory.”
You stare at him. “You’ve been reading ahead.”
A hint of his usual smirk appears. “Don’t sound so shocked. I told you I’m locked in for our sessions.”
“Reading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,” you point out.
“Maybe I’m trying to impress my tutor.” He winks, but there’s something different about his teasing now—less performative.
You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Focus, Mingi.”
“I am focused,” he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. “See? I’m being a model student.”
“A model student wouldn’t have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,” you counter, but there’s no bite to your words.
“True.” He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.”
You ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Haha. Very funny.”
As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. He’s attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesn’t get frustrated—instead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.
“Like this?” he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.
Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.
“That’s...actually perfect,” you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. “You got it exactly right.”
His smile is different from any you’ve seen before—not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. It’s smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.
“I have a good teacher,” he says simply.
You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. “Let’s try another one.”
Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.
“See? Not just another dumb jock,” he says, but the joke doesn’t land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.
“I never thought you were dumb,” you say carefully. “Unmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.”
He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. “Most people don’t make that distinction.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” he agrees, studying your face. “You’re definitely not.”
The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. You’re the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.
“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “We should probably wrap up.”
Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. “Same time Friday?”
You hesitate. You hadn’t planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress he’s made in just one session is undeniable.
“You don’t have practice on Friday?”
“Not until seven.” He zips up his backpack. “Unless you’re busy.”
“No, I’m not busy.” The admission comes too quickly. “Friday works.”
As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.
“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he says quietly, shouldering his bag. “Most people would have.”
The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. “You didn’t give me a reason to.”
You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.
“I can walk you home,” he offers. “It’s dark.”
“I live in the opposite direction from you,” you point out. “It’s fine, I’ve been walking home alone for two years now.”
He grins. “Just being a gentleman.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Ouch.” He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”
You laugh at his dramatic act. “Goodnight, Mingi.”
“Goodnight, Miss tutor.” He takes a step backward, still facing you. “Dream of fiscal multipliers.”
“That’s your homework, not mine,” you call after him.
His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. It’s only when you’re halfway home that you realize you’re still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.
You tell yourself it’s just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.
As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Friday’s session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if he’ll bring coffee again, if he’ll sit as close, if he’ll look at you with that same focused intensity. It’s purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you don’t quite believe it.
Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. “So? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?”
“It was just tutoring,” you say, setting down your bag. “He’s actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.”
Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. “That’s it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?”
You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.
“Nope, nothing at all,” you deadpanned at your roommate.
As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions you’ve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.
══════════════════
The following Friday, you’re setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.
“Okay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.” He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.
You eye the offerings suspiciously. “Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be a bribe?”
“Hm? For what?” He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.
“I don’t know. Extra help? A better grade?” You push the coffee slightly away. “I can’t accept this, you’ve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.”
Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. “It’s just coffee, don’t sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.”
You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. “Fine.”
His smiles. “If I wanted to bribe you, I’d need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.”
The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingi’s eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. It’s still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldn’t have expected.
“Thank you,” you hummed, setting up your materials. “Don’t think this earns you any leniency on today’s session.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, already pulling out his completed homework—all of it done correctly, you note with surprise.
Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.
“No liquid bribery today?” you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.
His face falls. “The line was insane, and I didn’t want to be late.” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “I can go get some if you—“
“I was joking,” you interject quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll make it up to you next week,” he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.
The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.
“Wha— Mingi, this is…” you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. “That place is twenty minutes from campus.”
He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. “My morning run took me that way.”
“Your morning run took you four kilometres out of your way?”
He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I’m an athlete. You could say that I’ve got excellent... endurance. A little detour doesn’t bother me.”
You roll your eyes, you want to press the issue but are distracted when he pulls out the work you assigned him the previous session. He’s not only completed all the assigned questions but has tackled the bonus problems you included as an afterthought. His work shows an elegant approach to the material that makes you pause.
“This solution,” you point to his work on comparative advantage models, “where did you learn this method?”
“Oh,” he looks almost embarrassed. “I was reading this paper by Stiglitz that mentioned a similar approach, so I adapted it. Is it wrong?”
You blink at him. “You’re reading Joseph Stiglitz for fun?”
“God no, not for fun,” he says, looking uncomfortable with your scrutiny. “I was trying to understand why the models in class weren’t clicking for me. Sometimes I need to see the bigger picture.”
“You know,” you say slowly, “you might actually enjoy Behavioural Economics next semester. It challenges a lot of the classical assumptions.”
His eyes light up. “That’s the unit with Professor Ryu, right? I’ve been wanting to take that.”
“Wait, seriously?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That class is notoriously difficult.”
“So am I, apparently,” he scoffed, but there’s no bite to it. “At least according to my tutor.”
The sessions continue, and with each one, your perception of Mingi shifts. When discussing economic inequality, he brings up points about systemic barriers that show he’s thought deeply about privilege—including his own. During a session on game theory, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of strategic thinking that surpasses most of your other students that you tutor.
“It’s like poker,” he explains when you comment on his grasp of Nash equilibrium. “Everyone thinks it’s about the cards, but it’s really about understanding people’s patterns and incentives.”
“You play?” you ask, imagining loud frat house games with red cups and shouting.
“My grandfather taught me,” he mumbled, something softer in his expression. “He was an economics professor, actually.”
The revelation hangs between you, another piece of the puzzle that is Song Mingi. You want to ask more but sense his reluctance to elaborate. Maybe another day, you hope.
══════════════════
As your midterm approaches, your sessions intensify. You meet three times in the final week, once in the campus coffee shop when the library study rooms are all booked. Mingi still insists on paying for your drinks and snacks.
“Okay hear me out, I’m applying economic concepts for when I order us coffee,” he announced before you can comment. “You’re providing a service, I’m compensating you beyond our agreed terms because the value exceeds the price.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I said two sessions ago,” you point out.
“I told you, I pay attention,” he corrected, and something in his tone makes you look up from your notes.
He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher—something more complex than what he shows the rest of the world. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. The night before the exam, you receive a text from him. Multiple actually.
The night before the exam, you receive a text from him: If monopolistic competition exhibits zero economic profit in the long run, why do firms bother entering the market?
You smile despite yourself and type back: Non-monetary incentives. Brand loyalty, market positioning, the satisfaction of seeing their competitors throw a bitch fit.
His response comes immediately: So spite is an economic motivator? They just like me fr.
You laugh out loud, drawing a curious look from your roommate.
“Is that Mingi?” she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Just a last-minute economics question,” you answered, trying to sound casual.
“Mhmm,” she hums skeptically. “Smiling over econ, right…”
You ignore her, sending Mingi one final message: Get some sleep. Economics rewards the well-rested. His reply makes your heart do something complicated.
I will, doll. Thank you.
On exam day, you spot him across the lecture hall. He catches your eye and gives you a small nod—no flashy smile, no charming wink, just quiet determination. For some reason, this affects you more than any of his rehearsed moves ever did that you observed in the past.
When Professor Kim calls time, you watch him hand in his exam with confidence in his posture that wasn’t there six weeks ago. As students file out, he makes his way to your seat.
“How’d it go?” you asked as you slowly gathered your things.
“I think,” he hums, “that Professor Kim might actually have to give me an A.”
“Don’t get cocky,” you scoff at his delusion, a small feeling of pride swells in your chest.
“Never,” he agrees solemnly, then ruins it with a grin. “I did crush that section on market failures. Turns out my experience with failed relationships was finally useful for something.”
You roll your eyes, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. “And here I thought we’d made progress beyond that frat boy persona of yours.”
“Old habits,” he nudges you with his elbow, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom. “Seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”
You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of how his stride has adjusted to match yours. It’s these small, unconscious accommodations that you find yourself noticing more and more lately.
“So,” he clears his throat, breaking the quiet as you cross the quad, “My frat is hosting our end-of-semester bash this weekend.” His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. “Saturday night, starting around nine.”
You keep your eyes focused ahead. “I’m sure half the campus is already going and planning their outfits.”
“Probably,” he agrees with a light laugh. “But I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come?”
When you don’t immediately respond, he adds quickly, “As a thank you for helping me ace this exam. I mean, I’m pretty sure I aced it.”
You slow your pace, finally turning to look at him properly. “You’re inviting me to your party? Me?” The disbelief in your voice is unmistakable.
“Is that so hard to believe?” His expression is somewhere between amused and offended.
“Mingi, I don’t do parties.” You adjust your bag strap, uncomfortable with how this conversation is veering into territory you’ve carefully avoided. “You of all people should know that.”
He frowns, “Don’t you want to celebrate? You helped me pull off a minor academic miracle here.”
“I think you’re exaggerating your previous academic despair,” you hesitated. “Besides, I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd.”
“My crowd?” He scoffs. “You’ve never even met my friends.”
“I’ve seen enough from a distance, I know enough.” You start walking again, faster now. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll pass.”
His long strides enable him to keep up with your pace. “Come on, just for an hour. You can leave if you hate it.”
“Mingi—”
“One hour, doll” he repeats. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll personally ensure no one spills anything on you and tries to bother you the whole night.”
Despite yourself, you laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I know my crowd.” His smile is softer now, more genuine. “Please? I want you to see that there’s more to us—to me—than the stereotypes.”
You study his face, searching for the manipulation, But all you see is sincerity and hope.
“Fine,” you groaned, not quite believing the words coming out of your mouth. “One hour. That’s it. I’m leaving the second someone tries to get me to play beer pong.”
His face lights up. “Deal. I’ll text you the details.”
As you part ways, you wonder what exactly you’ve just agreed to. You’ve spent nearly three years avoiding exactly this kind of social situation. Loud music, drunk students, the messy intersection of alcohol and attraction. Yet somehow, when Mingi asked, your carefully constructed refusal crumbled.
Your roommate squeals when you tell her your weekend plans.
“You’re going to the end of sem party? With Mingi?” She clutches your arm dramatically. “This is basically getting an invite from the MET gala!”
“It’s just a thank you for the tutoring,” you explain, trying to sound casual as you sort through your closet. “I’m only staying for an hour.”
“Sure,” she drew out the word with obvious disbelief. “That’s why you’re trying on your fourth outfit.”
You drop the dress you’ve been holding up. “I just want to look appropriate.”
“Appropriate for what? Or is it for making mister Song Mingi realise what he’s been missing?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“For not looking like I’m trying too hard,” you correct her, settling on dark jeans and a simple top that manages to be both casual and flattering. “This isn’t a date.”
“Whatever you say.” She flops back on your bed. “By the way, you should know that Mingi doesn’t personally invite just anyone to these things. Especially not someone he’s been staring at across classrooms for months.”
“He hasn’t been—“ you begin, but stop when you remember all those times you felt his gaze on you in the library and the lecture hall.
“Oh honey,” your roommate giggles, “for someone so smart, you are so stupid.”
══════════════════
On the night of the party, you and your closet have declared war. What began as a gentle sifting through hangers two hours ago has devolved into a cyclone of black crop tops, frayed denim, and shoes you forgot you owned. Your roommate’s voice, pitch-perfect for the college musical she never auditioned for, belts a running commentary from the bed: “You look hot in that, but hotter in the other,” and, later, “If you don’t wear that skirt, I will.” For every option you parade, she offers a one-woman panel’s worth of praise, criticism, and lewd suggestions, but when you finally emerge from the pile in a black singlet and the aforementioned denim mini, she sits up so abruptly the bedsprings squeal.
“Yes,” she hollered, pointing both index fingers at you as if firing a pair of pistols, “That’s the one! Fuck you look good.”
You tug at the hem, self-conscious. The skirt is so short your thighs feel like they might spontaneously combust with the friction of walking, and the top is cut low enough to leave no room . The outfit is, by college standards, conservative. By your standards, the edge of a personal revolution. You pace, boots heavy and loud. You layer on a thrifted blazer, then throw it off, then drape it over one arm for insurance. You sit on the edge of the bed, stand again, cross the room to the mirror, assess your reflection from the most punishing angles. You practice smiling in a way that suggests effortless fun rather than “I’m in hell and wish I were home in the comfort of my bed.”
Your roommate paints your lips red, then wipes it off with a tissue, then reapplies in a shade closer to your natural colour.
“There,” she beams, “like you rolled out of bed looking like this.”
You try not to look at the clock, but it’s everywhere—on your phone, on the microwave, in the stomp of boots hitting the tile as you stalk the kitchenette looking for a cup to fill, then abandon. Your hands shake when you pour yourself a glass of water. You spill some on your wrist, wipe it away, then notice your palms are already slicked with sweat.
“Stop fidgeting.” Your roommate’s tone is gentle, but there’s a note of command you recognize from years of friendship.
She takes your hands in hers, holds them steady, and says, “You’re just going to a party. With a boy. Not even a date.” She squeezes your fingers and grins. “You should be more excited! There might be hook-ups, or at least drama. At the very least, there’ll be free food.”
You want to laugh, but your stomach is a tight fist. You’ve spent the last three years avoiding exactly this scenario—rowdy house parties, the unwritten social contract of collegiate fun, the humiliation of standing awkwardly in a crowd of people who all seem to know exactly how to move, talk, flirt. You’re not anti-social, not truly, but your preferred company is to be alone with your trusted circle of friends. The thought of plunging into a frat house, even for an hour, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
And yet. There’s Mingi, the wild card. He’s never made you feel like a project, or an obligation, or a checkmark on a list of collegiate experiences. When he smiles at you, it isn’t the rehearsed, camera-ready grin you see him use on campus tour guides or in group photos. It’s something softer, quieter, reserved for moments when he thinks no one else is watching. You remember the way he said “please” when he invited you, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours even after you tried to look away. He made it sound like this party wasn’t just another party, but an extension of the strange, fragile thing growing between the two of you. You’re not sure you trust it, but you want, for once, to try.
You stall in the doorway, hand poised on the knob, running through possible disasters. Your roommate senses your hesitation, materializing at your side with a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.
“Remember,” she says softly, “you’re not obligated to like it. Just survive the hour, and if you hate it, I’ll be waiting with post-party ramen and a debrief.” She presses the blazer into your hands and shoves you gently toward the elevator.
You take the stairs instead, one flight, then another, legs trembling with anticipation. The campus is alive with spring: the air is thick with the cloying perfume of flowering trees, the distant thump of bass from speakers, the migration of students in clusters, each group moving toward its own temporary destiny. You keep your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary conversation. You find yourself counting steps, then counting heartbeats, and by the time you reach the block of houses that host the Greek life ecosystem, you’ve rehearsed twenty variations of how to say hello without sounding desperate. You pass a group of girls in matching pastel tank tops, their laughter ricocheting like pinballs off the sidewalk. You duck your head, wondering if they recognize you from Intro to Business Law, but they breeze past without a second glance. In the darkness, your reflection glances back at you from every window: a stranger, confident and composed, even as anxiety gnaws at your insides.
You approach the frat house, the lights already blazing, music leaking from every crack in the siding. In the front yard, a couple makes out with the desperation of people who know they’ll regret it in the morning. A boy in a toga sprints past, pursued by a girl wielding a pool noodle. The porch is a wall of bodies, some familiar, most not, and for a moment you consider walking straight past, circling the block, and returning to your dorm in defeat.
You almost do. You’re on the verge of turning around when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mingi: Where are you? I’ll come out front.
Your thumb hovers over the screen. Before you can reply, the front door swings open and there he is—Mingi, framed in the doorway like some ridiculous cologne advertisement. He’s wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your mouth go inexplicably dry. His hair is styled differently tonight, swept back to reveal his forehead in a way that transforms his entire face.
He scans the yard, eyes skipping past you once before snapping back, recognition dawning. When his gaze lands on you properly, something shifts in his expression—his confident smile faltering, eyes widening slightly.
“Oh,” he says, just that one syllable hanging in the air between you. He clears his throat. “I—you—“ He stops again, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.
You feel heat creeping up your neck, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. “Is something wrong?” you ask, tugging self-consciously at your skirt.
The question seems to snap him out of his daze. His trademark smile returns, but there’s something different about it—something genuine that settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite name.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he finally blurts out. “You just look... different.” He takes a step closer. “Good different I mean– Like really good different.”
You duck your head, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just a skirt and top. Nothing special.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your blush deepen. His confidence seems to grow in direct proportion to your bashfulness, and he extends his hand to you. “Come on. Let me introduce you to some people who aren’t total disasters.”
You place your hand in his, telling yourself it’s just to be polite, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends a current up your arm. He guides you through the crowded doorway, his body naturally creating a buffer between you and the jostling partygoers. You’re fully aware of his proximity, the cologne he’s wearing, the way his hand occasionally brushes against the small of your back as he leads you deeper into the house.
The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls to make space. The kitchen beyond is crowded with people mixing drinks and laughing over red cups. Mingi steers you away from both, toward a slightly quieter corner where a group of guys are engaged in animated conversation.
“Hey,” he calls out, and seven heads turn in perfect unison. “This is my econ tutor, the one I’ve been telling you guys about.”
You’re suddenly faced with an assembly of some of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in one place, each with a distinctive style that somehow works in harmony with the others. They regard you with varying expressions of curiosity and amusement.
“So you’re the one who got our Mingi to actually open a textbook,” a guy with sharp features and an even sharper smile walks up to the both of you. “I’m Hongjoong. House president.”
“Co-president,” Mingi corrects, rolling his eyes.
“Pfft whatever dude,” Hongjoong waves dismissively. “This is Seonghwa—“ he gestures to a tall, elegant-looking man who offers you a polite nod, “—Yunho—“ a friendly giant with dark hair raises his cup in greeting, “—Yeosang—“ a guy with delicate features and knowing eyes gives you a small smile, “—San—“ an energetic man with dimples deep enough to drown in waves enthusiastically, “—Wooyoung—“ a mischievous-looking guy with red hair winks at you, “—and Jongho.” The last member, compact but powerful-looking, gives you a respectful bow.
“Nice to finally meet the person who’s been occupying all our friend’s time,” Wooyoung whistles.
“And thoughts,” San adds, earning him a death glare from Mingi.
You shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze, but their smiles are genuine, lacking the judgment you expected from Mingi’s inner circle.
“Don’t believe anything they tell you about me,” Mingi says, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your ear. “Especially Wooyoung. He’s a pathological liar.”
“Nuh uh, that’s just not true!” Wooyoung protests. “I only lie on Tuesdays and public holidays.”
The group erupts in laughter, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing along. There’s an easy camaraderie among them that feels inclusive rather than exclusive, drawing you in despite your reservations.
“Mingi says you’re top of the econ department,” Seonghwa mentioned, his voice calm and measured. “That’s impressive.”
Before you can respond, Yunho chimes in: “He wouldn’t shut up about how you explained game theory using poker analogies. Said it was ‘revolutionary’ or some shit.”
“I did not say revolutionary,” Mingi denies, but the pink tinging his ears tells a different story.
“You did,” Jongho confirms flatly. “Multiple times. Over breakfast.”
You glance at Mingi, oddly touched that he’s spoken about your tutoring sessions to his friends. “It wasn’t anything special. He’s actually really quick to grasp concepts once they’re explained properly.”
Mingi grins at the group. “See? I told you guys I’m not just a pretty face.” He sticks his tongue out at them, more out of habit than real offence.
“No one said you were just a pretty face,” Hongjoong replies, tone even. “We said you’re a pretty face that just so happened to be a little bit stupid.”
Mingi scoffs under his breath, but he’s smiling anyway. “That’s not better.”
“It’s accurate,” Hongjoong snorted.
The banter continues, and you find yourself relaxing into it, surprised by how comfortable you feel among them. They’re not what you expected—not the stereotypical frat boys you’ve spent years avoiding. They’re smart, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful in their questions to you.
After a while, Mingi leans in again. “How are you feeling? Do you want a drink? Or maybe some air?”
You nod gratefully. “Fresh air would be nice.”
He places his hand lightly on your back again, guiding you toward a set of French doors that lead to a back deck. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat of bodies packed inside. The deck is strung with fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden boards, and surprisingly, it’s empty except for a few potted plants.
“The secret balcony,” Mingi explains, seeing your questioning look. “Off-limits to regular party guests. One of the perks of being house leadership.”
“So I’m not a regular party guest?” you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the railing.
“Of course not, you are far from it,” he mutters under his breath that makes your breath falter.
You both fall silent for a moment, the bass from inside creating a muted heartbeat beneath your conversation. You can’t quite decide what’s more surprising—that you’re here like this, or that it’s with Mingi of all people. You settle on not thinking too hard about either.
“Your friends are nice,” you finally break the silence. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He leans next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
“Loud, obnoxious frat bros talking about the typical one night stand and having the collective IQ of a houseplant.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, they can be loud and obnoxious too. But they’re also the best people I know.”
He pauses, looking out over the dimly-lit yard. “We all have our reasons for being here, you know? Hongjoong’s parents expected him to join their firm right after high school, but he wanted to go to college first. Seonghwa supports his younger siblings through school. Jongho’s on a full academic scholarship.”
You turn to look at him, surprised by this glimpse behind the fraternity façade. “And you? What’s your reason?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its usual confident edge. “My grandfather, the one I told you about, He was the first person in our family to go to college. He wanted to see me graduate more than anything.” His fingers tap against the railing, a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “He passed away during my senior year of high school.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but...” He went on. “I promised him I’d make the most of college. Not just academically, but the whole experience. The brotherhood, the leadership opportunities, all of it.”
“Is that why you’re so determined to keep your GPA up? For your scholarship?”
“Partly,” he admits. “Mainly because I don’t want to just be the party guy, you know? I want people to realise I’m capable and somewhat intelligent.”
Without really thinking about it, you close the remaining distance just enough for your hand to brush his. It’s tentative at first, almost accidental. When he doesn’t pull away, your fingers curl lightly around his. Mingi stills. For someone who’s always in motion, always talking, always performing, the sudden quiet in him is striking. His gaze drops to where your hands are joined, like he’s trying to process it, like this—you—is the one thing he never quite learned how to anticipate.
“It’s not a bad thing,” you say softly, your thumb brushing once, unconsciously, over his knuckles. “Wanting people to see more than what meets the eye.”
His hand shifts in yours, not pulling away—settling. Grounding.
“I know what it’s like,” you add, quieter now. “Being reduced to something simple. Convenient. Even if it’s… impressive on paper.”
That earns a small huff of laughter from him, but malice behind it. Just something tired, something honest.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess we’re both victims of stereotyping huh.”
You smile faintly. “I guess we are.”
And then it hits you. The warmth. The contact. The fact that your hand is still wrapped around his. Your fingers twitch slightly, awareness crashing in all at once, and you pull back—just a little too quickly to be entirely casual. The absence of him is immediate, the cool night air slipping into the space where his warmth had been. Mingi notices. Of course he does. Something flickers across his face, it was subtle but you saw it there momentarily. A small dip at the corner of his mouth, a hesitation like he almost reaches for you again before stopping himself. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced by something lighter, easier, like he’s filing the moment away instead of questioning it. He clears his throat, glancing out in the distance.
“Careful,” he teases. “Keep doing that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
You scoff, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Tragic,” he sighs dramatically. “Here I was, planning our future.”
“In your dreams.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re not already there.”
You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway, the tension dissolving into something softer, more familiar. For a moment, you simply stand together in comfortable silence, watching the party unfold below. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the angles you’ve studied during countless tutoring sessions.
“Can I ask you something?” he says finally, turning to face you.
“You just did.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why did you agree to tutor me? I asked some other people in our class and they said you turned them down.”
You consider the question, surprised by his awareness of your other rejections. “Honestly? You seemed desperate. Plus you actually pay me on time.”
“Ouch,” he winces, but his smile remains. “At least you’re honest.”
“Why did you ask me?” you counter. “There are plenty of other tutors on campus.”
He looks down at his hands, suddenly serious. “You were the only one who looked at me and didn’t see what everyone else saw.”
“And what’s that?”
“You know the usual stereotypes,” He shrugs, a gesture that carries more weight than it should. “Everyone thinks they know me because they hear all about my reputation.”
Something in his tone makes you pause, recognizing a sentiment that echoes your own experience. “I get that,” you say quietly. “People are like that with me too. They think what we are at face value is what we truly are.”
“Isn’t it?” His question is gentle, not challenging.
You shake your head. “No more than you’re just a frat boy who happens to look good in a button-down.”
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet yours, “You think I look good?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” you scold as you bite back a smile. “Your ego is big enough already.”
“There you go again, humbling me.” His gaze softens as he steps closer. “I like that about you. You never let me get away with anything.”
You tilt your head, crossing your arms loosely. “Yeah? I know there’s a lot of things you like about me.”
His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you continue, feigning nonchalance. “My intelligence. My work ethic. My incredible patience for difficult students—”
“—woah, woah,” he cuts in, laughing. “When did this turn into a self-evaluation?”
“You asked,” you shoot back. “I’m just being thorough.”
He steps closer, close enough now that the teasing edge softens into something warmer. “You missed a few.”
“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
“The way you pretend not to care,” he responded quietly. “But still show up anyway.”
Your breath catches slightly, but you recover. “That’s not a quality. That’s just… basic decency.”
“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “And the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
You freeze. “I do not—”
“You do,”
You swallow, your voice coming out just above a whisper. “What does that look mean, according to you?”
He studies you for a moment, like he’s debating whether to say it.
“Like you’re trying really hard not to like me.”
Your heart stumbles over itself.
“That’s a bold assumption,” you manage.
“Is it, doll?”
There’s barely any space left between you now. You’re aware of everything. How close he was to you, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Your own breath feels too loud in your chest.
“This feels like you’re fishing for compliments again,” you say, but your voice lacks its usual bite.
“Maybe,” he admits easily. “Only from you, though.”
The honesty of it lands heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your side, like they remember what it felt like to hold his hand. Like they want to again.
“Mingi—” you start, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say.
He leans in slightly. Not rushed. Not cocky. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t. Your eyes flick down to his lips for just a second—long enough for him to notice—and that’s all it takes. The air shifts, something unspoken settling between you as you both lean in, slow and almost hesitant—
“Yo! Mingi!”
The moment shatters. You both jerk back slightly as the deck door swings open. Wooyoung steps out, slightly breathless, eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate recognition—and absolutely zero subtlety.
“Oh shit,” he says, smirking. “Am I interrupting something?”
“What do you think?,” Mingi says flatly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Tragic,” his red haired friend replies, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Hongjoong’s looking for you. Something about the DJ setup dying and you being ‘useless but still required.’”
Mingi closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “Of course he is.”
Wooyoung gaze shifts back to you, smile softening. “Hey, you’re staying, right? It’s just getting good.”
You hesitate. And Mingi notices.
His attention snaps back to you, something apologetic in his expression. “I—give me ten minutes? I’ll come find you.”
You glance toward the house, the noise, the crowd, the overwhelming swirl of everything you’ve been holding at bay all night. Then back at him. At the almost-kiss still lingering in the space between you. By the way your chest feels too full, too tight, like you don’t quite know what to do with everything you’re suddenly feeling.
“I think…” you start, then pause, shaking your head slightly. “I should probably head out.”
His expression drops, just a fraction. “Already?”
“I stayed longer than I planned,” you say, offering a small smile. “I have an early morning.”
It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he nods slowly, stepping back just enough to give you space—even if he doesn’t seem to want t
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming. I can walk you–”
“No need, I can see myself out,” you reply softly. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a really good time.”
There’s a beat. Something unfinished is hanging between you.
“Get home safe,” he adds, quieter now.
“I will.”
You turn before you can overthink it. Before you can look at him again and change your mind and make your way back through the house. The music feels louder now, the lights harsher, the press of bodies more suffocating than before. By the time you step outside into the cool night air, your head is spinning. Not from the party. From him. From the way he looked at you like that. You exhale slowly, starting down the path back to your dorm, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.
Your key turns in the lock with a sharp click that echoes through the empty hallway. The walk back to your dorm passed in a blur. Your mind replaying those moments on the deck over and over, his face so close to yours, the almost-kiss that’s now branded into your memory as a question mark.
Your roommate looks up from her laptop, eyes widening when she sees you. “You’re back early! I thought—“ She pauses, taking in your expression. “What happened?”
You drop your bag and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I just made a huge mistake.”
“What did he do? Babe I swear if he tried anything—” She’s immediately on alert, sitting up straighter.
“No,” you shake your head, pressing your palms against your eyes. “The opposite. He was... perfect. His friends were really nice, funny too. The party wasn’t terrible. And we almost kissed, and then I—I ran away.”
“You what?” She scrambles off her bed and sits next to you. “Back up. You almost kissed him and then you left?”
“We got interrupted, and then I just... panicked.” You sit up, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Your roommate studies your face, her expression softening into something you haven’t seen before—concern mixed with understanding.
“Holy shit,” she mumbled. “You like him.”
“No,” you protest automatically, then trail off. “Maybe. Shit. I don’t know?” Your voice muffles as you bury your face in your hands. “This is so stupid. I’ve spent years avoiding guys exactly like him.”
“Except he’s not exactly like anyone, is he?” She nudges your shoulder gently. “Not if he’s got you this fucked up.”
You groan. “That’s the problem. He’s supposed to be this shallow frat boy who only cares about parties and hookups, but then he goes and talks about his grandfather and his friends and looks at me like—like—“
“Like what?” she prompts.
“Like I matter,” you cried out, wiping away the tears from your face. “Not just as a tutor or someone to boost his grade. Like he actually enjoys my company.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”
“That’s because I’ve never felt like this before,” you admit, the words coming out in a rush. “I’ve probably ruined it by running away like some character in a bad rom-com.”
“You don’t understand.” You get up, pacing the small space between your beds. “I had this whole image of him in my head…this whole narrative about who he was and what he wanted. It was so much easier when I could just dismiss him as just some guy. But he’s not, and now I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Maybe you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to him?” Your roommate suggests, her tone gently teasing you as she hands you a tissue.
“And say what? ‘Sorry I ran away when we were about to kiss, I’m just terrified because I might actually like you’?”
“That sounds like a start.”
You collapse back onto your bed with a groan. “I fucked up so bad.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, “but not irreparably.” She picks up your phone from where you dropped it and holds it out to you. “Text him.”
You stare at the phone like it might bite you. “Like now?”
“Yes, now. Before you overthink it even more than you already have.”
Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitant. “What do I even say?”
“The truth,” she says simply. “Or at least part of it.”
You take a deep breath and start typing, deleting, typing again. After what feels like an eternity, you hit send on a simple message: Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Ty for tonight.
The response comes faster than you expected, your phone buzzing in your hand almost immediately: All good. Did u get home safe?
Something in your chest loosens just slightly. He’s still talking to you, at least. You type back: Yea, made it back like 5 mins ago.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again: Can I call you tomorrow?
Your heart does a strange little flip. “He wants to call me tomorrow,” you tell your roommate, your voice sounding strange even to your own ears.
She grins. “See? Not ruined.”
You type back a quick ‘Sure’ before you can second-guess yourself.
His response is just as quick: Good. Sleep well, doll.
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at the nickname. Your roommate peers over your shoulder, reading the exchange.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she says jokingly. “From the looks of it, so does he.”
“This is such a mess,” you sigh, but there’s less despair in it now. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who doesn’t get caught up in... whatever this is.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you need this,” she suggests, returning to her own bed. “When was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good, not because it was the smart, practical choice?”
You don’t have an answer for that. As you lie in bed, sleep eluding you, you replay the night in your head. The way Mingi looked at you on that deck, the warmth of his hand in yours, the honesty in his voice when he talked about wanting to be seen as more than his reputation. You think about how easily you could have stayed, how different the night might have ended if you had just stayed with him.
══════════════════
Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through half-closed blinds and the persistent buzz of your alarm. The day crawls by in a strange haze. You go through the motions—catch up on any missed lecture notes, meet with your friends, grab lunch at the campus café—but everything feels slightly off-kilter. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket, conspicuously silent.
“He said he’d call,” you mutter to yourself during lunch, checking your notifications for the fifth time in an hour.
By mid-afternoon, anxiety has settled into a knot in your stomach. Was leaving the party abruptly really such a dealbreaker? Or worse—was the almost-kiss just another moment for him, easily forgotten once you walked away?
Your roommate finds you hunched over economics papers in your dorm, highlighter poised but motionless over the same paragraph you’ve been staring at for twenty minutes.
“Still nothing?”
You shake your head, trying to appear more focused on your work than you actually are. “It’s fine. He’s probably busy with frat stuff.”
“He’s nursing a hangover,” she mused, flopping onto her bed. “Those parties don’t exactly end early.”
“Yeah, probably.” You force your attention back to your notes, determined not to care.
The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your desk. You’ve moved on to grading papers for the professor you TA for, a task that usually requires your full concentration. Tonight, however, each essay blurs into the next as your mind wanders back to the deck, to Mingi’s face inches from yours. At 7:38 PM, your phone finally rings. You nearly knock over your coffee reaching for it, heart leaping into your throat when you see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answer with what you hope is casual nonchalance.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice comes through warm and slightly hesitant. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, just grading some papers.” You lean back in your chair, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he admits with a soft laugh. “Had to deal with some post-party clean up that was... not ideal.”
“Sounds rough,” you say, picturing the chaos that must have followed after you left.
There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d want to grab some ice cream? There’s this place near the science building that stays open late.”
You glance at your half-finished work, then at the clock. “Now?”
“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. I just...” He hesitates. “I think we should talk. In person.”
Your stomach drops. Those words never precede anything good.
“Oh,” you manage. “Sure. I could use a break anyway.”
“Great.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “Meet you there in twenty?”
“Make it thirty,” you say, already mentally cataloguing what you’re wearing—sweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, not exactly what you’d choose for whatever conversation is coming.
After hanging up, you change quickly into jeans and a sweater that’s slightly more presentable, running a brush through your hair and dabbing on lip balm before you can question why you’re bothering. Your roommate watches with barely concealed amusement.
“Just ice cream, huh?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, grabbing your keys. “He probably just wants to clear the air so tutoring isn’t awkward.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”
The walk to the ice cream shop takes exactly twelve minutes—not that you’re counting. When you arrive, you spot Mingi immediately, leaning against the wall outside. He straightens when he sees you, his expression brightening in a way that makes your heart stutter.
“Hey,” he greets you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks for coming.”
“For free ice cream? I’d be an idiot if I refused.” You aim for lightness, but your voice comes out slightly strained.
Inside, the shop is nearly empty, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the corner. Mingi insists on paying despite your protests, and soon you’re seated at a small table by the window, a scoop of chocolate chip melting slowly in your cup. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You focus intently on your ice cream, hyperaware of his presence across from you.
“So uh,” he finally breaks the tension, setting down his spoon. “About last night.”
You look up to find him watching you, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. “What about it?” you ask, playing for time.
He leans forward slightly. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t... misread things.”
Heat rises to your cheeks. “You didn’t,” you admit quietly.
Relief flickers across his face. “Then why did you leave?”
The directness of the question catches you off guard. You consider deflecting, making a joke, but something in his eyes—an earnestness you’re not used to seeing—makes you opt for honesty.
“I got scared,” you say simply.
His brow furrows. “Of me?”
“No.” You shake your head. “No this. Whatever is happening between us.” You gesture vaguely, as if that could dissolve it. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“The plan?” he echoes.
“My plan,” you clarify. “Graduate top of my class, get into a top-tier MBA program, no distractions.” You poke at your melting ice cream.
The words come easier than they should, like you’ve said them enough times to believe they’re ironclad. You scoop a fragile curl of choc chip into your mouth, watching it soften instantly, the chill doing nothing to settle the rest of you.
Mingi doesn’t look away. But something shifts in his expression—subtle, unreadable.
“You think this is a distraction,” he says quietly, like he’s testing the shape of the idea. There’s no bitterness in it, just a blunt apprehension that makes you want to fold in on yourself.
The words thud between you, heavier than any textbook you’ve ever carried. You set your spoon down, forced to confront the truth you’ve been working so hard to avoid: it would be much simpler if you could blame him. If the whole thing could be chalked up to a fluke in your otherwise disciplined trajectory: a blip, a party, a night on a deck that would fade with the semester. However, the real distraction is the way your mind keeps circling back to him even when he’s not there, the way your heart does that ridiculous stutter every time you see his name on your screen, the way—sitting here with him now—you feel some distant tectonic plate in your chest begin to shift. You hesitate. Then, because you’ve already started, you let it spill anyway.
“It’s not just that,” you admit. “I never planned on… this happening at all. And I definitely never thought you’d—” You stop yourself, exhaling a short, humourless breath. “Like, someone like me.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Someone like you?”
You gesture faintly, as if the words make sense on their own. “You know. You. Me. I just— I always assumed you wouldn’t go for someone like me. That you wouldn’t even look twice.”
The admission sits between you, heavier than you intended. Mingi leans back slightly, hands folding together, but not in his usual relaxed way. More like he’s trying to steady something. Then he lets out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief.
“I’ve been trying so hard to get you to notice me.” He says, shaking his head once.
You blink. “What?”
He looks at you properly now, like the answer should’ve been obvious all along. “You think I’m out of your league,” he says, almost incredulous. “I thought you were out of mine.”
That makes you go still. Before you can respond, he continues, voice softer now.
“You’re—” He stops, like the word itself isn’t enough. “You’re genuinely one of the most interesting people I’ve met. And you’re not just smart, you’re…” He exhales through his nose, like he hates how obvious it is. “You’re really fucking beautiful. And your brain? That’s honestly the most attractive part of you. I thought people were dramatic when they said intelligence was sexy, man I was so wrong.”
Your breath catches, and you hate that it does.
“I like what we are,” he adds, a little quieter. “The banter, the way you talk back to me, the way you don’t just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fold. It’s fun. It’s different. It’s… real.”
The honesty lands clumsily, unpolished in a way that feels impossible to fake. You look down at your ice cream before it fully melts.
“That’s… not what I expected you to say,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he says, a small, self-aware smile tugging at his mouth. “Join the club.”
“I know it’s unfair to judge you based on campus gossip, but...” You take a deep breath. “I’m scared of being just another story people whisper about in bathroom stalls.”
Mingi reaches across the table, his fingers hovering near yours without quite touching. “Can I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, and his warm hand covers yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and serious. “I won’t pretend I haven’t made mistakes. I have. But I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” His eyes hold yours, unwavering.
“How can I know that?” you whisper, voicing the fear that’s been lodged in your chest since the moment on the deck.
“Let me prove it to you,” he says with such conviction that your throat tightens. “Not with words or promises, but with time. With consistency.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly. “I’m not asking you to trust me completely right away. I’m asking for a chance to earn that trust.”
You study his face, searching for any sign of the practiced charm you’ve seen him deploy across campus. All you find is raw sincerity that makes your heart race.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Let me show you who I really am,” a small, vulnerable smile touches his lips. “I promise I’ll put all those stupid rumours to rest. No pressure, no expectations.”
“If it doesn’t work out?” The practical part of your brain needs to know there’s an exit strategy.
“Then we go back to being tutor and student, friends if you want,” he says, though something flickers in his eyes that suggests it wouldn’t be that simple for him. “I think we at least owe ourselves the chance to find out.”
You look down at your joined hands, feeling yourself wavering on the precipice of something that terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.
“Okay,” you find yourself saying, the word slipping out before you can overthink it. “I’ll give us a chance.”
The smile that breaks across his face is nothing like his usual confident grin. It’s wider, brighter, almost boyish in its genuine delight.
“Yeah?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.
“Yeah,” you confirm, a small smile forming on your own lips. “But I have conditions.”
He laughs softly, squeezing your hand. “Of course you do. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t have any.”
“We take it slow,” you say firmly. “For now, this is just between us. I’m not ready to tell everyone about us just yet.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees immediately. “What else?”
“If at any point I feel like this is becoming too much—“
“We reassess,” he finishes for you. “I understand.”
You nod, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. “One more thing.”
“Name it.”
“No more surprise coffees during tutoring,” you let out a laugh, you hope that he doesn’t take this rule too seriously.
He clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Mind you, those were gifts from the heart.”
“The heart doesn’t need caffeine to function properly,” you counter.
“Debatable,” he grins, then grows serious again. “I promise to uphold all the boundaries that you have. If at any point you want outs, just say the word and we can call it off.”
There’s something in his voice—a quiet determination—that makes you believe him, despite all your carefully constructed defences.
“So,” he wonders, leaning forward slightly, “now that we’ve established the ground rules... Can I walk you home?”
“That would be nice,” you smile, finishing the last of your now-soupy ice cream.
Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. Your campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at the library or locked in their rooms studying. Mingi walks beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brush, sending little sparks of awareness through you each time. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence as you walk side by side through the moonlit campus. Your mind races with everything that’s just happened—the confessions, the promises, the beginning of something neither of you had planned. Mingi’s hand occasionally brushes against yours, each contact sending little jolts through your system, but he doesn’t try to hold it. True to his word, he’s letting you set the pace.
“So,” he says as you approach your dormitory, “I was thinking maybe we could get dinner? Whenever you’re free… O-of course.”
The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. “I’d love to.”
You stop at the entrance to your building, turning to face him. The lamplight catches in his dark eyes, making them shine with something that looks suspiciously like hope.
“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly.
His brow furrows slightly. “For what?”
“For being patient and understanding.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling shy.
A smile curves his lips. “I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. A breath where you both stand looking at each other, the air between you charged with possibility. You make a decision, stepping forward before you can overthink it. Rising slightly on your toes, you press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight, Mingi,” you murmur, pulling back to see his eyes wide with surprise.
“Goodnight,” he coughs out, voice slightly rougher than before.
You turn quickly, swiping your keycard and slipping through the door before you can change your mind. Once inside, you can’t resist glancing back through the glass panel. Mingi stands frozen for a moment, hand raised to the spot where your lips touched his skin. Then, when he thinks you’ve gone, a transformation takes place. The cool, confident frat president dissolves into something entirely different. He pumps his fist in the air, does a little spin, and breaks into what can only be described as a victory dance—all limbs and unbridled joy, like a kid who just got exactly what he wanted for his birthday. He runs his hands through his hair, grinning so wide it must hurt, before composing himself and walking away with an extra bounce in his step. You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. Something warm blooms in your chest at the sight of him—campus heartbreaker, fraternity president, supposed player—celebrating a simple kiss on the cheek like it’s the greatest achievement of his life.
Maybe there’s more to him than you ever allowed yourself to see.
══════════════════
The following weeks unfold in a series of moments that feel stolen from someone else’s life. Mingi keeps his promise about taking things slow, but he finds other ways to show you he’s serious.
It starts with little things. A sticky note on your economics textbook when you leave it unattended for two minutes in the library: “Study Well!.” A cup of tea waiting for you before an early morning class, with honey already added the way you mentioned you like it once in passing.
Your tutoring sessions continue, but there’s a new undercurrent to them now. You maintain professionalism—mostly—but sometimes his fingers brush yours when you’re explaining a concept, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Sometimes you catch him watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way.
“Focus,” you scold during one such session, tapping your pencil against his notebook. “Our midterms are in coming up soon.”
“I am focusing,” he protests, eyes never leaving your face. “Just not on economics.”
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Looking at me isn’t going to help boost your GPA.”
“If it means looking at the prettiest girl in the room, it’s worth it,” he shrugs and the sincerity in his voice makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Walking with him after your brain numbing study sessions become so integral to your guys’ routine. It feels a little strange at first but when Mingi’s hand tentatively finds yours, all the stress melts away at his touch.
“You know,” he says during one such walk, “keeping you secret is killing me. The guys think I’ve gone celibate or something.”
You elbow him gently. “Your reputation could use the hit.”
“True,” he laughs, squeezing your hand. “For the record, this is the longest I’ve gone without posting on social media in ages.”
Mingi has been careful about keeping your relationship private. No Instagram stories featuring your coffee dates, no posts of your study sessions that sometimes devolve into conversations about everything and nothing. Just the two of you, learning each other in private moments stolen between classes and responsibilities.
One rainy Tuesday, he shows up at your dorm with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a stack of economics flash cards he made himself.
“I figured we could multitask,” he beams, setting up the food on your desk.
Your roommate, who’s been watching this unfold with barely concealed delight, grabs her jacket. “And that’s my cue to give you two some privacy,” she announces, winking at you on her way out.
Once she’s gone, Mingi turns to you with a sheepish smile. “Too much?”
You shake your head, oddly touched by the gesture. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just not used to anyone doing this for me.”
His expression softens. “Well that's too bad, doll, start getting used to it.”
The study session is productive—mostly. At first, the two of you really do focus, perched shoulder to shoulder with a blanket across your knees, pencils poised as you quiz each other from the stack of flash cards. For a solid twenty minutes, you run through concepts, definitions, and theoretical graphs, congratulating each other with exaggerated fist bumps for every correct answer. Mingi is sharp, more so than you expected, but he keeps getting tripped up on the same three formulas, and each time he stumbles, you make him recite them from memory until he gets it right. By the fourth round, you’re both dissolving into laughter at his increasingly creative mnemonic devices.
Eventually, the flash cards are abandoned in favor of pad thai and mango sticky rice. You eat cross-legged on the floor, passing the container back and forth, chopsticks clacking as the conversation drifts from academics to childhood memories, to music, to the merits of various ramen brands. Mingi tells you a story about getting locked in a janitor’s closet during a fraternity scavenger hunt, and you laugh so hard you nearly spill sweet chili sauce all over your leggings. He grins, watching you with open affection, and you feel your defenses slipping a little more with each shared story, each easy silence.
You mean to get back to studying, really you do, but by the time your plates are empty, you’re both sprawled out on the rug, heads tipped together, trading lazy jokes and favorite movie quotes. The stack of flash cards lies forgotten somewhere behind you. Mingi stretches his arm behind your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. You’re acutely aware that you said you wanted to take things slow, but now, in the soft glow of your desk lamp, with rain pattering gently against the window, slow feels less like a rule and more like a suggestion.
At some point, you roll onto your side to face him. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. He catches the look in your eyes and grins, that same vulnerable curve of mouth you saw outside your dorm, and you realize you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for anymore. The next hour is a blur of tangled limbs, whispered jokes, and the kind of laughter that leaves your ribs aching. You don’t kiss—at least, not on the lips—but you end up with your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tracing idle, feather-light circles on your back as you drift in and out of half-sleep. The textbooks are forgotten, the only thing that matters is the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath and the way it syncs perfectly with yours.
You don’t let him stay the night but you walk him to the door at midnight, both of you lingering in the hallway far longer than necessary.
“Tomorrow again?” he asks, voice low.
“Tomorrow,” you echo, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
You close the door behind him and press your forehead to the wood, equal parts giddy and terrified at how easy this is starting to feel.
That’s how it goes, week after week. Study sessions that turn into late-night conversations, walks that stretch on for hours, endless cups of tea and takeout and inside jokes that no one else would ever find funny. You find yourself looking for him everywhere: in the crowd of the dining hall, in the hush of the library at midnight, in the flicker of lamplight outside your window when you can’t sleep. Every time he appears, it feels like a secret only the two of you share. You start to notice the little ways he tries to care for you. The umbrella he brings when the forecast calls for rain, the pack of your favourite pens he leaves in your backpack before a big test, the playlist he makes for your morning runs, even though he can’t stand three-quarters of your “motivational” music. You tell yourself not to read into any of it, but you do. You’re hopelessly, helplessly reading into every tiny thing.
The night before your economics midterm, you meet up in the library’s quietest corner, both of you vibrating with nerves. He brings snacks and a fresh stack of flash cards, all hand-written in his messy scrawl, and the two of you settle in for a marathon review. For once, you manage to stay on task, quizzing each other with increasing intensity until you’re both exhausted. When the clock chimes one in the morning, you start to pack up, but Mingi hesitates, his hand hovering over the pile of books.
“You’re going to ace it,” he says, voice unexpectedly earnest.
You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you don’t distract me during the exam.”
“That’s going to be impossible,” he laughs, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “I’ll try my best.”
You snort, shouldering your bag. “I sure hope so.”
As you walk him out into the silent quad, he reaches for your hand—not tentative anymore, not asking permission, just doing it. You let him. The campus is empty, the sky ink-black and starless, and it feels like the entire world has narrowed to just the two of you, hands entwined, hearts beating a little too fast. He stops at the steps of your dorm, pulling you in for a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than normal. You memorize the feeling: the way his arms wrap around you, how he smells like detergent and the faintest hint of aftershave, the way his cheek fits perfectly against your temple. He reminds you to get some sleep, even as he lingers like he has no real intention of leaving just yet. You echo the sentiment back to him, a quiet reminder about his final. There’s a brief pause—something unspoken stretching between you—before you part with a soft, almost reluctant goodbye, the kind that feels less like an ending and more like something paused.
══════════════════
The morning of the midterm arrives with an electric tension in the air. You walk into the lecture hall, scanning the rows of nervous students until you spot Mingi. He’s hunched over his notes, frantically reviewing formulas, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. When he sees you, his face brightens momentarily before anxiety clouds his features again.
“Doll, I can’t remember anything,” he whispers as you slide into the seat beside him. “It’s all just... gone.”
You reach over and gently close his textbook. “Hey, breathe. You know this material better than you think.”
“Easy for you to say.” His voice cracks slightly. “What if I blank? What if everything we worked on just disappears the moment I see the test?”
You take his trembling hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look at me. You’ve put in the work. You understand the concepts. Trust yourself.”
He exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “I just... I can’t mess this up. Not after everything.”
“You won’t,” you say with such conviction that he almost seems to believe you. “Remember what you told me about game theory? It’s not about the cards, it’s about—“
“—understanding the patterns,” he finishes, a small smile forming. “The incentives.”
“Exactly. And you’ve got this. I know you do.”
Professor Kim enters the room, silencing the anxious chatter. As she distributes the exams, Mingi gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go. You mouth “good luck” to him before turning to your own test.
The exam is challenging, even for you. Two hours of intense concentration, complex problems, and theoretical applications that make your brain ache. Occasionally, you glance at Mingi. His brow is furrowed in concentration, pencil moving steadily across the paper. No panic, no hesitation. Just focused determination that fuels your own.
When time is called, you feel drained but satisfied. Mingi looks up from his paper, meeting your eyes across the room with an expression of cautious optimism.
“How’d it go?” you ask as you both file out of the lecture hall.
“I think... I think it went okay,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “That section on monopolistic competition? I nailed it.”
“See? I told you.”
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky just because you were right. Again.”
Three days after the exam, your phone lights up with his name: Grades are posted, lock in.
Your fingers fly across the screen as you log into the portal. There it is: Econ1000 - Final Grade: A+. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. You’re about to text him back when another message comes through: Can we meet? I’m outside your building.
Your heart races as you rush down the stairs. Mingi is pacing outside, face unreadable. When he sees you, he stops, and for a terrible moment, you think he’s failed.
“Mingi? What happened? Are you—“
His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “I got an A, I did it!”
Relief and joy flood through you as he picks you up in a spinning hug that lifts your feet off the ground. “I knew you could do it!” you laugh, arms wrapped around his neck.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist.
“Hey give yourself some credit, you did all the work,” you counter, unable to stop smiling. “I just provided occasional guidance—“
“—And motivation, patience, and belief when I had none.” His expression grows serious despite his smile. “Thank you.”
You feel your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “You’re welcome.”
He takes a deep breath, a flicker of nervousness crossing his features—something you’ve rarely seen from him. “So, I was thinking...” he begins, his hands sliding from your waist but not completely letting go, fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Maybe we could celebrate properly? Tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?” you ask, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.
“Dinner,” he says simply. Then adds, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “At an actual restaurant with fancy ass menus and shit.” His eyes meet yours, surprisingly earnest. “A date. Just you and me.”
The word “date” hangs between you, weighted with meaning. These weren't the standard study sessions or casual hangouts anymore. He wanted to take you out to dinner.
“A date,” you repeat, testing how the words feel.
“Yes.” He nods, watching your face carefully. “I want to take you somewhere nice. To celebrate, but also because...” He pauses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just want to treat you to a good meal, feels like the right thing to do.”
You laugh, the tension in your chest dissolving into something warm and bright. “In that case, yes. I’d love to go to dinner with you tonight.”
The smile that breaks across his face is incandescent. “Great! I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Seven works,” you nod, already mentally cataloguing your closet, wondering what constitutes appropriate attire for an official date with Song Mingi.
As if reading your mind, he adds, “Wear something nice. I made reservations at Stellina.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. Stellina is easily the most upscale restaurant near campus—the kind of place parents take their children when they visit, or where professors celebrate tenure. Definitely not somewhere college students typically go for casual dinners.
“Stellina?” you echo. “That’s... wow.”
“Wait, do you not like Stells?” he asks, suddenly uncertain.
You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just surprised.”
“Good surprised?”
“Very good surprised.”
He beams, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. You text your roommate the news, which results in her immediately abandoning whatever plans she had to help you prepare. By six o’clock, your room looks like a boutique exploded—clothes strewn across both beds, makeup scattered across the desk, and your roommate critically assessing every option.
“This one,” she declares finally, holding up a simple black dress you bought for a cousin’s birthday last year but haven’t worn since. “Classic, elegant, but still says ‘I’m not trying too hard.’” You slip it on, the silky fabric settling against your skin. It’s more fitted than you remembered, hugging your curves before flaring slightly at the hem. Nothing flashy, but undeniably flattering.
“Perfect,” your roommate nods approvingly. “Now, shoes...”
By 6:55, you’re pacing nervously in front of the mirror. The dress looks good, your hair is cooperating for once, and your roommate has worked minor miracles with minimal makeup. Still, anxiety flutters in your stomach like trapped butterflies.
“What if this changes everything?” you ask, chewing your lip. “What if it’s weird or awkward or—“
“Or what if it’s amazing?” your roommate cuts in, adjusting a strand of your hair. “Stop catastrophizing and let yourself enjoy this. The man is taking you to Stellina, for god’s sake. He’s clearly serious about you.”
Before you can respond, your phone buzzes with a text: I’m outside.
Your roommate practically shoves you toward the door. “Go! And I want all the details when you get back!”
You take one last deep breath, grab your small purse, and head downstairs. The moment you step outside, you spot him immediately standing beside his car, looking almost unrecognizable in a tailored navy suit. His hair is styled away from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes widen slightly as they take in your appearance, moving from your face to your dress and back again with an appreciation so obvious it makes your skin warm.
“You look...” he starts, then shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “I had a whole line prepared, but now I can’t remember it. You look incredible.”
“So do you,” you manage, taking in how the suit fits his broad shoulders perfectly. “I didn’t know you owned clothes like this.”
“Special occasions only,” he grins, stepping forward to offer you his arm. “Ready?”
The drive to Stellina is short but charged with a new kind of tension—anticipation mixed with awareness. Mingi keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you catch yourself doing the same. When you arrive, he insists on opening your door, offering his hand to help you out of the car with an old-fashioned gallantry that would seem affected from anyone else.
Inside, the restaurant is everything you expected and more. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the gentle clink of expensive silverware. The hostess greets Mingi by name and leads you to a quiet corner table partially secluded by a decorative screen.
“This is...” you begin, looking around at the elegant surroundings.
“Too much?” he blurted out in a panic, studying your face carefully as he pulls out your chair.
You shake your head, settling into your seat. “No, it’s beautiful. I’m just not used to... all this.”
“Neither am I,” he admits with a small laugh, taking his own seat. “I wanted tonight to be special.”
The waiter appears with menus and a wine list, addressing Mingi with practiced deference. You watch, slightly amused, as he navigates the wine selection with surprising confidence, asking questions about vintages and pairings that you wouldn’t have expected him to know.
“Since when are you a wine expert?” you ask after the waiter leaves to fetch your selection.
He grins, slightly sheepish. “I’m not. I spent an hour yesterday watching YouTube videos about how to order wine without looking like an idiot.”
The admission is so endearingly honest that you can’t help but laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I wanted to impress you,” he shrugs, no trace of his usual bravado. “Is it working?”
“Maybe a little,” you concede, smiling.
The wine arrives—a crisp white that pairs perfectly with the appetizers Mingi suggests. As you sip and sample delicate bites of food you can barely pronounce, the initial awkwardness melts away. Conversation flows as easily as it always has between you, ranging from classes to childhood stories to dreams for the future.
“So,” he says as the waiter clears your appetizer plates, “now that we’ve conquered economics, what’s next on your academic hit list?”
“Advanced Econometrics,” you grimace slightly. “Not exactly light reading.”
“Sounds intense,” he nods. “Do you think you’ll need a tutor for that one? If so, I know a guy…”
The teasing question makes you smile. “I think I can manage. What about you? What are you taking next semester?”
He hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Actually, I registered for that Behavioural Economics class you mentioned. And...” he pauses, “I’m thinking about adding a minor in Business Analytics.”
“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That’s a pretty intensive program.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, trying to look casual but not quite succeeding, “someone made me realize I might actually be good at this stuff. When I’m not being a, what did you call it? ‘Stereotypical frat boy with the collective IQ of a houseplant?’”
You wince, remembering your harsh assessment from months ago. “I was wrong about that.”
“Not entirely,” he laughs. “I can be that guy sometimes. It’s easier, you know? To be what people expect.”
The honesty in his voice touches something deep in your chest. “You don’t have to be that with me.”
His eyes meet yours across the table, warm and sincere, “I know.”
The main courses arrive—seared scallops for you, steak for him—momentarily pausing the conversation. As you eat, you notice how Mingi keeps finding excuses to touch you: his fingers brushing yours when reaching for the wine, his knee pressing gently against yours under the table. Each contact sends little sparks along your skin, building a current that hums just below the surface.
“Can I ask you something?” he says after a comfortable lull in conversation.
“Of course.”
“When did you start liking me?” The question is direct, curious rather than cocky. “I mean, I know you couldn’t stand me at first.”
You consider this, taking a sip of wine. “I think... it was during our third tutoring session. You spent twenty minutes arguing with me about income inequality and its effects on consumer behaviour.”
He looks surprised. “That’s what did it? An economics debate?”
“You were passionate,” you explain. “And knowledgeable. And you didn’t back down just because I disagreed. I was impressed.”
His expression softens. “For me, it was the party. That first night. When you looked at me and didn’t seem impressed at all.”
“Really? That early?”
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “You have no idea how refreshing that was. Everyone else was... I don’t know, wanting something from me. You just looked annoyed that I existed.”
“I wasn’t annoyed,” you correct him. “I was... intrigued.”
“Intrigued,” he repeats, smile widening. “I’ll take it.”
As dinner winds down, the restaurant gradually empties around you. Neither of you seems eager to leave, conversation flowing from topic to topic, punctuated by laughter and moments of surprising vulnerability. When the waiter discreetly brings the check, Mingi insists on paying despite your protests.
“This was my idea,” he says firmly. “My invitation, my treat.”
“At least let me cover the tip,” you argue.
He shakes his head, sliding his card into the leather folder. “Next time. You can plan the whole thing if you want.”
“Next time,” you echo, liking the sound of it more than you expected to.
Outside, the night air is cool and clear, stars visible despite the campus lights. Mingi takes your hand as you walk back to the car, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.
“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “It was perfect.”
He stops walking, turning to face you under the soft glow of a streetlight. “Thank you for saying yes.”
There’s a moment where neither of you moves. Then, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, Mingi leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades away—the restaurant, the streetlight, even the nervous flutter in your chest. His kiss is gentle at first, almost reverent, like he’s been waiting for this moment and doesn’t want to rush it. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
You smile, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. “What took you so long?”
Instead of answering, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re pressed against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. Something shifts in the air between you—the careful restraint you’ve both been maintaining giving way to something more urgent, more honest.
Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, messing up his carefully styled look. He makes a soft sound against your mouth that sends heat rushing through you, his fingers digging slightly into your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss turns hungrier, months of tension finally finding release as his tongue brushes against yours, tentative at first, then with growing confidence when you respond in kind.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils wide as he looks at you with undisguised want.
“I should’ve done this at the party ages ago,” he whispers, voice rough. “That night on the balcony. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
You laugh softly, feeling dizzy and light-headed in the best way. “Better late than never.”
He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips like he can’t help himself. “Do you want to go somewhere more... private?” The question is careful, giving you an out if you need it.
The responsible part of your brain reminds you of early classes tomorrow, of the boundaries you set, of taking things slow. But the part of you that’s been dreaming of this moment for longer than you care to admit is already nodding.
“Your place?” you suggest, surprised by the boldness in your own voice.
His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to agree so readily. “You sure?”
In answer, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your actions speak louder than words. When you pull away, his smile is almost dazed.
“My place it is,” he says, taking your hand and leading you back to his car with renewed purpose.
The drive to his fraternity house is charged with anticipation, the air between you electric with possibilities. His hand finds yours across the center console, thumb stroking over your knuckles in a way that seems both soothing and maddening at once. At a red light, he can’t resist leaning over to kiss you again, quick but deep enough to leave you breathless.
“If you keep doing that, we might not make it to your place,” you warn, only half-joking.
His laugh is low and warm. “Worth it.”
══════════════════
When you arrive, the house is mercifully quiet—most of his frat brothers either out or already asleep. He leads you through the common areas with your hand firmly in his, up the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside, he closes the door softly behind you, and suddenly the reality of where you are—in Mingi’s bedroom, alone, after the most perfect date—hits you all at once.
His room is larger than you expected, and surprisingly neat. A double bed occupies one corner, made with actual matching sheets and pillows. Bookshelves line one wall, filled not just with textbooks but novels, economics journals, and what looks like a collection of vintage records. A desk sits beneath a large window, offering the promised view of campus, lights twinkling in the distance.
“So,” you say, turning to face him, “this is where the golden boy lives.”
He pushes off from the door, crossing to stand before you. “Disappointed that there's no mattress on the floor and it’s not covered in beer pong trophies?”
“A little,” you admit with a teasing smile. “Though I do see at least one trophy.” You nod toward a shelf where a single golden cup sits next to a framed photo of Mingi with an older man, both smiling widely.
“Economics award from freshman year,” he explains, following your gaze. “That’s my grandfather, the day I got my acceptance letter.”
You move closer to examine the photo, aware of Mingi following you, the space between you shrinking with each step. When you turn to face him again, he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Something shifts in his expression—the playful fraternity president giving way to something more raw, more honest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip.
His fingers tremble against your cheek as he exhales shakily. “I’ve never been this terrified of messing something up,” he confesses, voice cracking slightly.
“Every time I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.” His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “I keep pinching myself that you’re actually here, with me. You’re not just another person to me—you’re my person.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, reverent. “I adore everything about you. The way you laugh, how you challenge me, even how you roll your eyes when I’m being ridiculous.” He swallows hard. “I’m serious about us. So serious it scares me.”
The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You see it in his eyes, the battle between desire and fear. Fear that he’ll scare you away, that he’ll move too fast, that you’ll retreat behind those walls he’s spent weeks carefully dismantling. Your hands, almost of their own volition, drift upward to press against his chest. Under your palm, you feel the erratic thrum of his heart, each frantic beat echoing your own.
“Mingi,” you whisper, and the sound of his name—so soft, so certain—shatters the fragile barrier he’s been holding between you. For a suspended moment, your gazes lock, electric and trembling, and then he moves with a sudden, desperate clarity.
Mingi’s restraint snaps like brittle glass. He surges forward, kissing you with an intensity that’s as bright and blinding as a detonated star—no preamble, no hesitance, just pure want. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, arms banding around your waist so tightly you feel like you might dissolve into him. There’s nothing tentative in the way he holds you; he’s all-in, every muscle taut with reverence and longing. The kiss is a reclamation, a promise, and the culmination of every unspoken thing that’s hung between you for weeks.
You can only cling to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the seismic shift in energy. Your breath is stolen, your senses alight, your mind gone white-noise blank. The room could be on fire and you wouldn’t notice. Mingi kisses like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets up for even a second—like you’re the last oxygen left on earth and he’s learning how to breathe. And yet, underneath the urgency, there’s a trembling tenderness, as though every pass of his mouth is asking, Is this okay? Am I too much? Do you want me, too?
You answer with your body, arching into him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, jaw tilting to deepen the kiss. His hands slide up your back, mapping the length of your spine; one finds its way into your hair, cradling your head, the other splayed possessively at your hip. He tastes like citrus and hope and the sharp, metallic shimmer of anticipation. There’s nothing careful about it—your teeth clash, your lips bruise, and when you gasp for air, he only uses the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, the delicate hollow at your throat. This is messy, urgent, but it’s also so fiercely sincere you’re left raw by the force of it. When he draws back, just long enough to search your face, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with wonder and disbelief.
“God, This might be better than the first time we kissed,” he pants, chest heaving as he regains control of his breathing. He brushes your hair away from your face, fingers gentle where his grip had been bruising. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You shake your head, already chasing his mouth again, needing to erase the words and replace them with more—more of him, more of this. He laughs against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones. You feel untethered, weightless, every nerve ending singing. You’re dimly aware of your back pressing up against the closed door, Mingi pinning you there in a cocoon of warmth and want. Every inch of you is alive, hypersensitive to the slide of his hands, the brush of his breath against your skin.
He kisses you again and again, in greedy, overlapping intervals, his self-control disintegrating the longer you let him. But even as the kiss turns molten, there’s nothing careless in the way he touches you—no sense of entitlement, just awe and gratitude, as though he still can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re choosing him. When he finally slows, his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, foreheads and noses pressed together, steadying yourselves against the aftershocks.
His lips find the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then your ear. “Sorry,” he whispers, not sounding sorry at all. “I got carried away for a second.”
You laugh, shaky and breathless. “It's okay, it was kinda cute.”
He smiles, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“I learned from the best.”
He laughs again, quieter this time, and it morphs into something softer, more vulnerable. “The student becomes the master now, huh?”
You step back, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies, and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there’s hesitation there too—a question. You answer by taking his hand and leading him toward the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, you place your palms on his chest and gently push. He sits immediately, looking up at you with such reverence that it steals your breath. For a moment, you simply stand between his parted knees, admiring how beautiful he looks like this—waiting, wanting, completely focused on you.
“Can I?” you ask softly, fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.
He nods, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Of course. Whatever you want, doll.”
You take your time undressing him, savouring each new inch of skin revealed. His breathing grows more ragged with each button you slip free, with each brush of your fingertips against his heated skin. Your hands drift lower, finding the buckle of his belt. His eyes never leave yours as you work it loose, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. There’s something intoxicating about the way he watches you—patient yet desperate, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. When you pop the button of his pants, his hands grip the edge of the mattress, anchoring himself down.
“Lift your hips,” you instruct softly, and he complies immediately, allowing you to slide his pants down his thighs. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he kicks them away, leaving him in just his boxers.
You take a moment to admire him like this—the strong lines of his thighs, the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Mingi has always seemed larger than life, but here, partially undressed and vulnerable before you, he’s beautifully human. When you trace a finger along the waistband of his underwear, he shivers, a small sound escaping his throat. He tries reaching for you, but you catch his wrists.
“Not yet,” you murmur, and he immediately stills.
“‘M Sorry,” he breathes, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I’ll be good.”
Something about the way he says it—like he’s never had to wait before, like he’s never been the one following someone else’s lead—makes the heat pool low in your belly. You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rewarding his patience.
“Lie back, let me take care of you,” you instruct, and he complies without hesitation, shifting up the bed until his head rests on the pillows.
You take your time undressing yourself, hyperaware of his hungry gaze tracking every movement. When you finally stand before him in nothing but your underwear, he lets out the sweetest whimper that’s graced your ears.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “You’re so beautiful. I—“
He cuts himself off, holding back a moan as you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands hover uncertainly at your waist, waiting for permission.
“Go ahead, you can touch me,” you grant, and his hands are on you instantly. Feeling the warmth of his hands as they trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.
You lean down to kiss him properly, deep and slow, savouring the taste of him. His lips part eagerly beneath yours, letting you set the pace, following your lead with a pliancy that’s intoxicating from someone normally so in control. You begin grinding against him for friction and he reciprocates. He groans into your mouth, mumbling curses under his breath. You felt his boner poking your ass while you both humped each other so so desperately. His bedroom is filled with the harmony of your heavy breathing, his whines, and the wet sounds of your lips crashing.
“Please,” he gasps. “I need—I want—“
“What do you want, Mingi?” you ask, pulling back slightly to watch his face.
“Need to feel you,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “Don’t want to—haah—cum in my pants like a fucking virgin.”
You giggle at his admission, you slowly reach behind you to squeeze his bulge, feeling it twitch in the palm of your hand. Mingi’s head tips back in bliss, growling at the sensation. The rawness in his voice makes your chest tight. You press soft kisses down his throat, across his collarbones, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair, but he doesn’t push or pull—just holds on like you’re his anchor in a storm.
When you finally strip away the last barriers between you, his whole body trembles with anticipation. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin slide beneath your touch as you position his flushed tip at your entrance. His eyes lock with yours—dark pools of need and surrender. You lower yourself with deliberate patience, savouring the stretch as his thick length fills you, watching his full lips part and his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks.
Mingi whines the second you ease down on him completely, hips trembling beneath you. His hands fist in the sheets, as if he’s physically restraining himself from thrusting up into you.
“Fuck, baby—“ he gasps, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful as he struggles for control. “Feels so good around my cock, shit—“
You lean down, hushing him gently, both palms cradling his flushed face. You treat him like something precious, something to be cherished as you press your lips to his in a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue curls against his languidly, unhurried, as if you have nowhere else to be but here, joined with him in this perfect moment.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you murmur between kisses, your voice soft and sweet and infinitely patient. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath. “You’re doing so good for me.”
He moans at your praise, his entire body shuddering beneath yours. He’s all muscle and barely contained strength under you, his powerful frame completely at your mercy. You can feel how desperately he wants to move, to take control, but he surrenders to your pace instead, letting you have him exactly how you want him.
You remain still, just sitting there with him buried deep inside you, feeling the way your cunt pulses around his length. The sensation must be overwhelming for him because his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing ragged and uneven.
“Is it too much?” you cooed, reaching to brush damp strands of dark hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing
He shakes his head frantically, his grip on your waist tightening. “N-no,” he whines with a soft, shattered sound. “Just—fuck, just need a s-second—feels too fuckin’ good—can’t think—“
Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes squeezed shut in some primal effort to hold himself together, chest heaving under your hands like he’s afraid his ribs will break apart from the force of it. You melt a little at the sight of him—a six foot force of raw sex appeal—now reduced to a mass of shaking limbs and shattered breath, undone and writhing beneath you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he trusts you to see him like this, about the way he lets himself be taken apart so openly, without armour or artifice. You savour it, every trembling, helpless second, and you want to draw it out forever.
You lean down, brushing your lips to his cheek in a soft, featherlight kiss. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he turns his head, chasing your mouth with a need so naked it nearly undoes you. You let him catch you, let him press his lips to yours—not in a kiss, exactly, but a silent plea, a lifeline. You answer by kissing him deeper, slower, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him open, coaxing him back to the surface. His hands slide up your back, frantic but reverent, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you by touch and touch alone. His heart beats wild under your palm, a frantic semaphore that reads: I want you, I want you, I want you. You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down the delicate line where his pulse hammers beneath thin skin. He shudders, his whole body rigid and shivery. You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his face
“Hey,” you murmur, voice as gentle as you know how to make it, “Relax, I’ve got you. Can you do that for me?”
He nods, so obedient and desperate it makes something deep in your chest ache with tenderness. One breath, then another, and you feel the tightness in his body begin to unravel—incremental, but real. You rock your hips slowly, experimentally, watching his face for every flicker of sensation, every micro-expression. His lips part in a helpless moan, but his eyes finally flutter open, dazed and shining. He tries to say your name but it comes out as a whimper, half-beg, half-blessing.
“That’s it, baby” you praise, kissing him again, softer this time. “You’re doing so well.”
The words seem to go straight to his core—he clings to them, drinking them down like water in the desert. You keep up a steady stream of encouragement, every whisper and touch meant to anchor him, to let him know you want him just like this: open, needy, trembling with the effort of holding back.
You draw the next movement out deliberately. The slow, aching drag of your hips, the way you squeeze around him with every tiny shift. Mingi’s hands grip your thighs like lifelines, fingers biting into your skin, but he doesn’t dare take back control—the restraint is exquisite, painful to watch. He’s at your mercy and loving it, if the way his eyes keep darting to your mouth, your chest, your hands, is any indication.
“Gonna let me do what I want, yeah?” you crooned, savoring how your voice makes him flinch with anticipation. “Keep being good for me.”
He nods, lips trembling as he struggles to keep his composure “Fuck. Yes—pl-please, ‘m yours.”
You build your rhythm, slow and steady, each grind calculated to wring the maximum shudder from him. Sometimes you pause, letting him throb helplessly inside you, watching his jaw flex and his throat work as he swallows the urge to move. Sometimes, you bring yourself up just enough that only the tip of him is inside, and let him feel the loss, the emptiness, right before you sink down again in one slow, molten pulse. Every time you do it, Mingi’s head tips back, a sound escaping his throat that’s closer to a sob than a moan. You let the building friction wind both of you higher, but you don’t let yourself get lost in it; you want to see him come apart, to savour every second of his surrender.
You pick up the pace, just enough to make it impossible for him to stay silent. The bed frame squeaks softly beneath you, his hands finally dragging up your ribs, desperate for anything to ground him in this sinful reality. He reaches up and cups one of your tits, rolling and squeezing your nipple until it hardens against his warm touch. Your eyes shut at the sight, your body starts to falter under his grasp. Every inch of him is trembling too, his body strung tight as wire. His thrusts are growing more desperate, cockhead now slamming into your weakest spot, ripping a pornographic moan from you.
“Please, doll,” he rasps, voice gone rough and wild. “Please, can I—?”
You lean in, your lips at his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. “You want to cum?” you hum, rocking down hard and slow, grinding your hips just the way he likes. “You want to fill me up?”
He makes a strangled sound that could be your name, or a prayer, or both. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he says again, as if the word is being pried out of him, as if he’s never begged for anything in his life.
You decide he’s earned it.
“Do it,” you cooed. “Cum for me, Mingi. Wanna feel you cum inside me.”
The effect is immediate. He bucks up into you, helpless, his face contorting with pure, blissful pleasure. His hands drag you down against him, holding you in place as he comes deep inside you, the force of it making his whole body shudder. Your juices drip down his balls and your gummy walls clamp down hard on his sensitive length, throwing into his orgasm and washing his vision white. You feel his warmth spreading in your insides, creamy ropes of cum making you feel fuller than before. You ride him through it, slow and greedy, squeezing him with your cunt until he’s wrung out and gasping, eyes rolling back as he drowns in sensation. His chest trembles under his shaky breaths as he pulls his half-hard cock out of your sticky heat, looking up at you through dampened lashes. You press your lips to his damp temple, stroking his hair until the aftershocks fade. For a moment, the world goes silent save for the hammering of both your hearts, the heat of your bodies, the sweat cooling on your skin.
All of a sudden, the equilibrium tilts.
Mingi comes back to himself by degrees, eyes still glazed but mouth already curling into a grin that’s all sharp canines and mischief. You’re still trembling, the aftershocks ricocheting through your bones, but the way he’s holding you now—possessive—is different from before. There’s a shift in the air, a gathering of purpose behind the lazy drag of his palm up your spine.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he rasps, voice rough with spent desire, “my turn.”
Suddenly he’s moving, rolling you onto your back in a single, fluid motion. His hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, your thighs, greedy in their hunger. His body covers yours, heat and weight and muscle, and you realise that he’s been biding his time, letting you have your way only so he could give it back to you tenfold.
“Did you really think you had all the control, doll?” he drawls, the words fiery and playful at once, goading you with the memory of your earlier dominance—all while letting you know it was only ever on loan.
His hands bracket your hips, fingers splayed and greedy, and you feel the faintest quiver in his arms as he holds himself over you, like a predator savouring the moment before the pounce. His eyes never leave yours as he takes himself in hand, his cock already hardening again. You feel the blunt head of him brushing against your sensitive folds, teasing at your entrance. He drags it slowly up and down your slit, still slick with his cum and your arousal, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he continues to tease you, tapping his tip against your cunt with feather-light touches. “Look at how eager you are f’me.”
You moan as he continues his torturous teasing, rubbing his hardening length against your swollen lips, gathering your shared wetness along his shaft. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the fullness you crave. Mingi just chuckles, keeping his movements shallow, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside before retreating. The emptiness is maddening.
“Use your words,” he commands softly, continuing the torturous tapping against your entrance. “Tell me what you need.”
“I— ohmygod... I need—,” you try to answer, but the question melts on your tongue.
His smile is triumphant as he finally, finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one smooth thrust. He buries himself deeper, hips rolling with a languid, relentless power. Every inch of him fills you, presses you open, makes you ache. He fucks up into you with a slow, devastating grind that leaves your toes curling and your nails digging into his biceps for purchase.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, nipping at your pulse point, tongue flicking over sweat-salted skin. “So wet for me. You like being stuffed by my cock don't you?”
“Oh fuck.. yes!” You whimper, and he grips your jaw, thumb pressing into your lower lip, enticing you to be louder.
“Let me hear you,” he growls, eyes burning into yours. “Fuck—let the whole dorm hear how good I’m making you feel.”
He fucks you like he has nowhere to go and nothing else to do but ruin you, each punishing thrust deliberate and deep, perfectly tuned to hit every trembling, oversensitive sweet spot inside you, drawing out increasingly desperate sounds that seem to fuel his hunger. The room is a riot of sensation: the slap of skin on skin, the obscene squeeelch of your own arousal, the sweat that drips from his brow onto your collarbone as he leans in to bite at your shoulder.
He laces his fingers through yours, pinning your hands above your head, and the new angle is exquisite—he’s so deep you can barely breathe, so intense you can’t manage a sound. He’s watching your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and pain, cataloguing the way your body arches and clenches around him.
“Look at you,” he pants, fucking you harder now, the headboard rattling with each thrust. “You look so pretty like this—spread out for me, fuck. This is what you wanted, right?”
You feel the weight of him first, that heavy press of Mingi’s body pinning you down against the sheets, his hips grinding slow and deliberate as he sinks deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you wide, the burn mixing with that sweet ache that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the scarred skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just growls low in his throat, pushing harder, stuffing himself in until there’s no space left between you. All you can feel is him, that thick length buried deep, pulsing against your walls as he drives in again and again. a whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy, your body arching up to meet him even as the overload makes you want to pull away. Mingi notices immediately. his hand shoots up, fingers tangling rough in your hair, yanking your head forward with just enough force to make you gasp.
“Look at me,” He rasps, voice strained like he’s fighting through something sharp and brutal.
His grip tightens, holding you steady so your eyes lock onto his. Yours are wide now, pupils blowing out wide and dark, swallowing the colour until there’s just that hazy black stare reflecting back at him. He watches it happen, the way they dilate under the dim light, pulling him in like you’re lost in the haze of it all. His sounds get louder, desperate almost, grunts turning into these deep, guttural moans that vibrate through his body into yours.
“Fuck—I'm gonna lose my mind,” he groans, the word dragging out low and pained, like the pleasure is edging on torture. his free hand digs into your hip, bruising as he pulls you closer, slamming in one last time. “Your perfect cunt was made for me wasn't it?”
You nod, frantic, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. He slows, just enough to let you catch your breath, then leans in, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that’s as much a challenge as comfort. His tongue is rough, demanding, and he swallows every helpless sound you make.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, he pulls out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching at nothing. Before you can beg, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, hands manhandling your hips up until you’re on your knees for him, face pressed into the pillows. He lines himself up behind you, the heat of his cock nudging at your entrance, and you whimper in anticipation.
“You're gonna let me fuck you sooo good, right baby?” he promises, voice gone dark and needy, and then he slams back into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke. The sound you make is sweet, involuntary, a sob torn from deep in your chest. He gives you no quarter, hips pistoning relentlessly, the flat of his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends you clenching around him.
“So beautiful,” he purred, running his palm over the stinging flesh.
With every thrust he drives the point home, each one punctuated by a filthy litany—mine—until you can feel the word burning into your skin. He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerks your head back so you’re forced to arch, to present yourself to him, to let him see how utterly, beautifully ruined you are.
“Say it,” he orders, voice raw. “Tell me who you belong to.”
You gasp, barely able to form words. “You! Mingi. I’m all yours—“
He rewards you with devastating thrusts, so deep your vision starts turning white.
You can feel yourself unraveling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He’s relentless, fucking you through your first orgasm and into a second, not stopping even when you collapse boneless onto the mattress. He kisses your spine, your shoulder blade, every vertebrae, as he keeps you pinned and takes you, over and over, until your vision blurs and you forget your own name.
“M-mingi! M’ so close, gonna cum—“
“Gonna cum inside you again,” he promises, voice shaking with how close he is, hips stuttering. “You gonna take it for me? Gonna let me breed this perfect pussy?”
“Yesyesyes—fuck!”
The words rip something out of you. You nod, desperate, grinding back against him, greedy for his release.
“That’s my girl, c’mon cum with me baby.”
He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and fucks you through his own climax, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up again, so much it slicks out around the edges and paints the inside of your thighs, messy and obscene.
You collapse together, his arms locked around your waist, breath ghosting warm across your neck. He stays inside you, softening only a little, like he can’t bear to let you go yet. You lie there, bodies tangled and sticky, sweat cooling on your skin, and you feel the heat of him still throbbing inside you, a silent claim.
Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, your breathing gradually slowing to match each other’s rhythm. Mingi’s weight on top of you is heavy but comforting, his cock still nestled deep inside you despite having softened slightly. The gentle pulsing of him against your walls sends occasional aftershocks through your system, little reminders of the intensity you just shared.
“Stay like this,” you whisper when he finally stirs, your hand reaching back to keep him in place. “Just a little longer.”
He makes a soft sound of agreement, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. “You like feeling me inside you, don’t you?” His voice is a gentle rumble against your skin.
You nod, feeling strangely vulnerable in your admission. There’s something deeply intimate about this—more so, somehow, than the passionate sex you just had. Mingi seems to understand, adjusting his position slightly so he’s not crushing you but remains connected, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped possessively across your waist.
“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.
“Perfect,” you sigh, melting into the mattress beneath his weight.
The room falls quiet except for your mingled breathing and the distant thrum of music from downstairs. The party continues without you, but at this moment, the world outside this room might as well not exist. Mingi nuzzles against your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to the marks he left earlier.
“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly.
“What, sex?” you tease, knowing full well that’s not what he means.
He laughs softly, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. “No, smartass.” His arm tightens around you. “This,” he clarifies, fingers drawing gentle patterns on your skin. “Having someone stay over.”
You twist your neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? But you’re—you’re you. How—”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah I know…I don’t bring people here. Ever.”
“Ever?” You shift slightly to face him better, wincing as you feel him slip out of you. The loss is immediate, leaving you empty in a way that makes you want to chase the connection again. He reaches for tissues from his nightstand, cleaning you both with surprising tenderness before settling back beside you. His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable.
“Never,” he confirms, voice soft. “This room is... I don’t know. It’s mine. My space. I don’t share it with just anyone.”
The implication hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You’re not just anyone. You’re someone he wants in his private world, someone he’s letting see parts of himself that others don’t.
“But all those stories about you...” you begin, confused.
He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “Not saying I’ve been a saint. But those hookups? They happened elsewhere. Never here. Never in my bed.” His fingers trace your cheekbone with careful precision. “Never like this.”
Something warm blooms in your chest, spreading outward until your whole body feels flushed with it. You’ve been the exception to so many of his rules already—the girl he studied for, the one he took to Stellina, the one he waited patiently for. And now this—being the only person he’s ever brought to his most personal space.
“I didn’t know,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.
“How could you?” His smile is small but genuine. “I’ve spent a lot of time making sure everyone sees exactly what they expect to see.”
You reach up, touching his face with gentle fingers. “And what am I seeing right now?”
“The real me,” he says simply. “The one who’s terrified of messing this up. The one who thinks about you constantly. The one who...” he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, “the one who wants you to be his girlfriend. Officially.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. Despite everything that’s happened between you—the tutoring, the dates, the incredible sex you just had—hearing him say it out loud makes it suddenly, overwhelmingly real.
“Mingi...” you start, uncertain how to respond.
His face falls slightly, but he quickly masks it. “I’m rushing things, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not that,” you say quickly, not wanting him to misunderstand. “It’s just—this is all happening so fast. A few months ago I couldn’t stand you, and now...”
“And now?” he prompts when you trail off, eyes searching yours.
“Now I can’t imagine not having you in my life,” you admit. The truth of it surprises even you. “I just need a little time to process everything. Can I... can I give you an answer tomorrow?”
Relief washes over his features. “It’s not a no?”
You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Definitely not a no.”
He pulls you closer, wrapping you in his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. “Tomorrow it is. I can wait.”
You fall asleep like that, tangled together in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm on your neck. For the first time in years, you don’t worry about your schedule or your plans or what comes next. You just let yourself exist in this moment, with him.
═══════════════════
Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slowly, your body pleasantly sore as consciousness creeps in. For a moment, disorientation clouds your mind—this isn’t your dorm room. All of a sudden, rapid flashbacks enter your mind from the events of last night. Mingi is gone, the sheets cool where he should be. For one terrible moment, panic seizes your chest—did he regret last night? Did he change his mind about wanting you as his girlfriend?
Then you hear footsteps in the hallway, the door handle turning. You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart pounding.
Mingi backs into the room, hands full. He’s balancing a tray of coffee cups, a small box of chocolates tucked under his arm, and—your breath catches—a bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas cradled against his chest. He hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet, too focused on not dropping anything as he nudges the door closed with his foot.
When he turns and sees you watching him, his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Morning,” he says, suddenly looking shy. “I was hoping to be back before you woke up.”
“What’s all this?” you ask, unable to keep the smile from your voice.
He approaches the bed, carefully setting down the coffee cups on the nightstand. “Well, I figured your answer might depend on how convincing my case was.” He hands you the flowers, the stargazer lilies’ pink-speckled petals unfurling beside clusters of blue hydrangeas that catch the morning light. “These reminded me of you.”
You bury your nose in the blooms, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “They’re perfect.”
“There’s more,” he says, offering you the box of chocolates. “Your favourite, right? The ones with the salted caramel centers?”
You blink in surprise. “How did you know?”
“You mentioned it once, when we were studying for the midterm. Said they were your stress food.”
The fact that he remembered such a small detail makes your heart swell. He passes you one of the coffee cups, the rich aroma of your preferred brew wafting up as you take it.
“And this…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. “This is the most important part.”
You set the coffee aside and take the card with trembling fingers. The envelope is simple, your name written on the front in his familiar handwriting. Inside is a handmade card, decorated with what appears to be hand-drawn economic graphs and formulas. You open it, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest as you read the message:
According to my cost-benefit analysis, being with you yields the highest returns on investment. Our relationship has increasing marginal utility—the more time I spend with you, the more valuable each moment becomes. Will you be my girlfriend and help me maximize our happiness and love function?
It’s nerdy and sweet and so perfectly him that tears spring to your eyes. When you look up, he’s watching you nervously, waiting for your response.
“Soooo?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You set the card aside carefully and reach for him, pulling him down until he’s sitting beside you on the bed. “You're so stupid,” you say, cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I'll be your girlfriend”
The relief and joy that wash over his features are almost painful to witness. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both gentle and fierce, like he’s trying to pour every emotion he’s feeling into this one perfect moment.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if he’s committing this to memory.
“You know,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “for someone who was failing economics a few weeks ago, that was a pretty impressive application of the principles.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of you. “What can I say? I had an excellent tutor.”
“Damn right you did,” you tease, pulling him in for another kiss.
Outside, the campus is waking up. Students are heading to class, professors are preparing lectures, life is continuing as it always has. But in this room, wrapped in each other’s arms, you and Mingi have created something new—a world that belongs just to the two of you, built on unexpected connections, shattered assumptions, and the courage to see beyond the surface. As his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, you let yourself sink into the certainty that some economic theories are universal: the most valuable things are often the ones you never saw coming, and the greatest returns come from the investments you make not with your head, but with your heart.
summary: part one. how did jisung accidentally following you on the street turn into him having a crippling obsession with you that he just can’t deal with? and how does it affect the fact that he, as dumb he is, kills people sometimes?
warnings: non idol au, jisung is dumb, like really dumb, graphic violence, blood, mentions of gore, mentions of suicide(nobody done it or will), obsessive behavior, cursing, homicidal behavior/psychopathy, brutal codependency, obsessive love, throwing up, chan and jeongin as flirty side characters, reader kisses minho once, asshole minho but he’s nice on the surface, men pissing, sexual content(mentions of men jerking off, humping, fingers down throats, jisung getting turned on while puking???, nothing too explicit)
word count: 15k
you’re already having a bad day. everything that had the chance to go wrong, did. so yeah. you’re in a mood. you’re also being followed on the street and you’re very aware of it.
the guy behind you is broad, not that tall. very obviously trying to act like he’s not behind you. which makes it worse. he’ll look anywhere but at you, shop windows, the sky, a fucking pigeon. every time you slow down, he slows down. you speed up? oh look at that, so does he.
you stop suddenly just to test it and he nearly walks straight into you, then jerks back.
what the actual fuck is his problem?
you turn around. squint at him. he freezes. there’s a solid five seconds where neither of you say anything. his eyes are huge. his lips are left open in a little circle. literal :o
he’s… cute tho. big(still, wide, not tall), a little dopey looking, hair slightly messy, eyes wide in that oh shit oh fuck kind of way.
for context, jisung was following a girl he wanted to kill later. nothing personal, he just enjoys killing people. we’ll get to that later. his thought chain so far has been:
okay. target. follow target. do not lose target. wow she walks fast. shit where did she go. oh there she is. okay. keep following.
he’s supposed to be following someone else. but you see, jisung doesn’t think a lot, so he ended up mixing you up with that girl and following you instead of the one he meant to follow.
“hey.” you say. “are you lost?”
no matter how shitty your day was, this guy seems genuinely… off. shocked may be the right word. either way, you put your hand on his arm, squeezing a bit, running it up and down his bicep.
jisung’s little thoughts now:
oh.
that’s it. that’s the thought.
oh.
now he’s looking at you properly. he’s dumb, but not too dumb to realize now that he has been following the wrong person. for like… ten minutes.
instead of oh fucking shit, his brain goes:
not target.
but nice.
very nice.
she touched arm.
:)
“…yeah.” he says. yeah. that seems correct. he nods too. “yeah.”
you blink at him. because wow. okay. there is nothing behind those eyes. but he’s not scary like you thought he would be, he’s just… stupid.
“oh, okay.” you say, a little more gentle now. “that’s alright.”
your hand is still on his arm. you don’t even notice. he does. he is only noticing that.
hand. warm. nice.
“do you know where you’re trying to go?” you ask.
“…home.” he says. nailed it. absolutely crushing it.
“yeah, i figured that part.” you mumble, smiling. he thinks you’re beautiful. “which way?”
jisung looks around. left. right. straight. they are all equally meaningless to him. he has no idea where he is. he has no idea where he lives in relation to here. he is, in every sense of the word, deeply and profoundly lost.
“…that way?” he says, pointing somewhere. not confidently. not even convincingly. just… offering it up.
you glance in the direction he pointed. then back at him. then back at the direction. you exhale through your nose. jesus christ. “okay.” you say. “i’ll walk you. c’mon, i got you.”
jisung’s brain:
walk. together.
she is coming.
what was i doing?
“come on.” you say, giving his arm a small squeeze before letting go.
he immediately misses it. like. instantly. but he follows you without question, falling into step beside you. because omg hi you’re nice.
but you walk with him.
“you should probably pay more attention.” you mutter after a minute. “you could’ve ended up anywhere.”
“mhm.”
he has not learned anything.
you glance at him again. he smiles a little. for no reason. god. what a fucking idiot.
jisung has already completely forgotten about the original girl. the target. the plan. all of it. gone. evaporated. replaced entirely with:
you are nice.
i like you.
you slip your arm through his. little hand settles on his forearm, your elbow hooked into his, holding into him. he seems stable enough. he’s dumb, but he’s broad, so you trust him.
arm. you are holding arm. the arm is mine. you chose my arm.
this is the best thing that has ever happened to him.
“so, what’s your name?” you ask.
you can practically hear the gears in his head trying to turn and just… not.
name. yes. he has that. important. should say it.
“jisung. han jisung.” he says. “han jisung.”
yeah buddy, heard you first time.
“okay. i’m y/n.”
fits.
“well, jisung.” you continue, gently pulling him back when he starts drifting too far toward the edge of the sidewalk. “do you recognize anything around here?”
he looks around. buildings. street. a guy walking a dog. a trash can. none of it means anything to him.
“…no.”
“okay. that’s fine. we’ll figure it out.”
we.
we is good.
you adjust your grip on his arm slightly, hooked into him, guiding him along.
“what do you usually do?” you ask. “like, in your free time.”
he perks up a little at that. this, he can answer. kind of.
“cats.” he says.
“…cats?”
he nods. “roommate has three.”
he holds up three fingers. just in case.
i like them. i look at them. they sit on me.
you smile.
“oh, yeah? what are their names?”
“oh! uh, uh, dori. and uhh… and soonie and doongie. i think.”
“that’s great. by the way, do you at least know what your building looks like? color? anything?”
he looks around. more intensely this time. building. yes. there is a building. he goes inside it. often.
“…it has a door.” he says.
you press your lips together. you’re trying so hard not to laugh. “okay. that’s nice. we’ll find it.”
“yeah.”
he likes that you’re walking him. he would follow you anywhere.
he looks down at you again. you’re focused, watching the street, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as you try to solve the fucking impossible puzzle of where the fuck does this man live.
pretty.
“what about your roommate?” you try again. “name?”
“minho. he has cats.”
“you’re fucking killing me.”
he immediately looks concerned.
no.
do not kill her.
bad.
“no.” he says quickly.
you blink at him, confused for a second, then wave it off. “not literally. it’s a figure of speech.”
he nods slowly. processing. okay.
so, you two keep walking like that.
every so often, you check in.
“anything look familiar yet?”
“no.”
“this street?”
“no.”
“that shop?”
“no.”
“we’ll find it eventually.”
it’s okay if we don’t.
as long as you’re still hooked into his arm, gently guiding him through the world, he doesn’t really care where he ends up.
“do you at least remember how long it took you to get here?” you try.
“…i walked.”
“i gathered that.”
he nods.
good. you understand.
“your cats will be happy to see you.” you say, smiling at him.
“mhm. i like the cats.”
“yeah? do they like you?”
he nods.
“that’s adorable. i wish i had cats. would love to invest in one but—“
he stops. your arm gets yanked a little, and you stumble half a step.
“hey, what the fuck—”
he tugs your arm.
“mm—” he makes this weird little noise. a sound. “mm.”
he points. you follow his finger. it’s… a building. just a normal ass apartment building. nothing special.
you look back at him.
he’s still pointing.
“mm.”
“that’s your place?”
“mine.”
miracles do happen.
he tugs your arm again, already moving toward it. come on, keep up.
“okay, okay—jesus.” you laugh under your breath, letting him drag you along. “you found it. congrats. proud of you.”
you go up the stairs. he leads this time, well, “leads” is generous. he just moves with confidence because he knows where he lives. (you hope)
you end up in front of a door, and he lets go of your arm only to knock.
there’s a pause. then the door opens.
oh hello DADA.
okay. wow. that’s a man. you didn’t expect that. he’s hot. put together in a way jisung absolutely is not.
he looks at jisung first, then at you, then back at jisung.
“where the hell have you been?” he says.
before jisung can answer (not that he would), the guy reaches out and grabs him. literally. both hands on jisung’s arms.
“i am so sorry.” he says immediately, looking at you now. “i am so sorry, did he bother you? he just, he does this, he leaves, he doesn’t tell me where he’s going, and then he just disappears—” he gently shakes jisung’s arms. “—and then i have to go looking for him, and—god, thank you. seriously. thank you. you have no idea.”
“…uh. yeah. no problem.”
jisung is just standing there. being held. completely content. what a cutie.
“i’m minho, by the way.” he adds quickly, shifting one hand just enough to gesture at himself before immediately grabbing jisung again so he doesn’t wander off mid conversation.
“y/n.” you say.
“y/n.” he repeats, nodding. “again, thank you. he would’ve ended up god knows where.”
he gives jisung another small shake. jisung sways slightly. still fine.
“he said he was lost. so i walked him. let him lead, kind of. he did well.”
he did well. pfft.
“do you want to come in?” minho asks. “seriously, i can—i don’t know, get you something, water, tea, anything, this idiot owes you his life, honestly. i was about to start calling hospitals.” he gestures with his head toward jisung, who is still just… existing.
you laugh a little, shaking your head. “no, it’s okay. i should probably head home.” and you mean it. as weirdly entertaining as this whole thing has been, you are tired.
you reach out and give jisung’s arm a small pat. “try not to get lost again, okay?”
leaving.
jisung does not like this development, not one bit. but he also does not have the brainpower to stop it, so he just nods. “okay.”
that’s it. there we go. we got home. we’re fine. you’re fine, he’s fine, minho seems to be fine.
“bye, boys.”
“bye.” minho says.
jisung says nothing at first, just watches you, then, a second late “bye.”
when you’re gone, minho immediately looks at jisung.
“what the fuck did you do?”
jisung blinks.
“…walked.” he says.
fucking hell.
the second the door shuts, minho locks it(he locks it every day, fuck knows how jisung keeps getting out), and he doesn’t even turn around fully before jisung starts tugging on his arm.
minho sighs. “what?”
another tug. “minho.”
“i’m right here.”
“minho.”
“i did not disappear in the last two seconds, what.”
jisung is practically vibrating. like, actually. there is energy in his body that does not usually exist, this is new, alarming, a little bit beautiful. “girl.”
minho closes his eyes.
“yeah.” he says slowly. “i noticed the girl.”
“i was supposed to follow another girl i wanted to kill but it wasn’t the girl it was her and she said are you lost and i said yeah and, and, and then we walked and she asked about cats and i told her about the cats and she was happy with me and we walked more and i didn’t know where i was but then i found it and she came with me and she’s nice.” all in one breath.
minho calmly starts guiding jisung backward by the shoulders. “shoes.” he says.
“i really liked her and still like her and i saw a—“
“shoes.” minho repeats, nudging his foot.
jisung looks down. oh. right. shoes. he bends down, almost losing his balance, yanking one shoe off. “—and she said i was killing her but i really didn’t want to and i wasn’t so—” other shoe goes flying somewhere near the wall. close enough.
minho gently grabs his arm again before he can wander and positions him in place. “stand.”
jisung stands, then continues. “—and we walked a lot, her hand was in mine, bro, and then we walked more and i didn’t know anything but it was fine because she was there—”
“that’s nice, buddy.”
“yeah.”
minho said it’s nice. it is nice.
minho reaches out and fixes the collar of jisung’s shirt a little. “next time maybe don’t lose the target immediately.”
minho knows about jisung’s murder hobby. does he support it? absolutely not. but he knows jisung likes doing it, and for fuck’s sake, he loves the guy. he’s too good of a friend to drop jisung just because of this. he can try to control it, but he knows he’ll never stop it from happening. and that’s fine with him.
“…okay.” jisung says. he will not remember this. minho already knows that, doesn’t even bother pushing it.
instead, he leans back slightly, crossing his arms, watching jisung now. he has this… look. soft. dopey. weirdly dazed. that’s not usual on him, not at all. jisung never really feels, never really shows emotion. minho has learned this a long time ago. now he sees something else happening.
“can i see her again?” jisung asks.
minho raises an eyebrow.
okay, also new. jisung does not usually care enough to want a repeat.
“…maybe.” he says.
“okay. cats?”
“yeah, go bother the cats.” minho waves him off.
jisung turns instantly and wanders off down the hall like he didn’t just, let’s list it, fail a murder, get escorted home, develop his first ever crush. all in the span of an afternoon.
minho watches him go. shakes his head.
next morning at theirs, minho walks into the kitchen, pretty much just half awake, shirt hanging off one shoulder, boxers twisted on his hips. he scratches his stomach. yawns. drags a hand down his face.
“fuck.” he mutters.
standard greeting to the day.
he grabs a mug. coffee. water. fuck knows how men make coffee. all while, and he processed this information but it’s too common to care about it now, on the kitchen floor, jisung is crouched down, fully folded into himself, elbows on his knees, staring intently at dori.
the cat is chewing on his finger. just… gnawing.
jisung just watches. big eyes.
he is biting. this is his activity.
the cat bites a little harder. his finger twitches, but he doesn’t pull away.
he is stronger than me. i accept this.
coffee machine comes to life. minho leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring into the void while it does its thing. it’s quiet for a second.
“minho.” jisung says. he’s still being consumed by the animal.
“mm?”
“i want to see her again.”
there it is. first thought of the day. you.
minho pours the coffee, milk, stirs it. “yeah?”
“mhm.”
the cat adjusts his bite.
“she’s…” jisung pauses. this is difficult. words are hard. he has like five. he’s using all of them. “…beautiful.”
minho glances down at him. he sees the same thing he saw last night, weirdly gentle for someone who kills people, and unbelievably new.
“is that so?” minho says, sipping his coffee.
“yes. she held my arm.”
“that’s crazy.”
“yeah. twice.”
“twice, huh. serious stuff.”
jisung nods.
the cat finally lets go of his finger. he stares at it, then gently pokes the cat’s head. no hard feelings. cat takes his finger back into his little mouth. jisung smiles at him.
minho knows jisung. knows how he’s built, or rather, how he isn’t. jisung isn’t just dumb. that would be simple. almost comforting. he is empty in places where other people aren’t.
jisung doesn’t process things like other people do. doesn’t attach meaning the same way. most of the time, he just… moves. acts. exists. there’s no overthinking, no guilt, no lingering. something is seriously off with the guy. even the worst parts of him, the parts minho doesn’t touch, doesn’t encourage, but has learned to live alongside, they don’t weigh on him. they don’t echo. they just… happen. and then they’re gone.
you’re new and you stayed.
minho feels something close to hope. whatever jisung feels, he feels in a straight, uninterrupted line, full force, no filters, no moderation. so of course it’s big. of course it’s already everything.
“do you think she’ll let me have sex with her?”
minho chokes. coffee goes down the wrong pipe. he coughs, turns away, laughing under his breath.
jisung looks up at him. confused. head tilting slightly.
why is he making that noise.
minho wipes his mouth, still coughing a little, shaking his head.
jisung waits, patient, because he asked a question, and minho answers questions. that’s how the world works.
minho exhales, sets the mug down. looks at jisung, at the way he’s there on the floor, pulling his finger away from the cat’s mouth to watch it shine in the light. he’s not being weird about what he just asked, he’s just genuinely curious.
“maybe.” minho says. “if you try hard enough.”
jisung nods.
for the first time in… maybe ever, jisung is reaching toward something that isn’t violent, isn’t empty, isn’t just instinct. he’s… drawn to someone. he wants. he likes.
this means a lot to minho.
“you should go see her again, then.” minho says.
jisung looks up from the floor. “really?”
minho shrugs. “yeah.”
jisung looks back down at the cat. he sticks his finger back toward its mouth.
“bite again.” he says softly.
minho watches him, then looks away, smiling.
jisung is okay. he thinks this is a fair idea. minho said it. he trusts minho.
in jisung’s little world, one thing has always been true. as long as minho is here, everything, in jisung’s world, is fine.
and that’s how they end up outside later. minho is walking next to jisung, one hand holding a bouquet of flowers. he’s dressed properly now. jeans, shirt, actual human being presentation. so hot.
jisung is… jisung. hands in his pockets. slightly hunched. eyes wandering.
“wait. we’re here.” jisung says.
minho raises an eyebrow slightly. that’s rare, coming from jisung. he’s so sure now, but jisung forgetting things is a given. jisung remembering something this clearly? yeah. okay. wow.
“alright.” minho mutters.
they walk a little further, then he stops. turns to jisung, and shoves the bouquet into his chest.
jisung grabs it automatically. looks down at it. then back up at minho. “…flowers.”
“yeah. flowers. you give those to her.”
jisung nods.
give to her. okay.
minho rubs a hand over his face. “okay. listen to me. this is important.”
jisung straightens slightly, locked in asf.
“you go up to her.” minho starts. “you say hi. you tell her you’re glad you saw her again. you give her the flowers. you tell her you think she’s pretty. you do not tell her about the murder thing.”
“…okay.”
“i’m serious.”
“okay.”
“not even a little bit.”
“okay.”
“not as a joke. not casually. it’s a big no.”
“okay.”
minho studies him for a second. trying to see if anything stuck. it didn’t. but that’s fine. this is as good as it gets.
“and don’t say anything weird about sex right away.” he adds.
“…when then?”
“not…” minho exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “not immediately. just talk to her first. be normal.”
jisung nods.
be normal.
he has no idea what that means.
he looks at the flowers again, then at minho. “you coming too?”
“no.”
jisung frowns slightly.
“you gotta do this alone.” minho says.
jisung stares at him, thinking.
usually minho is there. always. minho talks. minho handles things. minho makes sense of the world when jisung doesn’t. but now he’s not coming.
“…alone.” jisung repeats.
“yeah.”
a pause.
“…okay.” and he means it, because minho said it.
minho nods once, then reaches out, fixing the way jisung is holding the bouquet so he doesn’t look like he’s about to strangle it. “good.” he says. “just… don’t scare her.”
jisung nods again. serious. focused.
minho steps back and gives him a small push forward. “go on.”
jisung takes a step, then another, then turns and keeps going.
minho watches him, and then he turns the other way. hands in his pockets. maybe he’ll go drink something. maybe call hyunjin if he’s nearby.
and jisung is left alone. and it’s… noticeable.
he drifts. a little left. a little right. he walks where he thinks you were. not exactly. just… close enough for his brain.
he sees a cat. stops dead in his tracks.
“…cat.” he says.
he crouches. the flowers nearly get crushed in the process, bending awkwardly in his dumb grip. god, something is so hot about this man being this dumb.
“hi.”
the cat does not give a shit about him. walks right past.
jisung watches it go.
soft. small. gone.
he stays crouched for a few seconds longer, then stands up and continues walking.
then it’s a guy walking by too fast. jisung turns his head and watches him.
walking fast. why fast?
he almost follows him. almost. but then…
you.
wait, you.
his brain, for once in its entire miserable existence, locks onto the right person instantly.
bag on your shoulder. walking, minding your own business. exactly the same. exactly right.
jisung stops and freezes. his whole face shifts. eyes wide, something bright and stupid and happy flickering in them.
“y/n—” he waves. full arm. so dumb and so sweet and so happy you’re here. “y/n—”
you look up, who the fuck is yelling your name like that— oh. jisung.
are those flowers?
he stops right in front of you. too close. breathing a little heavier than necessary.
“hi.” he says. “i’m glad i saw you again you’re pretty these are for you.”
he shoves the bouquet toward you.
“…hi?” you say, a little stunned, and slowly manage to take the flowers. “thank you.”
there’s a beat of silence, which he does not process as awkward or anything like that, by the way.
he’s adorable.
“you found your way back?” you ask.
he nods. “yes.” pause. “minho helped.”
you smile a little. “figures.” you adjust your grip on the flowers, glancing down at them. “these are really pretty.”
“yeah.” he says. like he had anything to do with that.
another pause.
this is really strange, but also really fucking soft. dreamy, kind of. so… pure. so spring. so pink flowers and so lambs in video games.
he shifts his weight slightly. “i… wanted to see you again.”
you look back up at him. “…yeah?”
he nods. “yeah.”
and he keeps standing there like a… dick. okay, point is that he’s really stiff and waiting. not for anything specific, just… there with you. because in his head, this is already enough. he found you. you’re here. you’re talking to him. you took the flowers.
everything is fine.
and… you didn’t expect this. you definitely didn’t expect him to be running at you like that, with flowers for you.
you think… god, you think he’s brutally cute. and brutally fuckable.
he was cute yesterday already, but c’mon. now this is a man who found you again. who remembered you. who came back with fucking flowers and zero game and just tried for you.
and you’ve dealt with men who try, men who say the right things. who angle themselves just right. who know how to look at you, how to talk to you, how to make it feel like something.
but this is just… a try, a pure, boy’s try.
means a lot.
you’d climb him.
and you hate that a little, because he’s also… so fucking dumb. like. visibly. you could probably tell him the sky is green and he’d accept it. and yet. he came back. he remembered you. he wanted to see you again.
and in jisung’s little head, things are happening. not in the way they happen for most people, but they’re happening.
he doesn’t think in layers. his mind is… simple. when he looks at people, usually, there’s nothing there. no attachment. no curiosity.
sometimes, rarely, something else flickers. more instinctive. the part of him that hunts.
the part that reduces people even further, turns them into objects that he can rip apart to his entertainment.
and it’s still there, it hasn’t gone anywhere. it never does. it’s just… not active right now.
because you are standing in front of him, and you have overridden it completely.
he doesn’t think of you like he thinks of other people. can he find a word for it? absolutely not. but he knows it feels good.
suddenly there was a connection where there usually isn’t one. something linking you to him in a way his brain decided was important.
there’s a kind of fixation forming.
and… jisung doesn’t have a personality he can switch the way other people do. the part of him that can hurt someone and the part of him that is standing here holding flowers? they’re not opposites. they’re the same system. just pointed in different directions.
right now, all of that focus is pointed at you.
and it makes him look harmless. makes him look like this big, slightly stupid guy who just wants to stand near you and hear you talk again.
“come on.” you say, and before he can even process the words fully(it would take him minutes anyway), you reach out and take his hand.
oh, okay!
his fingers close around yours immediately.
you start walking, tugging him along. “i was actually on my way to shop. i ran out of literally everything. like—milk, eggs, bread, all the basic shit. i don’t know why i waited this long to go but i’m happy that i came now because… you’re here. obvi.” you adjust your bag on your shoulder with a small huff. “and this thing is already annoying me, i haven’t even bought anything yet and it’s—”
“i can take it.”
you glance at him. “…what?”
“your bag.” he says, already reaching for the strap. “i can carry it.”
you can feel the way it’s not performative and that he’s not trying to impress you. it just… makes sense to him. you’re holding something. he can hold it instead. problem solved.
you think about it for like half a second, then shrug. whatevs. sure. “okay.”
he, oh your god so fucking cute, carefully slides the bag off your shoulder, replacing your hand with his for a brief second in the process, then settles it onto his own. a woman’s bag sitting on his big guy shoulder.
he adjusts the strap time to time. perfectly content.
what a babe.
“so i’ll need to buy things for dinner too. i don’t know what yet. i can always make pasta i guess, but i dunno. salmon sounds good too.” you continue.
he nods. “what do you usually eat?”
oh. wow. a full sentence we see there?
you huff a laugh. “whatever’s fast. which is why i always feel like shit.”
“you should eat better.” he says. so sincere. what an angel. (kills people)
“if you say so.” god, you feel good with him. “okay, so, milk, eggs, bread, coffee, something for dinner… maybe something sweet. do you cook?”
when he thinks, his mouth goes to the side a little. and puckering out. looks adorable. “…sometimes. i help minho.”
you smile. he smiles, a little wider this time, because you smile and that makes him feel good.
you watch him, watch the way he’s just… happy to be walking next to you. with your bag on his shoulder and your hand in his. what a cutie. you’re lucky that he followed you yesterday(even though you still don’t know what was that for)
you walk into the shop, you grab a basket and just… put it in his hands. “hold this.” you say.
jisung takes it immediately, accepts it like this is now his purpose in life. this is where it becomes very clear that jisung is…
how do you put this kindly,
fucking useless.
but now he has a little role and he’s fine with his little role and oh you’re walking let’s go!! this is fun, following you, basket in one hand, your bag still slung over his shoulder.
you grab milk because that’s such a basic thing people remember first. turn, and drop it straight into the basket.
jisung looks down at it, then back at you.
you keep going, keep putting things into the little basket in his hand, and he just… holds it. which is honestly impressive considering this man probably forgets how doors work sometimes.
“you’re doing great.” you mutter.
he’s happy. he smiles at you. anything more complex and his brain would probably start smoking.
“ugh. they don’t have my kind.” you mutter at some point, talking about rice. you have this very specific kind you like getting and they don’t have it now.
jisung watches you. very seriously. “it’s okay.” he says. completely genuine.
you snort. “yeah, thanks.”
he nods.
you keep moving, finding your little way to the sweets. you grab one thing, then another, then another. all of it goes into the basket.
he looks down again. takes inventory.
many things.
“is this too much?” you ask, half to yourself.
he shakes his head immediately. “no.”
you stop suddenly to grab something from a lower shelf. he almost walks into you. again. spatial awareness is not his strong suit. or any suit.
“careful.” you mutter.
“sorry.” he says.
you glance back at him and he’s already looking at you. he’s checking if you’re okay.
you keep going, filling the basket until it’s actually getting heavy. jisung just adjusts his grip. plus, he’s so much stronger than you are. he probably doesn’t even process this as something heavy.
exactly where he wants to be.
when you two are at the checkout, you glance at him, then at the bag, then back at him.
“can you pack it for me?” you ask.
he nods immediately, even gives a little “nhm” sound with it, then when the things are scanned, he puts them into your bag one by one like a good boy.
he’s actually… good at it.
like, he doesn’t just shove things in. he thinks. not in a big, philosophical way, god no, but like, heavy stuff on the bottom. eggs carefully placed. bread not crushed. he adjusts things. shifts them slightly. makes space.
what an angel.
you pay, grab the bag, well, you try to grab the bag. he already has it. again.
you don’t argue. fuck it tbh. walk out with him too, and just like before, he’s next to you, bag on his shoulder and behaving for you.
you stop in front of your place after a while of walking with him, turn to him, and reach for your bag.
he lets you take it. no resistance there.
“okay.” you say, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “i’ll go now.”
his pretty face drops. “no.” and he doesn’t mean it in the aggressive way, of course. jisung just really wants to spend more time with you. so much that he shakes his head and steps a little closer, even. “don’t go.”
“hey, i have to.” you say.
he frowns. “come tomorrow.”
you huff a quiet laugh. “it doesn’t work like that.”
he stares at you. so sad. so pathetic. you want to pet him and maybe kick him.
you sigh. “okay, give me your number.”
oh. okay. he pats his pockets. finds it. pulls it out. the fuck did this little bitch get an iphone this new from? (minho. obviously.)
“unlock it.” you say, holding your hand out.
he does, then hands it over to you.
you type your number in, save it, call yourself so you have his, and hand it back.
“there.” you say. “now you can bother me properly.”
jisung looks at you with big eyes, nods slowly. “okay.”
you step back. “i’ll see you, sungie.”
“…yeah.” you have never seen eyes bigger than this. a mouth shaped this cute, this… starstruck.
and just like that, the best part of his day ends. you’re gone, into the builing, away from him.
and like… imagine you’re minho. this morning, you made your friend give flowers to a girl, then you were out all day. you finally got home, finally taking a fucking piss, head tilted slightly back even, probab—
“MINHO—”
jisung slams the bathroom door open. he’s holding one of the cats, let’s say soonie, scooped up and pressed against his chest.
“she was there and i saw her again and she took the flowers and looked really happy and we walked and i carried her bag for her and i did it and we went to the shop and i packed everything and it fit and she was happy about it—”
jisung follows the gesture. “no. then she said she would go but i said no and then she gave me her number—”
“oh? her number?”
“yes!” he shifts his weight from foot to foot, rocking slightly, the cat squished against him as he does. “and she put it in my phone and now it’s there and i can call her and she said i can bother her properly!”
minho snorts. like actually laughs a little. still mid stream. “that’s… that’s good, yeah.”
“and she held my hand again and i had so much fun and she smelled so good an—”
minho finishes. shakes off, pulls his boxers back into place with one hand while the other reaches to flush. goes to wash his hands and asks: “you didn’t say anything stupid, right?” while drying his hands.
“no! i didn’t talk about murder!”
“great.”
then jisung steps forward and just puts the cat into minho’s hands. “hold.” and then he’s stepping back. “i’m going out.”
“where?”
“outside.” jisung shouts from the hall.
front door opens. closes.
silence.
minho looks down at soonie. “you see this shit?”
soonie meows.
“i know.” minho says, scratching the cat’s little head. “i know.”
so. let’s talk about how jisung’s little killing system works. his “killer side” is almost like a separate personality, but not quite. it’s not a switch he flips on purpose. it’s more like… a baseline function that sometimes rises to the surface when nothing else is holding his attention.
like hunger. like needing to move. like an itch. that’s what he gets.
when he was with you, that part of him was quiet. not gone(never gone) but overridden. your presence gave his brain something else to lock onto. something stronger than the usual emptiness. something that filled the space where that urge usually builds.
you basically distracted a predator. only minho has the same effect on him, nothing else, probably. well, he doesn’t rip random people apart on family functions of course, just minho(and you now, whatever) are able to actually push it down, as we said, override it.
but now, he was back home, he told minho everything, he replayed it. he felt something, which is rare for him, and also exhausting in a way he doesn’t understand.
and then there’s nothing.
no you. no conversation. no hand in his.
and that space, that silence, that’s where the other thing starts creeping back in.
it’s not emotional if you’re thinking that. it’s not set off by any emotion, he’s actually neutral.
and inside that neutrality, his brain starts looking for stimulation. something to engage with. something to focus on the way he focused on you, the way he focuses on minho, the way he focuses on the cats when he plays with them.
and when there’s nothing soft available, it defaults to what it knows.
it’s almost like how werewolves work, that’s how the two personalities switch. just that there’s nothing or nothing cycle like(full moons for the werewolves) that sets it off. it’s more like he’s always both things, but one side needs input to stay active.
you activated something human in him. connection. attention. interest. but that part of him is fragile, new. easily replaced when it’s not being fed.
so. now he’s on the dark streets with his hands in his pockets and that same empty happy look on his face.
he’s thinking about you the whole time. soft little thoughts. your hand on his big arm. he giggles under his breath, all dopey, kicking a pebble.
then he walks past this guy. just some random fucker, hunched over his phone, muttering into it.
now comes in handy what we said about jisung’s personalities switching. because now that this lower layer of his brain saw someone, it clicks into working again.
his hand shoots out, grabs the guy by the throat, and slams him into the brick wall of the nearest building so hard the guy’s skull bounces off the stone with a wet crack. the phone clatters to the ground. the guy makes this choked gurgle, eyes wide, but jisung is already on him like a fucking animal.
just again, like a werewolf. beastlike now.
he drives his fist into the dude’s ribs over and over, each punch landing with a sick wet crunch. bones snap. blood sprays across the bricks in thick dark arcs.
and jisung’s face is slack, almost bored looking. he headbutts the guy so hard the guy’s nose explodes, red everywhere, then he rips him away from the wall and throws him face first into the concrete.
the guy tries to crawl, wheezing, but jisung stomps down on his back with all his weight. spine gives way with a loud pop.
he drops to his knees, straddling the body, and just starts tearing into him with his bare hands. claws aren’t real but the way he rips and gouges might as well be. fingers digging into flesh, yanking out chunks, slamming the guy’s head against the pavement again and again until it stops looking like a head and starts looking like raw meat. blood everywhere. on jisung’s hoodie, on his face, dripping from his chin in thick strings.
he bites down on the guy’s shoulder at one point because why the fuck not, teeth sinking in deep and tearing a chunk free like it’s nothing. spits it out. keeps pounding. the guy stopped moving minutes ago but jisung doesn’t care.
finally he sits back on his heels, chest heaving a little, face and hands dripping blood.
the killer fog lifts as easy as it dropped.
he looks down at the mess, then the pretty smile creeps back in. switched, just like that.
he wipes his face with his sleeve, smears it worse, and stands up. stretches. the brutal werewolf like side is tucked back behind that empty happy brain. that’s how it works, tucking away, or more like, next to it. but one is always bigger, always spills out more.
anyways, all that’s left is jisung again, dumb, and now thinking about how nice it would be if you were here to hold his arm.
he starts walking home like nothing happened. hopes you’re having a good night.
when he’s back home, he kicks the door shut with one bloody sneaker and immediately spots soonie on the back of the couch.
“kitty kitty.” jisung mumbles. he drops to his knees right there in the entryway, blood dripping onto the hardwood in fat plops, and reaches out with those massive red stained hands.
the cat hops down and headbutts straight into his bloody palm. jisung giggles and scoops the little guy up, pressing his face into the orange and white fur even though he’s leaving red streaks all over it.
“i just mopped.” minho whines.
jisung looks up from nuzzling the cat, big dumb eyes blinking slow. “hi minho. soonie likes me even when i’m red. look.” he holds the cat up. the cat just purrs louder, one tiny paw patting jisung’s bloody nose.
minho pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing through his mouth because the metallic smell is already making his stomach turn. he hates blood. hates the way it gets in everything, hates the way it never fully washes out of clothes no matter how many times he runs the machine on hot, hates the way jisung tracks it in. but mostly he hates that it means jisung is pursuing his little hobby.
okay, not a hobby. this is a fucking disorder and minho knows it.
minho’s pretty sure it’s some deep dissociative shit, the kind where jisung’s brain basically has two modes that don’t talk to each other. but still process what the other one did, is there while the other one did his work.
you can’t even say that one mode is the real jisung because both of them is the real jisung, just split into two. minho’s read enough late night reddit threads to know this isn’t normal serial killer stuff. normal ones plan. normal ones enjoy the power. jisung doesn’t enjoy shit. he just switches and suddenly there’s a corpse and he’s petting a cat five minutes later like nothing happened.
minho loves him too much to fix it. jisung is his best friend, kid’s been glued to his side since they were teenagers. sometimes even talks jisung down when the switch almost happens in public. but like… taking him to a therapist? fuck no. what if they lock jisung up? what if they drug him until the sweet part disappears too? what if jisung gets scared and the beast mode decides minho’s the problem?(that would never happen) minho’s too chickenshit to risk it. so he just… lives with it.
and the crush jisung has on you is the first real feeling jisung’s ever had that wasn’t just murder autopilot, and minho clings to that. maybe if jisung stays obsessed with you the beast side will chill the fuck out. maybe.
“put the cat down and go straight to the shower.” minho says, voice tired. he grabs a towel from the hall closet and starts laying it over the bloody footprints like he’s done a hundred times. “i’ll handle the floor. and throw that hoodie in the trash, not the laundry this time.”
jisung stands up slow, still cradling the cat, blood flaking off his arms onto the poor thing’s fur. “okay. shower. got it.” he leans in and presses a bloody kiss to the top of minho’s head on his way past.
minho sighs so deep it rattles his ribs, watching his murderer disappear down the hall still cooing “kitty kitty who’s my good boy” to the blood covered cat.
he loves the idiot more than he hates the disorder.
and just like that, the next day you text jisung. mostly out of curiosity, partially because you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you and wanted you. and he responds immediately. of course he does. he doesn’t believe in waiting. he doesn’t believe in timing. he sees your name light up his phone and everything else can be fucked. (everything else was him playing league with felix, working, or sitting next to minho on the couch and watch whatever minho’s watching on the tv)
and if you’re in jisung’s space, you’re going to feel minho eventually.
like after that, the next time you see jisung, it’s the three of you going out. minho comes too.
god, he’s so intelligent. you like the guy.
jisung, meanwhile, is just… there. he listens. nods. smiles. laughs. his attention moves between you and minho. every once in a while, he’ll say something. not often. but when he does, it’s direct. blunt. sometimes weirdly insightful, sometimes completely fucking useless. you learn quickly that there’s no predicting which one you’re going to get.
and you meet again. and again. and suddenly, it’s not a question of if minho is there. it’s assumed.
you like minho. minho likes you. it’s simple.
so you go out with them. minho always pays for shit, jisung always watches you.
and you can feel this… weird thing about jisung. not in a way you can name, just something missing. or maybe something extra, tucked underneath everything else.
he doesn’t react the way people usually do. doesn’t pick up on certain cues. doesn’t mirror emotions the way you expect. but then he’ll do something small, carry your bag without being asked, remember something you said three days ago, hold your pretty hand, and that part feels completely in place, completely right.
minho sees all of it. he sees the way jisung goes toward you, the way his (really short) attention sharpens when you speak, the way he relaxes when you’re near. and he sees the way you look back.
minho is thriving.
for the first time, jisung is engaging with something that isn’t empty or destructive.
you’re a fucking miracle, honestly.
when you go to their place first time, jisung spends a good half an hour introducing the cats to you.
you do hang out with them at their place sometimes. you go out with them too. you just hang out with these fuckers and you feel so good with them. you enjoy their company and know you’re wanted there. that means a lot.
you and jisung are clearly something. well, absolutely not labeled yet, but it’s obvious that there’s tension there. interest.
he doesn’t know how to flirt though, not really. it comes out in his own way. “you’re pretty.” “you smell nice.” “stay.”
minho likes seeing this and likes you, genuinely. not just because of what you are to jisung, but as a person too. you can keep up with him. you don’t get overwhelmed by jisung. you’re great company and you’re pretty and you’re intelligent.
and minho still checks the clock late at night, waiting for the door to open again, not knowing if jisung will come back to him drenched in blood or not. but nowadays, he’s mostly clean.
he’s obviously head over heels obsessed with you. he gets all blushy and dopey whenever you’re around, stealing touches (your hand on his arm becomes his favorite thing in the world), giggling, and straight up whining to minho the second you leave about how “she smiled at me again minho did you see?? she likes me right???”
you like him back, in a curious way. there’s something weirdly magnetic about how simple and genuine he is.
plus you and minho click.
and you three… go on together. take the movie nights where jisung takes up half the couch and you end up squished between him and minho, both of their arms draped behind you. sweet shit like this, human.
minho never says it out loud but he’s grateful as fuck. you’re good for jisung. you keep the sweet dumb side dominant. and you’re good for minho too.
good for entertaining both of them, too. once jisung tries to open a bottle the wrong way, twisting the cap the opposite direction, face serious.
you watch for a second. minho watches too. neither of you say anything. just let him struggle.
“…ji.” you finally say.
“hm?”
“other way.”
he pauses. considers this. then turns it the other way. it opens immediately. he blinks at it. then at you. “…oh.”
you laugh. minho laughs. jisung smiles.
another night, it’s raining. you didn’t plan to stay late, but minho cooked, and then there was talking, and then somehow it’s dark and loud outside and you’re still there.
“stay.” jisung says when you start to complain about going home in this fuckass weather.
minho doesn’t even look up from his phone. “yeah, just stay.”
oh. sure. minho totally offered his room for you to sleep in but one of the cats was already sleeping on you so you didn’t want to move from the couch. so you slept there. and when you wake up, you’re half aware of something warm and heavy near your legs.
you shift slightly. something shifts back.
jisung. curled at the other end of the couch.
an angel.
(what you see, at least)
another time, you’re all out somewhere. crowded, loud, lots of people. jisung is also slightly closer to you than usual, holding into you.
someone bumps into you, nothing major, and jisung immediately places himself a little more solidly at your side.
“careful.” he says.
“i’m fine, thank you.”
and he stays just as close after that.
means a lot, coming from him.
it means just as much to minho, seeing it.
you and minho love making dirty jokes that jisung doesn’t quite understand. once when you came over jisung dumbly mumbled “you came” and when you answered “yeah i do that” with a wink, you and minho lost your shits laughing. slapping on each other’s backs and all. jisung had no clue what was going on but he knows people laughing means good so he was happy.
and like… this is sweet, there’s a late night where it’s just you and minho for a bit. you’re sitting at the table, half finished drink in front of you. minho across from you.
“you know he likes you.” minho says.
“…yeah. i figured.”
“no, like—” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “he really likes you.”
you lean back slightly. “and?”
“and you should be careful with that. i mean… handle it… well.” he’s still trying to find the words.
you hold his gaze. “i am. or… you don’t think i do?”
“no, no. i do. i absolutely do. really, y/n, you’re… great.”
all this development means a lot to all three parties. the development also contains getting to know each other more, and the more you get to know jisung, the more you and minho know that this little bitch needs more exposure to society.
jisung functions. technically. he can walk, talk, hold a bag, not die in public. but socialize? no. absolutely the fuck not, and you two get that perfectly.
so you and minho decide to fix that.
the first “outing” is a bar. not even a crazy one. just normal. lights, people, music.
he walks in with you two with big, confused eyes. but interested.
you get drinks. minho handles it, obviously.
you hand jisung his drink and he looks at it.
“what is it?”
“alcohol.” you say. “drink it.”
he nods. takes a sip. grimaces, but takes another sip anyways. and keeps sipping, even though he doesn’t exactly like the taste. but never ever did in his life. who cares, you put it in his hands so it’s fine.
you and minho are watching him.
“this is going well.” you mutter.
“give it time.” minho says.
minho has developed a whole ass sense to jinx shit like this by now, because some random friendly guy comes up to jisung.
“hey man, you good?” he asks, because jisung is standing there holding his drink and the guy starts to worry that someone drugged him.
jisung looks at him. long. “…yeah.”
silence.
the guy waits.
there’s supposed to be more. there isn’t.
“…cool.” the guy says, slowly backing away.
both you and minho pat jisung’s back.
next time you two take him somewhere calmer, a cafe. in the daytime and allat. this is where you discover that jisung can, in fact, talk. he just… doesn’t stop once he starts.
you’re sitting at a table, minho’s across from you, jisung is next to you. someone at the next table mentions cats and jisung immediately turns to them.
“i have three.” he says.
the stranger blinks. “…oh. nice.”
“one is orange. very stupid. one bites. one sleeps all day but at night it runs.”
you bury your face in your hand. minho leans back in his chair, smiling and biting on his lip.
“they like me.” jisung adds.
the stranger nods slowly. “…that’s great, man.”
jisung nods back, conversation complete, then turns back to you.
“you did so good.” you whisper.
he smiles.
did good.
another time, it’s with friends of minho’s, sitting in a circle, people talking, laughing, normal human interaction happening. oh yeah, you’re close enough with the boys now that they invite you to shit like this. god, it feels nice.
jisung is quiet at first, watching. processing.
then someone asks him a question. “so, what do you do?”
you and minho both freeze. just slightly. minho because jisung might be about to tell people he kills, you because you know this is going to be a weird interaction.
jisung thinks. “…i go out.” he says.
you choke. minho coughs into his drink.
“…yeah?” the person says, confused.
jisung nods. “yeah.”
and that’s it.
you lean over to him. “you’re doing amazing.” you whisper.
he smiles at you.
or walking through a busy street market because you wanted to go and they came with you.
he gets distracted every five seconds.
“what’s that?”
“food.”
“what’s that?”
“also food.”
“what’s that?”
minho grabs his sleeve at one point because he starts drifting toward a stall. “stay with us.”
“i am.” he is not.
you end up grabbing his hand just to keep him from wandering off. and suddenly, he’s perfectly behaved.
hand holding = functional jisung.
no hand holding = he might follow a stranger into traffic.
so, bigger exposure, minho gets invited to some party and he takes you two along with him. some random friend’s crowded apartment. the place is already loud and sticky with cheap beer and too many bodies, music thumping, y’know the usual. minho’s is guiding you through the door with a hand lightly on your back while jisung trails right behind you all happy because you’re here and you let him hold the edge of your hoodie the whole way over.
“yo—MINHO—”
minho introduces you quick and casual to two friends. “this is y/n. be nice. y/n, this is chan and—“
the one he pointed at when he said chan immediately leans in, smiling ear to ear. “heey, hi.”
and the other guy snatches your hand, bows a little dramatically, and presses a wet kiss right to the back of it. “well fuck me, darling. name’s jeongin. hi.” he doesn’t let go right away. instead he tugs you a tiny bit closer with a half hug. he smells manly. “c’mere, don’t be shy.”
chan laughs loud and boyish, shoving jeongin’s shoulder but not hard enough to actually move him off you. “dude, chill.” then he looks back at you. “ignore him. he’s been horny since birth. but seriously, hi. what’s up?”
“yeah, really—“
“ji, my man!” chan yells when he notices jisung’s dumb ass smiling behind you, pulling him into one of those aggressive bro hugs that looks like it could crack ribs. “look at this big stupid bastard, he actually combed his hair tonight what the fuck.”
jeongin shakes you. “there’s our favorite meathead. still breathing through your mouth or did minho finally teach you how to use your brain cells?”
jisung just stands there all smiley, blinking slow with that empty happy smile, letting them manhandle him. he doesn’t mind. these are his people. they always do this, rough him up, call him names, treat him like this. they mean good and he can tell.
jeongin mmediately starts fake punching jisung’s stomach while laughing “c’mon big guy show us those abs you’ve been hiding under all that dumb.”
jisung lets out a low “hehe” and flexes half heartedly because that’s what they expect.
the five of you end up in the corner by the shitty kitchen counter. people are yelling and spilling drinks, but the boys make sure to pay attention to you.
chan keeps leaning in close when he talks and his eyes keep dipping down to your mouth when you laugh, and every time you say something even mildly funny he throws his head back and laughs way too loud, slapping his thigh. he be doin too much.
jeongin never keeps his hands to himself for long. he keeps giving you these half hugs, pulling you against his side every time he wants to make a point, his hand lingering way too long on your waist. he likes your waist. at one point he straight up takes your hand again, kissing the knuckles while looking up at you through his lashes with that pretty little grin. “see? perfect hand. made for kissing. bet it feels even better other places.”
chan snorts beer out his nose laughing, then punches jeongin in the arm hard enough to make him yelp but they’re both just giggling the fuck around.
“you’re disgusting.” chan tells him, still laughing, but then turns right back to you. “but he’s not wrong. you smell good too. what is that? vanilla? fuck, it’s making me hungry.”
they’re loud. they’re gross. they talk over each other constantly, shoving and play fighting, chan even gets to the point of offering you his jacket when someone opens the window and it gets cold, flexing a little too obviously when he reaches for a drink on a high shelf.
and through it all they keep bringing jisung into it because god they love that dumb fuck.
every few minutes one of them will glance over at jisung (who’s just standing there with his smile, occasionally petting the air like he wishes a cat was there) and grin. that much.
they’re disgusting. handsy. loud. jeongin keeps kissing your head now every time you say something he likes, then pretending to bite your fingers. chan keeps offering you sips from his beer, then flexing his arm “accidentally” when he laughs.
minho’s off to the side most of the time, sipping his drink. watching. he catches your eye every now and then and gives you this little shrug like because yeah they’re always like this.
and some point chan grabs jisung’s hand and makes him high five everyone in the room, yelling “who’s a good boy? who’s minho and minho’s hot girlfriend’s good boy?”
the fuck are these guys now. honestly.
jeongin keeps flirting with you the whole time even though he also thinks you’re minho’s girl, throwing in shit like “if minho ever fucks up just know i’ve got a spot right here on my lap” while chan tries to play the nice guy but still can’t stop himself from staring at your chest. boys.
they’re loud, handsy, constantly touching each other and you in that casual bro way that’s half polite half horny. chan offers you a beer by holding it against your side “accidentally” while laughing too loud and watching you squirm away from the cold.
not from him though, you like the guys. you like the fact that they think you’re together with minho and still flirt. that they think they have a chance.
but when jeongin gets a little too cheeky and tries to pull you into a dance jisung makes this tiny unhappy noise in his throat and steps half in front of you without even thinking.
“awww look at sungie getting protective! big man’s got a crush on minho’s girl!”
“jisung you jealous fuck? wanna fight me for her? c’mon throw hands big guy i’ll let you win.”
jisung just blinks slowly, cheeks a little pink, and mumbles “she’s nice…” which makes chan laugh and slap his back, jeongin actually spin away laughing, minho shake his head.
you end up ditching the loud kitchen shit after a while. chan suggests grabbing the big ugly couch in the corner of the living room that’s somehow still free, and minho nods, his hand brushing your back because daddy’s protective. you follow them over, leaving jisung happily parked with jeongin somewhere near the drinks table. last you saw, jeongin had an arm slung around jisung’s massive shoulders and was laughing way too loud at whatever dumb shit jisung just said.
the three of you sink into the couch. it’s worn and kinda sticky, but it’s quieter back here. the music’s still loud, but at least you can hear each other without yelling.
chan stretches his legs out, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you. minho sits on your other side, legs crossed, so adorable.
“i could use a cig right now.” chan starts when he gets comfortable, then turns to you. “you smoke?”
“oh? oh, no.” you mumble. “it stinks.”
he chuckles. “yes it does. yeah.”
you lean back, letting yourself relax a little. “i mean, i dunno. work’s been kicking my ass lately. but still, i wouldn’t… hurt myself like that, y’know.”
chan nods. “yeah. yeah.”
“i worry enough already. expectations and all that.”
minho nods. “yeah i get that. jisung’s the opposite. he can sit in silence for hours and be perfectly happy, just staring at the wall or petting a cat. sometimes i’m jealous.”
chan chuckles, his eyes never leaving your face. “construction’s the same shit for me. loud, dirty, guys yelling all day. by friday night i’m wiped. but then i go home and cook. it’s my reset. sounds lame but it keeps me sane.”
you tilt your head, genuinely interested. “what’s your go to? like comfort food or fancy shit?”
“both.” chan says, grinning boyishly. “last weekend i did this slow cooked pork thing with garlic and herbs. whole apartment smelled amazing. brought leftovers to the guys and they acted like i cured cancer.” the way he’s so happy to talk about his little man hobby. “after a long week of noise i need that quiet too. calm. good food. maybe someone to share it with who doesn’t talk my ear off.” his eyes flick down to your mouth for a second, then back up.
“chan.” minho warns.
“hey, calm down, dude. i’m just in a good mood.”
“seems like a really good mood.”
“be grateful for that, man. my hair is already fucked today, you’re lucky i’m not throwing shit around.”
you look at him. his hair is… fine. like, objectively fine.
“what are you talking about?” you ask. “it looks normal.”
“no, it doesn’t.” chan insists immediately, already tilting his head, trying to see himself in the reflection of something shiny nearby. “it’s too… puffy.”
minho snorts into his glass. “puffy.”
“yeah.” chan says, defensive now. “it’s not sitting right.”
you narrow your eyes at him. “do you style it or something?”
“yeah, i straighten it. it just sits better when i do.”
“like—like with an actual straightener?”
“yes, with an actual straightener.” he says, playfully annoyed now. “what else would i use, a fucking iron?”
“no, i just… it’s sweet to imagine you with a straightener.”
“oh, shut up.” but he’s smiling. “it’s not hard. i shower, which already takes too long, and then…” he grabs an imaginary straightener out of thin air, mimes plugging it in. taps his foot impatiently. “and you gotta wait. forever.”
you laugh.
he points at you. “no, seriously. and then,” he grabs a section of his hair, pulling it forward. “you take this, right?” he starts miming straightening it. slow. face scrunched in concentration. “and you go like this…” drag “and if you mess it up, you gotta do it again, and if you do it too much, you fry it, and then you look horrible—“
“you already look like an idiot.” minho says.
“—and then you gotta angle it right so it actually sits the way you want.” he flips the imaginary strand. shakes his head slightly so his real hair moves. “and then you check it.” he says, leaning closer to you, lowering his voice. “because if it’s not right, what’s the point of all that effort, you know?”
you bite your lip. can’t help it. “you put a lot of thought into this.”
“i put a lot of effort into things that matter.” he says, eyes still on you.
“your hair?”
“even that.”
you laugh again.
he straightens up, runs a hand through his hair. “all i’m saying is if i’m gonna put in that much effort, someone better appreciate it.” his eyes flick to you again.
“i appreciate effort.” you say lightly.
“good.” he replies, just as easily. “i’d hate for it to go to waste.”
minho shakes his head.
“you could come to more things like this. with us.” chan murmurs confidently.
you sigh. “honestly, parties aren’t really my usual habitat. this is fun for a bit but i can already feel my social battery draining hard.”
minho turns his head. “say less. let’s go search a place for you to calm down a bit. there’s gotta be a quieter room in this shithole somewhere.”
you look up. you can see jeongin holding a bottle of something strong high above jisung’s head. jisung’s tilted all the way back, mouth open while jeongin pours a stream of alcohol straight down his throat. he’s swallowing it like it’s water, some of it spilling down his chin and onto his shirt. just happy to be there. my boy jisung going to parties, fuck it up jisung!!
jeongin’s laughing his ass off, one hand on jisung’s shoulder to steady the big idiot, yelling “that’s my boy! chug chug you fucking tank!”
you nod. “hm. okay. thanks. let’s go.”
chan looks a little disappointed but nods, still watching you with those eyes like he could stare all night. “yeah, go recharge. i’ll hold the couch for when you come back. or… y’know… if you want company later.”
you and minho stand up together. as you squeeze past chan to get out of the seating area, chan’s hand actually raises to touch your ass, but minho slaps chan’s hand away hard.
fucker.
you and minho slip into some bedroom and the door clicks shut behind. it’s quieter in here, just the thump of bass through the walls. ooh, there are fairy lights. a vibe.
minho drops onto the beanbag with a groan, patting the spot next to him. “c’mere. tell me more about what you said earlier.”
you sink down beside him, touching each other because the beanbag is tiny and you’re both kinda crammed in. it feels comfortable.
“about not liking parties after a while?”
“mhm.”
“oh. i dunno. i just start to feel… really in my skin after a while. touchy, everyone.”
minho chuckles, tilting his head back against the wall, eyes half lidded in that pretty way. “yeah well, i’ve had years of practice herding jisung. chan and jeongin are harmless but aren’t that good for him. he’s different with you. won’t shut up about you, actually. ‘minho she smiled again. minho she called me big guy. minho do you think she likes cats too?’ it’s fucking adorable.”
you grin, nudging his knee with yours. “he’s kinda cute. it’s refreshing as fuck after dealing with normal guys who overthink everything.”
minho nods, turning his head to look at you properly. the fairy lights catch on his face, making him look softer than usual, less like the exhausted bestie who mops up blood and more like someone who actually feels the weight of keeping jisung stable. “he’s never had this before, y’know? feeling like this.” he can’t say that jisung never felt before, but he wants to tell you the truth. just can’t.
you shift closer, the beanbag sinking, supporting your chin in your palm to turn to him properly.
“you’re good for him.” minho says quietly, eyes on your face now. his voice dropped a little. sounds good. “and you’re good for me too. having another adult around who doesn’t treat the whole thing like a joke. i’ve been carrying this alone for years. you show up and suddenly it’s… easier. lighter. i like having you here. a lot.”
“wow, thank you. means a lot.” you whisper.
the fairy lights make his eyes dark. soft. your breath catches for a second because some kind of chemistry just woke up.
it’s not attraction, not really, but it’s want.
minho leans in first, slow enough that you could pull away, actually keeping it in mind that you could, but you don’t. his hand comes up to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw,
and then,
his mouth is on yours.
the kiss is pretty fucking sensual right from the start. nasty in a desperate, beer tinged way.
his lips are soft, pressing into yours deeply. you part your mouth and his tongue slides in, wet, disturbing in the way tongues always are a little, slow at first then filthier, curling against yours. he tastes like the whiskey he was sipping earlier, a little bitter, a little sweet. his other hand lands on your waist to pull you closer on the beanbag so your chest presses against his.
the kiss turns messy quick. tongues sliding sloppily, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, a little groan coming from his throat into your mouth.
he sucks on your tongue gently, then harder, and you kiss back just as nasty, one hand fisting the front of his shirt, the other sliding up to thread through his hair and tug.
it’s hot, his thigh slipping between yours so you’re half straddling it without meaning to, the friction making you both breathe heavier. you feeling him between your legs, him knowing you’re on him finally. his fingers press harder into your waist, it feels good to have that squeeze there.
physical. human.
it lasts longer than it should, maybe a full minute of pure nasty making out, tongues fucking each other, bodies shifting closer until you’re basically in his lap on the stupid beanbag. he nips your lip again, harder this time, then soothes it with his tongue, groaning low when you rock against his thigh once.
you pull back first, lips wet and swollen, eyes wide. minho’s face is flushed, mouth still parted because he can’t believe what just happened, pretty features all twisted in instant regret.
“fuck.” he breathes, voice hoarse. “shit shit shit—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—fuck, that was… i’m so sorry.”
you scramble back a little on the beanbag, heart hammering, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand even though you can still taste him. “no no, i’m sorry too. i kissed you back, that was on me. i didn’t—i don’t know what the fuck that was. it just… happened. the talking, the closeness, the stupid lights and the party noise and—god i’m sorry.”
minho runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely fucked. “no, it was me. i started it. i mean, i liked it, but i can’t do this to jisung. he’s obsessed with you, like full on empty skull in love, and i’m his best friend. i can’t just—fuck, i can’t kiss his girl.“
you shake your head fast, cheeks burning. “yeah, it—it wasn’t attraction. i don’t feel that way about you, minho. like, at all. i like jisung, i do, that’s where my head’s at. this was just… the moment. alcohol. exhaustion. i’m so sorry. i never wanted to make it weird between us.”
“me neither.” he says, voice cracking a little with how earnest he is. “i don’t feel anything like that for you either.” lie, there is something for you there sexually, even if there’s nothing romantically. “fuck, i’m so sorry. we’re good, right? tell me we’re good.”
“we’re good.” you say quickly, reaching out to squeeze his arm the same way you do to jisung’s.
minho exhales, hard, adorable. he gives you that small relieved smile. “okay. god i feel like such an asshole.“
“you’re not, minho. body shit just… happens.”
“…yeah. it does.”
if you offered now, he’d still dick you down though.
well, there would be a huge ethical dilemma in him first, but it’d end tangled in you anyway.
but you won’t offer, of course. and he knows that.
“c’mon.” he says, standing up and offering you a hand. “let’s go rescue jisung.”
you take his hand, squeeze it once, and let yourself get pulled up.
and when you two step back into the party, jesus fucking christ, the state jisung is in is absolutely batshit insane.
the big dumb fuck is slumped against the kitchen counter, eyes half lidded, mouth hanging open with a string of drool shining down his chin.
jeongin has one arm hooked around jisung’s thick neck while chan is on the other side laughing his ass off and pouring alcohol straight into jisung’s open mouth.
jisung is just swallowing on autopilot, throat bobbing, making these wet gulping noises that sound way too much like he’s deepthroating the bottle. liquor spills down his shirt, soaking the front so it clings to his massive chest, nipples hard from the cold alcohol.
“that’s it, you giant cumdump of a man.” jeongin cackles, cheeky, so boyish, tilting the bottle higher so more alcohol floods jisung’s mouth. “chug it like you chug my dick in your dreams, boy. look at him go, fuckin’ wild. swallow, swallow, good boy.”
chan is doubled over laughing, slapping jisung’s broad back hard enough to make the boy rock forward.
jisung makes a low, dopey gurgle, fingers twitching and eyes crossing for a second before he mumbles out a “y/n…”
jeongin grabs jisung’s face with both hands and squishes his cheeks so his lips puff out like a fish. “awww.”
“alright, hi.” you say, stepping right up and shoving jeongin’s hands off jisung’s face. “give me my boy back before you kill him.”
minho just sighs. “both of you shut the fuck up and back off. ji, come on. we’re going.”
jisung’s head lolls toward your voice. “y/n.”
you grab his big arm, the same one you touched that first day, and tug. “yeah, yeah, hi. come on, baby.”
jisung stumbles forward immediately. his arm wraps around your shoulders, heavy as fuck, and he nuzzles his face into your hair like a dog sniffing crotch.
chan laughs even louder, slapping jisung’s ass as you start dragging him away. “go get ‘em, tiger.“
minho shoots them both a middle finger while helping you guide jisung toward the door. he wants to leave before jisung switches and rips someone’s throat out while drunk. just again, he can never tell when is it going to happen.
jisung is barely walking straight. every few steps he giggles and tries to pet your hair, smearing a little vodka on your shoulder. “soft… you’re so soft… i like when you’re nice to me… the kitties are soft too but you’re nicer.”
and you and minho have to take him home like that. one of you on each side of him. by the time you get there, jisung is barely conscious.
you and minho barely get him through the apartment door before he starts making these wet, gurgly heaving sounds.
“fuck fuck fuck.” minho hisses, kicking the door shut with his foot.
jisung’s face is flushed red, mouth slack with spit shining on his chin. he’s giggling between the gags though.
“bathroom. now.” you say, grabbing one massive arm while minho takes the other.
you basically drag his heavy ass down the short hallway, jisung’s feet stumbling. the second you shove him into the tiny bathroom he drops to his knees in front of the toilet like a good little drunk slut. his big hands brace on the seat, head hanging low, drool already dripping from his open mouth into the bowl.
“okay big guy, listen to me.” you say. you kneel beside him, one hand rubbing slow circles on his broad back while the other brushes his messy hair out of his face. “you drank way too much because those assholes thought it was funny. but you’re gonna be okay. i’m right here. i’ve got you.”
jisung makes a pathetic little whine, leaning into your touch. “y/n… my head hurts, stomach’s all twisty, don’t like it.”
“i know, baby. you’re doing so good.” you keep stroking his hair, thumb brushing his cheek. “i’m gonna help you feel better, okay? just trust y/n.”
he nods.
minho is scooping up dori, who’s trying to run to jisung. he tucks the cat under one arm, the poor thing purring anyway.
you slide your hand from his back to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “alright, sungie. open your mouth for me. wide. y/n’s gonna help get all that nasty shit out so you stop feeling sick.”
he obeys instantly, tongue lolling out a bit.
you’re fucking brutal, god, you slide two fingers past his lips, pressing down on his tongue, then deeper until you’re nudging the back of his throat.
“that’s it… good boy.” you coo. “relax your throat. let it happen. you can do it. you’re so good at listening when i tell you what to do.”
he makes this low, surprised moan around your fingers, actually moans, the perverted fucker, and his whole body shudders like someone just stroked his dick instead of trying to make him vomit. big dumb eyes watering as he looks up at you with pure trust and zero thoughts. his throat convulses around your fingers, wet and tight and gross, making these obscene choking sounds that echo off the bathroom tiles.
“there you go, poor thing. get it all out. y/n’s right here, i’ve got you.” you push a little deeper, curling your fingers, rubbing that soft spot that makes him heave again. “you’re doing amazing. such a strong boy for me. i’m so proud of you, sungie. even when you’re drunk and sloppy.”
little whore moans around your fingers again. the fucker likes it.
you feel his throat flutter again, hotter and wetter.
“come on, give it to me. let it all come up.” you coo.
he nods eagerly even while gagging, big dumb eyes watering more, now sliding down his pretty cheeks. spit drips down your wrist in thick strings.
“jesus christ, man.” minho says from the doorway, still cradling the cat who still likes his little position.
you twist your fingers a little deeper, pressing down on his tongue, and jisung gags hard, whole body jerking, but instead of pulling away he leans into it, moaning louder. his breathing is all ragged and horny, chest heaving, and you swear you can see the front of his jeans twitching.
“come on baby, puke.” you growl, pumping your fingers in and out a couple times just to trigger the reflex.
his throat spasms violently around your fingers and finally, finally, he retches loud and wet, whole body convulsing as the first wave of vodka and bile comes rushing up.
god you’re lucky you pulled your hand away in time.
each time he gags he lets out these pathetic little whimpers that sound way too sexual for someone emptying their stomach.
“shhh, i know baby, i know.” you murmur. “you’re doing so good for me. my big strong sungie taking it so well. let’s do it again so we get all that poison out, okay?
he nods, lips shaking, and god, the way he stares. it’s fucking criminal. his big eyes are shining, actual fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.
“okay.” you murmur to him. “you can get the next round out, ju—“
“nooo, y/n, put them back… i need them, please, i can’t do it by myself. please.”
you grimace because his mouth is now a fucking acid bath and you’re not about to shove your fingers back into that nightmare. “jisung, baby, your mouth is gross right now. we gotta clean it first, okay? minho, grab a glass of water. quick.”
minho soon hands you the glass while still juggling the cat that’s trying to escape and climb jisung’s back.
you tilt jisung’s head back gently and make him spit out the worst of the bile, then help him rinse and swallow a few careful sips. he coughs and whimpers the whole time, poor baby.
“better?” you ask softly, wiping his chin with your sleeve.
he nods pathetically, lips trembling. “y/n, still feels bad, please, your fingers again.”
“alright, you needy little bitch. open wide for me again.”
you dip your fingers in the clean water first, then slide them back into his mouth, pressing deep until you hit the back of his throat again.
and you keep it going like this. make him throw more up, pull away, rinse his mouth, fingers down his throat again. it’s fucking disgusting but whatever.
this is the most fucked up thing minho has ever witnessed and he’s cleaned literal brains off the walls.
you keep going for round after round, sweet talking, fingering his throat, pulling back when it gets too nasty, letting him chase and beg and cry for it.
by the time his stomach is finally empty he’s a complete wreck, face red, lips swollen, tears everywhere.
you and minho finally drag his massive drunk ass out of the bathroom after what feels like forty rounds of finger down the throat hell. he’s actually in a horrible state, face flushed and tear streaked, lips swollen and shiny with spit, shirt soaked in vodka, jeans sporting a very obvious dark wet spot at the front because the dumb fuck apparently came untouched somewhere between round three and four while crying for your fingers. his legs barely work.
“thank you y/n.” he whines.
“shut the fuck up and walk.” minho grunts, shouldering most of the weight on the other side.
you finally wrestle him into his room, which is basically a nest of blankets, cat hair, and one sad lamp. jisung collapses face first onto the bed, groaning happily when you roll him onto his back. he blinks up at you with those huge glassy boba eyes, still completely thoughtless.
“y/n…” he mumbles, voice all raspy and fucked from all the gagging.
poor pathetic thing. you lean down and press a gentle kiss to his sweaty forehead, brushing damp hair out of his face. “sleep, okay? you did well.”
he makes this low content sound, eyes already fluttering shut as you tuck the blanket around his broad chest. dori immediately jumps up and curls right on top of him, purring and kneading his pecs. his hand comes up weakly to pet the cat’s back.
you and minho back out of the room quietly, closing the door most of the way.
the second you’re in the hallway the energy shifts. it’s just you and minho again. you look at each other.
the air gets thick real fucking fast.
minho’s pretty face is still a little flushed from hauling jisung around, eyes dark in the low light. you feel that same stupid pull from the beanbag earlier, the closeness. your gaze drops to his mouth for half a second and he notices. he leans in a tiny bit, almost on instinct, breath warm against your cheek.
you both freeze.
“no.” you say at the exact same time.
you pull back first, hands up. “fuck, sorry. that was… we’re not doing that again.. we’re good.“
minho exhales hard, running a hand through his hair and stepping back too, looking equal parts relieved and disappointed in himself. “yeah. sorry.“
“yeah.”
“yeah.”
you hum softly and head for the door. minho follows to lock up behind you. right as you step outside soonie tries to dart between your legs. minho lunges and scoops him up just in time, holding the wriggling little fucker against his chest while it meows in protest.
he gives you one last fond look, cat squirming in his arms. “night. thanks for helping with… all of that. you’re good with him. better than i am sometimes.”
“night, minho.“
he closes the door behind you.
inside, he stands there for a second holding the cat(which is about to rip minho’s face off)
the apartment feels strangely empty with you gone.
after that night, jisung’s empty fucking skull doesn’t just have a crush anymore. it has a full blown, brain melting, cock throbbing obsession with you.
o b s e s s i o n
he wakes up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life, throat raw, head pounding, stomach still doing flips. but the second his dumb eyes open, he remembers your fingers sliding down his throat, your soft voice while he puked and cried and came in his pants like a pathetic virgin.
he doesn’t even think about killing or the cats or minho.
just you.
y/n.
your fingers. your smell. the way you kissed his sweaty forehead. the way you stayed even when he was a disgusting, vomiting, hard mess.
from that day on, jisung is a new man.
he follows you around whenever you hang out, in the pathetic “please look at me please touch me please say my name” way. every time you so much as brush his arm he freezes, eyes going all big, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for you to shove your fingers down his throat again.
he thinks about your fingers constantly. during meals he’ll zone out staring at your hands, imagining them stretching his throat open again. at night he humps his pillow thinking about you.
and that beast side of him is… quieter now?
that’s because every time the switch threatens to flip, his empty brain just defaults to you instead. some random guy bumps into him on the street? instead of slamming the dude into a wall and ripping his spine out, jisung just thinks “y/n wouldn’t like that… y/n would say ‘poor thing’ and touch my arm…” and the rage fizzles into pathetic longing.
he becomes even more dependent on minho, but now it’s mostly to whine about you.
“minho, y/n hasn’t touched my arm today. do you think she hates me now? what if she never puts her fingers in my throat again? i’ll die. i’ll actually die.”
minho, poor exhausted pretty minho, just sighs and pats his head.
jisung just knows he needs more of y/n.
more touches.
more sweet talk.
more fingers down his throat.
more of that warm feeling that only happens when he sees you.
and you affect him so much that minho almost lets himself believe the beast is gone.
for weeks it’s been suspiciously quiet on the murder front. no random blood puddles in the entryway, no mysterious missing hoodies that smell like iron, no jisung coming home at 3am.
instead jisung spends his days whining about you, jerking off to you, almost fucking crawling after you on the floor like a giant dog begging for head pats, and generally being so soft that minho starts to think maybe, just maybe, the brutal switch got short circuited by all that sweet y/n brainrot.
he lets himself relax a little. stops triple checking the trash. stops sleeping with one eye open. through the day, watches jisung beam with those big boba eyes and try to nuzzle into your lap again.
yeah as if.
one night it’s late. minho is half asleep on the couch with one of the cats on his chest when the front door slams open.
jisung stumbles in, and holy fuck, he’s absolutely drenched in blood. not the usual oops i got a little messy amount. this is a new level. minho hasn’t seen one like this yet. it’s soaked through his hoodie, dripping from his hair in thick ropes, smeared across his face, running down his arms and pooling on the floor in shiny red puddles. there are chunks of something that used to be human caught under his nails. his pretty face is all twisted up, his eyes are wild, not the blank killer stare, but wet and desperate.
he doesn’t even make it two steps before he collapses to his knees right in front of minho, big body shaking. his hands, still covered in gore, claw at minho’s shirt, leaving bloody handprints all over the clean fabric as he yanks him closer.
“minho—minho please—” his voice cracks, thick with tears and snot and whatever the fuck is stuck in his throat. “i need y/n, i need her right now, please call her—tell her to come—i’ll be good i swear!”
minho’s stomach drops. the cat on his chest yowls and bolts.
for one delusional second he actually thought the beast shit might be gone. minho had started hoping maybe you fixed him. maybe the switch was broken for good.
clearly fucking not.
“what the fuck did you do?” minho asks, voice tight even though he already knows the answer.
jisung shakes his head hard, tears spilling faster, blood flaking off his lashes. “i don’t know.” he knows, but we humans say i don’t know when we actually just don’t want to talk that much. “it’s over and i need her, minho. i need y/n so bad it hurts.”
minho’s stomach twists. he hates this. hates the blood, hates the crying, hates how jisung can rip someone apart and then come home and act like this.
“if i can’t see y/n tonight i’m gonna kill myself. i swear, please—please minho, i’ll die without her, i’ll really die.”
the words hit minho. suicide threats from jisung are new. the beast side never cared about dying. the puppy side never even thought about it.
okay, wow.
minho reaches down, grabs jisung under the arms, and hauls the bloody man up onto the couch with him.
it’s disgusting. blood immediately soaking into the cushions, smearing across minho’s clean clothes, but he pulls jisung into a tight hug anyway, wrapping his arms around the broad, shaking back. jisung buries his face in minho’s neck like a scared kid, still crying ugly and loud, big hands clutching at minho’s shirt.
“shhh.” minho comforts, his pretty voice soft despite the ew factor of having gore all over him. one hand rubs slow circles on jisung’s back, the other stroking his bloody hair. “you’re not killing yourself, you asshole. breathe. just breathe.”
jisung sobs harder into his neck, body shaking. “but i need her…”
minho keeps holding him, rocking him a little. “i know, i know.”
jisung whimpers pathetically, nuzzling closer. “but minho… my chest hurts, right here, only y/n fixes it. please. tell her i’m crying.”
minho closes his eyes.
fucking hell.
minho sighs again, long and suffering, and reaches for his phone with the hand that isn’t petting jisung’s gore covered head. “fine. i’ll text her. but you’re taking a shower first, you disgusting slut.”
jisung just nods against his chest, still crying softly, big body trembling with pure, thoughtless need.
minho holds him tighter, ignoring how gross it is, because that’s what best friends do.
he sends the message to you and then immediately starts damage control.
first, he gets jisung into the shower. the idiot is still crying softly, mumbling “y/n… y/n…” under the spray while minho aggressively scrubs blood off him. jisung just stands there with his head hanging, letting minho manhandle him.
“you’re gonna be good when she gets here, right?” minho says while he rinses human remains out of jisung’s hair. “no talking about blood. no asking her to shove fingers down your throat the second she walks in. you tell her you had a nightmare or some shit. you act normal. got it?”
jisung nods slowly, water running pink down his chest. “yeah.”
by the time you show up, the apartment is mostly cleaned. minho has changed clothes, hid the bloody ones, and jisung is sitting on the couch in fresh sweats looking like a sad wet puppy. his eyes are still red and puffy, but the blood is gone. he looks mostly harmless again. mostly.
you walk in worried, hair messy from rushing over. “what happened? your text sounded serious.”
minho rubs the back of his neck, playing the exhausted best friend card perfectly. “he had a really bad panic attack. started saying he was gonna hurt himself. i’ve never seen him like this. and you’re basically the only thing that calms him down anymore.”
jisung looks up at you the second you step closer, those big eyes filling with fresh tears.
you slide your fingers into his damp hair and stroke gently. “hey. it’s okay. i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere tonight, alright?“
he whines and pushes his head into your hand.
minho watches from the side, arms crossed, calculating.
this is going to work. you calm the beast. if that means you need to be here more often, then minho will make it happen. he’ll lie. he’ll manipulate the situation. he’ll guilt you with “he’ll hurt himself” stories.
because the alternative is jisung switching again, or worse, actually trying to end it.
and minho loves his dumb fuck of a best friend too much to let that happen.
so over the next few days minho starts working everything.
he texts you every time jisung gets “bad.” sometimes it’s real, jisung crying and whining and begging for you. sometimes it’s exaggerated, minho just says “he’s freaking out again” even when jisung is only mildly mopey. he makes sure you see the pathetic side. jisung kneeling, nuzzling, whispering “y/n i need you” with those big wet boba eyes.
you start coming over almost every night.
you sit on the couch with jisung’s head in your lap while he pets your arm. you let him fall asleep with his face pressed to your stomach. you stroke his hair.
minho watches it all. satisfied.
then one night jisung refuses to let you leave. he wraps his big arms around your waist and buries his face in your shirt, mumbling “if you go the bad comes back, please stay. i’ll sleep on the floor if you want, just don’t leave.”
minho chimes in softly from the kitchen. “he means it, y/n. last time you left early he had a breakdown. maybe just crash here tonight? the couch is yours. or… his bed is big enough. he’s better when you’re around.”
you hesitate, but jisung looks up at you with those shiny eyes full of pure need and you cave. “okay… just tonight.”
another night jisung starts crying again when you mention going home.
minho pulls you aside later, voice low and serious. “look… i know this is a lot. but you’re literally the only thing keeping him stable right now. the doctors won’t help, he won’t go, and i’m scared what he’ll do if you pull away. just… keep coming over. stay longer. it’s innocent. he just needs you close.”
it’s not innocent.
minho enables it.
he buys you a toothbrush for the apartment. “just in case.” he clears out a drawer in jisung’s room. “for when you stay over.” he tells you little stories about how jisung “almost did something bad” the one night you weren’t there, even though it’s mostly bullshit.
deep down he knows that the obsession is only getting worse.
one day jisung might switch again.
but until then, minho will keep feeding you into the machine.
he’ll keep making sure you’re there every time jisung starts to crack.
because he loves both of you. different levels, sure, but he really does.
even if it means slowly, quietly, turning you into the thing jisung can’t live without.
even if it gets creepy.
for now, minho just smiles tiredly when you agree to stay another night.
“thanks, y/n. you have no idea how much this means. to both of us.”
and jisung, curled up against your side on the couch, nuzzles into your neck with a soft, dopey little “okay y/n” completely thoughtless, completely addicted.
the cure is you.
and minho is going to make damn sure the cure never leaves.
author’s note: somewhere in the fic it’s mentioned that you’ve dealt with men who have tried and it’s also mentioned that minho knows hyunjin. fun fact, in my head this is connected, hyunjin was one of the guys you’ve dealt with who tried for you but this won’t be known. point is that there’s a pretty fire version of this universe in my head where you end up with han, minho and hyunjin at the same time. hyunjin is a fuckass dumb playboy in it and ends up tots in love with you after seeing that this dumb fuck pulled you. (think of the picture of idk you take jisung’s baby ass somewhere and end up walking past where minho and hyunjin just happen to be hanging out and hyunjin goes “wait i think i fucked that chick before”) if sum bigger writer is reading this, or just anyone in general, feel free to write this version of my fic but please tag me. i mean not even for credit(though it would be nice and fair, let’s not be assholes guys) but because i want to see it sm but have sm shi to work on. anyways, i’m cooking a part two up. love y’all.
Summary: During one of his lonely nights, Chan stumbles upon a camgirl who won’t get out of his head. If only he knew her…..
Bangchan already knew this night was going to drag.
The studio felt way too quiet.He sighed, leaning back in his chair for a second before running a hand through his hair.
Chan hated working this late again.
He had sent Jisung home because his snoring was getting too loud in the studio. He let Changbin go because he wouldn’t stop whining about being hungry. So now it was just Chan.
And god, he was so pent up again tonight.
He dropped to the floor and did some push-ups while listening to the track. Then he got up and jogged around the studio room for a bit, but nothing helped.
When he sat down again, slightly out of breath, he decided that what he needed right now was probably a different kind of letting off steam.
He grabbed his phone and opened that one forbidden site he had discovered recently. Hell, he didn’t even know why he kept going back to it.
He scrolled through the live videos until one caught his eye.
A beautiful girl.
Well—beautiful body. He couldn’t see her face at all.
He clicked on the video.
It loaded, and then he heard her voice.
Damn it… she had a pretty voice.
“Hi CB97, thank you for joining…”
Chan immediately turned red and turned the volume down.
She waited. She wore lingerie and in her hand was a little remote. “The first person to send me some money will be the one who get‘s to choose the first vibrator setting,” she said.
Chan bit his lip hard, his heart pounding as he stared at the screen. She sat back and spread her legs wide, the crotchless panties framing her smooth pussy perfectly.
The little vibrator was nestled deep inside her, buzzing faintly already.
Chan was fucking pathetic when he hit send, his cock twitching in his pants just from the sight.
“You can choose between 1 and 14 ….. be gentle with me…,” she purred, her voice husky.
Chan opened the chat with shaky fingers and typed in a 3.
She giggled softly, her hips shifting. “You are my new favourite Viewer.” She clicked the remote to 3, and a low hum filled the stream. Her pussy lips quivered as the vibrations pulsed gently against her clit from inside, and she let out a soft moan, her thighs trembling slightly.
Chan felt his cock swell hard against his zipper, the tip already leaking pre-cum into his boxers.
The next viewer jumped in quick, sending money and typing “5”. She cranked the remote up, the buzz growing stronger, making her back arch as the toy thrummed deeper into her wet folds.
She spread her legs even wider, her glistening pussy on full display, juices starting to drip down her inner thighs. “Mmm, that feels so good,” she whispered, biting her lip.
Another viewer sent a bigger tip. “Show us your tits pretty girl,” they demanded. She moaned louder, the vibrations making her squirm, and grabbed her lace bra, yanking it down to let her full, perky tits bounce free. Her nipples were hard, begging to be sucked.
Chan couldn't hold back anymore. His hand dove into his pants, wrapping around his throbbing cock as he pulled it out, the veiny shaft hot and pulsing in his grip. He started stroking slowly at first, his fist sliding up and down the length, smearing the slick pre-cum over the swollen head with each pump.
Precum beaded at the slit, and he groaned quietly in his dark room, eyes glued to her writhing body. He sent more money, his other hand flying across the keyboard: “10”.
“Oh you are a naughty man,” the girl mumbled, her voice breathy and teasing. He still didn’t see her face but he could hear her smiling, feel the heat in her words.
She twisted the remote to 10, and the vibrator roared to life inside her, slamming intense waves against her g-spot.
Her pussy clenched visibly around the toy, more wetness gushing out as she bucked her hips, tits jiggling with every jolt. “Fuck, yes... harder...,” she gasped, fingers digging into her thighs. Chan's strokes sped up, his hand flying faster over his cock, balls tightening as he watched her lose control, imagining that buzzing heat milking him instead.
───୨ৎ───
Oh, he was ashamed.
Deeply ashamed.
Chan didn’t listen to Felix explaining to Hyunjin how the new camera worked, didn’t listen to Seungmin asking Changbin to massage his shoulders, didn’t listen to anything, really.
He just stared down at his feet in the dressing room, unusually silent.
“Ahh hyung, why are you so quiet?” Jisung asked loudly.
Way too loud for Chan’s liking.
“Just thinking about the new album,” Chan mumbled.
Lie.
A horrible, pathetic lie.
He didn’t even dare to open his phone.
God.
He had paid a woman last night.
Paid.
For that.
He was such a fake Feminist.
Chan squeezed his eyes shut for a second.
He was raised better than this, right…?
Right??
He dragged a hand down his face, sinking further into his seat like he could disappear into the floor.
The door suddenly opened.
Chan looked up.
Their new PR girl walked in.
“I need two of you for a TikTok in ten minutes, is that possible?” she asked, her voice a little nervous.
Y/N.
She was shy. Everyone knew that.
But she got her work done.
And she was—
Chan blinked.
—really pretty.
He immediately looked away.
Stop it.
You don’t deserve to think that.
You literally paid a girl on the internet yesterday, what is wrong with you?
“Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath.
Before he could stop himself, Chan slapped his own cheek.
The room went quiet.
“…Are you okay?” Felix asked, looking genuinely concerned.
Chan sighed and nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Totally not fine.
Y/N bit her lip, slightly awkward now, and lifted her phone again.
“Boys, I really need two of yo—”
“We’ll do it,” Hyunjin cut in, grabbing Felix’s hand and raising it.
Felix blinked. “Wait—”
Too late.
Y/N smiled, clearly relieved. “Thank you!”
She turned to leave, but just before she stepped out, her eyes flickered over to Chan for a brief second.
He froze.
Then the door closed.
Chan dropped his head into his hands.
Oh, this was bad.
This was really bad.
───୨ৎ───
But he was not immune to the temptation of that camgirl.
Not at all.
He found himself on her page every single night for two weeks straight. It was like a routine now. Finish work, go home, sit in the dark, open that site.
He couldn’t help himself.
“Hi, my sweet boy,” her sultry voice always said whenever he joined.
Every. Single. Time.
And every time, his stomach flipped like an idiot.
He was her highest payer.
That alone made him want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
He had tried—once—to pay double just to see her face. Just once. Just to get it out of his system.
But she was strict about it.
Secretive.
One viewer had asked her before.
“I can’t….. i…. have a day job… with a reputation… they just don’t pay me well,” she had said casually, already pulling out new lingerie to try on for them like it was nothing.
Like this was normal.
Like he was normal.
Chan pressed his lips together at the memory.
───୨ৎ───
Chan was at the soundcheck for the show they were performing later that day.
The stage lights were too bright, the music too loud, everything too much.
His phone vibrated in his hand.
He frowned and pulled it out.
A mail?
On his secret mail account?
Chan’s stomach dropped.
He looked around quickly before opening it.
It was her.
His face went pale.
“I usually never offer this. But would you want a one-on-one stream? I see you and you see me. You pay per 5 minutes and we don’t reveal our identities. I promise. I just have the feeling that you’ll want it… need it even… You can think about it <3”
Chan just stared at the screen.
Speechless.
Heart pounding way too fast for something like this.
“Chan, please take your phone down.”
Her voice snapped him out of it.
He looked up.
Y/N was standing a few meters in front of him, already holding up her phone.
Chan quickly locked his screen and lowered his hand.
She took a photo for the Stray Kids Instagram story.
“Handsome,” she muttered quietly to herself, smiling at the picture.
Chan let out a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck.
“Ah… thanks.”
She nodded slightly and walked away, already pulling out her personal phone.
For a second, Chan’s eyes followed her.
She stopped near the side of the stage and checked something—her emails, maybe.
Her expression changed almost instantly.
A small frown.
Disappointment.
Then she sighed and locked her phone again.
Chan frowned slightly without realizing it.
He didn’t like that look on her.
She looked prettier when she smiled.
Chan blinked.
Then immediately looked away.
What the hell was wrong with him?
───୨ৎ───
He actually did think about it.
A lot more than he should have.
For days.
Every night, every quiet moment, every time he opened his phone and saw that email still sitting there.
But he didn’t answer.
Not until—
They won.
Album of the year.
The cheers, the lights, the adrenaline—it was too much, too overwhelming, too good.
Chan was buzzing.
High on it.
High on everything.
And suddenly, all that hesitation?
Gone.
There was no holding back anymore.
He was sitting in the van, still laughing with the others, trophy somewhere between them, when he grabbed his phone.
Euphoric.
Reckless.
He opened the mail and typed without thinking twice.
“Babe, I’ll pay you per MINUTE. When do you want me?”
Send.
Chan leaned his head back against the seat, grinning to himself, staring out of the window, completely lost in his own world.
Not noticing—
That a phone next to the driver’s seat, right in front of all the boys…
Vibrated.
───୨ৎ───
Back at the dorm, Chan barely made it inside.
“Hyung, goodni—”
The door to his room slammed shut before Jeongin could even finish.
Chan didn’t care.
His heart was racing again.
His phone vibrated.
He didn’t even sit down, just unlocked it immediately.
“I could get ready in 20 minutes.💋”
Chan let out a breathless laugh.
“Fuck, yeah…”
His fingers moved quickly.
“See you then.”
He tossed his phone onto the bed, running both hands through his hair, pacing his room once, twice.
Trying to calm down.
Failing.
Completely.
───୨ৎ───
He got out of the shower just in time. He got on the site. Logged in. And there she was.
Her camera went on, angled perfectly to show her body from the neck down—no face, just the enticing curves he'd clicked into this private session for.
Chan sat on his desk chair. Nothing behind him that could reveal that he was Bang Chan from Stray Kids.
Water droplets still clung to his trained muscular body, fresh from the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.
“Hi big guy“ she purred, her voice sultry and anonymous through the speakers.
Chan felt his cock twitch and harden instantly at the mystery of her. “Hi gorgeous“ he replied, his gaze devouring the screen.
She wore a dark red set, crotchless as always, fuck, it drove him wild. Her thighs looked inviting, her posture teasing even from this hidden angle.
“You look so fucking hot“ she said, her tone dripping with hunger. “Show me that pretty cock so I can match it with the right toy“
Chan didn't hesitate, yanking the towel free to reveal his thick, veined length springing up, already half-hard and heavy against his abs.
She let out a soft whimper that sent a jolt straight to his balls. “Do you like what you see?“ he asked, wrapping his hand around the base and giving it a slow stroke, watching pre-cum pearl at the tip.
“Oh fuck yes“ she breathed, the sound raw and needy. She reached off-screen and pulled out a dildo that mirrored his cock perfectly—long, girthy, with realistic ridges and a flared head that promised to stretch her wide.
This was his private show; she didn't do toys like this on her public streams.
“This big one's just for you“ she teased, laying back on her massive bed, the sheets rumpling under her. She started by trailing her fingers down her body, dipping into the slick heat of her exposed pussy, spreading her lips to show how wet she already was.
The crotchless lingerie framed her like a gift, the red lace hugging her hips and barely containing her full breasts. “Turn around first—I need to see that ass“ Chan growled, his hand pumping his cock steadily now, the wet slap echoing in his room.
She complied without a word, flipping onto her knees and arching her back, presenting her round cheeks to the camera.
He groaned as she slapped her ass hard, the flesh jiggling enticingly, red blooming on her skin.
She spread her cheeks wide, giving him a glimpse of her tight pussy and the puckered hole above, before turning back and positioning the dildo at her entrance.
Her fingers wrapped around the base, lifting it like an offering as she brought it to her mouth first.
She rubbed the tip against her lips, parting them to let her tongue flick out and lap at the head, swirling wet circles that made it shine. “Mmm, gonna make this taste like your cock“ she murmured, her voice husky as she pressed her mouth down, sucking the shaft deep.
Her cheeks hollowed with each bob, saliva dripping messily down the length, coating it thoroughly in her spit.
She deepthroated it with ease, gagging softly for effect, her throat working around the thickness while her free hand kneaded her breast through the lace.
Chan's strokes quickened, his muscular chest heaving as water trailed down to his V-line, mixing with the pre-cum leaking over his knuckles.
The sight of this faceless stranger worshipping a toy version of him was intoxicating—pure, anonymous filth. “Fuck, that's perfect. Now rub it on your pussy and slide it in deep“ he commanded, his voice rough with need.
She pulled the dildo free with a wet pop, strings of her saliva stretching between her lips and the toy. She teased the slick head along her folds, parting them to reveal her swollen clit and the creamy arousal coating her inner thighs.
She pushed it in slowly, her pussy lips blooming around the girth, stretching taut as she took the first few inches. “Oh shit, it's splitting me open“ she gasped, her hips rolling to work more inside, the toy disappearing inch by veiny inch until her ass rested against her hand.
She started thrusting it with purpose, her walls clenching visibly around it, juices squelching out with every plunge. Her hand moved faster, fucking herself harder, the base slapping against her clit on each downstroke.
To amp it up, she reached up and tugged the lace cups of her lingerie down, freeing her heavy tits.
They spilled out, nipples dark and pebbled, bouncing wildly as she rammed the dildo deeper.
“Look at these tits bouncing for you“ she panted, cupping them and squeezing, pinching the nipples until they ached.
Chan leaned in, his cock throbbing in his fist, the veins bulging as he matched her rhythm. Her breasts jiggled hypnotically with every forceful pump, the dildo pistoning in and out of her sopping pussy, making obscene, wet sounds that filled the call.
She twisted the toy inside, grinding it against her sensitive spots, her body arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tight in her core.
The heat built relentlessly; she shifted positions, straddling the dildo now, mounting it like she would him.
On her knees, she lowered herself onto the full length, her pussy engulfing it completely, tits swaying pendulously as she began to ride. Up and down she went, slow at first to savor the stretch, then faster, her ass cheeks slapping against the base with each descent.
Her hands braced on her thighs, she rode hard, the toy bottoming out inside her, her walls fluttering around it.
Sweat beaded on her skin, making the red lingerie cling transparently to her curves, her exposed breasts heaving and slapping together with the force of her movements.
Chan's abs tightened, his free hand gripping the desk as he jerked off furiously, the tip of his cock flushed dark and slick. This stranger's body was a masterpiece of motion—faceless but utterly devoted to pleasuring him through the screen.
“Ride it harder, make those tits bounce like you want my cum all over them“ he urged, his breath ragged.
She moaned loudly, obliging by slamming down repeatedly, the dildo squelching deep, her pussy creaming around it in thick rivulets that soaked her thighs.
She leaned back slightly, one hand reaching to spread her lips wider, showing him how the toy stretched her, while the other tweaked her nipple, pulling it taut.
The intensity peaked; her rides turned frantic, hips grinding in circles to hit every angle, her body trembling on the edge. “I'm so close—gonna soak this thing thinking of your cock“ she cried, her voice breaking into desperate whines.
Chan felt his balls draw up, the pressure unbearable. “Cum for me, show me how you squirt on it“ he demanded, his strokes blurring.
She shattered first, riding down hard one last time, her pussy convulsing wildly around the dildo as she gushed, clear fluids spraying out around the base, drenching the sheets.
That pushed him over—Chan's orgasm ripped through him, hot ropes of cum erupting from his cock, painting his hand, abs, and even splattering the desk as he groaned low and primal.
They both caught their breath, the air thick with satisfaction. She slowly lifted off the toy, her pussy gaping and pulsing, a trail of her release dripping down.
After the orgasm glow ended, the room fell into a heavy silence.
Chan was still trying to catch his breath, staring at the ceiling like his brain hadn’t caught up to what had just happened yet.
Y/N moved first.
“I—uh—I’m just gonna… clean up,” she mumbled, voice small again, like that confident tone from before had completely disappeared.
She reached to the side, grabbing for some tissues, still a little shaky.
And then—
Her phone slipped.
It hit the surface with a loud thud, tilting forward.
“Fuck—!” she yelped in shock.
Chan flinched at the sudden noise, his own phone slipping down.
It fell.
For a split second, everything froze.
Then—
The screens adjusted.
The cameras shifted.
And suddenly—
They were looking at each other.
Not silhouettes.
Not shadows.
Not usernames.
Real.
Chan’s breath got stuck in his throat.
His eyes widened in pure horror as he stared at the screen.
Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung x Reader – reader is AFAB, I used they/them pronouns when pronouns were unavoidable + there is no description of the reader’s appearance or body (except for naming body parts, referred to as “pussy” and “breasts”)
Word count: ~14,5k
Summary: You go to a party at the SKZ dorms, play some party games, and things take a somewhat unexpected twist at the end of the night.
Content warnings: alcohol + drinking games (but no one is particularly drunk), explicit language, handjobs, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), P in V sex, scratching, light spanking, use of pet names (“baby”, “kitten”)
Author’s note: this is my first SKZ fic, I hope you enjoy <3 would appreciate any and all feedback! Use protection and don’t forget to pee after sex if u have a vagina xoxo.
It was party night with Stray Kids. You were looking forward to this, but you were also quite nervous. You hadn’t been a part of their close circle for very long yet and you’d only partied with them a couple of times before in that time period. Their schedules didn’t often allow for very much time off, especially with all eight of them being free on the same evening and the next day as well. This was one of those rare instances in which they all had an entire weekend off, so you knew what that meant.
Yes, the boys were all in their twenties, but they still often acted like a group of rowdy teenagers, and if you were honest, this was one of the things you loved most about them. You liked that they didn’t take things too seriously, that they enjoyed games and having fun and doing whatever it was they felt like without worrying about what anyone else thought. They were pretty accustomed to acting silly on camera already, but especially in the privacy of their own homes, they really didn’t hold back. You enjoyed being around that kind of energy because you had always struggled to fully let out your crazy, playful side. But simply by being around them for a couple of months at this point, you were slowly starting to loosen up. And so tonight would be good. You just hoped that you could leave your worries behind and let yourself fully enjoy the chaos.
Of course it didn’t help that you had a massive crush on Minho, of all people, and were mortified of him finding out. He was so hard to read and it was definitely taking him the longest out of everyone to really thaw to you, although you did get along fairly well by now. But it just hadn’t quite reached that place of effortless ease yet that you’d gotten to naturally with most of the others – some more so than the rest. You got along particularly well with Jisung and Hyunjin and had become very comfortable being your true self around them. The rest of the group even joked around that you were Minho’s unofficial Paboracha replacement member when he wasn’t around, which happened occasionally. He was fond of quiet alone time just as much as he loved hanging out with the rest of the gang, which was something you could relate to and yet another reason you felt drawn to him. But you were very afraid of being laughed at should he find out how you felt. You knew him well enough to be pretty sure he would never be so cruel, even if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, but your stupid anxiety-riddled brain still loved to present you with worst-case scenarios that you couldn’t quite disregard.
On top of that, you genuinely weren’t sure if there was something romantic going on between him and Jisung and did not want to cause problems if there was. Stray Kids were all fairly open with each other in terms of physical and emotional closeness – and had, at least partially, begun to include you in that, which you loved. They were like this even more so when the cameras were off, but you still didn’t know if there were any relationship boundaries that you weren’t aware of and did not want to unintentionally step on anyone’s toes. So needless to say, you felt there was a lot at stake.
You didn’t think it was completely unrealistic that your crush would come out at some point tonight, even though you hadn’t explicitly confessed it to anybody yet. The group was very used to teasing each other, didn’t seem to have many secrets between them, and was extremely good at reading each other – not surprising, given the sheer amount of time everyone spent together. Add alcohol and party games to the mix and the chances became exponentially higher of your secret seeing the light of day. You knew that none of the boys would ever cross any boundaries if you seriously set them and told them you didn’t want to talk about something, but you were afraid your behavior would give you away regardless. Still, you were excited for a night of fun and craziness with your eight favorite people, and you didn’t want to let your worries take that away from you.
As you were making your way over to the dorms, specifically Felix and Seungmin’s, which had been decided on as the location for tonight’s party, your phone buzzed. Minho had just texted the group chat that he would be running late, as he was still taking care of a few things. At first, disappointment washed over you. You were very much looking forward to seeing him – even if the interactions between you two didn’t always flow as easily as you wanted, just being around him made you happy. But when you thought about it a little longer, you realized this could be a good thing. It could give you a chance to loosen up and get used to the atmosphere enough to hopefully get out of your head and into the moment as much as possible by the time he got there. With that slight bit of relief in mind, you quickened your pace as you got off the subway and soon arrived at the SKZ dorms, where Felix buzzed you in once you texted him that you were downstairs. He was waiting to greet you at the door of his dorm with an enormous grin on his face and you felt your heart warm instantly at the sight.
---
It was a couple of drinks, some chatting and a few quick games into the night. The atmosphere was light-hearted, everyone was loose and laughing, and you could tell the general consensus was to spice things up a little bit. And so you weren’t particularly surprised when Felix suggested playing Truth or Dare. It was a game that combined everything he loved: seeing his best friends be silly as well as bonding over shared secrets and anecdotes. Jisung, a lover of chaos, shouted his agreement quickly once Felix brought up the suggestion. Jeongin and Chan pretended like they didn’t want to play at first, but you knew from experience that once the game started, Chan could never hide his genuine laugh at the antics, while Jeongin’s appalled face in situations like these was always put on and he was, in fact, enjoying himself. The two of them alone couldn’t override the rest of the group’s wishes regardless. Even if they’d truly wanted to – one look at Felix’s pleading pout would turn anyone weak.
And so Seungmin began smirking while Changbin rubbed his hands together in glee as you all settled in a circle. Some of you sat on the floor, some on the sofas and armchairs that stood around where the coffee table usually was; it had been moved to the side for tonight. Hyunjin plopped down onto a big armchair, pulling you with him. He casually rested his arms on top of your legs as you draped them across his. Once everyone had settled you made eye contact with Felix, whose eyes glinted from the other side of the circle, before he shifted them to look at the man sitting with you.
“Hyunjin, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Hyunjin smirked, radiating confidence, his facial expression basically begging Felix to do his worst. But it was Felix, and Felix was an angel who took every opportunity to see his friends be cute with each other, so he started the game off by daring Hyunjin to kiss anyone of his choosing on the cheek. You groaned in mock annoyance as Hyunjin shifted your legs off of him in order to fulfill his dare, but just before he could, Felix told him to wait and ran out of the room quickly. When he returned he was carrying red lipstick, which he handed to his friend. The latter took it from him reluctantly and Felix grinned in delight.
While Hyunjin was applying the lipstick, Changbin couldn’t stop himself from shouting out how beautiful he looked and proceeding to offer himself repeatedly and quite enthusiastically as the “kiss victim”. This earned him a light punch on the arm from Jisung, who was next to him on the ground. Hyunjin threw his head back, laughing out loud, and shot Changbin a grin before kneeling down next to Jeongin instead. Changbin crossed his arms and sent a mock-offended pout Hyunjin’s way, but he couldn’t hold his giggle back for long at the scene that was unfolding.
Jeongin was protesting vehemently and wailing as Hyunjin got closer and closer to him, straining his neck to move his head as far away as possible. But he couldn’t prevent the inevitable, and when Hyunjin gave him a big smacker on the cheek, leaving a bright red mark, the smile on his face spoke for itself – as did the overjoyed expressions on everyone else’s. Chan reached over to pinch a fake-pouty Jeongin’s other cheek, delighted. You found yourself grinning as well as a red-lipped Hyunjin returned to the armchair and you made space for him to get back into his earlier position, draping your legs back over his body and reaching up to run your hand over his hair affectionately as you did.
Hyunjin proceeded to dare Changbin to freestyle a sexy dance, which he gladly did, quickly hijacking the playlist in order to play one of his favorite girl group songs. Then he strutted into the center of the group, half-drunk beer in hand, and gave it his all, finishing his little dance off with a hip thrust and wink in Hyunjin’s direction. The latter couldn’t stop laughing in delight the entire time – you could feel his entire body vibrating from it and it made you giggle uncontrollably as well.
You took a moment to appreciate the pure positive energy in this room. Jeongin was still shielding his eyes from when Changbin had shaken his butt in his direction; Felix was grinning from ear to ear; Jisung was doubled over in tears from laughter. You felt so warm and fuzzy inside, surrounded by your favorite people. Only Minho was missing to complete this moment. But he would be here soon, and for now everything was going as you had hoped: you were feeling quite relaxed.
Despite that, you had still decided to stick to dares for now in order to avoid any potentially awkward questions, so when Changbin picked you to go next, he ended up daring you to sing a part of one of SKZ’s songs. You groaned and smacked your hand against your forehead, knowing full well you were about to embarrass yourself. But then again – these boys embarrassed themselves all the time. And you loved them for it. Time to steer into the chaos, then. You cleared your throat exaggeratedly, then proceeded to rap Felix’s part in “Maze of Memories”, complete with a fake deep voice and terrible Australian accent, dancing around on your armchair with Hyunjin while everyone else cheered and pumped their fists.
Next you dared Jisung to close his eyes and let Seungmin feed him something without knowing what it would be. This earned you a smile from Seungmin that could only be described as pure evil before he went and got a slice of lemon to stick in Jisung’s mouth. The latter’s expression was priceless as he bit into it.
As the game wore on, your cheeks began to almost hurt from laughter. More truths and dares were flung around the group, among them: Chan eating a spoonful of hot sauce, which made him turn as red as a tomato; Felix shamefully revealing his most recent League of Legends stats; Seungmin reading out his most recent Google searches (some of which were very questionable); Jeongin letting Chan do his hair full of sparkly ribbons and little butterfly clips (no one questioning why Felix had all of these just laying around); Changbin recalling an embarrassing story about a time he’d mistakenly thought someone wanted his autograph, but they’d really just needed his signature on a receipt; Jisung revealing the weirdest place he’d ever had sex, and Hyunjin drawing a silly, purposely bad picture of one of the others and letting everyone guess who it was supposed to be. Eventually you were asked again.
You picked dare, and when Hyunjin dared you to kiss somebody on the lips with a smirk on his face, you ooh-ed right along with the rest of the group, in too good of a mood to overthink anything right now. You glanced around the room at all the boys, but you wanted this to be as comfortable as possible, so you were really only considering your two closest friends for it. And since you didn’t feel like getting lipstick on you right now, you quickly got up off of Hyunjin’s lap and crossed the circle to kneel in front of Jisung. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he giggled along with you. You made sure to ask if he was okay with this, and when he nodded you could hear Changbin cackling to one side of you and were well aware of Chan grinning on the other. Then, before you knew it, your lips were on Jisung’s and your hands had found their way into his hair.
Maybe it was the alcohol you’d had – you weren’t really drunk, but definitely tipsy. Or maybe it was a momentary lapse in reason, who knew. But all of a sudden you felt like you were experiencing that cliché shit that’s always described in romance novels or seen in cheesy movies. Like… you genuinely could have sworn that time stopped and the world around you melted away for a second. That was how good it was, and you had not been prepared to feel that way. Jisung’s hair was so fluffy, his lips were so soft, he tasted so sweet, and you wanted to deepen the kiss so badly… but it was over before you knew it, because as soon as his fingers found their way onto the small of your back and you felt his tongue lightly brush your lips, it hit you that you were currently being watched by six other pairs of eyes.
And just like that, the world came back into focus and Changbin’s signature high-pitched giggle penetrated your ears. You pulled away from Jisung and looked at him sheepishly – his mouth was still open, cheeks still flushed. Then you made your way back to the other side of the room. You settled on the floor below the armchair this time, between Hyunjin’s legs, wrapping an arm around one of them as if to ground yourself with it. The rest of the group was laughing and wolf-whistling. You made eye contact with a wide-eyed Han Jisung once more before quickly averting your gaze and clearing your throat when Seungmin reminded you that it was your turn.
“Right,” you laughed, trying desperately to play it cool, and quickly asked Seungmin, who picked dare. You dared him to make what he thought Chan’s orgasm face would look like, earning hysterical laughter and cries of outrage (ahem, Jeongin). Chan himself seemed too stunned to react at all. And just like that your mood began to lighten up once more, though you would have been lying if you’d said you weren’t still thinking about the feel of Jisung’s lips on yours and that little ghost of a touch of his hands on your back. It wasn’t like he’d never touched you before – he did it all the time. But this had been different. Now was not the time though, so you willed yourself to focus on the game. Seungmin had just dared Jeongin to greet Minho like one of his cats once said man arrived. And oh. Right. Minho. There was still Minho to think about. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had been unable to keep your mind off of for months. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had forgotten about for a moment there.
And as if he had known, just then the second oldest of the boys walked through the door. Your stomach did that somersault thing it always did when you saw him. He made eye contact with you as he entered the dorm with an extra six-pack of beers in one hand. Your heart leapt into your throat as you gave him a small wave… and then he was looking down in confusion at a red-faced Jeongin with a kiss mark on his cheek as well as ribbons and clips all over his hair. The maknae was rubbing against Minho’s legs on all fours, eventually even meowing once after the rest of the group begged him to do so. Minho’s confused expression turned into an amused smirk and he bent down to pat the youngest on the head gently. Jeongin blushed and quickly made his way back to his spot on the floor, where he buried his head in his knees. Chan reached over to ruffle his hair and the group’s giggles that seemingly hadn’t stopped all night grew even louder, reverberating around the room.
The game naturally ceased as regular conversation returned. The group caught Minho up to speed on some of what he had missed while he cracked open a beer – though for some reason no one brought up your kiss with Jisung. You certainly weren’t going to. Minho explained that he’d been intending to arrive earlier, but had had a few things to deal with that had been stressing him out. He then declared that he just wanted to relax and catch up on the drinking a little bit, and that was when Felix got that little glimmer in his eyes once more that told you he wanted to play another game – and sure enough, he suggested Never Have I Ever next.
“Come on, we haven’t played this one in ages!” he exclaimed excitedly, looking around the room for approval. Seungmin nodded his agreement as he sat back down on the floor cross-legged; he had just returned from the kitchen with a couple of bowls of chips he placed in the middle for everyone. You quickly grabbed one of them for you and Hyunjin to share. A few of the others agreed enthusiastically as well while reaching for the snacks themselves. You noticed Minho hadn’t reacted to Felix’s suggestion and the younger Australian quickly addressed him. “Come on, hyung, this’ll get you in the party mood!”
Minho had settled beside Jisung by now, the two of them sitting close together at the foot of a sofa, their backs leaning against it, their legs touching. Jisung nudged Minho in the ribs and encouraged him with a playful “Come on, baby!”, which Minho responded to with an eyeroll and a “Fine.” But a crooked little smile graced his lips and Felix clapped happily.
This particular game was one you had never played with the boys before. You were sure there weren’t many secrets between them, so to them it was probably more a game of exposing each other and targeting individuals to drink rather than actually finding out juicy secrets, but you were bound to learn quite a bit about them and them about you. And mostly everyone seemed to be in quite a spicy mood. The questions went to all sorts of raunchy places that had Jeongin shaking his head, from things as comparatively harmless as “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping” to topics such as sexual experiences and even kinks. Occasionally, innocent questions were thrown in by somebody just to keep it light (and keep Jeongin from losing his mind entirely).
Throughout the game you found yourself sneaking glances over to Jisung without initially being aware you were doing it a lot of the time. In fact, your eyes were on him almost as often as they were on Minho right now, though every time you noticed yourself looking in their direction, you tried to stop. But you couldn’t help but feel Jisung’s eyes on you too, and eventually Minho started eyeing both of you, seeming to have picked up on something. He looked mildly irritated, as if he couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on. When his eyes met yours, you quickly averted your gaze again and tried your best to focus on the game that was happening.
Which became easy once Jeongin spoke up with the next question. The question itself wasn’t shocking, especially given the direction the game had already gone in. It was the fact that it had come from the youngest, who claimed not to want to indulge everyone else’s dirty minds, that made it so surprising.
“Never have I ever had a sex dream involving someone in this room,” he grinned, eyes scanning the group as he himself raised his beer to his lips. You looked up at Hyunjin who smirked, taking a sip as well. Changbin couldn’t hold himself back from shouting “It was about me, right? You can tell them it was about me, Hyunjin-ah, it’s okay!”, which got everyone giggling again. You drank too, but avoided looking at anybody else as you did so. Actually, it seemed like everybody in the room had taken a sip at that question.
Seungmin decided to take it a step further when it was his turn next. “Never have I ever fooled around with anybody in this room,” he stated with a deadpan expression, and your eyes widened in anticipation as you looked up from your beer, trying not to make it too obvious that you were most curious as to whether or not Jisung and Minho would drink. You saw that Minho had a hand resting on Jisung’s thigh by this point. And then, sure enough, the two of them raised their beers to take a sip at roughly the same time, even exchanging a tiny little blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile as they did. You also noticed Jisung’s cheeks turning a light pink. You suddenly became very aware of your heart pounding heavily in your chest.
You did notice a couple of other beers being raised in your peripheral vision, including Hyunjin’s right next to you – you were back on the armchair at this point. But to be completely honest, you weren’t paying enough attention to really register who else was drinking. You would definitely kick yourself for this later, but right now you were simply focused on the confirmation of Jisung and Minho’s relationship being (or at least at some point having been) more than platonic – and what knowing that was doing to you.
You weren’t sure at all how to feel about it, especially because at this point in the night you were painfully aware of how badly you wanted to kiss (and do more than that with) not just Minho, but also Jisung again – that second part you really hadn’t planned on. And maybe it was just the alcohol clouding your brain, but it didn’t really feel that way, because you still weren’t really drunk. You were only taking small sips of beer and drinking lots of water in between.
It was so hard to make sense of what you were feeling. You weren’t jealous of the two of them being with each other. You wanted them to enjoy themselves and be happy, and were glad if they could give each other that. The thing was just that you wanted – like, wanted – both of them too. Badly. You couldn’t deny that at this point. And you were afraid that wasn’t ever going to be possible, nor did you want to get in the way of whatever they had going on.
But then again… you remembered the way Jisung had been looking at you, both after the kiss and several times since then. And as you were thinking about it, your eyes drifted to him and… he was doing it again. Looking at you like that. Looking at you like that with his damn fluffy hair and his damn flushed cheeks and his damn kissable freaking lips. Your heart skipped a beat and your gaze flickered over to Minho. And he looked at you too. And then at Jisung. His eyes kept jumping between the two of you, but he had an eyebrow furrowed, as if he was still trying to figure out just what was happening here. You wished you knew yourself. You gulped and tried to clear your mind, turning your attention back to the game that was resuming now that everyone had gotten all the cheering and whistling out of their system in response to the previous question.
Felix informed Minho that it was his turn, so the latter cleared his throat with a little shake of his head before glancing around the room with that devilish little glint in his eyes you’d come to love so much.
“Never have I ever pissed in JYP’s front yard.” This caused the entire room to burst out laughing, several of them clapping as they did. You clearly were missing some kind of inside joke, but it was pretty self-explanatory once Changbin whined out an “I hate you, hyung” and reached across Jisung’s lap to playfully punch Minho in the thigh. Minho shot him an overly exaggerated crazy-eyed death glare in return. Changbin raised his beer to his lips sheepishly and you joined Hyunjin in his full-body laughter that was shaking the entire armchair again as you pictured the scene. Minho looked around the room with a furtive little smile on his face, like he was really proud of himself.
The game went on for a while longer, the conversation and laughter flowed and you focused on just enjoying yourself once more. However, you still couldn’t prevent your eyes from drifting over to the two boys across from you every so often – just like you couldn’t prevent the jolt of electricity that went through your body every time you caught one of them looking at you too.
Eventually the group moved on to other games, more laughter and chatter, and finally the night seemed to be drifting towards an end as Chan began to yawn, earning him lots of teasing comments from the others (but mostly Seungmin) about how old he was. But then the others started getting quieter and more sleepy bit by bit as well, Hyunjin yawning and stretching overly dramatically every so often. You had been sort of keeping your distance from the two boys you couldn’t keep your mind off of, but had still been surreptitiously observing them. They were in a good mood, both still at fairly high energy levels – particularly Jisung, who kept suggesting more games and didn’t seem to want the night to end. You didn’t want it to either. But eventually, when even Felix became very sleepy, even briefly dozing off sprawled out on one of the sofas with his head on Changbin’s lap, the rest of you knew it was time to get going.
Felix and Seungmin hugged each of you goodbye one by one as you left their dorm. The two of them had had to stop Chan from cleaning up around the room and usher him out despite how tired he was. Minho was the last one out the door, and he couldn’t resist slapping each of the hosts on the butt as he left, even giving Seungmin a little squeeze. They shook their heads with a smile as they shut the door behind him. You sighed. It was silent out here.
You did not feel like a journey home in the middle of the night right now. But you knew that if you needed a place to stay, somebody would definitely let you crash. Chan had already told Felix he would be happy to let you stay over (or pay for a taxi if you preferred to go home) when the younger Australian had showed concern, not wanting to let you leave until he knew you’d be safe. Hyunjin was currently loitering close by you as well, an arm protectively around your shoulder, and you knew he’d have no problem offering you his bed either. You’d stayed at his and Changbin’s dorm previously when it had gotten late after you were all hanging out. In fact, that was where you were intending to go tonight again, and were just about to start heading in that direction with them when Jisung spoke up.
“Y/N, do you want to come hang out with us a little longer? Me and Minho-hyung aren’t that tired yet. You can stay over, don’t worry.” Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him. Did he seem… nervous? You couldn’t tell. You glanced at Minho next, but he was just looking back at you blankly, blinking a couple of times.
You’d never spent a lot of time at their dorm before, despite being quite close with Jisung, mainly because you worried about bothering Minho. But as nervous as the thought made you right now, especially after the way the night had gone, you absolutely wanted to spend more time with the two of them – even if you weren’t sure it was smart, exactly.
“Yeah, okay,” you replied, trying your best not to seem overly eager. You turned into Hyunjin’s arms to give him a quick hug goodbye, then the others as well. Chan patted you on the shoulder before he turned to walk back to his dorm with Jeongin. Changbin and Hyunjin skipped away in the opposite direction arm in arm. And that left you in the dimly lit hallway with Minho, Jisung and a racing heart.
“Well, let’s go then,” Minho said and again, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You thought there was the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips, but it was dark and he was Minho, so who knew, really. Either way, you followed him as he turned on his heel and headed down the hallway. It was a short walk across the courtyard to their dorm and as you entered the cold night air, a brief shiver went through your body. Jisung put an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder, and the two of you walked the rest of the way like that. It wasn’t far, but it was so silent the entire way that it somehow felt longer than it should have. But you were smiling nonetheless. And you were suddenly quite aware of how good Jisung smelled.
---
Once inside the boys’ dorm, you were wracking your brain trying to think of something to say to break the silence, but you couldn’t come up with anything and you cursed yourself for it. For once you actually sort of wished you were drunker, so you maybe wouldn’t be worrying so much about embarrassing yourself. Although then again, maybe it was good you weren’t, because who knew what you would say if you weren’t thinking clearly. As it was, you were already pretty sober again and the boys didn’t seem particularly drunk either. Jisung was a lightweight, but he usually sobered up fairly quickly and the night air seemed to have helped him along, while Minho could hold his liquor pretty well and hadn’t ended up drinking that much tonight after all. He got each of you a glass of water, which you gratefully accepted, sitting at their kitchen island and tracing the pattern of the granite with your fingertip.
You looked up and noticed Minho quirking an eyebrow at you. You felt your cheeks get a little hot. You needed someone to speak. Now. This was unbearable. Were they feeling the same way you were? Or were they relaxed? Why weren’t they saying anything? Anything, any topic at all, please. You thought about the evening you’d just had, whether there was something you could use to start a conversation. And then you had it. You took a deep breath and put on a smile.
“So Changbin really pissed in JYP’s yard, huh?” This instantly set Jisung off in a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over and clutching the kitchen counter for support. You breathed a sigh of relief as you continued. “I need to hear the whole story. Please.” And just like that the tension lifted again as the boys recounted the event, you commenting how badly you wished you’d been there in between giggles.
The conversation naturally moved onto other topics from there and things felt right and normal again between all three of you. These were the boys you’d gotten to know as good friends over the past few months and you even began to wonder what you had been so in your head about all night. The three of you chatted about all sorts of things for a little while and eventually you landed on the topic of movies. When you confessed that you’d never actually seen a Deadpool movie, Jisung was so taken aback he suggested you watch the first one instantly.
And so the three of you ended up on Minho’s bed with the movie playing on his big TV screen. You knew he had one in his bedroom because he loved nothing more than to relax watching an anime when he wanted some alone time. The TV was nicer than the one in the living room and the bed was big enough for the three of you to be comfortable, so here you were. Jisung had instantly sprawled out in the middle, insisting he needed cuddles from two of his most favorite people, and you both gladly indulged him – though you did catch Minho rolling his eyes jokingly as Jisung pulled him down and flung his right arm around his shoulders. You settled against his left side, taking in his scent and giggling at the way his hair tickled your forehead. Then you began to watch the movie.
About twenty minutes into it, you felt your stomach growl a little bit. It was around 2 am; not excessively late yet, since the party had begun fairly early, but you did realize that you hadn’t had a proper meal since this afternoon. You hoped no one had heard you, but either Minho had or he was hungry himself, because not long after, be briefly paused the movie and offered to take a quick walk down the street to the boys’ favorite late-night fast food place to grab something for you all, saying he wanted some fresh air anyway. Jisung quickly nodded eagerly and you confessed you were hungry too. You asked Minho if he wanted any company, feeling bad about sending him out by himself at this time of night, but he said he didn’t mind and told you guys to continue watching; he’d seen the movie enough times anyway. And that was how he ended up leaving you two alone in his bedroom… and all of a sudden your mind was right back in the place you had fought so hard to get it out of earlier.
You tried to concentrate on the movie. You really did. But you weren’t catching a damn thing that was happening on the screen. You were overly aware of every single thing about Jisung – his earthy scent you’d decided you really liked; the way his hair was still brushing against your forehead; the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing; the curve of his collarbone under your head. His heartbeat, which you swore was a little quicker than it should have been. You were also overly aware of your own heartbeat, which was definitely quicker than it should have been and seemed much louder than usual. And suddenly you were terrified that he had noticed it too, that he suddenly knew exactly what was going through your mind. You slowly turned your head, hoping to sneak a glance at his expression and gauge the situation. And he was looking right at you. Your heart stopped momentarily and your belly fluttered in the way that had been reserved for Minho and Minho only up until now. You wanted to look away before it got awkward. You wanted to but you couldn’t, because he was looking at you like that again. Like he had been all night. Like… like he wanted to kiss you again.
You licked your lips and swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. His eyes flickered to your mouth. Then back up to your eyes. Then back to your mouth. And then he was kissing you. His hands found your waist. One of yours crept up to caress his jaw while the other instantly tangled itself back into the hair you had been dying to touch again all night. You melted into his embrace.
The kiss was sloppy in the most perfect way, your bodies flush against each other. You could feel every part of him, from his hands that were finally resting properly on the small of your back, to his legs that had become entangled with yours, to his tongue – Jisung’s tongue, your friend Jisung’s tongue – to his hipbones, to his crotch, where you felt something twitching and beginning to grow hard. A small moan escaped you. And all of a sudden this was very real. And you remembered that you were in Lee fucking Minho’s bed. You suddenly pulled back a little bit, chest rising and falling rapidly. Jisung’s eyes found yours again, searching.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you said breathlessly. For a second you forgot what you were going to say as you looked at him – his messed-up hair, his flushed face, his dilated pupils, his glistening mouth that had tasted so sweet. And oh no, he was biting his lip. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” Jisung asked, voice full of concern. You had to tell him. You had to be honest before this went any further. It was too weird for you to be doing this. But wow, you did not want to tell him. Especially not when you could be kissing him instead.
“I… I need to be honest with you about something,” you groaned. This was so embarrassing. Was he going to hate you? Tell you it was messed up to have been kissing him when you were harboring feelings for his best friend? Or was it his boyfriend? His sexual partner? Did it matter? Oh god, you didn’t want to ruin it all. But you couldn’t ignore it.
“What is it, baby?” Oh, now why did he have to call you that? Didn’t he realize he was making this even more difficult for you? His eyebrows were furrowed. “Is everything okay?” And it was too late to back out of the truth now, because he was actually worried, and you weren’t going to leave him feeling that way. The mood was probably already ruined regardless. You averted your gaze.
“I… don’t know if we should be doing this. I kind of… um… have a thing for Minho? Oh god.” You could see the corners of his mouth twitch slightly upwards out of the corner of your eye and felt his gaze on your skin like it was burning you. “Don’t look at me. Ugh. I’m so sorry. It was so weird of me to be all over you like this, I don’t know what got into me, I’ve had a crush on Minho for months and I don’t even know what’s going on between you two – not that you need to tell me, I just don’t want to butt in, I promise I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, oh god this is so fucking embarrassing, I can totally understand if you want me to leave, I can call a cab or maybe Hyunjin is still awake and I can go over there instead, just please tell me we can figure out a way to keep being friends, I…” You trailed off. The silence was deafening. Your cheeks were on fire. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You had to look up at him, didn’t you? You did not want to. You swallowed once. And peeked. He was smiling. Why was he smiling? Was he laughing at you? That would be even worse than you’d feared. You were about to turn your eyes away again when he put a hand on your shoulder.
“Y/N.”
“Jisung.”
“Just… take a breath, okay? Everything’s fine.”
“If everything’s fine, why are you laughing at me? Maybe this is amusing to you, but it’s not to me, this is mortifying, I don’t want to lose my friends, I’m so embarrassed right now, I don’t even know what to-”
And all of a sudden you were cut off by his lips again. You quickly pulled back. He moved with you. His eyes were laser focused on your mouth. He looked like he was getting ready to devour you. You wanted to let him so badly.
“Jisung!”
“Y/N!” He was giving you nothing. You groaned. You kissed him. You couldn’t help yourself. You were melting into the kiss again, into him. His tongue was so soft and felt so good in your mouth. Your arms snaked around his waist. His hand made its way to your ass. Your eyes shot open. You detached your lips from his once more and put a little space between your bodies, placing a hand on his chest to ensure the distance was kept this time. You could still feel the heat radiating off of him. It was intoxicating.
“Jisung, we need to focus! Minho will be back any second, this is weird!” You looked at him, trying to convey how serious you were with your eyes, but it was difficult when you were sure you were in just as flustered and flushed a state as he was – and seeing him like that was making it very hard to concentrate. He sighed, but there was still a little smile on his lips.
“Look, Y/N, I wasn’t necessarily expecting it either, but I don’t know, I think I like you.”
“I mean… you were definitely kissing me like you do.”
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “You kissed me first!”
“That’s… true. But in my defense, it was only because Hyunjin dared me.”
“To kiss anybody in the room. Not me specifically.”
“I hate you.”
“I wanted it.” He grinned at you. Your heart skipped a beat.
“But… Minho?” You swallowed uneasily.
“What about him?”
“I just told you I like him.”
“I know.”
“Do you like him?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he like you?”
“Yeah.” He said it so nonchalantly. It drove you crazy.
“Don’t you think this is way too complicated?”
“I think you’re making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be.” You smacked your own forehead at his words.
“Now what on earth does that mean?”
“Look, Y/N, the way I see it, it’s kinda simple. I like Minho, so I kiss Minho. I like you, so I kiss you.”
“But I like Minho.”
“Do you like me?”
“I think so.”
“Then kiss me.”
“I want to, but – stop!” He was moving closer again. “Doesn’t it bother you that I like Minho?”
“No, why? Minho’s great. And beautiful. I totally get it.”
“Well, you said he likes you. And I don’t want to, like… cause any problems.” Jisung smiled at your concern. You did not want his pity.
“Look. I know Minho can come across as kind of… possessive? But trust me. He will not be bothered by us hooking up. The only thing he might be bothered by is if we didn’t offer to include him.” You swore you forgot how to breathe for a moment when you heard those words. Jisung clearly noticed your reaction, because his smile widened considerably. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he? You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious. What on earth had you gotten yourself into?
“Did I just hear you right, Han Jisung?”
“You did.”
“You’re suggesting we hook up… with Minho.”
“I am.”
“You want us to hook up. With Minho. You. And me. And Minho. Yes?”
“Yup.” He clearly noticed you were not processing this at all, so he continued. “Did you think I was just hoping to get in a secret quickie with you before he came back? You know the restaurant’s not that far away, right? He’s already been gone longer than I thought.”
“Were you guys… planning something? Is he, like… expecting to come back to this?”
“Nope. But sometimes things happen. And so you go with the flow, you know?”
“You didn’t talk to him about wanting to have… a threesome… with me tonight? That’s not why you invited me over?”
“Nope. We just wanted to hang out. But now I want to have a threesome. Do you want to?”
“I mean… yes? But, like. Will Minho even want to?”
“We’ll ask him.” He made it sound so simple.
“Does Minho even like me?” You were terrified of the answer.
“Don’t know. I know he thinks you’re really hot, though.”
“He told you that?”
“Lots of times.” Oh. Well, that was that. Your brain had officially stopped working. How were you supposed to process this information? And it was almost scary, the way Jisung seemed to be reading your mind right now, because the next thing he said was: “I want you to stop thinking so much about it all. You don’t need to figure it out.”
“I… don’t?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, good.” His voice had become an almost-whisper as he had inched his way closer to you once more, now taking the hand that had been placed on his chest into his own and intertwining your fingers. You could feel the breath coming from his mouth when he spoke. Something in you wanted to protest more – that part of your brain that was such a seasoned overthinker that it short-circuited whenever something interrupted that process. But Jisung wasn’t going to give you a chance to. And honestly, you were grateful to him for it. And so you gave in to the kiss once more. Fully, this time.
You lost yourself in him, let his hands roam your body, let yours roam his in return, every curve, every bone. You felt his chest contracting against yours with each heavy breath he took. When he detached his mouth from yours you almost whined in protest, until he attached it to your neck instead and you forgot everything, focused only on how good his teeth felt on your sensitive skin, saliva everywhere. Your hands slid under his sweater. His skin was so smooth; you could feel the muscles in his back and stomach tensing as you ran your hands all over them, caressing him, incoherent moans escaping you. He was perfect. And he was so good at this. Why was he so good at this?
“Mmh, Jisung. So… good,” you moaned into his hair and he began sucking on your neck even more aggressively at that. His sweater was slipping off his shoulder and you wanted to get him out of it so badly. Your hands reached for the hem of it, began pulling it up… and just then you heard the sound of a key in the lock. And you froze for a moment. Jisung looked up at you. You made eye contact with him. His eyes were glinting like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was almost sure Minho would be happy to join you. Meanwhile you were terrified once again of Minho coming into his own bedroom, finding you in this state with his Han Jisung, and being absolutely disgusted. But the situation was what it was now. And his steps were coming closer to the bedroom. Your belly did a somersault. And he came through the door.
You had moved away from Jisung a little bit and attempted to smooth your clothes down. Regardless of all that, you knew your neck was a mess, so it was probably pointless to even try to look presentable. But it had been an automatic reaction to try and fix your appearance. Jisung had done no such thing. His hair was all over the place, his sweater was still half off, and there was a very obvious erection straining against his jeans. Not to mention the lust-filled grin that was plastered on his face as he looked at the man that had just come through the doorway.
“Hi, Minho,” he grinned.
“Um, hi guys,” the older of the boys responded and you noticed the corner of his mouth quirk up. You looked away quickly when his gaze met yours, hating the fact that you were so nervous again. “What’s going on here?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice as he reached for the remote to pause the movie that was still running. Both you and Jisung couldn’t stop yourselves from chuckling as you realized it had been on this whole time.
“We, uh… might have gotten a little distracted,” you said sheepishly after your giggles had subsided.
“I can see that.” Minho smirked as he observed the state the two of you were in. “Well, there’s fried chicken in the kitchen, but I’m sure it can be reheated later.” You couldn’t help but giggle again at that deadpan statement.
“Minho-hyung.”
“Yes, Han?” Your heart was pounding as you looked expectantly at the beautiful man standing in the doorway. The man you’d dreamed about so many times. The man whose bed you were currently in… with somebody else. Was this the moment you were finally going to get your hands on him? Was something way beyond what you’d ever dreamed of about to happen?
“Do you want to… join us?” And yes. Jisung had really just said those words. There was no going back now. You swallowed as you awaited Minho’s response. He didn’t say anything at first. But he made his way towards the bed. It sunk as he crawled onto it and took his place on the other side of Jisung once more. Jisung could barely contain himself; he was biting his lip again and his hand was already reaching for Minho’s hip, attempting to pull him closer. But Minho looked at you again first.
“Y/N, are you comfortable with this?” And you could tell he was holding back from pouncing – on someone, anyone, either of you, both of you –, just waiting to make sure this was something you really wanted. And you loved him for it. But if he couldn’t tell by now how badly you wanted him, what with the way your eyes were dripping with lust and your chest was heaving as you stared at him, then you were better at acting than you’d thought.
“God, just get in here, Minho.”
He did not need to be asked twice. He pounced. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was everything you’d ever imagined it to be. He was rough in all the right ways and he tasted even better than you could have dreamed. As you ground into Jisung’s hip, he hoisted Minho’s thigh over his other side, attaching his lips to the older boy’s neck. Then he quickly began to unbutton Minho’s shirt as the two of you continued to make out messily, pausing in between for air and to finally help Jisung out of his sweater as well. You’d never seen the younger of the two quite this excited before and it did things to you that you had no words to describe.
Both of them were so beautiful. Both of them smelled so good. Their scents were all over the room as sweat was already mingling, and you briefly pulled away to take your own shirt off as well. Both pairs of eyes were on you as you did so, and you returned the gaze, looking at their bodies in awe. Jisung had begun unbuttoning his jeans now and Minho reached a hand down to stop him.
“Let me.” The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly he was pulling you back towards them as well, shoving you down next to Jisung. You began kissing and biting the younger of the two all over his ear, jaw, neck, chest, anywhere you could reach as Minho took his time unbuttoning the man’s jeans and sliding them down his legs excruciatingly slowly, taking his underwear right along with them.
“Don’t be shy now,” Minho said to you as you stopped what you were doing to look at Jisung’s boner that stood against his belly, twitching in arousal, all but begging to be touched. “I’ve had my fun with it plenty of times. You can get us started.” And so you did. You trailed your hand down towards Jisung’s crotch and around the general area first; his lower body bucked upwards when your fingers brushed the inside of his thigh. He let out a small whine, already breathing heavily, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted. And then you were wrapping a hand around his length, giving it a couple of slow pumps, loving the way it felt pulsing under your palm. Jisung groaned, his eyes fluttering back in his head. You caught Minho watching him in awe and thought you might just about die.
You were very aware of your own wetness pooling in your underwear and your pussy twitching, heat coiling in your lower belly. You leant down to place a few excruciatingly soft kisses around Jisung’s crotch and finally on the tip of his cock, before pulling away to start removing your own pants. Minho took the opportunity to attach his mouth to Jisung’s cock and when you heard the moans coming from the younger man, you felt like you couldn’t get your clothes off fast enough. Minho was straddling Jisung’s legs by now and Jisung’s hands were grasping for the other man’s crotch too, attempting to rub him through his pants before awkwardly stretching his body to reach for the buttons and fumbling with them desperately. Minho stopped him, pulling his mouth off of his penis with a pop, then sat up straight and smiled. He kept doing that – smiling like that – and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him when he did. But Jisung’s whine at the loss of contact pulled your attention back to him for a moment.
“Y/N, take over,” Minho ordered, and you took his place eagerly. As you positioned yourself between Jisung’s legs and bent down to take him into your mouth, you felt the bed shift as Minho presumably got undressed… and then you felt his hands begin to roam you from behind. They went all over your body, helping you out of your bra before sliding your underwear off and tossing it to the side. There was so much going on that you luckily only had a brief moment to feel self-conscious as you knew Minho was inspecting your ass and pussy from the back. His hands were kneading your ass cheeks while Jisung was grabbing at your breasts desperately. At the same time you could feel him thrusting up into your mouth and heard his moans quickening… at which point Minho pulled you off of him and flush against his own naked body instead. You gasped at the feel of his erection against your ass and his hands all over your breasts, kneading, pinching. You turned your head slightly to look at his face, panting. He was smiling at Jisung.
“Not yet, baby,” he told him, before pressing several kisses against your shoulder and the crook of your neck that were so soft you almost burst right then and there, your entire body tingling. You arched your back against him, grinding back against his crotch. His chest was slick with sweat against your back. When he looked up from your shoulder, you tried to catch his lips with yours, but he just teased you with an evil grin before flipping you onto your back next to Jisung once more. You turned your head towards Jisung and the two of you looked at each other, completely breathless. A small giggle escaped you which Jisung quickly reciprocated before pressing another sloppy kiss to your lips. You bit and sucked on his bottom lip for a few moments, then turned your head to look up at Minho as Jisung kept kissing and nibbling along your cheek, your neck, your ear. Your eyes trailed up and down the body of the man you’d been lusting over for months. He looked unbelievable, kneeling over you like that. When your eyes met you couldn’t keep yourself from moaning.
You grasped one of his hands, brought his index finger to your mouth and ran your tongue along it before beginning to suck on it, never breaking eye contact with him as you did so. He was watching you intently. You were aching to be touched. He began to lean down, bringing his face impossibly close to yours. You reached for the back of his neck, ready to pull him into a kiss, already feeling his breath on your lips, so eager to taste his mouth once more… but he stopped just short of it again, smirked at you once, then turned his attention to Jisung.
He pulled Jisung’s face off of you before kissing him passionately, deeply, as you could only watch in awe. It was too much.
Your hand found its way to your pussy and you began rubbing your clit while simultaneously spreading your wetness around your folds. You whimpered at the sight of the two of them messily making out, tongues battling as their naked bodies ground against each other. You squeezed your legs together tightly once before pressing a first cautious finger into your pussy, then a second. Your other hand had made its way to your own mouth and you moaned into your palm softly, holding back a little bit. Still, the boys broke their kiss to look at you. It took everything in you not to look away – you were so overwhelmed, so turned on you thought you might burst, so self-conscious but still unable to stop touching yourself at the sight of them.
“I think Y/N needs some attention, hm?” Minho purred at Jisung. “What do you think? Want to put that tongue of yours to good use?” Jisung began grinning again before sliding his body down the bed a little bit, motioning for you to position yourself on top of his face.
“Are you sure?” You asked him, but he was nodding eagerly before you had even finished your question. Minho took you by the wrist, practically forcing you to stop fingering yourself, and helped you position your body above Jisung’s face, slowly lowering you down until your pussy made contact with the younger’s mouth. You moaned loudly as soon as it did, grabbing onto the bed’s headboard to steady yourself as your body arched in response. Jisung put a hand on each hip to steady you, and as he ate you out, Minho began to give the rest of your body attention again. His hands and lips were all over you, squeezing your nipples, kissing you behind your ear and all down your back, making you shiver all over. He lightly slapped your ass cheeks and came back up right next to your ear to ask you in an excruciatingly seductive tone if that was okay for you. You nodded quickly.
“Yeah?” he asked. “That feel good?”
“Mhmmmm,” you moaned back as he slapped you a couple more times.
“What about Jisung? Is he making you feel good?” You could only respond with unintelligible noises as the younger’s tongue penetrated you deeper at the sound of his name.
“M-Minho,” you brought out breathlessly. You were a bit nervous to ask him for anything, but your arousal overrode your embarrassment. “C-can you scratch me?” You panted. “Please?” You swore you could hear the smirk in his voice when he answered.
“You want me to scratch you, kitten?” You nodded, still moaning and holding onto the headboard for dear life, the muscles in your arms flexing. “As you wish, beautiful.” You barely had time to process the fact that he had just called youbeautiful before his nails were on you. All down your back, along your thighs, your hipbones, everywhere. You moaned even louder. Your body was reacting beyond your control, you could feel the tightening sensation in your lower belly growing exponentially and your legs began to shake so that you wondered if you would even be able to remain upright long enough to orgasm.
“You like that, huh?” Minho spoke, and you nodded wildly, still desperately trying to keep your body stable. He kept going, grinding against your ass, scratching you and peppering you with kisses all over your neck and back while Jisung held you steady with a firm grip on your hips. Your thighs were quivering at this point and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. Jisung pulled away for an excruciating moment, placed unbelievably soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, and when his lips and tongue reattached to your pussy once more, it didn’t take long before you went over the edge. Minho had added one of his fingers into the mix, steadily circling your clit with it as Jisung kept eating you out. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as your orgasm washed over you and you let the two of them hold you up as you rode it out, eyes closed in pure bliss until the last of the waves of pleasure had rocked through your body.
Then you slowly lifted yourself off of Jisung with Minho’s help, slumping with your back against the headboard, and looked at the two of them sheepishly. You were well aware your mouth was still open but you were incapable of closing it fully at this point in time. You looked at Minho; he was still wearing that mischievous expression. You looked down at Jisung, who was wiping your juices off of his lips, sucking them off his own fingertips as he made eye contact with you. Then you broke into a smile.
“Holy fuck,” you breathed. The boys laughed. It was silent for a couple of seconds save for the sounds of all your heavy breathing.
“Are you done, baby?” Minho asked from where he knelt in front of you.
“God no,” you responded, earning more chuckles from the two of them. “Just give me a moment.” Your chest was still falling and rising rapidly while your body felt so heavy and sensitive that you didn’t think you could move just yet. “Can you keep yourselves busy for a few minutes?” They both looked at you as if that was a stupid question and instantly were all over each other once more. Jisung grabbed Minho by the hips and pulled him down until he was straddling him. They began to make out desperately, hips grinding against each other, pornographic sounds coming from both of their mouths.
Jisung’s hand found its way between Minho’s legs and when the older of the two broke the kiss briefly to throw his head back, squeeze his eyes tightly shut and let out a strangled moan, you nearly lost it. The veins in his neck were very visible and he had never looked better. No. You most definitely were not done with them yet.
You watched them for a few minutes more, taking in every detail. Jisung’s smooth body, the muscles in his arms tensing up as he had one hand buried in Minho’s crotch, the other wrapped around his ass to hold him down against him. Minho’s thighs on either side of him. God, those thighs. You were feeling your own arousal begin to build quickly again and cautiously reached down to touch yourself once more, slowly letting yourself get accustomed to the sensation again without overwhelming your still very sensitive body.
You ached to taste Minho again, to shove your tongue in his mouth, to get your hands on him, on his dick which you had yet to have your fun with. You began crawling towards him, reached a hand into his hair, gently turned his head in your direction. His half-lidded eyes met yours and there was that smile again. You tried to pull his face towards you, but just before his lips met yours, he moved them to your neck instead. You groaned.
“What’s- ah! What’s wrong, kitten?” he brought out breathlessly in between moans as Jisung kept pumping his hand up and down his cock. You looked down at it until Minho used his spare hand that wasn’t currently clutching onto Jisung’s shoulder to pull your face back up by your chin and force you to look into his eyes. “What do you need?” As he said that, he trailed his hand down your front until he reached your pussy, where he began slowly circling your clit once more with two of his fingers.
“Mmh- Minho, oh god.” A shiver went through you and you closed your eyes to let the sensation fully wash over you. He was using just the right amount of pressure as he rubbed excruciatingly slow circles over your clit and you forgot everything else for a moment.
“Tell me, kitten,” he huffed out.
“M-Minho… need… you,” you panted. Your hips were bucking in his direction every time he completed a circle and you wanted to feel him inside of you immediately. “P-please. Just fuck me.” You opened your eyes to look at him again. He had reached his other hand down to stop Jisung jerking him off and caressed the younger man’s hand gently before reaching past him to the bedside table, where he retrieved a condom from the top drawer. He looked down at his roommate lovingly, then back up at you.
“Jisung’s been waiting a little longer than me. Don’t you think we should let him go first?” You looked at Jisung and his eyes were so wide, so full of desire. Minho didn’t even wait for your response before he unwrapped the condom and began to slowly pull it down over Jisung’s cock, which you noticed was twitching and already dripping precum. You felt your mouth begin to water, despite the devastating loss of Minho’s fingers on your clit. When he had finished putting the condom on the younger man, he moved to lay down next to him again. “What do you think, Jisungie?” Minho asked him, running a finger down his stomach, trailing it between his legs, grazing his cock, causing Jisung’s hips to jerk upwards.
“Mmh… Y/N. Can I? Can I f-fuck you?” He was panting. He looked incredible. You nodded and moved to straddle him. Who were you to turn him down?
“God, please,” you breathed out, but just before you could settle on top of him, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over so you were on your back beneath him instead. Your head hit the pillow and you glanced to the side to make eye contact with Minho for a moment. He was licking his lips and moved to stroke your cheek with his hand. You leaned in towards him, but he gently pushed your face back to look at Jisung instead. You complied, your initial frustration forgotten quickly as your eyes settled on the younger of the two who was now towering over you. He had reached up to push a hand through his hair and the muscles in his arm flexed tantalizingly as he did so.
You reached your hands up to run them over his chest and stomach, feeling every breath that he took. His skin was hot and slick with sweat and you reached up to his neck to pull his face down to meet you. His mouth was on yours in an instant, his tongue pushing into your mouth eagerly. Your breath was already quickening from the exhilaration of the kiss alone. When you felt his hand reach down to grasp himself and slowly begin to position his cock at your entrance, it sped up even more in anticipation. You reached your own hand down to spread yourself for him.
He slowly pushed into you and each little bit further he went sent new waves of pleasure radiating out from your stomach through your entire body. He already felt so good and he had barely even begun.
“Mmh… feel so good, baby…” he groaned as if he was reading your mind again, eyes closed, mouth open as he continued pushing into you until he bottomed out. Then, slowly at first, he began to thrust.
“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t contain your moans. “Jisung!” His hands were on either side of your head now, grasping the pillow for support. Yours were on his ass, pulling him closer, pushing him deeper into you as you slid your hips up and wrapped your legs around his back to find just the right angle. You closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling him, the indescribable sensations going through your body. Both your voices filled the room in time with his thrusts as he settled into a rhythm.
You heard Minho groaning next to you too and when you turned your head to look at him once more, you saw he was slowly stroking his own cock while looking at the two of you. Knowing he was getting off on watching you both amplified your pleasure tenfold and you didn’t even know where to look at this point. You wanted to see both of them. But Jisung enclosed your mouth in yet another desperate kiss, taking the decision off your hands as he continued to thrust into you, though you could already feel his movements speeding up and becoming slightly more erratic as he whined into your mouth in pleasure.
You bucked your hips up to meet his movements and help him keep the pace. He pressed his forehead against yours as he moaned your name against your mouth. You reached one of your hands up to push his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He grabbed your hand with his own and intertwined your fingers against the pillow next to your head. You felt Minho begin to place soft kisses all over both of your hands as he continued to writhe against the sheets next to you, still stroking himself agonizingly slowly. You could see his chest rise and fall out of the corner of your eye.
Meanwhile Jisung’s movements were becoming even more frantic. His hand was still on yours, squeezing tight, but he buried his face in your neck again, allowing your skin to swallow up the sounds still coming from his mouth.
“Mm- so close, baby,” you felt him groan out, the vibrations from his lips shooting through your entire body. “So… close…” He turned his head to meet Minho’s face in a hungry kiss, then looked back at you, the veins in his neck popping out, jaw clenched from how hard he was trying not to cum right now. Yet he didn’t slow his movements down.
“Let go, baby,” you whispered, squeezing his ass hard with the hand that was still resting there. And that was all it took. With a few final big thrusts, you felt his cock pulse inside you as he hit his climax, until his movements gradually slowed down. He was panting against your neck again, still holding onto your hand for the final few sporadic, lazy thrusts before he pressed one more kiss to your neck, then came back up to your face to attach his lips to yours again for a moment. Finally he pulled himself out of you, collapsing next to you and trying to catch his breath. You grinned at him and stroked his cheek affectionately. He laid there with his eyes closed for a few moments more before blinking them open and looking at you.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen so fast!”
“It’s- oh! It’s o-kay… mmh…” Minho’s hand had latched onto your pussy so fast you barely had time to register it as the sensation overwhelmed your body. You reached down to stop its movements before you completely lost your mind again. “I still have this one to get through, after all.” You cocked your head in Minho’s direction and grinned at Jisung, who was wiping sweat off his forehead, where his hair had started to curl slightly. Minho had moved his attention to your breasts, kissing them, then between them, then your belly, then your hipbones.
“Still sorry,” Jisung panted. “I wanted to make you cum.” He pouted a little bit.
“You already did, remember?” He smiled at that.
“Don’t worry, Jisungie, you can still help,” Minho purred, looking up at him. “Do you need more of a break?” he asked you, and when you instantly shook your head he chuckled a little bit before retrieving another condom from the bedside table, sitting up to slide it over his own dick this time. You watched, entranced, until he lifted your face up by the chin with a finger and smirked at you in that way he always did again. You swore you could have cum just from that. He reached down between your legs once more and you could feel yourself trying to squeeze your thighs shut against your control as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you.
“Minho,” you warned him, breathing heavily. “Not like this. Need you inside me.” He complied, removing his hand from your pussy and rubbing it over your thigh once instead before leaning down to press a kiss to your hipbone again and nip at it a couple of times.
“Where do you want me, baby?” he asked as a shiver went through your body. You took a moment to ponder.
“Lay down,” you decided. “Want to ride you.” He complied.
As his head hit the pillow, Jisung began to kiss and nip at his upper body while you positioned yourself on top of him. His hands quickly gripped your thighs tightly, nails digging into them as you took his cock into your hand, loving the way it felt, and gave it a couple of strokes, which it responded to as if it had a mind of its own. Your other hand reached for your pussy to spread it again and rub your wetness around a little more before positioning Minho’s cock at your entrance.
Then, ever so slowly, you began to lower yourself onto it. A guttural moan came from deep inside Minho’s chest as he shut his eyes for a moment. Now it was your turn to smirk as you slowly took him all the way inside of you before beginning to slide up and down on his cock. He looked even hotter beneath you than you’d ever imagined, than you’d ever thought possible. When he opened his eyes again and looked at you, the eye contact while feeling him inside of you nearly drove you insane.
Jisung was currently squeezing Minho’s bicep while sucking on his neck. You leant down, hoping to kiss Minho while still keeping your hips moving up and down steadily. Just before your mouths connected, he placed his hand at your lips and shoved his finger back in your mouth instead. You were going to go crazy if he didn’t kiss you soon. You hated it. You loved it. It only made you hungrier for him. You sucked and bit at his finger eagerly, relished in his grunts, then sat back up straighter, throwing your head back.
You were starting to get tired but you could not stop going, feeling your pleasure building and building, even more so when Minho began scratching you again, on your back, your thighs, your hips. You arched your back, shut your eyes, moaned his name. He kept his hands on your hips now and slowly his grip began to tighten, holding you down until you couldn’t move anymore. Then he pulled himself up until he had his arms around you tightly and his face at your breasts, kissing them, sucking on your nipples one after the other, licking a stripe up your neck. Then he was lifting you off of him.
“Turn around,” he instructed. “On your knees. Jisungie, you want to help?” The younger nodded excitedly. “Good. Get below them. You can help keep them steady.” Jisung complied. You were straddling his thighs again as Minho gently pushed you down so you were on all fours, hands on either side of Jisung’s head, faces dangerously close together. Then Minho positioned himself behind you again, this time lining himself up with your entrance, asking if you were ready and slowly pushing his cock inside of you once more when you told him you were.
The moan that left your body was the loudest one yet as he bottomed out inside of you, instantly hitting a very deep angle. Jisung swallowed your sounds up hungrily, mouth all over yours. Then Minho grabbed both of your wrists and held them behind your back. Your upper body slid down a little until your face was on Jisung’s chest and all three of you rocked along with the entire bed as Minho thrust into you steadily. Jisung’s hands moved from your hips, where he had been holding you in place, to your breasts and began to play with them while you moaned into his burning skin. You were sure the two men were looking at each other over your head and just the thought of that turned you on even further, if that was possible.
Minho held your wrists in place with only one hand as the other scratched down your back slowly once, causing a shiver and eliciting more moans, before he used it to repeatedly slap and knead your ass in time with his thrusts. One of Jisung’s hands reached down to your clit and you knew you were going to be done for very soon.
You were trying to moan out names – either of theirs, both of theirs. You were trying to say “theretherethere ohgod right there”, you were trying to say “fasterharderpleaseohfuck” – but what came out of your mouth was fully incoherent at this point. It didn’t seem to matter, because Minho was clearly on the same wavelength as you. You were aware of his grunts and groans growing more frequent, you were aware of his hips smacking against your ass faster and faster as he fucked you harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot over and over, and you were aware of your pleasure building and building until it felt almost impossible to bear.
“Gonna… cum…” you managed to groan out against Jisung’s sweaty skin, and just before you did, Minho pulled your body back up against his. His movements slowed again for a brief moment, and then he was turning your face towards his and before you could process what was happening, his lips finally consumed yours – deeply, intimately, passionately. When his thrusts sped up again your climax hit you so fast and hard you almost bit down on his tongue, nearly screaming into his mouth as your pussy clenched around him, wave after wave of pleasure tumbling through your trembling body. When it finally started to slow down and your soul reentered your body, you were so grateful for Jisung holding onto your thighs below you, because you might have fallen over otherwise.
“Almost… there…” Minho groaned against your mouth. “Hold… on… baby.” Your hands curled into fists as you steadied yourself against Jisung’s chest, focusing on how hot Minho sounded when he was desperate like this, knowing you would let him fuck you for as long as he needed no matter how much it took out of you. But he came not long after with a shaky moan, hands holding your hips in place as he rutted into you frantically, then slower, slower, until he stopped. His forehead rested against yours. You both stayed like that for a moment, eyes closed. Then he kissed you once more, so softly this time, before pulling out of you, smoothing your hair down gently with one hand.
You collapsed half-on top of Jisung and he chuckled into your hair, pressing soft kisses to your temples and the top of your head. You felt Minho’s lips ghost against the scratches on your back once, twice, three times before he collapsed next to the two of you as well, resting his head against Jisung’s shoulder.
There was silence for a little bit. You felt so heavy, in the best way. The world around you seemed muted, like everything had been dipped into candlelight – not just your vision but your hearing as well, the sounds of the boys’ breathing muffled as the blood rushing through your head finally started to slow down.
Jisung rested a hand on your back and you were so sensitive to the touch you almost jerked away from it, but once you got used to it, it felt so good, grounding you. His naked body beneath yours was warm and comfortable. You slowly fluttered your eyes open again and looked at Minho across from you. You reached out to touch his face, caress his cheek gently, then turned your face down to Jisung’s chest to press a kiss to it. Then you rolled onto your back, legs still intertwined with Jisung’s, and looked up at the ceiling. Just like before when you guys had first entered the dorm, you were the one to break the silence, but this time it wasn’t awkward.
“Wow.” A single word. And all three of you huffed out little laughs, looked at each other – and you had never been happier, never felt more blissful, more relaxed, more at home. You couldn’t have wiped the smile off your face even if you’d wanted to. After another moment you spoke again. “Um, we might need to try watching that movie again another time.” The sound of the boys’ soft laughter filled your heart with joy and your stomach fluttered again. You loved the way it felt this time.
“You’re both so fucking hot,” Jisung said out of the blue and you and Minho both grinned.
“You’re fucking hot, baby,” Minho told him in return and you could only nod your enthusiastic agreement.
After a little more comfortable silence, Jisung slowly began to shift you both off of him, announcing he wanted to take a quick shower. He asked if anyone else wanted to but you informed him you couldn’t stand just yet and Minho agreed with you, so once Jisung had left, he pulled you into his arms instead. His skin felt so good against yours, so comforting. He played with your hair as you listened to the sounds of the water hitting the tiles in the shower and after a while Minho mumbled “You really are beautiful” against the skin of your temple. You turned your head up to kiss him and he reciprocated with no hesitation. There was none of the urgency from before and it was incredible in its own way, soft and sweet and perfect.
After another little while you became vaguely aware of the sound of a hairdryer at the edges of your drifting consciousness, and by the time Jisung returned you both were half asleep already, Minho’s arms tight around your middle as he spooned you from behind. You were aware of Jisung turning the TV off before he crept into the bed beside you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open once, met his and you both smiled before he reached over to the nightstand to turn out the light and settle down on his back. You laid your head against his chest, inhaled him deeply, draped an arm across his stomach and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long.
---
When you woke up the next day to daylight cautiously peeking in through a gap in the curtain, still very much tangled up in both Minho and Jisung’s bodies, you panicked for a second. But laying here with them was so soothing that you didn’t let yourself think about your worries for long, instead listening to their deep, steady breathing and letting their scents envelop you.
It wasn’t too long until they began to stir as well, blinking their eyes open not long after each other. And the way they both smiled when they took in where they were and who they were with told you everything you needed to know: this had not been a mistake. And it also would not be the end of it. If their gentle, content expressions hadn’t been enough to convince you of that, the way they softly greeted you and each other and the lazy kisses and cuddles that ensued certainly were, as well as the rest of the slow morning (or, well, afternoon) you spent together. You took your time cuddling, chatting, getting ready, eating some breakfast that Minho prepared for you all.
You didn’t talk about the situation in depth yet, but you felt no rush to. In fact, for once in your life, you didn’t want to try and rationalize or understand everything. The only thing you all did confirm was that you had enjoyed yourselves immensely and wanted to spend a lot more time together – and that was enough for now.
When you ran into Felix on your way home that afternoon, you still hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off your face that you’d been wearing all day. You stopped to chat for a few moments and you could tell he wanted to ask, but you also figured from the way his eyes were twinkling that he maybe already had an idea. Either way, you told him you’d catch up with him and the others again later – that you wanted to go home and freshen up and take a little time to yourself for now. But just before you left, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and grinned at him.
summary: yunho has spent the last nine years as everyone’s friendly neighborhood spiderman until he meets her, clad in tight black catsuit, a sharp tongue, claws and familiar in ways that drive him absolutely crazy…… because the girl he’s been chasing is the same neighbor he’s head over heels for
warning: violence, eventual smut
genre: superhero, vigilante, romance, smut
pairing: spider man yunho x black cat afab reader
word count: 6.8k
part two coming soon
masterlist
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Queens smelled like late summer trying to pretend it wasn’t tired yet. The air was warm but thinner than it had been in July. A breeze kept sneaking between buildings, nudging at loose flyers taped to lampposts. Somewhere below, a bodega radio crackled with old reggaeton. A bus hissed to a stop. Someone argued about parking in three different languages and Yunho was late. Again.
He took the stairs two at a time, cardigan half buttoned, tie slightly crooked under his jacket. His camera strap was slung diagonally across his chest, thudding against his ribs with every step. He had been up until 3:12 am. Not that anyone at the Daily Bugle needed to know that Spider Man had dismantled a weapons exchange under the Queensboro Bridge and then spent an hour perched on a water tower watching the sunrise because he couldn’t sleep.
He burst through his apartment building’s front door, he needed to get his other SD card for his camera before rushing to work, and nearly collided with her. Y/N. She was balancing a coffee tray in one hand, keys hooked around her finger. “Whoa….” she laughed, stepping back just in time, tilting her head, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet. “Are you trying to tackle me this early in the morning?”
Yunho froze for half a second. Her perfume hit him first. Vanilla and strawberries. His brain short circuited briefly, then rebooted. “I…. sorry. I’m late. I didn’t see…” He gestured vaguely, flustered, pushing his glasses up his nose even though they hadn’t slipped. She tilted her head, studying him. He hated that she did that. Loved it too. “You’re always late on,” she said, voice light. “I’ve noticed.”
His heart did something traitorous. “You’ve…. noticed?”
“Mhm.” She shifted the tray and offered him one of the coffees. “You look like you haven’t slept.” He absolutely had not slept. He accepted the cup carefully, fingers brushing hers for half a second longer than necessary and his pulse spiked. “You look like you’re profiling me,” he muttered and she grinned. “Maybe I am.” The smile she gave him was soft, but there was something sharp under it. Something deliberate. Like she enjoyed watching him squirm.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she liked him. But he knew better. He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “I’m going to get fired.”
“You won’t,” she said casually. “You’re too cute to fire.”
He almost dropped the coffee and she laughed at his expression, stepping backward toward the front doors. “See you tonight, Yunho.” Tonight. The word lingered as he watched her walk away, sunlight catching in her hair. Watched the subtle roll of her shoulders as she adjusted her bag. Watched the way she moved through space like she knew exactly how much room she occupied. He memorized those things without meaning to. He always did.
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The train was packed. Humidity pressed against him, strangers shoulder to shoulder, someone’s headphones leaking tinny music. He clung to a metal pole with one hand, coffee in the other, camera protected against his chest. A newspaper ad overhead read: IS SPIDER MAN A HERO OR A THREAT? He stared at it for a long moment. Nine years. He’d been sixteen when the world turned upside down. Now he was twenty five, late for work, selling photos of himself to a man who called him a menace.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Jameson: Where are my rooftop shots?? Front page material if you got something usable.
Yunho exhaled slowly. He did have something usable. He’d nearly gotten shot for it. The train lurched and his spider sense prickled. Faint. Not danger. Just… something. He shifted his weight, scanning the car out of habit. A man in a suit reading emails. A teenager pretending not to look at him. A woman with grocery bags. Nothing. The sensation faded and he shook it off. Probably just sleep deprivation.
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By the time Yunho pushed through the revolving doors of the Daily Bugle, he was thirty seven minutes late and pretending he wasn’t. The newsroom hit him like it always did. Phones ringing in uneven symphony. Reporters arguing across cubicles. The scent of burnt coffee clinging to the air like it paid rent. A television mounted near the ceiling flashed footage of Spider Man swinging between buildings. He didn’t look up at it as he slipped past two interns carrying file boxes and made it almost halfway to his desk before….
“JEONG!”
Yunho stopped and slowly turned around. J. Jonah Jameson stood in the doorway of his office like a storm cloud in a suit. Tie slightly crooked, mustache bristling with indignation. “You know what time it is?” Jameson barked and Yunho checked his watch with exaggerated seriousness. “Technically? Still morning.”
Jameson stared at him like he’d just insulted journalism itself. “You think this is funny? I have deadlines! I have headlines! I have a masked menace prancing around my city and you stroll in like you’re on vacation!” Yunho adjusted his camera strap calmly. “Subway delays.”
“You live in Queens.”
“Exactly.”
A nearby copy editor snorted as Jameson snapped his head in that direction. Silence immediately returned before Jameson jabbed a finger toward Yunho. “You. My office. Now. And those better be the rooftop shots from last night, you might just keep your job.” Yunho followed him in, closing the glass door behind him. Inside the office, Jameson paced like he was auditioning for a courtroom drama. “Well?” he demanded.
Yunho set his camera down carefully and pulled out a SD card. “Weapons exchange under the bridge. 2:17 am. Clean angles. No civilians hurt.”
Jameson’s eyes narrowed. “You were there at 2:17?”
Yunho blinked innocently. “I work odd hours.”
Jameson grunted as Yunho slid printed proofs across the desk. Spider Man mid swing.
Spider Man landing against steel beams. Spider Man silhouetted against a streak of gold sunrise. Jameson leaned over them and for a split second, something like admiration flickered across his face. Then it was gone. “Too heroic,” he muttered.
Yunho tilted his head. “You want him blurrier?”
“I want menace. I want recklessness. I want something that makes people clutch their wallets.”
Yunho folded his hands. “He stopped illegal weapons distribution.” Jameson slapped the desk. “That’s not the point! Vigilantes don’t get to decide what’s legal!”
“You print his pictures every week,” Yunho said mildly and Jameson narrowed his eyes again. “Careful, kid.” Yunho lifted both hands in surrender. “Just saying. He must be good for business.”
Jameson barked a laugh. It came out sharp and abrupt, like he hadn’t meant to let it escape. “You’re irritating,” he said. “But you’re talented. These are front page.” Yunho felt something ease in his chest. “Run the one with the skyline,” he suggested carefully. “Contrast it heavier. Makes him look…. like a looming threat,” Jameson finished, already reaching for the layout board.
“Exactly,” Yunho said and Jameson squinted at him. “You got an opinion on Spider Man, Jeong?” Yunho shrugged. “He seems consistent.”
“Consistently in my way.”
“Or consistently helping.”
Jameson pointed at him again. “That’s dangerous talk.”
Yunho smiled slightly. “I’m a photographer.”
Jameson waved him off. “Get out of my office. And don’t be late again unless you’re hanging off a skyscraper for a Pulitzer shot.” Yunho nodded and slipped back into the newsroom. As he sat down at his desk, the chaos resumed around him. He opened his laptop, pretending calm. But under the surface? There was always tension. Because every time Jameson criticized Spider Man, every time the newsroom debated whether he was hero or hazard….
Yunho had to sit there quietly and listen. He reached up, pushing his glasses slightly higher on his nose. Outside, the September sun cut through the windows, catching dust in the air. He wondered briefly what Y/N were doing right now. If she were still in the apartment….. He shook his head and focused on editing.
Spider Man could wait until dark. For now, he was just Yunho. Late. Slightly rumpled. And pretending his double life didn’t sit in his chest like a second heartbeat.
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By the time Yunho left the Bugle, the sky had shifted into that hazy early September gold. Not quite fall. Not quite summer. The kind of light that made brick buildings glow like they were holding onto warmth. His shoulders ached. Editing all day always did that. Sitting still too long after a night of swinging between skyscrapers felt unnatural, like putting a racehorse behind a desk. He adjusted his glasses as he walked the familiar few blocks toward Delmar’s Deli, camera slung lazily at his side now instead of tight against his chest.
The bell above the deli door jingled when he pushed it open. “Yooo, my favorite freelancer!” Delmar called immediately from behind the counter. The place smelled like toasted bread, frying oil, and something sweet simmering in the back. A Yankees game played softly on the mounted TV, subtitles slightly delayed as Yunho lifted a hand in greeting. “You say that to everyone who tips.”
Delmar scoffed. “You tip like five dollars, relax.” Yunho smiled faintly and moved toward the fridge, grabbing a bottled tea, a bag of chips, and a pre packaged sandwich that looked questionably fresh as Delmar leaned on the counter, squinting at him. “You look tired.”
“Thanks.”
“No, like…. tired tired.” Delmar tilted his head. “Jameson still on your ass?”
Yunho huffed a quiet laugh. “When is he not?” Delmar snapped his fingers. “That man got personal beef with Spider Man like he stole his lunch money.” Yunho set his items on the counter. “He prefers menace.” Delmar shook his head. “Man saved my cousin’s kid last month. Pulled him out of traffic. And Jameson still prints headlines like he’s public enemy number one.”
Yunho kept his expression neutral. Practiced. “Controversy sells,” he said lightly with a shrug. “Yeah, well.” Delmar rang up the total. “You ever met the guy?” Yunho’s fingers paused over his wallet for just a fraction of a second. “Spider Man?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, sliding cash across the counter. “Hard to catch him still long enough for an interview.” Delmar eyed him knowingly. “You always get the good shots though.” Yunho tucked his change into his pocket. “Lucky timing.”
“Uh huh.” Delmar leaned closer. “You know, if you ever do meet him, tell him Queens appreciates him.”
Yunho felt something warm settle low in his chest. “I’ll pass it along,” he said quietly and Delmar grinned. “And tell Jameson to chill.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
They shared a brief laugh before Yunho gathered his bag and pushed the door open, the bell chiming again as he stepped back into the street. The sun was lower now. Shadows longer. He walked slower this time. Past the laundromat. Past the corner florist. Past the same cracked sidewalk he’d memorized years ago. This neighborhood knew him. Even if it didn’t know all of him.
As he neared his building, he glanced up automatically. Third floor. His window. He adjusted the grocery bag in his hand as he walked through the front doors and climbed the stairs. And there at the top landing. Y/N. Keys between her fingers. Leaning against her door like she had been waiting. She looked up when she heard his steps. “There you are.”
His pulse shifted. “Was I missing?”
“Maybe.” She nodded toward the deli bag. “Dinner of champions?”
“Don’t judge me.”
“I would never….. Okay, maybe a little.”
He huffed a laugh, stepping closer. The hallway light flickered once overhead. “You going out tonight?” he asked before he could stop himself. Her eyes held his. “Why? You offering me something better?”
His brain stalled. “I…. no, I just…”
Y/N smiled slowly and he swallowed. He’d faced armed criminals without flinching but her leaning against her door with that look? Far more dangerous. Yunho hovered a step too far away, like distance might somehow protect him. It didn’t. Not when she kept looking at him like that. Head tilted just slightly, eyes dragging over him in a way that felt deliberate. Curious. Amused. “You look like you’re about to say something.”
“I already did,” he muttered, adjusting the grip on his bag.
“No, you tried to,” She corrected, pushing off her door just enough to close some of the space between them. “There’s a difference.” His throat went dry and of course she noticed. “Go ahead,” She added softly. “Try again.” He blinked at her. Tried to think. Failed. “I was just asking if you had plans,” he said, a little more rushed this time.
Y/N’s lips curved. “Mm. That’s not how it sounded.”
“It…. that’s what I meant.”
“Sure.” She stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that he could feel her presence, warm and steady and entirely too distracting. “You always get a little… weird,” she said lightly, eyes flicking to his face, “when you ask me questions like that.”
“I do not get weird.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m completely normal.”
Y/N laughed under her breath, and it hit him harder than it should’ve. “Normal people don’t look like they’re bracing for impact when they ask if someone’s going out.”
“I’m not bracing….” He stopped and exhaled. “Okay, maybe a little.” Y/N leaned in just enough to make him still. “Why?” She asked. Simple question. Not simple at all actually. Because he liked her. Because he thought about her more than he should. Because he didn’t know how to exist around her without overthinking everything. Instead, he said, “Just curious.” And her eyes softened for a split second. Then sharpened again, like she caught yourself. “Well,” she said, straightening slightly, “since you’re so curious…”
Y/N spun her keys once around her finger. “Yeosang and I are going out tonight.” Something in his chest tightened. “Oh.”
“A club,” she added casually. “Downtown.” He nodded slowly, trying to look like that didn’t bother him more than it should. “Sounds fun.”
“It will be.” She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him through her lashes. “You don’t really seem like the club type though.”
“I can be.”
She raised a brow. “Can you?”
“I….” He hesitated. “If I had a reason.” Her lips curved again, slower this time. More intentional. “And what would count as a good reason, Yunho?” His brain stalled completely and she watched it happen. Enjoyed it, if the faint amusement in her eyes was anything to go by. Then, just as easily, she stepped back, unlocking her door. “Anyway,” she said, like she hadn’t just completely derailed him, “don’t wait up.”
The door creaked open and Y/N paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh…. and try to eat something better than that,” she added, nodding at his deli bag. “I’m starting to think you survive entirely on snacks.”
“I diversify,” he said weakly.
“Mm. I’m sure you do.” And then she were gone. Door clicking shut behind her leaving Yunho standing there for a second longer than necessary. Processing. Replaying every word. Every look. Then he let out a quiet breath and turned toward his own door. Because tonight? She would be across the city. In a crowded club. With Yeosang. And he’d be somewhere above it all….
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By the time the sun disappeared behind the skyline, Queens had shifted into something louder. Neon signs flickered awake. Car horns sharpened. Music spilled from open windows. Laughter echoed down the block. Somewhere in the distance, sirens rose and fell like a warning the city had learned to ignore. Inside Yunho’s apartment, the lights were dim.
He sat cross legged on the floor beside his bed, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, web shooters spread out in pieces across a folded towel. Metal casing open. Microfilament spools aligned. Fluid cartridge half empty. His movements were precise. Steady hands. Measured breaths. The police scanner crackled softly from the desk behind him, the static background hum almost comforting after nine years.
“possible 10-31 in progress… Midtown”
He listened without looking up and tightened a small screw with a miniature screwdriver, jaw set in quiet concentration. A faint bruise colored his ribs from the night before, but he ignored it. Outside, bass thudded faintly from a passing car and he found himself wondering which club Y/N and Yeosang had chosen. Downtown, she’d said. He pictured it without meaning to. Flashing lights. Crowded dance floor. Her laughing with Yeosang.
He forced his focus back to the mechanism in his hand. He didn’t get to think about that. He clipped the housing back into place and slid the web shooter onto his wrist, flexing his hand once. Smooth. No catch. Good. The scanner crackled again.
“reported armed robbery… Hell’s Kitchen”
Too far. He leaned back slightly, grabbing the second unit. There was something about nightfall that always tightened something in him. The city felt different after dark. Sharper. Faster. More dangerous. And Y/N was out there. He hated that thought more than he should. Not because he thought she couldn’t handle herself. She moved with confidence. Carried herself like someone who knew exactly where she was at all times. Still. New York at night wasn’t forgiving. A burst of static interrupted his thoughts.
“multiple vehicles, high end district, possible organized activity…”
He stilled. High end district. Downtown. His fingers paused over the web cartridge. The night life outside swelled louder for a moment, like the city exhaled as he stood slowly and walked to the window, pushing it open. Cooler air slid into the apartment, brushing against his face. From up here, the streets looked deceptively calm. People laughing. Taxi lights streaking yellow. Music rising from open doors.
He pulled his mask from the drawer and turned it in his hands. Nine years. He’d learned how to split himself in two. Yunho, the neighbor. The photographer. The man who blushed when Y/N teased him in the hallway. And Spider Man, the one who leapt into gunfire without hesitation. He rolled his shoulders once. Decision made. The scanner crackled again, more urgent this time.
“possible masked individual sighted”
His spider sense flickered faintly. Not sharp yet. But there. He pulled the suit on with practiced efficiency. Red and blue smoothing over muscle memory. Gloves sealing at the wrists. Mask sliding down last. The world narrowed slightly as the lenses adjusted and he stepped onto the fire escape.
The city stretched wide and alive before him….. he exhaled and then leapt.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The police lights painted the street in violent flashes of red and blue by the time Yunho, or, Spider Man, arrived. He didn’t land immediately. He swung once over the block, taking it in. Two patrol cars disabled. Traffic stalled in all directions. Power flickering in the surrounding buildings. And at the center of it…. A man glowing like a live wire. Electric arcs crawled over the asphalt. Streetlights sparked and shattered. The air smelled like ozone and burnt metal.
Electro. Max Dillon stood in the middle of the intersection, electricity crackling over his skin in sharp, chaotic bursts. Cars around him trembled from the charge as Spider Man landed lightly on a streetlight pole. Upside down, naturally. “Max,” he called casually, voice filtered through the mask. “You’re really killing the grid, buddy. ConEd’s gonna send you a bill.” Several officers turned instantly.
“Spider Man!” one of them shouted. A few actually relaxed. It had been years. They were used to this now. “Glad you could make it,” another cop called. “He’s frying everything that gets within twenty feet!”
Spider Man flipped down onto the hood of a disabled cruiser. “Hey! Don’t worry,” he said, dusting off the hood theatrically. “I’ll invoice him for the paint job.” Electro’s head snapped toward him and the streetlight behind Max exploded in a burst of sparks. “You!” Max snarled, voice buzzing unnaturally.
Spider Man cocked his head slightly. “Come on, Max. I thought we settled this last time. You did the whole absolute power speech. I did the friendship and accountability thing. We shook metaphorical hands.”
Electricity surged outward in a violent pulse and Spider Man leapt just as the police cruiser exploded in sparks beneath him. He landed on a building wall, sticking effortlessly. “Okay!” he shouted down. “No handshake this time, got it!”
Max’s eyes flared bright white. “You think this is funny?”
“I cope with humor,” Spider Man replied. “It’s either that or therapy, and I can’t afford therapy.” Max hurled a bolt and Spider Man flipped sideways, the yellow energy slicing through brick where he’d just been making the cops retreat further back. “Stay clear!” Spider Man called without looking at them. “He’s grumpy when he’s glowing!”
Max launched another arc and Spider Man shot a web mid air, yanking a loose metal sign into the bolt’s path. It grounded partially, sparks ricocheting harmlessly away as he landed behind Max this time. “Let’s talk about your coping mechanisms,” Spider Man said lightly. “Have you tried journaling?”
Max spun, electricity bursting outward in a shockwave and Spider Man somersaulted over it, landing on a taxi roof. The impact dented it slightly. “Sorry!” he called to the driver through the window as his spider senses flared sharply….. he dove as a concentrated blast tore through where he’d been standing, clipping his shoulder mid dive.
Pain snapped through Yunho as he the hit pavement hard, rolled and came up on one knee. Max advanced, crackling brighter. “You can’t keep stopping me!” Max roared as Yunho shook out his arm once, ignoring the burn. “Technically,” he said, pushing up to his feet, “I’ve kept stopping you for like… three years now.”
He shot twin webs, anchoring them to nearby lamp posts, and yanked. The poles snapped inward, tangling Max in heavy metal and Electro screamed, yellow electricity spiking violently. Streetlights exploded in sequence as Spider Man leapt forward before the surge peaked, webbing Max’s arms tightly to his torso in rapid fire bursts. “Okay, okay, okay… let’s ground you emotionally and literally.” He grabbed a loose cable and wrapped it around the webbed structure, forcing the charge to redirect into the street’s buried lines.
The light around Max flickered. Dimmed. Spiked once more…. then faded to a dangerous glow. Police rushed forward with insulated cuffs as Spider Man stepped back, breathing controlled behind the mask. Max glared at him through fading sparks. “This isn’t over.”
Spider Man tilted his head. “It never is.”
The cops secured Max fully this time and an officer approached Spider Man cautiously. “Appreciate it.” Yunho gave a small salute. “Try not to give him any extension cords.” A few officers actually laughed as he shot a web to the nearest building and vaulted upward before anyone could ask for statements.
As he landed on a rooftop a block away, the city stretched beneath him again as adrenaline still hummed in his veins. His shoulder throbbed faintly where the blast clipped him. He rolled it once and glanced toward downtown instinctively. Where the nightlife pulsed brighter. Where Y/N said she’d be.
His spider senses flickered again. Different this time. Subtle. Directional. Not chaos. Not electricity. Something else….. he straightened and popped his neck before diving, flicking his wrist out and swinging. The city blurred beneath him. Wind rushed past his ears. Neon streaked into color trails. Music from rooftop lounges mixed with distant sirens and traffic hum.
Yunho moved automatically, muscle memory, instinct, rhythm. But halfway between Midtown and the lower district… he slowed. His spider senses didn’t spike. It tightened. He landed lightly on the edge of a mid rise office building, crouching low. Across the street stood a research facility, sleek glass, security lit perimeter, corporate logo glowing sterile white against polished steel.
Songcorp subsidiary. Advanced tech division. He knew the building. Knew the man behind the company. Grew up with his son until Mingi decided to travel a few years ago. Nothing ever happened there. Until tonight. Third floor. Left side. One pane of glass fractured inward. Not shattered outward. Clean entry. No alarms blaring. Which meant whoever did it was careful.
He stayed still, watching, until a shadow moved across the interior wall. Too fluid to be security. Too confident to be random vandalism. He shifted slightly along the ledge, adjusting angle. There…. movement again. Fast. Graceful. A silhouette crossing beams like it belonged there. His breath stilled inside the mask as his spider senses flickered once more.
Not danger. Recognition of something different. He shot a web silently to the adjacent building and swung across without sound, landing just above the broken window. He didn’t crash through. He waited. Inside, the office lights were dim emergency mode. Computers asleep. Hallway sensors inactive. And then a soft thud as a figure dropped from a higher beam onto the floor below.
Black suit tight catsuit. White accents catching the faint light. Catlike in posture. Yunho’s pulse shifted as he lowered himself just enough to see fully inside. She moved through the room like she’d memorized it. Gloved hands. Confident steps. No hesitation as she approached a secured lab door and produced a small device from her belt. No fumbling. No rush. Just smooth precision.
His fingers tightened against the concrete ledge as the lab door hissed open and she slipped inside. He dropped silently to the outer wall and edged closer, sticking flat against the building just beside the window. He could leave. Call it in. Wait for backup. But that wasn’t how he worked. He peered through the fractured glass. Inside the lab, she moved between display cases until she reached one central containment vault.
Her reflection caught in the polished surface briefly. White lensed mask. Sharp lines. Silver detailing across the suit’s seams. She tilted her head slightly as she studied the locking mechanism. That tilt. The way her exposed mouth smirked…. something about it tugged at him. Familiar. But impossible so he dismissed it.
She attached another small device and began bypassing the vault as he stepped through the broken window silently, landing without a sound behind her. “Pretty sure this isn’t the VIP lounge,” he said lightly and her shoulders didn’t tense. Didn’t flinch. She didn’t even spin immediately either. Instead, she finished pressing one final button letting the vault lock click. Then she turned slowly. White lenses met red ones. “Well,” she said smoothly. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Her voice was altered. Lower. Purring almost. But there was something under it. Something familiar…. Yunho straightened slightly, his mask lenses narrowing. “Occupational hazard,” he replied. “You break windows, I notice.” She stepped away from the vault casually. “No alarm,” she said. “No dramatic entrance. I’m a little disappointed.”
“I’m trying a new approach. Less smashing. More conversation.”
She circled slightly. Testing distance. Testing him. “Conversation?” she echoed. “About what?” He studied her posture. The way she balanced weight on the balls of her feet. The ease in her stance. Not a rookie. Not reckless. Professional. “About why you’re stealing corporate tech on a Thursday,” he said.
“Research,” she corrected lightly. “Borrowing.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “Temporary crime.”
She laughed softly. It was quick. Controlled. But the cadence….. his chest tightened faintly. He’d heard something like that before. Recently. In a hallway. He forced the thought down. Impossible. Different voice. Different tone. Different world.
She took another step closer. Close enough now that he could see the fine detailing of the suit’s stitching. And a familiar scent of vanilla and strawberries…. “You’re going to try to stop me,” she said calmly.
“That’s usually how this goes.”
“And you think you can?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Statistically? Yeah.”
She lunged. Faster than he expected. He flipped backward instinctively, barely avoiding a swipe of something metallic from her glove. Claws. Retractable. Interesting.
She landed smoothly, no wasted motion and he felt it then. Not fear. Not anger. Excitement. Finally, a different kind of opponent. “Okay,” he muttered, crouching. “This just got fun.” She smirked beneath the mask, he could hear it in her voice. “Try to keep up, Spidey.” She moved first. Fast. Not reckless, calculated.
She vaulted onto a lab counter, using the height to launch herself toward him with a sharp, controlled kick. Yunho ducked, sliding beneath her as she flipped over him, claws grazing the air where his mask had been half a second earlier. He shot a web instinctively and she twisted midair, catching the line with one gloved hand and using it to swing herself around him instead.
He blinked behind the lenses. Okay. That was new. She landed lightly, barely making a sound, white lenses locked onto his. “You’re slower than I expected,” she said smoothly. He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “I’m pacing myself. It’s cardio.” She lunged again. This time he met her halfway. They collided mid floor, not in a crash, but in a tight, controlled tangle of limbs and reflexes.
Her forearm pressed against his chest. His hand caught her wrist before the claws could slice again. Up close now. Closer than before. He felt it. Not spider senses. Not danger. Scent. Faint. Almost lost beneath ozone and sterile lab air. But there. Vanilla. And strawberries. His mind stalled. Just for a second as she twisted, using that half second hesitation to break free, sweeping low and knocking him back against a steel cabinet.
The impact rang through the room. “You okay?” she teased lightly. “You look distracted.” Her voice. Lowered. But familiar….. the way she dragged the end of certain words. The way amusement sat underneath even when she was focused. He’d heard that voice in a hallway. He forced himself forward again, webbing the floor behind her feet. She jumped cleanly over it.
“Is that your thing?” he asked, regaining composure. “Breaking into corporate labs and bullying me?”
“I don’t bully,” she replied, circling him. “I curate.”
He tilted his head. “I’m not on display.”
“Not yet.” She darted left, feint. Then right, real strike. Her claws skimmed across his shoulder, slicing fabric but not skin. He caught her forearm again, this time pulling her into him instead of pushing away. They collided chest to chest. Too close. Her breath brushed faintly against his mask. Vanilla. Strawberries. The scent hit him harder now that the distance was gone.
His pulse betrayed him and she felt it. Her head tilted slightly. There it was again. That tilt. He’d watched it countless times across the hallway when Y/N was deciding whether to tease him further or let him breathe. His grip tightened unconsciously. “Do I know you?” he asked, quieter this time.
She laughed softly. “Oh, Spidey,” she murmured. “If you knew me, you’d be in much more trouble.” Her knee drove into his abdomen, controlled, precise. Not enough to injure. Just enough to force him back. He flipped, landing on a wall and sticking there. Focus. He couldn’t jump to conclusions. Plenty of people wore vanilla perfume. Strawberries weren’t rare. Plenty of women tilted their heads.
She rolled her shoulders slightly before attacking again. That exact motion. The same subtle reset Y/N did before stepping into a room confidently. His chest tightened as she launched toward the vault again, clearly finished playing. He fired twin webs, anchoring them to either side of the room, snapping them inward to block her path. She slid beneath one and vaulted over the other in a fluid motion that was almost unfair. “Persistent,” she said.
“Occupational hazard,” he replied automatically as she reached the vault and snatched the secured drive from inside. He shot another web. She spun, slicing through it midair. Claws sharp enough to sever reinforced strands. Impressive. He lunged again, grabbing her wrist just as she prepared to leap for the broken window. They froze. Balanced in tension. Her hand trapped in his grip. Drive clenched in her fingers. For half a second… no movement. Just breathing.
He could smell her clearly now. That same scent from this morning when Y/N handed him coffee. His mind clicked. Too many overlaps. Too many details lining up. The cadence of her laugh. The tilt of her head. The subtle weight shift. The scent. His voice dropped slightly, losing a fraction of the theatrical edge. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.
She stilled at that. Not physically. Emotionally. Just a flicker. Then she leaned closer. “You don’t know anything about what I have to do,” she replied and twisted sharply, using his hesitation again to break free. She kicked off his chest, flipping backward toward the broken window.
He didn’t chase immediately. He should have. Instead, he watched her silhouette against the city lights as she paused on the ledge for a fraction of a second. White lenses reflecting. “Try to keep up,” she said lightly. And then she leapt. Gone.
Yunho stood alone in the lab, breathing controlled but heavy beneath the mask as he moved to the window slowly and looked down. She had vanished into the city like smoke. Vanilla and strawberries lingering faintly in the air. He exhaled. He knew. Not officially. Not confirmed. But he knew. And that knowledge sat heavy. Because the girl across the hall…. the one who teased him about his snacks. The one going to a club tonight with Yeosang…… “There’s no way.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Yunho didn’t swing back fast. He moved on instinct, yes, building to building, shadow to shadow, but his rhythm was off. Not sloppy. Just… distracted. Every landing felt heavier than it should. Every leap carried thought with it. It can’t be her. He vaulted over a rooftop water tower and shot a web line without even looking. It can’t be Y/N.
The city blurred beneath him again. Clubs downtown were still pulsing. Sirens far off. Somewhere someone laughed too loud in an alley. She said she was going out. With Yeosang. To a club. Not breaking into Songcorp. Not vault cracking. Not wearing a black catsuit that fit like it was designed for precision theft and drove him crazy.
He landed lightly on the edge of his building and crouched there, staring down at the familiar brick exterior. Third floor. Lights off. Her window dark. That means nothing. He dropped silently to the fire escape and eased his own window open. Inside, his apartment was still exactly how he’d left it. Web shooter tools scattered on the floor. Police scanner humming softly. His deli bag still on his desk.
He stepped inside and shut the window behind him and pulled off the mask slowly. His hair fell messily into his eyes, slightly damp from the night air. He ran a hand through it and exhaled. “It can’t be,” he muttered under his breath as he paced once across the small room. “She’s clubbing.” He peeled the suit down to his waist, shoulders aching faintly where Electro’s blast had clipped him earlier. “She’s definitely not in a tight black catsuit.”
He dropped onto the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees. No. His brain clung to every alternative explanation it could find. Y/N fixes hallway lights. Y/N laughs too easily. Y/N teases him about snacks. Y/N does not slice through reinforced webbing with metal claws. He stood abruptly again. Too restless now
His jaw tightened. What if she hadn’t gone to the club? What if that was a cover? No. No, that’s paranoia. He leaned his forehead lightly against the cool glass of his window. He had fought criminals before who were charming. Disarming. Double faced. But this felt different. Because if it was her… If it was Y/N…. then every hallway smile had another layer. Every lingering glance. Every tease.
Was she playing him? Or did she not know? He thought back to the lab. The moment he’d asked, “Do I know you?” She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t stiffened in recognition. She hadn’t reacted like someone who knew his voice outside the mask. She treated him like a rival. Like a puzzle. Not like the man across the hall. His stomach twisted.
She had no idea. And that made it worse. He sank back onto the bed again. Ran through it step by step. Movement fluid. Professional. No hesitation. Confident. Working for someone definitely. Songcorp subsidiary. High level target. Kingpin territory. And Y/N and Yeosang moved to New York only a few months ago.
He’d never asked what they did for work. She’d kept it vague. Freelance projects. Private contracts. He swallowed as his spider senses flickered faintly again. Not danger. Just awareness as across the hall a door clicked. His head snapped up. Footsteps. Soft. Controlled. Her footsteps. He knew that rhythm.
He stood slowly, heart hammering now for a completely different reason. She was home. He crossed the room quietly and moved to his door, hand hovering over the knob. He wasn’t going to confront her. Not like this. But he needed to see her. Just once. To confirm. To disprove. To ground himself. Because right now, his heart was split between denial and recognition. And he didn’t know which side scared him more.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The morning light in Queens felt cruel. Too bright. Too normal. Yunho hadn’t slept. Not really. He’d laid there fully awake until almost four, replaying every second in the lab. The tilt of her head. The scent. The voice. The way she moved. By the time his alarm buzzed, he was already staring at the ceiling.
Now he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, tying his tie with slightly slower precision than usual. His glasses rested low on his nose. Dark circles faint beneath his eyes. He looked… like himself. Soft cardigan. Collared shirt. Slightly rumpled hair. Not like someone who’d fought Electro and a feline themed thief in the same night. He grabbed his camera, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped into the hallway.
And there she was. Y/N. Her door clicked shut just as his did. She looked fresh. Too fresh. Light sweater. Simple gold jewelry. The picture of someone who’d had a normal night. Not someone who had vaulted across lab equipment and sliced through reinforced webbing. “Morning,” she said casually and his pulse betrayed him immediately. “Morning.”
Her eyes flicked over his face. He wondered if she could see the lack of sleep. “You look tired,” she said lightly. Of she noticed. She stepped closer to lock her door. Close enough that he caught it. Faint. Vanilla. Strawberries. Not overwhelming. But there. His stomach dropped again. He told himself he was overanalyzing. Plenty of people use sweet perfume.
She glanced at him again. “You okay?” she asked and he forced his shoulders to relax. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
She studied him for half a beat too long. That head tilt. Subtle. Right shoulder dipping slightly as she shifted her weight. His chest tightened. She does that before she moves. Before she commits to something bold. Before she lunges…. “You go out?” he asked carefully. Her lips curved faintly. “Why? Miss me?” He almost choked on air. “I just meant….. the club….. last night.”
“Oh.” She turned the key fully and faced him again. “Yeah. It was fun.”
“What club?” He regretted the question instantly. Too eager. Too direct. She noticed. Of course she did. Her brow lifted slightly. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“That’s becoming a pattern with you,” she said smoothly. He held her gaze. Trying to read anything. Fatigue. Guilt. Adrenaline. Nothing obvious. “What time did you get back?” he asked, trying to keep it light. She shrugged. “Late.”
“How late?”
She stepped closer again. Close enough that the hallway felt smaller. “You’re awfully interested in my schedule this morning.” His throat felt tight as he forced a small smile. “I live across the hall. I hear things.” Her eyes held his as she smirked. “If you heard anything,” she said softly, “it wasn’t from me.” His pulse stuttered. Was that a slip? A tease? A challenge?
She brushed past him toward the stairwell. Close enough that her shoulder barely grazed his arm. He felt it. That same grounded confidence. That same controlled energy. She paused at the top of the stairs. “Don’t work too hard today, Yunho.”
He turned slightly. “You either.”
She winked then disappeared down the steps leaving him standing there alone for a moment. Mind racing. If it was her… She was good. No visible tells. No nervousness. No reaction to his voice. No recognition. Which meant she really didn’t know. Which meant last night…. he’d been the only one fighting with knowledge.
His spider senses flickered faintly. Not danger. Just awareness. This wasn’t coincidence anymore. This was a pattern. And patterns didn’t lie. He adjusted his glasses slowly. Then headed for the subway. Because now he wasn’t just juggling hero and civilian. He was carrying a secret about someone who didn’t even know he knew she had one.
part 2 : synopsis: after your ex dumped you, you needed a new place to stay. and what was better than moving in with two men you met on craigslist? over the months while your relationships evolve, tensions rise. and when they ultimately bubble over, toji shows he has a way to work things out.
warnings: mututal masturbation, hand jobs, dirty talk, degradation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, doll, dollface, pretty girl/boy), slight internalized homophobia still (sukuna coming to terms with his bisexuality), fingering, oral m! and f! receiving, anal fingering, anal sex, threesome, p in v, more gay shit, ball sucking, creampie, anal creampie is that the right term, teasing, overstim, ass slapping, dom/sub dynamics : dom toji, sub sukuna, sub reader, daddy kink oops!
wc: 12.2k
art by @hunnismokah ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა also this entire thing is dedicated to @cupidstrace the #1 new girl fan ily
18+ mdni - this can be read as a standalone but you can also find part 1 here
It's only been a few weeks since the first time that you and Toji had sex, and nearly nothing is the same around the house. Except for your movie nights.
Those haven't changed much.
Still a post-work ritual, when you, Toji, and Sukuna are all tired and no one has the energy to cook. One of them will call a restaurant for takeout while the other picks a movie and you grab the drinks from the fridge. Then the three of you pile on the couch for a night spent in front of a crooked TV, nursing your beers and laying all too close together for three people who like to swear up and down that there's nothing going on between them.
Honestly, it's more of an inside joke at this point. When someone asks if you're seeing one of them and you shake your head, suppressing a little smile that's threatening to pull at your lips. Or sometimes one of the guys, usually Satoru, will make a comment when they think you're out of earshot, asking if your roommates have 'got on that, yet,' and the two of them just sigh and tell him 'no.'
Their friends never seem to notice the little look that Toji and Sukuna share, the acknowledgement of your circle's secret.
Because another truth is that none of you guys have actually addressed the situation. No one's talked about where your relationships stand, what kinds of feelings may or may not be involved— so while it's fun to keep that knowledge private, there's also a part of you that knows deep down you're not even certain how to answer some of the questions that get thrown your way.
Sukuna and Toji seem to be quite content with the way things are— though partially because Sukuna will never admit to you how it's nearly killing him that he hasn't so much as kissed you yet, and neither him nor Toji are ready to admit why that is.
When you stumble into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, Sukuna flashes you a grin that only widens as your tired gaze rolls over the bare expanse of his torso.
You turn, fiddling with the coffee machine, working under the guise of needing a latte instead of hiding the blush on your cheeks, despite the fact that you know he's already made one for you. He's been sweet— as sweet as someone like Sukuna can be— and lately he's always got your coffee ready by the time you make it into the kitchen.
But it's just because you do this every time.
Your back to him, skin always soft under a thin spaghetti-strap tank-top, ass threatening to spill out of your favorite sleep shorts. Practically a silent invitation for him to slot himself behind you, a firm hand on your waist as the other reaches around, mug in his grasp.
"Already made yours," Sukuna's voice rings low in your ear, raspy from sleep and going straight to your core. His chest is nearly flush against you as he towers behind you, and he wonders if you're even aware of it— the way you're nudging your hips backwards, ass pressing oh, so slightly against his crotch.
"Thanks, Kuna," you mumble in reply, gracing him with a quick smile over your shoulder before grabbing the cup from him. The ceramic is warm in the palm of your hand, a heat rivaling the furnace that is your pink-haired roommate, though it's admittedly less comforting.
Your eyes do a quick scan around the room, no doubt looking for the third roommate. You do that a lot when Sukuna's around you. Like you're going to get caught doing something you shouldn't.
It seems like you haven't realized that they didn't actually mind sharing. Whether that was sharing you with each other or sharing each other with you— they were more than happy to do either, on their own terms of course.
You raise the mug to your lips, trying to ignore the way your bodies are flush against one another, the way his hand has dipped under the hem of your shirt, calloused thumb rubbing gently along your skin.
It's robust, bold in the way espresso should be, and the milk is perfectly foamy, the syrup not too sweet. He really has memorized the way you like your coffee, and the contented sigh that falls from your lips tells Sukuna as much.
"'s it good, princess?"
"It's perfect, you should be a barista."
Sukuna hums like you bring up a good point, demeanor playful, casual like his chest isn't swelling with pride at the praise. "Nah, don't really care to make coffee for people."
You finally turn around, twisting in Sukuna's grip as he runs his other hand through his hair. "You make mine all the time," you point out.
"And?"
"Why bother making mine if you don't care to?"
"That's different," Sukuna sighs, watching the way your brows furrow.
"How?"
"Because I want to make yours."
"Why?"
You want him to admit that he's into you, but each time you try to pry it out of him he somehow manages to give you nothing.
Sure, he's always flirting and teasing, Sukuna's never one to shy away from that. He's quick to be the first one touching you— smacking your ass when you bend over in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist as he reaches above you to grab the pan you need, pulling you onto his lap when it's just the two of you on the couch together.
He'll get you worked up to the point where you're dripping through the gusset of your panties, poor neglected pussy just desperate to be filled, and it's always that exact moment when he decides to pull away. He leaves you high and dry, wondering what the fuck just happened as you slip back into your room and open your nightstand to pull out your vibrator.
In all the weeks that have passed, you still don't have any real confirmation of his interest in you, and each day that goes by leave you feeling more unsure. You find yourself wondering if Sukuna just doesn't want you in the way Toji does.
But in Sukuna's mind, it should be obvious, regardless if he's actually fucked you or confessed his feelings. Because there's no way you're standing mere inches away from him with his hand on your hip, your eyes locked on his, and you're asking him why he'll make a latte for you.
"You can't be fuckin' serious," Sukuna's face is flat, lips starting to pull into a disappointed frown.
"You act like that's not a valid question," you start, voice beginning to raise in the way it always does when you're feeling defensive, "you just said you don't care to make coffee for people, so I asked why you make mine everyday. I feel like that's—"
"Yeah but that's a stupid fuckin' question, cause—"
Your jaw falls open as you set your coffee down behind you, arms coming up to cross over your chest. "It's not stupid, Kuna. And don't interrupt me, it's rude."
His eyes flutter shut, chest rising as he inhales deeply, fighting to keep his frustration at bay. How could you be one of the only people he enjoys spending time with and simultaneously the biggest pain in his ass? "Okay, my bad— even though you just interrupted me too—"
"It's not even 9:30, how the fuck are you two going at it already?" Toji's voice cuts through your silly argument, stealing both your attention away as he shuts the front door behind him.
You suck in a breath at the sound of his voice, turning slightly to look at him though Sukuna keeps you in your place within his hold.
"Morning, Toji," you greet, mustering up the courage to look him in the eyes.
A quick scan of his expression reveals little, leaving you both apprehensive and curious. Toji always seemed relatively indifferent about your relationship with Sukuna, offering nothing but a chuckle whenever he'd spot the two of you much too close together.
He flashes you a crooked grin, dropping the his gym bag to the floor. "Mornin' dollface, this guy bothering you?"
Sukuna rolls his eyes, suppressing a sigh because he can't believe that actually pulled a giggle from you. "She's the one bothering me, don't be fooled."
You spin around to swat at his arm, "am not!"
"Oh yeah?" Toji smirks, standing across the room, shoulder resting on the wall and jade eyes locked on the scene before him. Your hips against Sukuna's, his hand on your waist, not to mention the little pink tint that's dusted across his cheeks as he scowls down at you. Your pretty tits are sitting inside that flimsy top, nearly pushed up against Sukuna's chest as he leans over you, keeping you locked between him and the counter. "Should've known— she's a handful."
"Tell me about it," Sukuna drawls, the words lazy, rolling off his tongue at the same speed of his hand as it slides lower, drifting over the swell of your ass and squeezing gently.
The men lock eyes in a second, mirrored smirks reflected back to each other as you rack your brain for something to say in response to that, but in all honesty the entire situation has you feeling flustered. And nothing gets any better when Toji moves again, long strides carrying him the rest of the way over to you and Sukuna.
He's still sweaty from the gym, raven locks slicked against his forehead and compression shirt glued to his skin. You can smell the musk radiating from him, the smell harmonizing with the lingering scent of Sukuna's cologne and body wash.
Toji slips an arm around Sukuna's shoulder, their bodies pressed close. And with both men peering down their noses at you now, you can't help but feel quite small before them. Your knees shift, instinctually moving closer together as you feel that familiar heat pooling low in your belly— a subtle movement, but one that's caught by everyone in the room, two sets of eyes flickering down to your thighs before meeting your gaze again. "Gotta go easy on him, he doesn't know how to handle you like I do."
Toji's touch feels like it's burning into Sukuna's flesh, the weight of his arm resting heavy around his neck.
"And how's that?" Sukuna asks, ignoring the way he can feel Toji. There's a growing bulge in the apex of Toji's sweatpants that's nudging against Sukuna's leg each time he shifts, and you haven't even noticed.
You're too distracted by the feeling of Sukuna's own cock prodding at your pelvis through his shorts.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck, radiating off of your two roommates as they cage you in against the counter. Breath coming in ragged, your eyes flit from one man to the other, like you can't decide where to give your attention because they're both too captivating.
The tension that's settling thick in the room makes your chest feel tight and the space between your thighs ache with a glaring need.
And then, with a loud smack to Sukuna's ass, Toji breaks through the silence between you three, causing your gaze to snap up to his. "Well, I gotta shower."
"Yeah, you stink," Sukuna grumbles, doing his best to ignore the way he can feel his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.
Toji just grins, sly and knowing as he pulls away from your group to get a better look at Sukuna, "you stink too now, so… you coming?"
And just like that, when you think you're finally going to get what you want— what you've wanted for the last several weeks— you're left alone in the kitchen, frustrated and confused.
You're sure there's something going on between the two of them. It's not like they're doing a good job at hiding it considering all the touches, the glances, the constant showering together. But you never thought that would be something that got in your way considering how forward both men still were with you, not to mention the fact that you and Toji have continued hooking up.
With an exasperated groan you turn back around, staring glumly at your coffee that's now gone cold. Through the quiet you can hear the sound of the water turning on down the hall, the scowl on your face only pulling deeper as your thighs press closer together.
You can imagine the way the room must be filling with steam, a thick blanket of warmth covering the two men as a shiver runs down your spine.
"Fuckin' cockblock." Sukuna's grumbling as he strips down to join Toji who's already naked and standing under the water.
Sukuna tells himself he's not sure why he even follows Toji's lead— why he listens to him each time he intervenes between you and him, whether in person or as a little voice in his head. He tries to convince himself that he's irritated, that he's tired of missing such easy chances with you because of your other roommate but if that was really the case then he wouldn't be so hard.
"Just get in here," Toji mutters, rolling his eyes.
With a single stride Sukuna closes the gap, stepping over the lip of the tub and into the shower, and Toji wastes no time slipping an arm around his waist. One large hand splaying across Sukuna's lower back, Toji tugs him closer and the heat of his breath just inches from his face feels more stifling than the steaming water cascading over the two of them.
Rough fingertips trail along Sukuna's skin, drifting to his hips, his pelvis, before dropping lower. He sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of Toji's hand finally wrapping around the base of his cock.
"You just hard all the time?" Toji teases, giving the base a light squeeze. "I mean I get it, living with her…"
Sukuna averts his eyes, gaze slipping down in time to see Toji's tongue darting out, swiping along the scar on his lips. And Toji doesn't miss it, nor does he miss the way Sukuna's length twitches in his grasp.
"Or maybe it's not her—"
"Shut up," Sukuna snaps, his own hand flying down to grasp between Toji's thighs.
Toji's heavy in Sukuna's palm, his cock already half-hard and getting stiffer with the tighter that Sukuna grips it. And Sukuna's fucking throbbing. Precum leaking just to get washed away by the shower, but the water can't hide the way his tip is all swollen and red. Toji swipes a thumb over the slit causing Sukuna to shudder, his head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. Toji always knew exactly what he needed— how he needed to be touched.
It was infuriating.
Especially when Toji would dish out those stupid commands at the same time—
"Don't fuck her yet," he rasps, tone curt and voice low as Sukuna groans, a sound of pleasure and frustration.
Sukuna's hand works slowly, gliding up and down Toji's length with a practiced rhythm as he grits out his question, "how much longer you gonna make me wait?"
And Toji just chuckles at that. An easy sound that doesn't betray the tightness in his abdomen, his muscles tensing with each rub of Sukuna's palm along his shaft. "Dunno. Til I get bored of this."
It wasn't even jealousy that Toji was feeling, he wasn't protective over you, he was secure enough to not care about that. He just loved the power. Loved being in control of Sukuna, in control of your relationship with him, without you even knowing.
A scowl spreads across Sukuna's face, his fist moving faster. "Y'know I could just fuck her anyways—"
"You won't." Toji loosens his own grip, his touch featherlight as he twists his wrist, pumping Sukuna's cock languidly. A grin splits across his lips at the sight of Sukuna's frown tugging down further in response to his lightening grasp. "You always listen, don't ya?"
Bottom lip tugged between his teeth, Sukuna rolls his hips, chasing the feeling he was getting before but to no avail. Toji doesn't move, doesn't wrap his fingers snug around his length and twist and pull like Sukuna needs him to.
"Admit it," Toji grunts, his own hips stuttering in Sukuna's hold which hasn't relented because, despite Toji's actions, he's still pumping his cock like he has something to prove.
Sukuna's just hoping that the closer Toji gets to his release, the more lenient he'll be. He's gambling on the chance that just maybe Toji will take pity on him and finally give him what he wants.
But he should have known Toji would never give in that easy.
"You're gonna be a good boy aren't ya? Just like you have been."
The smile on his face, the tone of his voice is cruel. He's getting pure amusement from the knowledge that Sukuna's trying so hard to please him just because he'd do anything but defy him.
"F-fuck off," Sukuna rasps, breath catching in his throat at an unexpected squeeze of Toji's fingers just under his swollen tip.
Toji's thumb presses against Sukuna's frenulum before gliding down with his hand, trailing along the winding veins towards the base and back up again. "You're gonna let me keep stuffin' her with my cock instead, yeah? Just cause I told you to."
Picking up the pace, Toji works faster to match Sukuna's rhythm, drawing a low groan from him. Pink tresses matted to his forehead, they contrast with the black ink as his head hangs forwards now, red eyes narrowed at Toji. His jaw is tight, his teeth clenched together to bite back whatever retort he had because he wouldn't dare say that Toji's wrong— not when he's finally able to feel his climax building.
"Fuck— you love it though," Toji grunts, "y'love it when I'm fuckin' her. Know you're listening every time, probably jackin' off."
If Sukuna's cheeks weren't already flushed from the steam they would be now. Memories coursing through his mind of all the times he's done that very thing over the past few weeks. All the nights where Toji follows you into your room, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Sukuna before shutting the door, leaving the pink haired man to tend to himself.
Which he did every time.
Snaking a hand into his pants to fist his already-stiff cock, the other clasped onto his mouth to try and muffle the sound of your names falling from his lips.
And he doesn't even feel that guilty about it anymore. Not since the first time he heard you calling their names.
No, he doesn't feel bad now that he knows you're also imagining him, imagining Toji, imagining him and Toji together whenever you're stuffing two little fingers into your cunt.
It's exactly what you're doing right now— out in the living room because you couldn't even wait to make it to your bedroom. Legs spread wide as you writhe on the couch that smells like your two roommates, a sticky mess coating your hand as you rub sloppy circles on your clit.
You know what they're doing every time they go in the bathroom with one another.
It used to piss you off— it still kind of does— the fact that you haven't been invited. But you can't find it in yourself to stay mad when your mind starts conjuring up vivid images of the two of them. You imagine what they might be saying to one another, what they might be saying about you. You imagine the way their sweat must be rolling over their chests and down their backs, mixing in with the rivulets of bath water as they pant, their breaths mingling.
"Course I'm jackin' off. Y'won't let me fuckin'— fuck— do anything else," Sukuna groans, irritation seeping back into his emotions.
Toji hums, eyes glinting with something that makes Sukuna's stomach flip and his cock jump. "I'll let ya fuck her if you give me somethin' else."
Sukuna's eyebrow raises at that, an indication of his intrigue, urging Toji to continue.
"Suck me off. Then you can."
"Fuck no, that's gay."
A sharp laugh escapes Toji, he'd really thought that Sukuna was past that part but apparently he's still coming to terms with some things. "You think this isn't?
"'m not— sh-shit— suckin' your cock," Sukuna grits out between broken moans.
It's taking every ounce of Sukuna's brainpower to keep responding to Toji as his orgasm looms overhead. It's rising embarrassingly fast, threatening to crash over him with every drag of Toji's thumb over his cockhead and every filthy word that spills from his roommate's mouth.
And it's only worse now that Toji's planted the idea in his head.
Sukuna can feel his composure slipping even faster as images flash through his mind. He can imagine what it would be like— Toji's dick gliding along his tongue, his jaw aching from being stretched wide open to accommodate the girth. His knees pressed hard into the porcelain tub and a rough grip in his hair, guiding him however Toji wants. Faster, deeper, until the back of his throat is bruised and being painted white.
A sound much too close to a whimper bubbles up from Sukuna's throat as he feels his cock start twitching.
"Then y'cant fuck her." There's a smirk playing at Toji's lips because he knows that Sukuna's about to cum.
No matter how much the tattooed man grumbles with feigned disgust towards Toji's desires, the truth is that each time he suggests they try something else, just a minute later he'll have Sukuna grunting out his name, leaving his hand is a gooey mess.
"God 'm gonna bust—" Sukuna groans, a guttural sound that echoes off the tile walls around them.
The two men are practically fucking themselves into each other's fists now, hips rolling as they stand inches apart. Foreheads pressed together, they're both staring straight down, entranced by the view of their arms crossed, their hands wrapped snug around the other's cocks. Each thrust pushes their flushed tips further out of their grasps until they're rubbing up against one another. Shower water and precum smearing between the undersides of their shafts as they glide together.
"Mmm, y'like that?" Toji drawls, tongue licking at the corner of his watering mouth. He spits down, a fat glob landing on their heads, rolling down between them. "Fuckin' nasty. Never gotten this close have we, pretty boy? You like watchin' our dicks rub together?"
"Fuck, yeah," Sukuna pants. He can feel the sweat forming on his forehead just to get washed away, the back of his neck burning as he brings his other hand down to tug at his balls.
"Know you're close— c'mon, want ya to cum all over both our cocks. Lemme feel the mess you're gonna make." Toji's voice is addictive. Each word easily coaxing Sukuna's orgasm to the surface leaving his hips stuttering and his fingers squeezing tighter as he feels his balls and Toji's cock both twitching in his palms.
And Sukuna cums hard. A whole body reaction as his muscles tense and his body shakes, he can't stop the shout of Toji's name that tumbles out as seemingly endless spurts white spill onto his cock, Toji's cock, their hands, the shower floor before getting washed down the drain.
"Holy shit." The sight alone sends Toji falling off of his peak right after, his hand gripping Sukuna's nape. Toji ruts into Sukuna's fist faster, craving a rougher friction until his spend is seeping between his fingers like glue. Whatever hasn't been washed away clings to their skin, forming translucent webs of their seed as they finally pull their hands back from one another.
Toji's chest is heaving when he leans away, lips slightly parted as he and Sukuna look on at one another silently. That is, until Toji starts to laugh.
"The fuck is so funny?" Sukuna's scowling again already, a result of his post-nut clarity being amplified from Toji's outburst.
"Nothin', you just really did make a mess."
Sukuna's jaw drops at that. No matter how often the two of them get off together, he's still warming up to the idea of actually talking about it afterwards. He'd much prefer if they just finished up the shower normally and continued to go about their days.
"Half of that shit was you!" Sukuna shouts, eyes squinting as water splashes on them. "Just shut the fuck up and wash your greasy hair."
Things continue the way they are for the rest of the month. Which means weeks of endless teasing, endless flirting from both Toji and Sukuna, and still Toji is the only one that ever gives you more. He's the only one that follows you back to your room when you whisper in his ear about what you need him to do to you.
He's always happy to indulge. Cock already stiff by the time he slides your panties down your thighs and slots himself between them. Tip already leaking even before he presses inside your heat, stretching you open, watching your back arch off the mattress with a saccharine moan of his name.
But no matter how many times you sit yourself on Sukuna's lap with your arms slung around his neck and lips brushing the curve of his ear— he never breaks. Even when you can feel the bulge in his pants pressing hard against your ass and you can hear how his breath catches in his throat.
He'll just chuckle, deep and strained as he plants two hands on your hips and lifts you off of him before standing and retreating to the bathroom or his bedroom.
You know he's taking care of himself in there. Or Toji is. So why the fuck won't he let you?
You're certain that they can tell that you're fraying at the edges.
You catch some of the shared glances they cast each other whenever you snap at one of them for crowding your personal space— something you never minded before. You notice the slight waver in Sukuna's hand before he places it around your shoulder during movie night, and the way Toji's eyes constantly flit down to his own hand on your thigh like he's making sure you didn't cut it off when he wasn't looking.
It's making you feel like you're crazy.
Never in your life have you seen someone so clearly attracted to you who also acts like it would be a crime to actually have sex with you. So you decide that you're done putting yourself out there and playing into their games.
Next movie night, you sit on the end of the couch instead of the middle, where you usually are sandwiched between them. When they walk in it's clear they're not expecting it. Both men pause in their tracks for a brief moment, beers in hand as they look at you quietly before finally sitting down awkwardly.
Sukuna's in the middle now, and Toji's in his usual spot on the other end of the couch.
"Here," Sukuna turns, holding a beer out for you to take.
You barely look at him when you grab it, muttering a flat 'thanks,' under your breath. His gaze lingers, mouth slightly agape like he's considering saying something else before it closes and he shifts to give his attention to Toji.
Toji always gets his attention.
Taking a swig of your drink, cold and carbonated, it's as bitter on your tongue as the jealousy twisting in your chest.
"What movie were you thinking about?" Sukuna asks, nursing his own beer.
Toji just shrugs, reaching for the remote with a grunt before reclining into the couch, "don't care, up to you guys." Legs spread wide, his thigh is pressed flat against the side of Sukuna's, his free arm slung around the back of his seat as he turns on the TV.
Sukuna looks at you once more, eyes met with the side of your face as you continue to stare straight ahead. "What do you wanna watch, princess?"
You fight against the twitch pulling at a corner of your lips, stubbornly determined to keep your mouth set into a straight line. "I don't care, something good."
A soft chuckle comes from the other end of the couch. It's obvious you're pissed off, and Toji should probably feel bad for finding it to be amusing but he can't. Not with the way you're cutely pouting, avoiding their eyes as you grumble whenever they talk to you. Maybe he'd be more worried if he wasn't so sure that there was no way you'd be able to stay mad at them.
There was always a way to make you forgive them.
Sukuna didn't look so sure. His eyebrows pulling together as he looks on at you barely acknowledging him.
"Go on, Sukuna," Toji muses, "put on 'something good'."
You flash Toji a glare, annoyed at his mocking tone which made it obvious that he wasn't taking your ire seriously. You're going to make this movie night as difficult as possible for them.
Every movie that Sukuna suggested, you said no to.
"This one? It's a thriller, I heard it's good."
"No, don't feel like a thriller tonight."
"Okay… horror? Could watch a slasher."
"Ew. Too much gore, I don't want to see that right now."
Sukuna sighs, clearly frustrated but trying not to piss you off further by expressing it. "Fine, want to watch one of those girly movies you like? 'Chick flick' or some shit."
That pulls a small glance from you out of the corner of your eye, when he continues, "Mean girls? Legally blonde? You love those."
"Not in the mood." That one hurt to say no to.
And finally, Sukuna reached his limit. You were being impossible. "Alright," he sets his beer down, arms crossing in front of his chest as he leans back to get a better look at you. "The fuck is wrong?"
Your eyes narrow into slits, mouth tugging into a frown. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously. Trying to make you feel better by lettin' you pick the movie and you're bein' difficult, so what's wrong?"
"I don't care what stupid movie we watch," you snap, causing Toji's eyes to widen slightly.
Sukuna swears there's got to be a vein bulging in his forehead by now, his voice raising slightly, "then what the fuck do you want from me?"
If only there was some popcorn for Toji, this beats any movie.
"Nothing! I just—" you pause, hesitant to continue your sentence. If you tell him what's really bothering you and he turns you down, that could potentially lead to some tension between all the roommates, and you don't want to ruin your living situation.
"You just…?" Sukuna's eyebrows raise as he looks at you expectantly. Each beat of silence that passes causes the pit in your stomach to grow as you wage an internal battle over how to respond. "Spit it out, princess."
Your eye twitches at the pet name. One you secretly adore, though it makes your chest hurt now, serving as a reminder of what you don't have. You used to be so certain that he used it because he meant it— and now you don't know. The word rolling off his tongue with sincerity, by the time it reaches your ears your own emotions have twisted it into mockery.
"Don't call me that," you mutter, eyes downcast as you grip your beer in both hands, the aluminum crinkling slightly. "Not unless you mean it."
Toji's eyebrows fly up now, looking on with intrigue at the scene unfolding in front of him. He's already caught on to the true issue, but given the confusion written all over Sukuna's face, it's clear that he still hasn't.
"What are you talking about?" Sukuna near shouts, more frustrated by his own lack of understanding than the fact that you're giving him attitude.
He hates this.
He hates the way you won't look at him, and the way your voice is small when you're normally overflowing with confidence. He hates that he doesn't know what's bothering you, because you won't just tell him what the issue is. And he hates that Toji is behind him snickering throughout this whole conversation, clearly picking up on something that he hasn't.
"You've been a brat for almost a week now," Sukuna starts, voice low but sharp, finally pulling your gaze up to his, "and I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't know what the hell the problem is, so just fuckin' tell me."
"You're my problem!"
"Um—"
"You want Sukuna, ain't that right, baby?" Toji coos.
A flush of embarrassment sears under your skin from Toji calling you out so bluntly, but Sukuna speaks before it can fester for too long.
"You seriously think I wouldn't want you?" His gaze is heavy, trailing over your body. Your neck, your lips, your bare legs exposed by the little shorts you love to wear around the house, and your chest in your favorite cotton tank top.
"Well, I don't know—"
Toji stands up from the couch and stretches, flashing Sukuna a look in silent communication with the other man following suit after.
You watch them with curiosity as you sit silently, the rest of your sentence long forgotten.
Emerald eyes hold your gaze as Toji cocks his head to the side, motioning toward the hallway, "you lead the way."
Your insecurity slowly starts to dwindle, being replaced with a burning anticipation as you push past both men on a path back to your bedroom. They trail closely behind you, watching intently, the weight of their stares bringing goosebumps to your skin.
Once inside your room, the sight of your bed makes you pause. You're no stranger to sex, but a threesome was one of the things you'd never tried before.
And as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Toji's arms wrap around you from behind, his lips brushing by your ear as his fingertips grasp the hem of your shirt.
"Strip."
Sukuna watches, his pupils blown wide and breathing heavy as you lift your arms, letting Toji slide your flimsy top over your head.
"Fuck." Sukuna's already hard, the view of your tits alone sending all the blood in his body straight to his dick.
"Perfect, huh?" Toji hums, thumbs dipping into the waistband of your shorts and tugging gently.
Sukuna can only nod, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he watches your shorts fall over your thighs, down your calves, and onto the floor where you step out of them.
"No panties?" Toji's voice rumbles in your ear, the space between your thighs that was already wet getting slicker at the sound of it. His eyes glide up, staring into Sukuna's as his hands drift along your stomach, "your turn."
Already shirtless, Sukuna wastes no time before hooking his fingers inside his shorts and briefs, pulling them both down together. Your eyes are transfixed on the scene in front of you as you watch the garments slide down his muscled legs, your breath hitching when his freed cock slaps up against his stomach before hanging down from its own weight.
They're both huge.
And that's not all. Your eyelids widen when you notice them— the two black lines tattooed around his shaft, just under the flushed head. So he did have more tattoos after all.
"God, look at you two," Toji groans, his own cock twitching with life. You're both naked now, so perfectly on display for him. It's not like it's something very new— he's already seen the two of you but this? Both of you before him at the same time?
His hands roam, moving to cup your tits, playing with them. Pinching at your nipples and tugging gently, Toji forces Sukuna to just watch as you let out a sigh, your head falling back onto his shoulder. It's obvious that Sukuna wants to move closer, wants to touch you himself and feel your skin on his but he can't yet. He hasn't earned it.
"Y'want him to fuck you?" Toji purrs behind you, rolling his hips, making sure you can feel the bulge in his sweats against your ass.
Your eyes cut up to Sukuna, his broad chest heaving as he wraps a hand around his dick, squeezing and pulling gently, working up to a lazy rhythm. You can't help but watch, saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight as you nod.
"You know what you have to do." He's not addressing you that time. Sukuna's jaw clenches as he weighs his reply, mind thinking back to their last shower together— what Toji had asked of him. "C'mon… look at her. So needy, she's already wet for you. Don't you wanna feel that?"
He's dangling you in front of Sukuna, teasing him with the reminder of how close he is to getting what he wants. A hand slides lower, over your hips before slipping between your thighs. It's intentional, the soft brush of his fingertips over your clit, just light enough to make your hips buck and pull a moan from your sweet lips— the final push Toji needed for Sukuna to finally break.
"Fuck, okay. Fine."
"Attaboy."
You look between the men for an answer as to what exactly they're talking about but they give you nothing, both just focused on one another as Sukuna steps towards you.
"You go sit on the bed— you're gonna watch for now, baby." Toji sends you off with a pat on your ass, grinning at the sight of you pouting at him over your shoulder while you move to kneel on the mattress. You probably would have put up more of an argument if you weren't so intrigued by whatever was going on between your other roommates.
"So you just want me to…" Sukuna trails off, his nerves setting in now that he's standing before Toji.
"On your knees, pretty boy." So that's what Toji wanted.
Sukuna hesitates, still fighting internally with himself over the situation. It's embarrassing. Being forced to his knees by Toji all while you're watching him, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't actually turning him on more. One glance down and he can already see the way he's starting to leak pre from his flushed tip.
And he can tell you're just as into this as him and Toji are, which reassures him as he sinks to the floor, knees pressing into the rug. He moves slowly, hands gingerly reaching for Toji's waistband before starting to drag his sweatpants down over his hips. The tent in his pants is evident, the head of his cock catching on the fabric as Sukuna slides them off.
He's seen Toji plenty of times and still, Sukuna can't stop his jaw from hanging slack when he sees him again this time. His cock hangs heavy, all girth and veins, the angry red tip just inches away from Sukuna's face. Fuck, it looks so much bigger like this.
A feeling of respect flashes through him when he thinks about how many times you've probably done this already.
Pride swells inside Toji at the view of Sukuna at his feet, eyes wide and tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stares at Toji's length. That was easier than he expected it to be, but he has to give the credit to you. If it wasn't for you, all soft skin and sweet sounds in front of Sukuna, there's no way he would have folded that quickly.
But now, here Sukuna is, reaching out, a large hand gripping the base of Toji's cock.
"Eager now, huh?" Toji chuckles, earning him a glare from the other man.
"Shut up, don't fuckin' drag this out." The minute the words leave his mouth and he sees the smirk on Toji's lips, Sukuna knows he should have kept quiet.
"Y'know what?" Fingers furrow in Sukuna's hair, wrapping tight around the pink tresses and tugging harshly until he's forced to look up at Toji. "Beg."
The answer is immediate— "No."
"No? Guess you don't wanna fuck our pretty little roommate then." A sound akin to a growl gets stuck in Sukuna's throat. He's really going to pull that shit. "Poor thing, got all excited at the idea and now you're not gonna give her what she wants," Toji tuts, shaking his head with feigned disappointment.
"All ya had to do is say a few words, can't even do that?"
"Fucking fine," Sukuna snaps. He inhales deeply, exhaling with a long sigh before the words come out, small and shy and so not-Sukuna. "Please, Toji."
"You can do better than that. Beg to suck daddy's cock, c'mon."
Even your mouth falls open at that. You of all people know that Toji has a daddy kink— you found that out the first time you ever fucked him— but the last thing you expected was for him to rope Sukuna into it too.
Still, there's a smile playing at your lips.
You remember the teasing you had to endure from Sukuna after he'd heard you and Toji, you remember the frustration you felt for the last week because of him, the confusion and anger.
"Do it, Kuna," you whine, voice desperate in the way you make it whenever you need him to do something for you, "thought you wanted to fuck me."
The look on Toji's face could only be described as feral. You were fucking perfect. Jumping in like that, there's no way Sukuna would say no to you now, you knew that as well as anyone and you were taking full advantage of it.
Eyes shut, Sukuna's breathing deeply in a way that looks as though he's trying to swallow his pride, when in reality it's because his cock is throbbing. Blood pumping through it, he's pulsing in a way that leaves him aching for any sort of relief.
"Please—" Sukuna swallows loudly, tongue sitting heavy in his mouth, "please, daddy, let me suck your dick."
"Good boy," Toji unfurls his hand, patting Sukuna on the head a few times before letting it rest there, "now do it."
Your eyes are glued on the men in front of you, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you sit, entranced by their dynamic. It makes sense now. It's not that Sukuna didn't want to fuck you, he did, and that was the whole point. Toji loved keeping that from him knowing how much he craved you, because every day that went by where Sukuna wanted to give in to you but still chose not to— that was all because Toji said so.
And Sukuna was getting off on that too. He had no idea how much he was missing that kind of dominance until he was given it for the first time, and after that he was done for. So yeah, Sukuna wanted to fuck you, but more than that, he wanted Toji to tell him when.
Toji's cock twitches when Sukuna's breath hits it, hot and humid, a preview to what awaits him when his jaw falls slack, tongue lolling out. Still gripping the base with one hand, the other comes to rest on the back of Toji's thigh as Sukuna finally leans forward, tongue flat as he licks a slow, experimental stripe up the underside of Toji's shaft. He traces the vein that runs along the length before licking at the tip, lapping up the bead of precum that was sitting there.
Mildly salty, musky, the taste fills his mouth when he swirls his tongue around the head, eliciting a groan from the man above him.
"Quit teasin'." Toji's hand presses harder, urging Sukuna to give him more.
His jaw open as wide as it can go, Sukuna finally takes Toji into his warm mouth, tongue gliding along his cock as Sukuna takes him deeper. Inch by inch, he's breathing heavy through his nose until he gags when Toji hits the back of his throat. Toji's fingers tug on his hair, a natural instinct to the feeling of Sukuna's throat constricting around his length.
Spit is pooling in Sukuna's mouth each time he pulls off and sinks back down again, determined to take Toji further each time. He's consistent, his pace steady as he focuses on just trying to throat all of Toji's length. And by the time he does, saliva is dribbling out the corners of his sputtering lips, an obscene suction sound coming from him each time he slides up Toji's cock with his cheeks hollowed. But he can't even care to think about that when he finally feels the tip of his nose buried in the hair at Toji's base.
"That's it— takin' me so well. Showin' our pretty baby exactly how much you want her," Toji grunts, hand holding Sukuna down, practically choking him. He relishes in the way Sukuna's struggling to fit all of him in his mouth, and still, he does. He makes it fit so he won't disappoint.
Your thighs are slick with your arousal, glistening nearly as much as your sopping cunt when you slip a hand between them. You have imagined the two of them together a million times before but it was nothing compared to what you're seeing now.
A quiet moan falls from your bitten lips when your fingers reach your clit, rubbing little circles on it. It's so sensitive already and you've barely even been touched. Each brush of your fingertips leaves your thighs tensing and your brows furrowing until Toji's voice rings out again.
"What're you doin'?"
His eyes are dark, an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at you now, distracted for a moment from Sukuna.
"Uhm, touching myself…" you reply hesitantly. That makes Sukuna's cock throb.
"Don't remember sayin' you could do that," Toji drawls, his hand still guiding Sukuna's head as it bobs. "Get over here."
He gives you a hum of approval when you're finally kneeling next to Sukuna, a sound that makes your stomach turn. "Help him out, doll, put that slutty mouth to good use."
You shift slightly, adjusting your position until you're able to slot yourself in next to Sukuna. Spitting into your hands you reach one out toward Sukuna and the other toward Toji, but not without glancing up at him first, silently checking if it's okay.
When he doesn't say anything you wrap your manicured fingers around Sukuna's cock, the others reaching for Toji's balls. It's hard to find a rhythm. One hand trying to glide up and down, pumping along Sukuna's length, squeezing and twisting as you go, all while the other is cupping gently, tugging and rolling without squeezing too hard.
But each sound you're able to pull from the men is motivation for you to keep going, fumbling around until you're able to get the hang of it. Only then do you lean closer, tentatively sticking your tongue out until it meets your hand on Toji. You're lapping at his balls, spit smearing around the skin before opening your mouth wide and sucking. You divide your attention between each side, your hand focusing wherever your mouth isn't.
It's obscene. The squelching sound of saliva and tongues as you and Sukuna nearly devour the man towering over you, your cheeks hollowed and tongues flicking, swirling, moving in whatever way makes Toji groan the loudest or grip your hair the hardest.
"God damn, you guys are nasty," Toji grunts, hips rolling as he starts to fuck himself into Sukuna's mouth. "Didn't expect you to be so sloppy but you're— shit- quit gaggin'— you're fuckin' drooling all over my cock." His eyes slide to you, panning over your flushed face and watery eyes that are looking up at him with pure reverence. "You too, doll. Greedy mouth s'gonna suck me dry. Y'just love havin' my balls in your face, huh?"
Toji's abdomen hurts from how hard it's tensed, fighting to keep a semblance of composure so he doesn't find himself spilling down Sukuna's throat too early in the night. But neither of you is making it easy, each one leaving a glimmering trail of spit in your wake as you let him stuff your mouths until you can hardly breathe. You're both going to fucking ruin him.
"Fuuuck," Toji growls, his fists tightening in your hair as he lets his head fall forward. Black locks drip sweat onto your faces as you stare up at him, the first few salty tears starting to fall from your eyes. You look so pretty like this, sharing him so desperately, just content to be given any part of him.
It almost pains him to know that he won't be giving you much more of himself tonight.
"Thaaat's right, get it nice and wet jus' like that— 's all the lube you're gonna get, pretty boy."
Both your eyes and Sukuna's fly wide open at that, pulling a breathy laugh from Toji that's quickly cut off when Sukuna speeds up. The hand that was gripping the base is now moving in sync with Sukuna's mouth, sliding up and down Toji's shaft, spreading his spit around while his free hand grips the back of his thigh for stability.
He lets the spit that he used to swallow down pool in his mouth now, leaking out of his lips until everything is just that much wetter, messier. But that's when Toji reaches his limit. The unexpected change in pace left him reeling, his cock twitching against Sukuna's tongue until he finally yanks him off with one harsh tug on his hair.
You get the message, pulling off of Toji with a soft pop! and taking your hand off Sukuna, leaving the three of you panting.
"Shit, you two are gonna kill me."
A small smile graces your lips at the sight of Toji struggling to keep it together. It's welcome knowledge that you're having that much of an effect on him, and if the smirk on Sukuna's lips is any indication, he's definitely feeling the same way.
Your knees are rubbing together as you wriggle in place again, trying to get some friction and Toji notices, an eyebrow cocking as he looks down at you and grins.
"Poor thing," Toji coos with feigned sympathy, "so needy. That pussy just wants some attention, yeah?"
You nod, uttering a small 'please' that isn't missed by either of the men. That earns you a soft pat on the top of your head before Toji steps away from you and Sukuna. "Take care of our girl, pretty boy."
Sukuna's on you in a second. Hands gripping your waist as he practically throws you onto the bed, making you yelp. Calloused fingers trail up the insides of your thighs, pressing them apart as Sukuna slots himself between them. You're already dripping. Puffy cunt all shiny and wet, just waiting for someone to ravage it.
Inhaling deeply, a low groan rumbles in Sukuna's throat— he's been wanting this, wanting you, for so long.
Two fingers run between your folds, gathering your arousal before he brings them back to his lips. Slipping the digits into his mouth, Sukuna licks them clean, tongue swirling around them so he doesn't miss a single drop of you. And you taste so fucking sweet.
"So perfect," Sukuna breathes. He needs to taste you again, not just on his fingers, he wants purest form of you.
Tongue lolling out he licks a long stripe up between your lips, the muscle flicking at your clit at the top. Your hips jerk instinctively, trying to chase the feeling, and he's not holding anything back from you. His mouth closes around the sensitive bud, tongue swirling as he sucks gently.
"She's so responsive," Toji muses, Sukuna humming in agreement.
"Aah! Oh god—" you gasp, the vibrations in Sukuna's mouth making your legs tremble, thighs coming together around his head.
Toji wants to be the one eating you out so badly, but he can't because if Sukuna's going to take him later then he needs to be prepared, especially since it's his first time.
So now it's his turn to watch.
He watches as Sukuna uses the same two fingers to press inside your entrance, agonizingly slow as you try to roll your hips down onto them. He watches the way your face scrunches up, eyes shut and mouth falling open as the most addictive sounds fall from it.
His eyes are still locked on you when he kneels behind Sukuna, both hands coming down to his hips. Sukuna twitches, a tiny reaction of hesitation at the feeling of Toji's hands on him but he quickly relaxes into the touch. Toji's fingers dance along Sukuna's tanned skin, trailing over the swell of his ass before splaying out across both cheeks.
Still focused on you, Sukuna's eating you out like a man starved, lapping at your juices, sucking on your clit all while pumping you full of his fingers. The digits curl with each thrust, searching for that spongy spot inside you that leaves you seeing stars.
He knows what Toji is doing. He knows why Toji's doing it too— but still that doesn't quell any of his shock when he finally feels the man's thumb trailing along the rim of his asshole. His whole body jolts as Toji keeps his ass spread open, teasing the hole with featherlight touches that make Sukuna's cock twitch against the mattress.
You want to watch but you're too lost in the feeling of Sukuna's tongue, his fingers, your own impending orgasm.
"Better be makin' her feel good," Toji murmurs, thumb pressing harder now against Sukuna's asshole. The tiniest whine falls from Sukuna's lips, muffled against your cunt as his face stays buried between your thighs, but Toji still hears it.
Letting the saliva collect in his mouth first, Toji spits a thick glob of it straight down onto his thumb. It's warm, wet as Toji smears it around, letting it work like lube when he finally pushes the digit in. That part's easy. Just one little finger, pumping slowly in and out, just trying to get everything loosened up.
Sukuna sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Toji pull out all the way, only to feel two fingers teasing him now. He does his best to relax, to breathe through it and just focus on you but he falters, a whine spilling from your lips in complaint. He was pushing you so steadily towards your climax, each movement made with deliberate rhythm, and now it's inconsistent, the man bumbling around between your thighs.
"Wait, don't stop— please I'm so close, Kuna." You're rolling your hips again, trying to grind down against his face, your slick coating his nose and lips.
Toji tuts at Sukuna, shaking his head lightly before pressing both fingers in to the last knuckle. "Can't make her cum?" He's mocking, relishing in the fact that the words die on Sukuna's tongue the minute he starts scissoring his fingers, spreading them apart and stretching Sukuna open around them.
"I can, swear," Sukuna rasps, lips moving against your cunt.
"Really? Or do I need t' show you how to eat pussy? Make you watch while I have her cummin' all over my face like she should've already."
"Don't care who it is," you mewl, "jus' wanna cum, wanna cum so bad."
"Might not let you taste her again if ya don't give her what she wants."
That threat lingers in Sukuna's head, playing on repeat when he dives back in. Every ounce of his energy is poured into you. Even when Toji's pushing his fingers in faster, harder than before, Sukuna still keeps up his pace. Sukuna still curls his own fingers in the way that makes his name tumble from your lips, still wraps his mouth around your clit in the way that makes your back arch off the bed and your toes curl.
Your mind is hazy, void of thoughts except those about your impending release. All you can think about is the feeling of Sukuna's face buried in your crying cunt, his fingers stretching you out while Toji watches.
And when you cum, it’s overwhelming— your entire body convulsing on the bed as Sukuna’s arm pins your hips down, holding you in place as you gush, your arousal leaking onto his face while he ruts into the mattress.
He’s painfully hard, blood pumping through his cock from the taste of you and the feeling of Toji. But the minute you’re panting, chest rising and falling deeply as your body trembles with the aftershock of your orgasm, Sukuna’s left empty.
Toji pulls out slowly, carefully, admiring the way Sukuna’s body responds to every little touch.
“Good girl, look so pretty when you cum. Did he make you feel good?”
Your eyelashes flutter as you nod tiredly, “felt so good.”
“Told you I could,” Sukuna points out, his ego needing to prove a point to the man who was teasing him.
“You want me to praise you?” Toji’s grinning, moving beside the two of you to lay down on the bed. He knows the answer is yes, but whatever is left of Sukuna’s pride won’t let him say that out loud.
"C'mere," Toji nods, chin pointing at the space between his spread thighs. He's stroking his cock languidly, laid out like a king as he waits for Sukuna to crawl over to him. "Uh-uh, turn around— like that, yeah."
Sukuna is clearly out of his element as he shifts his hulking figure until he's straddling Toji with his back to him, both feet planted on the outside of Toji's legs. The older man wraps an arm around Sukuna's abdomen, fingers splayed out as he guides him to lean backwards into his chest.
You're watching in awe at the way they're fitting together, while wondering at the same time where you're supposed to be joining them.
Toji's hand stills around his base when his eyes find you. Gaze trailing over you as you fidget on the bed in front of them, obviously feeling unsure what to do with yourself. "Dollface," he pulls your attention back to him, "gonna need those little hands."
Smacking his length against the inside of Sukuna's thighs a few times, Toji waits for you to slip your fingers around him before he lets go, both hands moving to grip the backs of Sukuna's knees. Toji holds them up, keeping his legs spread wide and putting the tattooed man on full display for you.
One arm slung over his face, Sukna's trying to hide the deep red shade spreading across his cheeks. He can feel the weight of your stare as you pump Toji's cock a few times. This experience is completely new to him, apprehension swirling in his stomach, and still he swears he's never been more hard. It's honestly a bit ridiculous considering he's barely even been touched the entire night.
"Go on, put me where he needs me," Toji coos, his breath fanning against the side of Sukuna's neck as they both lean forward now to watch you.
Sukuna waits with bated breath, silently until he sucks in a gasp of air when he feels the tip of Toji's spit-soaked cock prodding at his asshole. Your lips agape, you're completely concentrated on the view before you.
You almost feel worried for Sukuna— you know how big Toji is, and you know how much bigger he feels when he's inside you. But you don't stop. You just keep angling his girth so when Toji rolls his hips you can witness the way the tip starts pressing past that tight ring of resistance.
"Shit," Sukuna grunts, body tensing in a way that makes Toji let out a hiss.
"Fuckin' relax or this is gonna take forever." He rolls his hips again, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.
Even with all the time Toji spent stretching Sukuna out it feels like there was no prep at all with the way he's practically strangling his cock. Tight walls clamping down like they can't decide if they're trying to suck him in or push him back out until finally Toji feels the head slip inside.
"Oh fuck, that feels—" Sukuna's own words are interrupted by a strained groan when Toji lifts his hips up off the bed, forcing himself deeper, "aah shit."
"Doin' so well," Toji groans, still working himself inside Sukuna inch by inch. He knows it's never easy your first time, he knows he isn't small either, and still it doesn't take long until he's over halfway buried inside Sukuna's ass. "Takin' this cock like a pro, such a good boy isn't he?"
You're nodding fervently, your hands now at your sides as you watch. "He is," you answer honestly. "Kuna, you're doing so good. You guys are so hot," you whine, hips wiggling on the bed. The praise makes Sukuna's stomach flip, a newfound sense of determination taking over when he rolls his own hips downward eliciting a sharp grunt from Toji when he bottoms out.
Sukuna's never felt so full.
Is this what you feel like every time you're getting fucked?
No wonder you're constantly acting like you're in heat whenever you're around them— poor cunt just craving the feeling of being stuffed to the brim. He can understand why you're so desperate now.
"Look at that— wasn't so hard now, was it?" Toji teases, earning an incoherent grumble from Sukuna.
"Please," you squeak, that exact feeling of desperation starting to overtake you. You're aching. You already came once and now you're just being left alone, all sticky and sensitive while they're both laid out in front of you. "What about me?"
Toji tuts, his hands sliding up Sukuna's thighs until they rest on his hips. "Our pretty girl thinks we forgot about her."
Sukuna lets out a choked laugh, trying to hide the fact that he is not sure what Toji has planned for you either.
"Climb on, dollface—" you start crawling immediately, moving on your hands and knees until you're now straddling both of them. "Just like that, you wanna ride him?"
You're already nodding your head again when Sukuna cuts in, "w-wait, you gonna support the both of us?"
"Course I am," Toji answers easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Honestly, you hadn't even considered he might not be able to. I mean, the man was in the gym every single day, there wasn't much he couldn't do.
You don't give Sukuna any more time to worry about the logistics, choosing instead to grind your hips against him. Looking him in the eyes while you glide your slick folds along the length of his cock, once, twice, three times until the entire thing is coated in your arousal.
"Fuckin' tease," Sukuna grunts, a hand coming up to land a harsh smack! on your ass, sending you falling forward. Your hands plant beside their heads, the softest whimper escaping you when Sukuna slaps the same place again. "Such a goddamn brat. Been waiting for this shit for weeks."
His tone carries a dangerous edge that makes your core burn. Rough fingertips dig into the fat of your ass, and using his grip, Sukuna lifts you up and slams you back down onto him in one fluid motion.
"Fuck! Kuna—" you gasp. Fully sheathed in one thrust, he's stretching out your gummy walls so nicely, your thighs quivering and pussy throbbing.
"Squeezin' me so tight, fuckin' pussy was made f'me." His voice is low in your ear, crimson irises locked on you as you let out a shaky breath.
"That pussy's perfect, ain't it?" Toji grunts, giving the two of you just a moment to adjust before moving.
"S-so perfect— ah shit! Chill—"
With his hands on Sukuna's hips and his feet flat on the mattress, Toji lifted his hips off the bed in one brutal thrust. Cock sliding halfway out of Sukuna before slamming back in, the force of it making your hips move. It was overwhelming the way Toji set such a mean pace right off the bat.
His hips slapping up against Sukuna's ass, over and over, making sure he was burying himself to the base each time. Sukuna had never felt anything like it. His tight hole being filled up while your sopping pussy is clenching down around his cock at the same time. Stuck between you two there was nothing he could do but sit there and take it.
But it's not like you were much better. You tried to grind down on Sukuna, tried to plant your feet and bounce your hips up and down just for Toji's pace to take over and leave you helpless. Hands on Sukuna's chest as your head lolls back, you're arched so perfectly, ass jiggling and tits bouncing every time Sukuna's cock is forced back inside you.
"Ohmygod, f-fuck— Toji, Kuna-aah!" You're whining, brows knit together as you look down at Sukuna now. His hands are digging painfully into your hips as he tries not to lose every thought in his head.
You look so fucking perfect like this though. Face showing nothing but need, eyes all glossy as you pant above him, babbling whatever unfinished sentences make it out.
"Feels so good," Sukuna moans, and you give a pathetic mhmm in agreement that makes Toji chuckle.
"Yeah, feels good? Gonna cum and make a mess?" He's not even addressing anyone in particular, just talking to the room because he knows that both you and Sukuna can barely even give him much of a reply.
But still, you try. "Y-yeah, gonna mmfuck—" you mewl, eyes clamping shut when your puffy clit rubs against Sukuna's stomach. The stimulation makes you jolt, legs twitching as your arousal seeps down around Sukuna's base forming a creamy white ring.
Teetering on the edge of his climax, Sukuna's trying to hold it back as much as he can but he knows he won't last much longer. Fucking embarrassing. It's only been a few minutes with him inside you and he's already about to cum.
Except that you're even closer. You're moaning a slew of curses followed by their names, mouth parted in a perfect "o" as your back arches further, cunt pressing down harder against Sukuna's abs as you chase the feeling of his rough skin rubbing against your clit.
The sounds filling the room are lewd. The squelching wet sound of your pussy sucking in Sukuna's cock, the sound of skin slapping against skin and heavy panting filling any silences.
"Shit 'm cumming, where—"
"Inside," you rasp, voice tired already, "Please, Kuna, need it— need you so bad."
"Fuuuck, yeah, gonna cum inside you, you want that?"
"Yes! yesyesyes," that word is stuck on repeat when you hear Sukuna let out a guttural groan. His cock twitches, balls constricting before shooting sticky, white ropes of his cum inside your poor pussy, velvety walls coated with his spend before it starts to leak out.
"Such a good slut, bet she's takin' every last drop— god— bet you will too, huh?" Toji's rhythm doesn't slow, it only gets faster the closer he gets to his own release. The pace turning cruel as it pushes Sukuna into the realm of overstimulation.
"H-hold on," Sukuna grunts before a whimper falls from his lips when you keen, crying out a mix of both men's names as your cunt clamps down around Sukuna's softening cock, milking him for all he's worth when you cum.
It's too much. Your sloppy pussy gushing around Sukuna, pushing even more of his seed out until it's dripping down onto his balls, down onto Toji's balls, all while his asshole is still getting stretched open.
"I can't, hold up—"
"'s too much! Tojiii," you fill in what Sukuna was scared he was going to have to say.
"You'll take it, you both will. I know two sluts like you aren't fuckin' complaining already." Toji's tone was gruff but in all honesty, he was close, and the shit spilling from both of your mouths was only driving him further to the edge. The neediness in your voice and the way Sukuna's was tense, Toji loved knowing he was the one causing it all.
"S-so sensitive," you mewl, sweat beading on your forehead as little salty tears form in your waterline with each press of your clit against Sukuna's stomach. "Daddy, please— I c-can't, need you to cum."
You don't even care how humiliating it is, or how pathetic you sound at this point. You know what Toji likes to hear, and you're determined to get what you want.
"Fuck, doll— sound so pretty when you beg like that," Toji groans, a low sound deep in his chest. "Don't worry, gonna fill this tight little hole, fuck my cum back into it—"
Sukuna can't stop the moan that tumbles out, his cock jumping again at Toji's words, the feeling making you jolt. He isn't sure how he's able to get hard again already, but it hurts the way he's getting stiff inside you now, needing to spread you open around him just to make it fit again.
"Kuna! Sh-shit."
"'m sorry, baby, can't help it."
"You hard again?" Toji breathes, sweaty hands adjusting their grips on Sukuna's hips. He doesn't last another minute.
The feeling of Sukuna's ass tightening around him with each thrust, the feeling of your cum mixed with Sukuna's dripping down onto him, the sounds of your whimpers and the knowledge that through everything Sukuna's already stretching you out again— no one can blame him when he finally breaks.
Letting out the loudest grunt, Toji's fingers dig into Sukuna's skin, his hips stuttering before stilling as his cum spills out. Hot and messy, he fills Sukuna with his seed, hips still rolling to push it back in even though it's already starting to leak out around the base.
With that he finally collapses back onto the bed, limbs limp and heavy with exhaustion, his body is covered in a sheen of sweat. You're the first to move, urging your weak knees to work as you slide off of Sukuna with whimper, the man letting out a long sigh at the sight of more cum seeping out of your cunt, webs of white connecting you to him.
"You guys are insane," Toji pants, "I'm exhausted."
"Us? That was all your idea," you remind him as you flop down on the bed.
Sukuna doesn't say much, just moving cautiously as he shifts to sit up. Wincing, he finally tries to move off of Toji, who just lays there, hands behind his head as he watches with mild interest.
"Fuck, I'm gonna be so damn sore tomorrow," Sukuna complains.
You're giggling tiredly into your pillow, even though you and Toji will probably be in the exact same boat. But you can't even find it in yourself to care about that right now.
Your eyelids are heavy, sleep threatening to take over when the bed dips next to you. Sukuna fills the spot on the other side of you, kneeling beside your body before two large arms snake underneath you. Picking you up like you weigh nothing, he moves to carry you to the bathroom, Toji following closely behind.
Sukuna tries to ignore the feeling of something warm dripping down his thigh but Toji snickering behind him is making it hard, causing him to roll his eyes— but you haven't noticed.
"Let's get you cleaned up, princess." His voice is uncharacteristically soft, his hands gentle as they set you down on your wobbly legs, feet landing on the cold bathroom tile.
"You should hop in there too, you both need cleaned up," Toji says pointedly, gaze flitting between Sukuna's legs and the scowl on his face.
"You're not much better," Sukuna snaps, his own gaze lingering on Toji's half hard and cum-coated dick.
It's true, you were all a mess.
"Quit arguing, I'm tired," you sigh, turning on the shower.
"Sorry, princess."
"Sorry, doll."
The night ends with the three of you squished together under your sheets, legs tangled in a mess and Sukuna snoring much too loud. It took little convincing for you to get them to stay with you. Just a few bats of your lashes with your bottom lip jutted out in a pout and they were folding, tucking themselves in next to you.
In the morning, you still felt the weight of an arm draped over your waist, the sheets warm from body heat as you twist, hands coming up to rub the sleep from your eyes.
Things remain the same for the most part.
None of you mention dating other people, choosing instead to stay ‘single’ and pour your energy into your own relationships with each other.
Movie nights become a little more frequent, though actually watching the movies is much less common.
And in the mornings, on the days when Sukuna's too lazy to make a latte, Toji makes his way to the cafe down the street, returning with three coffee cups and a brown paper bag full of pastries. He leaves you and Sukuna to your own devices, knowing that each time he opens the door again upon his arrival the two of you will be bickering in the kitchen.
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡
a/n this actually took me months to finish so i appreciate the patience and all the love on the first part of new girl. this fic is my baby, i birthed it so i hope you all enjoyed pt 2 as well ♡ (˃͈ ˂͈ )
synopsis: sukuna likes to think that you’ve changed him for the better— his friends and family agree. he’s calmer, less eager to fight. change comes easy when you have a girlfriend at home that’ll tell you to shut the fuck up if you sneeze too many times in a row.
cw: MDNI, toxic relationships, smut, rom-com(ish), sukuna is constantly fucking around and finding out, he likes where he's at tho, even when reader hits him with a car, oral (m receiving), mating press
notes: 5.6k w/c. commission for the lovely @plsstopsworld i hope u likey <3
Sukuna was convinced that you found joy in terrorizing him.
Do not tell him that he could just simply leave, either— there’s no point. He’ll just go back to you in the end. He always does, that’s the unfortunate part of being in love with you. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s his karma for all the crazy, borderline illegal shit he’s done. He was allowed love, but it came at a cost— a girlfriend who had the ability to make his heart race with fear. Sometimes it gets him hard, sometimes it doesn’t. He doesn’t have much control over it.
He doesn’t have control over much, really.
But like he said, he loves you. You are very lovely to be around most of the time, so it makes up for all of your less lovely qualities. It’s not like he has to deal with them much anyway, at least not since you’ve forbidden him from speaking in the first hour you’re awake. If you think about it, he has some control there since there’s always the option to poke the bear, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he chooses peace.
Sukuna likes to think that you’ve changed him for the better— his friends and family agree. He’s calmer, less eager to fight. The man who once thrived in chaos now looks forward to the small moments of stillness life has to offer, often he goes out seeking for it. He’s more patient, has more control over himself.
Many people ask him how he did it, and he just shrugs. “Gettin’ old I guess,” he’ll sometimes tell people.
Truth is, he’d rather die than admit that change comes easy when you have a girlfriend at home who tells you to shut the fuck up if you sneeze too many times in a row. He doesn’t need them thinking that’s another thing he’s not allowed to do. He is. You’ll even say bless you the first time he does it, you just get annoyed after the third one. It’s like Regina George and Satan had a baby when you’re annoyed, so he’s learned not to annoy you.
Crazy definitely has a look to it, like the eyes or something, but not always. Sometimes you find out the hard way, like Sukuna did, who, at a very ignorant time in his life, didn’t want to do dishes. He thought reminding you of who pays the most in rent and utilities would get him out of it. Instead, he found out that you had a kill switch for the part of your brain that feels empathy.
He slept on the couch that night, which was pointless because you committed to turning on the fire alarm every time he managed to fall asleep. Then he went out and bought a dishwasher the next morning, since he was going to be the one doing dishes for the next three months. He also had to buy a new set of dishes since there weren’t any to actually load the dishwasher with. You broke them all, save for the one you hurled at his head. You have great aim, by the way. He almost didn’t catch it.
That wasn’t the end of his day, though. The flower shop was supposed to be his last stop, but then he remembered you said something about feeling sorry for his mother, and thank god for Jin because she would’ve gone through labor for nothing, and thank god for Jin again because every parent needs at least one kid to be proud of, so he went ahead and bought his mother some flowers, too.
Then he finally went home. Getting the cold shoulder was expected and well deserved. So you could only imagine how unsettling it was when you smiled and welcomed him back home as if nothing ever happened. To this day, he doubts he needed to bring home any flowers.
It’d be nice to say that was the one and only time he’s ever fucked around and found out with you, but he’s not perfect. He still isn’t. The slip ups are rare, but they still happen, and he still never knows how you’ll react— sometimes it’s instant, you’ll blow up right then and there, then get over it an hour later. Other times it’s delayed, and you’ll shell out weeks' worth of time and effort purely for your entertainment.
Like when he got off work on a random Tuesday and spent half an hour walking around the parking garage, all pissed off because he couldn’t find his car. He thought some asshole stole it, filed a police report, and everything. Only to find out that you hid it in some random parking garage in some town a couple of hours away, and spent two entire months acting shocked about it despite shelling out $300 each month for the parking permit.
There was also the time he showed up to work on a Monday and learned that he had sent his boss a particularly nasty resignation email over the weekend. He got his job back, but it took a good amount of convincing since his boss didn’t believe that you’d do something like that. Sometimes he thinks about what would’ve happened if he couldn’t get his job back— you probably would’ve pushed him out of the house the very next day to look for a new one, since you refused to take on any more bills after that first fight.
He was convinced that was it. That your spite had reached its fullest potential when you fucked with his job, a.k.a both of your livelihoods, and it’ll surely make everything else after look like child’s play. He couldn't come up with anything worse than that, and it was a direct result of his limited creativity. There’s always room for improvement. You can alwaysbe worse.
You proved that when you hit him with his car.
All he was trying to do was stop you from leaving after an argument, and chose not to believe that you’d hit him if he didn’t move. Why would he? It’s not like he cheated on you. He never lied to you. He thought you were only saying that because you wanted to make him feel bad for yelling at you— that wasn’t a good enough reason to hit someone with a car. Especially when he didn’t even curse!
He had a little more faith in you than that.
Let’s say you did try, it'd probably just be a small tap. Your love may be questionable at times, but it was there, and you don’t want to send the person you love flying across the street. You care about him. The most you’d do is take your foot off the brake so your car could give him a little warning bump.
Then the smell of burning rubber hits his nose.
You stepped on the gas so god damn hard that the tires needed a second to gain traction.
Sukuna is 6 '4, a whopping 250 lbs of pure muscle. The sound of his tires screeching into the air before taking off made his life flash before his eyes. Despite being worried for a moment there, he was physically fine.
Spiritually, however? Not very good. You made it a personal goal to knock the fucking Mario coins out of him and then watched him get up on his own right after, absolutely distraught and barking about how he couldn’t believe you just did that to him.
He’s so pissed he doesn’t even realize you turned back around instead of leaving like you said you would.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHO DOES SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!”
It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s like this— so far past the point of shock that he’s outraged, yelling as if he wanted God to truly grasp how bad of a day he’s having.
You’re still in the car, hand on the steering wheel, casually scanning over his burly frame for any bruising. “I told you to move three separate times.”
“SO YOU TRIED TO MURDER ME? I COULD’VE FUCKING DIED.”
“I wasn’t trying to murder you, Sukuna.” The accusation sounds ridiculous when you repeat it. Sure, you would’ve understood and agreed if it had come from someone else, but not Sukuna. He’s practically bulletproof with how quick he can bounce back. You wouldn’t have hit him if he wasn’t. “You’re fine, aren't you?”
“THAT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT YOU JUST HIT ME WITH MY OWN CAR, YOU FUCKING SLUT.”
“This wouldn’t be an issue if you had just moved.” It’s simple, but the way you laughed while saying it just made you sound cruel. You weren’t trying to make fun of him— you just don’t know what he expected after you told him exactlywhat would happen if he didn’t step aside.
Sukuna should’ve taken his time getting back on his feet because you did not deserve reassurance in knowing what you did was technically okay. In fact, he shouldn’t have gotten up at all— you wouldn’t be laughing then if you had to watch him getting hauled off in an ambulance.
But no, he got nothing. No broken bones or fractures. No concussions, not even dizziness. Not even a scratch. He was alive and well, and that in itself only enabled your behavior. It pissed him off knowing there was nothing for you to see and feel guilt from as a result.
Instead, he received the complete opposite from you: Lust.
You took one good look at him later that night in the living room and went from thinking “who cares, he’s fine,” to something fucking crazy and along the lines of, “holy shit, getting hit by a car is nothing for him.” You didn’t even apologize— you just went straight to talking to him like he was some random chick at the bar.
Sukuna naturally thought that getting hit by a car would be a one-time thing. But your sudden shift in perspective made him realize that there’s nothing stopping you from doing it again if you wanted— he was done for, yet it wouldn’t be much of a surprise coming from you.
“What about your ribs?”
“Dunno. M’sure they’re fine.”
Your hands were already bunching up the bottom of his t-shirt, and like an idiot, he was allowing it, raising his arms so you could strip him down and pretend to “look” for bruises. You could’ve tried a little harder. Instead, you’re shamelessly running your fingers down the lines of his abs with some unhinged and sexually explicit thought running through your head.
“Evil whore.”
“What?”
Well fuck. He didn’t mean to say that outloud. No use in backtracking now, though.
“You heard me,” he grumbles, looking away. “Hope you’re happy with yourself.”
“Oh no— never.” It’s not very convincing when you’re running your hand down his skin. “You sure you’re not in any pain?”
“Nope,” he boredly says.
“Good.” You try not to smile at how butthurt he sounds. “....Was there something you wanted to say?”
“Nope.” He repeats himself.
“You sure? You seem kinda pent up.”
“Positive.”
“Mad maybe?” You hummed as your fingers reached his waistband, tracing along the elastic.
He laughed in disbelief. “Now what could I possibly be mad about?”
The sarcasm easily slipped out. He was still pissed, rightfully so, throwing a miniature fit in the way he does best. By being condescending.
His laugh was met with a lighthearted shrug. “Well… at first I thought it was because I hit you. But I did tell you exactly what I’d do if you didn’t move, so I guess there is no reason to be mad.”
“Sure.” He continued to smile despite his tone flattening. “Even though you don’t actually need a reason to not hit someone.”
As if he wasn’t already annoyed, you decided to send him over the edge with a contemplative hum, as if it’d ever be up for debate. “I guess. A snake doesn’t need a reason to bite you either, but you still wouldn’t count on not getting bit because of some principle.”
He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push down his frustration. You are really testing him right now with that smart ass mouth of yours. “Yeah, but are you a wild animal?”
“Nope,” you smile, snapping the waistband of his boxer against his skin. “Wild animals don’t give you verbal warnings.”
“How kind of you,” he mutters, tone laced with sarcasm. “I’ll make sure to remember that next time you threaten to hit me.”
“Smart. It probably won’t happen again, though.”
He deadpans and stares off into space for a moment over how bleak and underpromising you made the statement sound. “...You say probably as if you don’t have control over the vehicle?”
“I mean, I do… but—”
“There is no ‘but’, that’s a fact,” he stutters out of frustration as he begins to argue. “You put it in drive and smashed your foot on the gas pedal.”
“So you are mad?” Your lips purse together, innocently drawing circles over his stomach.
His brows pinch together, once again looking at you with a mixture of betrayal and disbelief. No shit he’s fucking mad, can still smell the rubber burning off his tires. You laughed at him once, and it is still haunting him. “Wouldn’t you be mad?”
“I don’t stand in front of the cars, so I wouldn’t know,” you shrug, pretending to be blind to his bubbling frustration.
He steps back and runs his hand down his face, fighting off the urge to gouge his eyes out. He knows exactly what you’re doing right now, and the answer’s no. You’re raigebaiting your way into getting dick. You don’t deserve it— plain and simple. There was no way in hell he was going to reward today’s behavior.
“That’s not the point. You don’t hit people with cars just because you can.” You’re lucky he’s even letting you touch him right now— you should be in jail. He leans in and taps his temple, eyes zeroing in on you. “How is that not getting through your head— it’s fucking wrong.”
“I know it’s wrong, I never said it wasn’t.” You tap at your temple the same exact way he did, and spell the next words out nice and slow. “That’s why you should move so it doesn’t happen.”
“I’m your BOYFRIEND,” he finally snaps, forgetting that’s what got him in this predicament to begin with. “I TAKE CARE OF YOU AND YOU SENT ME FLYING ACROSS THE STREET GOD DAMN IT.”
He wasn’t sent flying across the street, the reason for that being directly tied to how heavy he is. Not that you tell him that, the idea of you being the reason behind that is already tearing him apart enough. He’s also most likely embarrassed at those 2 seconds his feet were off the ground. Those must’ve been the longest 2 seconds of his life, given how he doesn’t get his world rocked too often.
“Alright, fine. I’m sorry–”
“FOR?”
Definitely embarrassed. You find yourself having to keep yourself from looking annoyed at the thought of him dragging out as big of an apology as he can from you for the sake of his bruised ego.
You close your eyes and sigh in preparation. “For thinking it was okay to hit you with a car when it shouldn’t even be a consideration in the first place.” His arms are crossed as he soaks up each and every word. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a mental list of points that needed to be brought up to make the apology valid. “It should’ve been off limits. You deserve to have peace in knowing our arguments won’t end with you getting struck down like a bowling pin.”
His face drops as he watches you needing to look away to keep yourself from laughing. “Seriously?”
“Sorry,” you clear your throat.
“Tch– I don’t believe you anymore,” he grumbles.
“No! I’m being serious,” you swear, grabbing his arm with both hands as you try to get him to look at you. “I really am sorry.”
He takes one look at you and feels nothing but reluctance. “And you’re never gonna pull that shit again, right?”
“Mhm.” You nod your head, knowing you don’t actually know the answer to that. It doesn't do much in terms of setting him straight— all it did was make him more dramatic, but it was satisfying. You can’t see it happening again in the foreseeable future, but you can see yourself randomly remembering how durable he is after you two have forgotten this incident, and doing it again. You place your hands on his chest as you part your lips to make a promise you don’t mind breaking. “That is not something you have to worry about from here on out.”
“Alright.”
There’s a certain satisfaction missing from his tone when he mutters the word, and you realize it’s not just your imagination when he pulls his arm away from your hold to cross both of them against his chest. You’re not sure what more he could want, but the contemplative look on his face tells you he’s thinking about it right now.
He got the apology he wanted and your word that you’ll never do it again, yet he can’t help but feel like it came too easily, and that you should’ve worked a little harder. He’s pushing his luck again, he knows, buuut maybe today’s one of the days where he can get away with that. Sukuna just doesn’t exactly know what he wants.
Did he want to grill you some more, get some revenge over the new (and traumatic) memory you gave him? Or did he want to rid himself of some of his pent up tension that you pointed out? Fuck, then that’d mean his punishment for you would end before you even knew about it. He wanted to see your face after being told no.
Decisions, decisions.
Well he could also have you—
“Kay’,” you break him out of his thoughts, the satisfaction missing in his tone is crystal clear in yours. “I’m gonna go wash my face now.”
Whoa, hold on a minute?! It’s only been a few seconds, you see him thinking.
“No. Stay,” he murmurs.
There was a part of him that was hesitant about that working— there was a chance you’d slap the shit out of him for ordering you around like a dog. Seeing you murmur a little ‘ok’ and actually staying was a pleasant surprise, and confirmation that he could push it a little today. The only thing missing was some sort of regret or guilt on your face. It’s more like you’re just listening to him because you figured he deserved it for once with how bored you look.
Whatever. He’ll take what he can get.
He sighs. “The apology was nice and all, but I think you’re gonna have to prove how sorry you are with this one.”
You look at him like he’s a clown and huff out a laugh. “You want me to prove how sorry I am?”
“Mhm. You don’t have to, though,” he shrugs, voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Just figured you’d like the option since it’s either that, or wait until I actually forgive you to get fucked.”
He nearly laughs at the way that instantly wipes the smile off your face. It’s not often he tells you no— it shows in the way you struggle to come up with an answer. Not because you're speechless, you’re just trying to figure out what can be said to change his mind.
“So it’s either I beg for forgiveness or get punished because you can’t accept my apology?” You force out a small laugh, the regret that Sukuna’s been looking for finally peeking through in your voice. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You and me both, princess,” he says in amusement. “It’s a good thing you don’t need to beg when you’re trying to prove something. I wouldn’t call it a punishment either. It’s more like a boundary— had to set one with you since I don’t really like you right now.”
You scoff as you watch him start to walk away. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Your failed attempt at guilting Sukuna pulls an airy, satisfied laugh out of him as he walks back to the bedroom. “The choice is yours, sweetheart. You know what to do if you decide to go with the first option.”
—
At first, you’re disgusted and refuse to prove how sorry you are. If he didn’t want to accept your original apology, then that was his problem. He can have fun fucking his fist for all you care. You looked at the bright side of things— you got to have a quiet evening since he decided to stay in the room the entire time, save for when he came out to eat dinner.
He had the audacity to ask if he could have some of the food you cooked, but that’s how he found out you had decided to retaliate by giving him the silent treatment. It didn’t come as a surprise, nor did it make him question his decisions. If anything, he was quite pleased with how bothered you were. That just meant you’d reach a point where you’d fold and come to him.
He just had to wait, guessing it’d take around 5-6 days until you grow tired of throwing a silent tantrum and start to miss him.
It took 2.
Now you see why he doesn’t bother leaving? Dealing with you can be a nightmare sometimes, but that was only 10% of it. The rest of it was smothering him with affection, which you clearly love to do and miss if you’re sitting at the edge of the bed 2 days later.
His back’s against the headboard, arms folded over his chest, looking a little too pleased to see you break your silence.
“Missed me?”
“Please don’t tease me right now,” you murmur, clearly struggling with the defeat.
“I’m not,” he hums, though the laugh he had to suppress said otherwise. “Anyways, what's up?”
You question your decision each time he opens his mouth. He’s making this so much harder than it should be right now and enjoying it way too much while he’s at it.
You pick at your cuticles at the other end of the bed— the lack of eye contact you’ve made with him leads him to believe you’re more nervous than you let on. He’s wrong. It’s a little hard trying to mask your annoyance at the moment, and cowering in place does a decent job of hiding it.
“I thought about what you said.”
“Yeah?” The smug grin across his cheeks grows.
“Yeah. I’m tired of fighting,” you look up and say, crossing a leg over the other. “I miss how we normally are.”
“Me too,” he hums, already undressing you with his eyes because he’s a fucking pervert. “Glad it didn’t take too long either, missed hearing your voice.”
You nod, holding back a smile. “Not really sure what you’re looking for, though.”
“Nothing crazy,” he hums, the shrug he followed it with wasn’t too convincing. “All you gotta do is be nice to me— extra nice.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all,” he confirms, sinking back some more against the headboard. “You know how to be a good girl, I’ve seen it. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?”
“No,” you softly say.
“Let me see it then— come here,” he hums, curling his finger in to beckon you closer. You start to stand, but he stops you. “Crawl.”
And crawling, at least right now, doesn’t feel very degrading. It’s the way he looks at you when you do, you’ve never wanted to smack him more. Once you’re kneeling beside him, he reaches over and slowly runs the back of his finger across your jaw.
“So you miss how we normally are, huh?” The broad question gets a nod from you, already knowing where he was going with this. “You’re normally pretty touchy— you miss that, too? Getting to touch me whenever you want?”
“Mhm.”
His finger traces down the side of your neck and across your shoulder, making your breath catch.
“Bet you miss having your mouth on me too, huh?”
You give a soft smile when his hand traces back up, cupping your cheek. “Yeah.”
“Think I might just miss that more,” he slips his thumb into your mouth, lightly pressing down on your tongue. “You know how much I love stuffing my cock in here.”
You still out of surprise. That’s what he wanted? Head? What an idiot, he could’ve just said that instead of making it seem like getting his forgiveness was some sinister task.
“Is that what you want?” you ask when his thumb pulls back.
“Mhm,” he smiles. “Look at you. I didn’t even have to ask.”
He continued to be stubborn, making you be the one to pull his sweatpants down by his waistband. You didn’t mind all that much. He may be a little shit, but it’s easy to wave it off when you're freeing his cock from his boxers. Just looking at it, how long and thick it is, sends heat in between your legs. Littered with thick veins, big red tip already smeared with precum, throbbing, begging for attention.
“Spit on it, get it all wet,” he murmurs, lids lowering at the sight of the thick string of saliva falling from your lips and landing on the thick head of his cock. “Yeahh— you know what I like.”
The sight’s filthy from the start when it’s just him telling you to spit on it some more, and more, and more. The entire time, there’s a slight pinch in his brow as he spreads it all from base to tip in a way that was slow and controlled, and hard to ignore. By the time the wet sounds of him stroking his cock could be heard, you were desperately squeezing your thighs together.
Watching his hand slow to a stop was a shame at first, but what followed took over your mind completely.
“Stick that tongue out for me— yeah that’s it, let me see it,” he murmurs, cock throbbing in his grip as he starts to tap the heavy tip of it against your tongue, hearing the weight of it behind each one. “Ready to put this pretty little mouth to work?”
“Yeah,” you murmur all sweetly, already in a daze.
“Good,” he chuckles. “Swirl your tongue around it.”
He watches you lean forward and do just that. Biting the bottom of his lip as you slowly drag your tongue all around his swollen head, salty remnants of precum hitting your taste buds with each flick and drag. Sukuna groans, abs tensing at your fingers digging into his thighs.
“Fuuck yeah.” He moves some of your hair out of the way to get a better look. “Suck on it for me, the tip— shit, just like that.”
As much as he loved the idea of making you beg, you really won’t ever have to. Watching you hollow your cheeks and pull away with a wet pop was enough. He rubs on the back of your neck as you do it again. “Feels fuckin good when you do that— so sweet with it, too.”
A soft hum passes through your lips, pulling back with another pop. He had plans to drag this out, but grows impatient at the sight of your glossy lips and the string of saliva connecting them to his head. His hand slightly tightens on the back of your neck and pushes you in closer, rubbing his tip over your lips.
“Open up,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he watches your lips part. “Go deeper. Show me how sorry you are.”
You feel both his hands go to the back of your head as you wrap your lips around his tip, gently bobbing your head as you inch further and further down his length, beginning to breathe through your nose the deeper you go.
His grip tightens as he starts hitting the back of your throat, throwing his head back with a gravelly, drawn out groan. For a minute, it felt like there was something missing, only for his ears to perk up just moments later when your nose hits his base with a small gag.
“There you go,” he huffs out a condescending laugh. At first he thinks to tell you to keep gagging on it, but then he has a better idea. “Open wide, princess. Gonna stretch this throat out.”
You pull up for air, revealing your teary eyes and wet lashes as you take a moment to breathe, and Sukuna thinks to himself how he’s never seen anyone so beautiful. Kinda like a Ursula in her human form type of beauty, given how much of a monster you are. Just cruel and evil.
He grins and pushes your head back down.
“Mmm, that’s it— relax it for me,” he says with a low rasp. “Gonna fuck this tight little throat of yours.”
Holding your head in place, he starts snapping his hips up, stuffing his fat cock down your throat with each thrust. Obscene slurping sounds mixed in with some of your moans fill the air as drool poured out of your mouth, making a mess around the base of his cock, earning his nasty praise. “Look at the mess you're making, you love this, huh? Such a good girl with my cock stuffed in your mouth. Keep it up and I might just stuff your pussy next.”
You make a sound, and it’s almost hopeful, as if you were asking, “Really?”
“Doesn’t that sound nice?” He thrusts up harder, enjoying the fact that you physically can’t talk right now. “Shit— m’gonna cum,” he murmurs through ragged breaths. “Look at you, did so good and now you get to have your throat filled.”
A low groan vibrates through his chest, swallowing thickly as he picks up the pace. Your nails dig into his thighs, hardly able to keep up and nearly drawing blood once you feel warm, thick spurts of cum begin to coat the back of your throat.
You’d think he’d be more spent with how hard he fucked your throat, but nope. The cocky, blissful sigh that slipped through his lips as you tried to get yourself together was all you needed to know.
He’s not the best when it comes to staying mad, at least with you. It’s pretty clear by now that this entire thing was just a ploy to make him feel more wanted, because he’s annoying. And pathetic.
Not that you get much time to simmer on the thought. It’s like you blink and suddenly you’re on your back, folded in half underneath him. Knees pinned to your chest, ankles up to your ears. Mentally, he’s gone. Too focused on rubbing the fat head of his cock against your hole, spreading your slick up and down your folds. Slow and intentional, enjoying the way you squirm in his hold.
That’s about the last of his patience, because seconds later, he’s bottoming out and you’re gasping from the sudden fullness.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans through a clenched jaw. His hips draw back, only pulling out halfway through before shoving himself back in with a resounding squelch. “Soaked, too. Is this what you wanted?”
“Y-yeah,” is all you could get out with all the weight he’s putting on you, keeping you locked down in the world’s meanest mating press.
“Two days is all this slutty pussy could take, huh?” He barely suppresses a laugh as he snaps his hips forward again, pulling another gasped moan out of you. “Better not start crying about how it’s too much then.”
It’s always too much, but this time he fucks you in a way where you can’t even get the words out. He just has you in straight up tears while he spends the next hour drilling into your sweet spot as if it were your punishment for making his life a living hell every few months.
While you spent your two days annoyed with him, he spent his saving enough energy to be able to pull back to back orgasms out of you like it was nothing. Going as far as taunting you when he felt you starting to tighten around his cock again, and then laughing after making you squirt once more after god knows how many times, talking about how, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Fuck him.
You clearly didn’t hate him that much, though. Yeah, you did go radio silent a couple of times, and there may have been a moment where you truly thought you were going to pass out, but that didn’t stop you from begging him to cum inside of you in the end.
He may have also teased you at first, asking if you deserved it, forgetting his place for a moment there.
But you always get what you want.
Even in the end, when you’re cuddling, and he’s murmuring sweet words into your ear, not knowing what the hell he’s even talking about when he says how much of a sweet girl you are and how you were his sweet girl.
Sukuna gets nothing but a curt “shh” in response.
“What?” he snorts, still in a lovesick mood.
There's a smile when you sigh. “The sound of your voice is ruining it right now for me, baby. I need you to be quiet or get lost.”
Choso x improper use of curse technique?! - overstimulating himself to oblivion just to keep himself hard for you?!
You’re bouncing on Choso’s cock like you hadn’t fucked him in years — a thick ring of cream froths at his base and drips down his quivering balls. The bed’s creaking, on its last legs. The sheets are soaked and ripped up. Your thighs are burning but you’re not stopping any time soon.
Choso’s in tears, trembling hands gripping your hips as if he can’t decide between pulling you down again and again on his needy cock or pushing you off to take a much needed break. But he won’t stop you. No, of course not.
He loves the feeling of your tight pussy strangling him, sucking him up, and milking him dry too much. All the while, your cunt’s packed full of his cum; it leaks out on the sides, creating sticky, milky webs every time you lift yourself up just to drop yourself down again. And he’s beyond enamoured with watching the mess glisten.
Did he just cum? Or is he going to?
It’s getting harder and harder to tell when he seems to be spurting like a perpetual fountain, when the lines between day and night, your body and his, are blending.
“Ngh! Fuck, Choso, don’t go soft on me, baby please,” you beg, nails leaving red lines on his flushed chest. You’re so close to another orgasm, and now that he came for the nth time, it’s going to disappear from your grasp.
Hiccuping with delirium, he shakes his head. “I won’t,” he gasps out. “I’m hard. Oh god, I’m so -ngh so tight- hard for you. Don’t -hah- stop. Keep f-fucking me. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you. I can take it, promise!”
His cursed energy thrums beneath his skin, coursing through his veins and shooting straight to his softening cock. It hardens to a near-cement-like force, throbbing, leaking more cum, and…actually expanding?
“Oh fuck, Choso!” You stare at him incredulously. “D-did you get bigger?” You feel him stretching out your bruised walls even more. It stings so fucking good. You’re drooling, eyes rolling back like a possessed woman.
Hips renewed with a vigour he’s never seen before, he’s left with no choice but to cling to the sheets and the headboard with a pathetic whimper. He’s gonna be feeling your pretty pussy squeezing him tight for days after this, he just knows it. That realisation has his face marking seeping with blood.
“You’re such a good boy, Cho,” you mewl. Spit droops out from your lips, entering his open mouth, as a reward — he works so hard for you, the man deserves it.
Choso greedily swallows it all, moaning at your taste.
“I’ll stay hard for you forever; always wanna be -hic!- g-good for you”
A good man is always hard, like a dildo. Note that down everyone.
⤷ WC - 1.9k
⤷ Smut | bang chan x afab!reader
⤷ CW - primal play elements, oral (f. rec.), spit, unprotected sex, chris calls himself daddy once, unironically
⤷ a/n - I don't even have a summary or a title for this. it's straight smut. it's the first thing I thought of when i saw this damned picture and I wrote it in the middle of the night... enjoy
⋆。‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧。⋆
“you hid well this time.” the slow stick of Chris’ bare feet echoes the hall. left, then right, stop. “but I'm sure I can find you.”
the door creaks, then the floorboards. “I can smell you.”
you can imagine him—hair mused, eyes scanning slow in the dark like a wolf after a gazelle. it almost makes you squirm. almost.
“come out, come out…” he steps left, one, two, three. “wherever you are.”
it's quiet for a beat, the floor groans when he shifts his weight, then the closet door rips open. Chris growls, real and low in his throat. you crouching lower, watching from the chest you're folded into across the room.
“mm, look who learned from her last mistakes.” he pushes the hangers apart, dark eyes searching the corners to be sure. “the thing is, I know you, doll.”
he turns slowly, balls of his feet pressing into the hard wood. “I know you so so well, that I would bet my life on you being right here, in this room.”
one step, two, “I know the way you run.” he looks near the dresser “I know the way you hide.” now near the bed, too close.
“I know the way you squirm when I promise you that I'll tear you apart the moment I find you.” your toes curl, you refuse to give him anything more. “oh, c'mon, baby.”
he's too close now, three steps away at most, you can only see his bare feet through the crack. “don't act like you aren't thinking about it.” one step closer, “you can feel me already, can't you? deep inside you, stuffing your pretty cunt.”
he drops into a near whisper, rough at the edges “I'll give it to you. If you give yourself to me.” there's a beat, measured, intentional. “last chance, little lamb.”
your breath is too heavy for your chest, burning through you. your thighs press together once—just once—at the thought of him finding you. what he'll do with you. You shudder, and your foot hits the corner of the chest.
“ah” you watch his feet shift closer, slow. “this was the best you had?”
you don't make a sound. your heart is beating out of your chest, your throat is dry with need, panties sticky between your thighs. and Chris is silent.
dead silent.
then he rips the curtains apart, not the chest, beside the chest. “hm, playing games, huh?” he takes a step back, slowly, then to the other side, towards the bed.
“maybe I'm wrong this time…” he rips the covers back. “maybe I need to take second and really think about this.” the mattress creaks under his weight.
dead air follows. not a sound, not a movement, nothing. one minute, then two.
nothing about you is calm. your thighs are on fire from being curled up so long, your panties are sticking uncomfortably against you, your mouth is dry, your head is dizzy. you're falling for it. this game he plays where he makes you hunt yourself before you even realize it.
“hey, baby?” you don't move, don't breathe. “do you think, that if I took the top off of that chest, you could make a run for it?”
your heart sinks.
“I know that you're thinking it.” he stands, you can hear it. you can feel it. “you wanna try it? think you can get away?” the creak of the hardwood is the only sound giving him away.
“I think you could do it.” he hums a laugh, small, rough. “well, actually,"
nothing. dead air. no more steps, no more talking. only your own breath.
“nah.” the top rips off the chest, and you're yanked up by your forearm before your gasp lands. “you'd never run from me, right?”
you squeal, fighting, arms and legs burning and weak from being curled up for so long.
“look at that.” he pushes you back, the mattress welcomes you with a bounce. “she already stripped the fight right out of herself.”
you kick to no avail, too slow, too weak. Chris catches your ankle and pulls you down to the edge of the bed. “Shh shh sh” he climbs over you, slow, predatory like he's watching for a fight.
“I'm not gonna hurt you.” he whispers “I'm just gonna fuck you until you can't remember a thing.”
he leans in, closer and closer, thigh slotted between your own and a hand dangerously close to your throat. “gonna get that pretty head empty, yeah?” his tongue presses over the shell of your ear, breath painting hot over your skin. “I like my baby dumb like that.”
then he's moving, fast, rough, eyes low and wild with something animal shining too dark and bright. his fingers wrap around your neck, holding you in place while his other hand rips at your panties, sticky and useless, and now ripped at the hip. the other side goes right after, a sharp sound escapes him when he peels the fabric away. you keen, a sweet and pathetic little sound that makes the fantasy feel too real.
“hot little cunt is so fucking juicy ‘f me.” rough hands bully their way beneath your shirt, one of his that you stole just for this. “perfect tits”
“Chris—”
“shh shh” he shakes his head, slow, not even looking up for a second. “I know, I know, you wanna feel me here.” his hand slides down to your stomach, pressing just barely where he knows he'll bulge soon.
your hips buck, eyes glossy when you blink up at him, begging like a caged animal. Chris looks at you for a second, head tilting just enough to make you tick.
“let daddy take his time.” he murmurs, low, rougher than he was a second ago. “I found you, now I get to tear you apart nice and slow”
he steps back, eyes tracking every little move down to the rise and fall of your chest. “let me see you play with yourself.”
"look at me, right at me—that's it. Now play with your clit, sweetheart.” you do. your fingers circle sloppily, dipping down to collect slick then spreading it clumsily.
Chris watches, eager hands undressing himself. black tank, gone. shorts, gone. his tip is tight, red and angry, and sticky. you moan at the sight, jaw slack, eyelids hanging, drowsy with arousal.
“just like that. pinch it a little, yeah, right between those pretty lips—thaaat's it. ah, that's such a good girl.”
his fist works the tip of his cock, polishing the angry skin until its beading arousal all over again.
“stop.” you do. Chris takes his time stepping forward, he's even slower when he lowers to one knee. you watch, eyes still on him, still following orders.
he doesn't say a word. there's just a look—then his mouth. he licks all the way up, tongue flat and wet over your slit. he spits, chases it with his tongue, groans when he sinks in a little deeper.
“Chris, Chris–fuck” his nose nudges your clit with every lick and shake of his head. he works his way up, up, up, until his lips wrap around your puffy clit.
you jolt, legs clamping shut around him “nuh uh. open.” he slaps the outside of your thigh “open your fucking legs.”
you force yourself open, thighs trembling in the best way. “that's it, now spread your pussy for me, baby” your fingers come down, spreading into a v, his tongue presses flat to your clit, “mmhm mmmhmm”
you can't get a full breath. you can't get a straight thought, there's only him. “so wet ‘f me.”
he pops your cunt once, twice, “let me in there.” he shifts smoothly, lining himself up nice and easy.
the sound he makes might actually be animal. It's deep, something that could only resonate in his throat. The muscles in his stomach flex with every inch he slips in.
“fucking—fuck, baby you're so…” he groans, pulling you closer by your thighs until the swell of your ass is right off the edge of the bed. he pushes your thighs back, spitting down over the plump swell of your cunt. “so goddamn tight. so tight, so damn perfect”
you're already shaking, already close. “hold your legs back, hold ‘em—there we go.” he thrusts, just once.
“no fucking way.” you're coming. tight, spamming, moaning. “no fucking—god—do that again.” there's no mercy. he fucks you through your orgasm like you owe him another one. your grip on your thighs is loose, barely holding on.
“that's my girl. that's my pretty girl creamin’ on my cock like that. shit, give it to me.” his hips slam, pace turning brutal, palms pressing up to replace yours until you're nearly bent in half. “gimme your cum. give it to me, c'mon.”
Chris is leaned over you, hips pressed flush in a rough, deep grind, your calves shaking over his shoulders. “open your mouth.” you do. open, stick your tongue out and let his spit slip slow off his tongue right down to yours.
“swallow it all. you taste yourself? yeah? taste how fucking—mmfuh—you're gonna make me come. gonna make me come.
he lets your thighs down, grabs your hips, lifts just enough and presses one knee into the mattress. you can't move. one hand’s on your throat, squeezing at the sides, just enough to feel the rush. just enough for your high to spread like a kaleidoscope behind your eyelids.
“want that pussy to come on me, baby.” his voice turns feral, breath punched out of him with every drag. “look at that, look at that, I'm in your fucking stomach.”
he presses his hand low, over the plush of your waist where the head of his cock presses over and over.
you're whining, shaking , painfully close. “Chris, ‘m gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” you break. nothing clean, it's a mess. wet and trembling and fucking perfect “‘m coming. 'm coming I can't stop coming. c–can't—”
it rips through you in waves. once, twice, a third on the horizon when his hips stutter. you're milking him for all he's got.
Chris gasps—actually gasps—a moan. he buries himself deep, grinding shallow and rough. he's above you now, propped up on his forearms, breath quick and useless.
“oh god, o–oh fuck” his words catch in his throat, choking out, “baby, ‘m gonna cum, ‘m gonna–kiss me. kiss me—”
he crashes into you, all tongue and teeth and breath. his hips stutter, thrusts slowing to deep and slow push and pulls. the air is too thick to get a full breath, your body is buzzing too much to feel real.
Chris is still on top of you, your stuttered breathing the only sign that any of that was real. a beat passes, you’re just barely out of the haze.
“are you alright?” he asks, you hum and he pulls back to look at you. his eyes are still drowsy, fucked out, but present.
“you?” he manages a smile, small but real.
“i'm perfect.” he leans in, places a kiss on your damp forehead, then your temple, cheek. “you did so well, angel.”
“yeah” your words are rough, like they're scraped out of you. “you too.”
Chris hums a small laugh. shifting slowly for both of your sake. “Let's get you water, a bath, maybe something sweet. wanna keep that head empty.” he lays the sheet over you, pulling you into him, arms tight around you. “Sound good?”
“mm, yeah.” you mumble, still buzzing.
“that's my girl.”
a/n (pt.2) - I've had writters block for weeks. maybe months. is this any good? also, i just wanted to try something new with the all lowercase thing.
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