Hello! Just to make sure it’s restated, this is my running tbr blog; I often don’t have time to get into a fic when I come across it, so I like to save it for later! The way I tag these are by group and usually a couple of versions of the name/s of the member/s (or ot# if it’s the whole group). If it’s a fic I really liked, I’ll usually tag it as “rec” and I’ve been trying to get better about adding my thoughts with it. If it’s a rec list made by someone, I’ll usually follow the aforementioned tags but add a “rec list”.
IMPORTANT TO NOTE: this is a side blog, so all my likes come from my main (@/lissiesykes). So if you’re like “wow, this blog only liked/reblogged and not the other!”, fear not because they’re just under two URL’s.
warnings: this series will have alcohol consumption, drug use, sexual content, and challenges from media
rating: mdni
pairing: fem! reader x txt
networks: @k-vanity
a/n: this may or may not be coming from me thinking about all the shit 5sos has done… (it definitely is) but you'll see once the series begins that all chapters are 5sos songs lolll
if you want to be added to the taglist comment below!!
profiles ! | intro
✏️ =written part 💬 = texts/twitter posts ⚠️ =smut
[1] If Walls Could Talk 💬
[2] Permanent Vacation 💬
[3] Youngblood 💬
[4] boyband ✏️
[5] Money 💬
[6] Babylon 💬
[7] Red Line 💬
[8] Moodswings 💬
[9] NOT OK 💬
[10] Waste The Night ✏️
[11] CAROUSEL 💬
[12] Lie To Me 💬
[13] telephone busy 💬
[14] Ghost Of You 💬 ✏️
[15] No.1 Obsession ✏️
[16] You Don't Go To Parties 💬
[17] Want You Back 💬
[18] Best Friends
[19] Easy For You To Say
[20] Take My Hand
[21] istillfeelthesame
[22] evolve
[23] Lover Of Mine
[24] COMPLETE MESS
[25/ bonus] Older
f!reader x Xavier | non-mc!reader x Xavier | unrequited love | plot twist | angst | there's gonna be grammatical errors | might have lore mistakes my bad
Xavier knew something was wrong the day he saw you sitting on his couch, uninvited with an awkward smile on your face.
He knew that you, out of everyone that remained of the Backtrackers, remained dutiful and isolated from the rest of the team. You didn't show up unannounced without a good enough reason. And yet, there was no great exigency that caused you to break into his home and watch day time television on his couch.
"The mechanic shop you had me maintaining near the outskirts of the N109 Zone is under repair after some nasty Wanderer situation. So, hope you don't mind me crashing at your place."
"Could you not stay at Philos?"
"You forget I'm still angry at Jeremiah. Yeah, no, that's not happening unless you want him knocking at your door demanding compensation for all the flowers I'd destroy out of spite."
"The flowers are innocent."
"Don't care."
And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about you. You never specified exactly what happened, however, crucially, he never pressed you for more details aside from one or two questions that you vaguely answered.
You crashed in the spare bedroom, yet each morning he always saw you on the couch, no matter what odd hours of the night he woke up. You would just wave at him, watching whatever was on. He never took you as the type to indulge in modern television, investing your time in dramas and sitcoms like you had nothing better to do.
"So, if I'm understanding this right, Kim is in love with Taeha, but because of the historical accuracy this show is trying to present, they can't be together because they're both men and being gay is illegal?"
"I'm not even sure what's going on because you've been watching this for the past three days and I just started right now."
"Okay, but, what would be your opinion on that? Would it just be better to elope somewhere and move away?"
"If I understand it based on this half-hour you've made me watch, I don't think that's possible. They're both in the military to start off and Taeha is his commanding officer. They'd be hunted and killed for deserting if they made that attempt."
"Tragic."
"Sure, but since when did you commit so hard to watching dramas? The last time I saw you, your commitment was towards monitoring everything you could about the current technological advancements."
"Mnm, I was. I simply hit a cap point for now and thought a hobby was in order. Besides, I like hanging out with you."
And there was just something about the way you turned to him, eyes soft and smile so tender that made him realize that he never really got to know you. He'd never taken the time to really learn about your likes and dislikes. What other hobbies did you have? Did you try to make friends here, like he and Jeremiah had?
Were you happy with the way things turned out? Did you have any regrets? Did you have any doubts?
Did you feel like you were withering away here?
For the time being, he made the effort to try to learn more about you. He hung out with you more, finding a nice TV show to watch together. He learned what made you laugh the hardest or what trashy show ended up being a guilty pleasure. He learned that you were closeted romantic, catching the tears in the corner of your eyes as you tried to disguise the sniffles when the couple finally kissed.
Before he really knew it, months had gone by with you in staying at his place. He grew accustomed to your presence in his home, always greeting him when he came home and wishing him pleasant dreams when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He woke up with a blanket over him more times than he could count.
"I noticed something about you."
"Mnm, what's that?"
"You've been wearing the same sweater the entire time. I don't think you've taken it off. With how often you wear it, I can't imagine all the dead skin cells and sweat that might be clinging to that poor thing."
"I'm sure you've heard of them before, but just in case you haven't, there's this machine that cleans your clothes. They call it a 'washing machine' and it's pretty easy to use. You just toss your clothes in, add some laundry detergent and fabric softener, press a button or two and it cleans your clothes for you."
"Uh-huh. But why not wear something else in the meantime?"
"It's my favorite sweatshirt. You gifted it to me a few decades back, don't you remember?"
"Hm, yeah, it looks familiar. I'm surprised it's still in good condition after all this time."
"I take good care of my gifts, Xavier."
He should've known something was wrong at the time, too. He should have noticed it. Aside from the meter, there was nothing noticeably different about the bills that came every month. No extra water usage. No dip in his food bill when he went out. Even the days he was gone longer on missions, the food in his fridge remained untouched. Not even extra dishes.
You always made the excuse that you ate beforehand every single time, too stuffed to even drink a glass of water. He never took the time to question it, believing more that you just did everything outside of the apartment.
Xavier believed in you, even if his instincts warned him in the back of his mind. He trusted you because you were never lied to him. You never betrayed him. You stood by him when the other Backtrackers turned. You sullied your hands with their blood alongside him, knowing the dangers of losing part of your own humanity. Living with the looming threat that if you lost your sanity, you would turn into a Wanderer just like them the longer you remained.
"She's training to be a Hunter now."
"Mnm, it's been a decade since the disaster hasn't it?"
"It has."
"Worried?"
"No. Well, maybe a little."
"Relax. Her Majesty was rather skilled from what I can remember. I'm sure she'll be alright. Just keep doing what you're doing and keep an eye on her from the defectors and everything should be fine."
"Don't you mean 'we'?"
"... Of course."
He should've known then. He should have questioned you right then and there and pressed for more information. But he didn't. He ignored what his eyes were telling him because you were his friend. Because he grew comfortable around you despite the suspicion gnawing inside of him.
Xavier should have known something was wrong when you refused to go see Jeremiah at Philos. You claimed you were still angry at him, but who held a grudge that long? He never knew what it was that made you resent him so much that you just outright refused to even contact him. Which was why he thought he'd try to smooth things over and ask him while he was getting updates on the other Backtrackers.
"Wait, you're telling me that she's been squatting at your place for months now? And she's still mad at me?"
"This week would mark the eight months she's been at my place. She showed up and said that the shop was in repairs. Though, every time I bring it up, she tells me that the construction was delayed due to the increase in Wanderer activity."
"That's weird."
"She's never lied to us about situations like these before, so I trust her. But, I'm also here to see if I can extend the olive branch. I don't really know what it was that made her hate you so much."
"Hm, I want to see something."
"Dodging the question?"
"I'm looking up the updates from her last entry and something isn't quite adding up. You said she's been there eight months right?"
"Watching TV on my sofa like it belongs to her."
"... Xavier, the last update she gave me was almost a year ago. It's been eleven months. She never missed an update before that."
"That doesn't make sense. I understand eight months since she's been with me, but eleven? Where are the extra three months unaccounted for?"
"No idea. You said she was mad at me, right? Enough to not want to talk to me? But, even if that were the case, if she really had a problem with what I told her, she would just message you, not me."
"... I'll try talking with her. Something isn't adding up."
"Tell her I'm sorry, while you're at it. I... I didn't mean to call her out."
"Call her out?"
"She'll know. It's not something I'm allowed to tell you."
Hundreds of possibilities surged through his head on his way back. Hundreds of potential lies. Hundreds of questions that all led to the one conclusion he refused to believe.
You didn't betray him.
You were loyal.
You stood by his side when all he wanted was to make sure that the woman he loved wouldn't have to be sacrificed time and time again for the sake of a doomed planet.
You turned your back to your comrades. You turned your back to your people that cursed their names for their betrayal. You killed people that you once called a friend. You did it all with him, never once wavering.
Had time finally caught up with you?
Were you finally too exhausted of this life and just wanted to go back home?
He needed to finally quell the suspicions that plagued him. He'd rather make an ass out of himself, questioning your loyalty than be weighed with the guilt that his decisions finally pushed you over the ledge.
And like always, when he entered his apartment, you were there, smiling at him and welcoming him home. The TV was on, like it always was. You were watching reruns of the drama you've probably seen a hundred times already.
But things were different. He wasn't allowing his eyes to be clouded in the presence of a friend, but someone that could potentially ruin all the work they've done these past hundreds of years. He was going to see you for all that you were.
"How was Jeremiah? Still tending to his plants?"
"Yeah. But, we need to talk about something." You hesitated briefly, the corner of your lips tightening a bit before you relaxed yourself.
"Can it wait until after the show is over?" A show you've seen a hundred times already? It wasn't that interesting.
Xavier wasn't going to let you deflect. He walked towards you and picked up the remote, turning it off and standing before you. You closed your eyes, sighing deeply before sitting up and meeting his eyes.
You weren't running away. You never did.
"What's up?"
Too many questions sat at the tip of his tongue, his eyes darting around the room for a moment to take in the environment. Was it... always so cold near you? Is that why you wore a sweatshirt all the time? Was there a draft?
The lights never turned on, but the TV was never off. No matter what odd hours he woke up, be it in the middle of the night or late into the afternoon, you were always sitting right there.
Eight months.
Eight months... and he never got close enough to touch you.
Xavier felt his grip around the remote loosen until it clattered to the floor, his heart sinking so deep into his stomach as a cold chill ran down his spine. He a took step towards you. Then another. And another. Each one heavier than the last until finally, he was standing so close, his legs brushed against yours.
You didn't flinch. You didn't move away. But your expression looked so clouded, your smile wavering as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. He reached forward to touch your cheek, feeling something solid, just... frozen.
You were freezing to the touch.
"What happened?" Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand coming up to hold his hand closer to yours, nuzzling your cheek into his palm.
"Something bad. I'm sorry, Xavier. I'm sorry." He dropped down to one knee, taking your face fully in his hands as he watched the tears that gathered finally fall.
"Tell me everything." You laughed weakly, peering at him through bleary eyes, your lips quivering as you tried to keep a brave face for him.
"I failed. I wasn't strong enough for the ambush sprung on me. I didn't have time to react and I didn't know my system's defenses had been breached. The remaining defectors caught me and though I tried to fight them off, eventually I was captured."
Xavier bit his tongue, the anger that ignited within him threatening to overtake him. He couldn't allow his emotions to get out of control right now. Right now, you needed him to stay calm. You needed him to be in the right state of mind.
"They threatened me, tortured me, tried to blackmail me and when I didn't budge, they were willing to use me as bait. The problem is, when you rile someone up enough, they make mistakes. They get so angry and so resentful, they lash out." You chuckled weakly, shaking your head lightly. "They didn't mean to kill me. But... I was hoping they would. It would ruin the mission if you had to deal with a hostage exchange."
Anger gave way to shock. Shock turned to disbelief. Disbelief turned to grief.
"You're dead?" And suddenly, everything clicked into place. Why you never moved from your spot on the couch. Why you never ate. Why you never drank. Why you wore the same clothes every single day.
He was right. He was wrong.
You didn't betray him. You never did.
Your loyalty got you killed.
Your trust and faith in him to find the solution he was so desperate for made you think your life wasn't worth saving.
You swore your allegiance to him. To the Queen. You never wavered.
And in the end, all you got in return was an early grave after dedicating your life to finding a solution and a way back home.
Guilt tore at him in a way he couldn't imagine, his chest feeling like it was caving in on itself as he struggled to maintain his composure. It didn't make sense though. Something still wasn't adding up.
"How are you... here?"
You laughed. You laughed, staring into a fit of giggles before bellowing out with laughter as the tears continued to fall. As you held his hands so tightly, trembling from all the emotions you were experiencing.
"Guess ghosts are real, huh? You know what they say, if you die with regrets, you can never really move on. Didn't think it'd apply to aliens like us, huh?"
It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all.
He spent these months with you in his home. He watched all sorts of dramas and movies with you. He learned everything he could about you, crossing that bridge and getting to know the person you were.
A hopeless romantic deep down inside. So much, you cried at even the most shallow of love stories because you were happy they were in love. But you cried the hardest when the second lead never got their chance to be with the person they loved. When they let them go... because their happiness meant more to them than their own heart.
"Even if the second lead would have given up their entire soul for the main lead, it takes a lot of whole lotta grit to let someone that means the whole world to you go. Their happiness is all that matters."
No. It couldn't mean...
"Jeremiah said he's sorry for calling you out... what did he mean by that?" Your lips brushed against his palm in a chaste kiss, your eyes slowly dragging from his lips up to his eyes to really look at him.
"He knew I was in love with you."
It never crossed his mind. It never was a thought he entertained when he was so devoted to his beloved. To the young woman he was so desperate to save.
He could argue that you never let it show. He could shift the blame that you didn't like being around people often that he never saw it. He could lie to himself all he wanted.
The truth was in the sweatshirt you wore. The day he gave it to you, you never looked so soft. Your smile was splitting your face, the giddiness rolling off you in waves as you put it on as quickly as you could. The only time you went out of your way to hug him, squeezing him tight as you thanked him for the gift.
It was just a sweatshirt. He got it because it suited you and he thought you would like it since you had been working so hard.
And now you were dead.
"I don't think I've ever seen you cry before, that's so alien. It's a little weird." Xavier couldn't help it. He couldn't help the anguish he was feeling, never knowing your true feelings. Even if he couldn't return them. Even if...
He pulled you tight into his arms, hugging you close and burying his face into your shoulder. His body wracked with sobs, the guilt of every decision he made and all the people he lost tearing right through his chest and carving a hole where his heart was.
You died and remained with regrets.
You haunted him because you wanted to remain close to him.
Even if all you did was spend time watching stupid shows and movies on his couch while he drifted in and out of sleep. That was enough for you. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair at all.
Xavier cradled you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap as he sobbed into the very gift that meant so much to you.
"It's okay, you know? I don't blame you. It was just something that was bound to happen the longer we stayed here." You soothed his back softly, comforting him even in death. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. Even if it wasn't something I couldn't control, I'm sort of glad it happened. It meant I could hang out with you like this."
He shook his head violently, his grip around you tightening so much that he would have left bruises if you were... alive. "You could have done that at any time! Not like this. Not when you're just a ghost in my apartment. Not when..." God his voice never sounded so broken before. "Not when you're dead. Not when your body is somewhere we don't know."
"Yeah, sorry. That was... insensitive of me." He couldn't let go.
He didn't want to let you go.
There was still so much he had to learn. So much he wanted to talk to you about. There was so much time you both were supposed to have. So much time wasted. So much time he could have taken to actually hang out with you. Suddenly, a hundred years felt so damn short. He took the long lifespans for granted and now it was all too late.
"Xavier." You did your best to peel yourself back so that you could look at him. His eyes were burning and his nose was blocked up, but he met your gaze head on. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, wiping the tears away.
He committed your face to his memory. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him with the most gentle smile on your face. The way you looked at him with such tenderness and love, he wished he could see it on you for real.
"I love you." You leaned in to kiss him, your lips soft against his as he gently kissed you back. It wasn't out of love, but he felt you deserved it. You did.
It was closure and you deserved it more than anyone.
He felt it before he saw it. Your form was dissipating right there in his arms, but he didn't pull away. He just clung to you tighter, kissing you harder to give you something before you completely disappeared.
"Thank you." Were the last words you said before you were gone.
He sat there on the floor, his arms empty and his apartment colder than ever. You were never coming back. He was never going to see you sitting on his couch and welcoming him back. He was never going to hear you laugh too hard at a comedy skit or ball your eyes out over some romantic drama.
He was never going to learn more about you. Never hear your voice again. Never see you again.
You were gone.
"Thank you for always being by my side."
a/n: could not put the post twist in the tags, sorry. if it bothers you, feel free to yell at me. and yes, I write this in one go because I have no self-restraint
one of my favorite kinds of non mc angst is when you have stood by the boys through every lifetime, so much so that your presence has become a quiet certainty for them.
they expect you to always be by their side, moving through the world as if your loyalty is as certain as the sunrise.
and whether they are blind to your feelings, consumed in their quest to reunite with mc, or simply incapable of truly seeing you, they’ll never choose you.
still, you remain, tethered to their side through every heartbreak.
but when you find out your cycle of reincarnation is finally ending, you keep it to yourself. is it selfish? perhaps. but your heart is weary, your love is stretched thin, and you know that if your devotion was never returned before, it never will be.
so when you finally slip away—cradled in their arms during a mission, surrendering your soul to the ocean at a seamoon ceremony, or resting among a field of datura flowers—they mourn you. of course they do. tears will fill their eyes as they whisper your name into the silence.
but some part of them knows you’ll come back.
you always do.
they’re certain you’ll return just as you always have, and that soon enough you’ll be smiling beside them again, teasing them like nothings changed.
you always return as yourself—changed in small ways, perhaps, but still marked by the beauty spot beneath your eye or the gentle brown of your gaze.
your face may shift with each timeline, but the faint scar along your arm from protecting him from wanderers or the wound over your heart always remains.
it’s all a quiet testament of your love.
so when the next cycle comes, and they cannot find you in a scattered crowd of villagers, when they don’t sense your presence in a university hallway, when they wait for you to find them in a game of hide and seek on a playground—the one right next to your father’s house—or amongst the last remaining lemurians who reside in verona, they begin to question it.
they start to wonder.
where were you? what’s taking you so long to come back to them?
where is the one who knows them best? the girl who shares every memory, who understands their purpose, who feels their pain more deeply than anyone else?
simply put—
where are you?
but the truth is painfully simple.
you are not here.
not anymore.
your soul is finally at peace, and alongside it, your love.
or maybe, somewhere in the world, you still exist.
maybe you grew up wrapped in the warmth of a loving family. maybe you still remember the warnings of hunters past and steer clear of those forbidden no hunt zones.
maybe you attend college, or perhaps you open a flower shop in a city where no one knows your name.
maybe every night you dream of a life you have never lived, with a man whose face you have never seen.
maybe you are sitting right beside them, by the sea or on a park bench, laughing at a joke you just told, while he absentmindedly takes your hand in his.
and maybe when you wake with tears drying on your cheeks, you’re confused, unable to understand what it all means.
but dreams fade the longer you remain awake, and slowly, you return to your life.
you feed your cat. you take out the trash. you spend a tuesday afternoon tackling a week's worth of laundry.
you live through mundane, ordinary moments.
you meet up with old colleagues for brunch, talking to your mother on the phone while waiting for the next train. you reply to the messages of a man you matched with online and let him take you out for a drink or two, thanking him at the end of the night for the fun you had.
the next day, you pass by a mural painted by a well-known artist from whitesand bay, leaving you so awestruck that you take a quick snapshot to post on your moments page before continuing on your way.
you arrive at akso hospital, stepping into the lobby to find the rest of your family sitting anxiously for news of your niece’s birth. you sit beside them, praying for the time to pass more quickly, absentmindedly reading the framed research credits of a 28-year-old cardiac surgeon hanging on the wall nearby.
and when you return home that night, head stuck in the clouds, swiping at the hundreds of photos you took of your sister's baby girl, someone stops you in the street.
their eyes—sky blue, violet-gold, or cotton-candy—search your face with overwhelming relief, haunted by a grief that feels centuries old.
“i’m so glad i found you again,” they’ll whisper as their arms wrap around you, the embrace tight enough to keep you from pulling away so easily, but gentle enough not to steal your breath.
“i missed you so much. where have you been?”
you freeze, fear rooting you into place as a voice inside urges you to fight, to punch, to kick, to scream—anything to break free from the arms of someone you don’t know.
you tense, and they feel it immediately. they notice your stillness, your lack of recognition, and finally, they let you go, albeit slowly.
their hands settle gently against your shoulders, smiling with a softness you have never seen directed to you, and they ask again:
“where have you been?”
you force yourself backward, taking three deliberate steps to create space between you, your left hand already searching your purse for anything to defend yourself with.
pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader
wc: 22 ss
tags/warnings: soulmate!au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, angst/fluff, mutual pining, poor communication, cursing
part one // part two // part three
masterlist
Summary: Everyone has their soulmate's first words to them tattooed on their skin, which might be helpful if yours didn't just say a generic "Hi." Your best friend Chan has the same one—well, that's what he told you.
a/n: The last part of my 1k follower event! Thanks to everyone who voted in the polls and read and left comments. I hope you enjoy the ending!
The End
a/n: Thanks for reading!! Sorry for all the emotional whiplash lol
perm. taglist: @virgopotterhead @sue-reads @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @1giss4swft3 @emmalabo @snoop136 @diekleinesuesse @ArielWhite1221 @velvetmoonlght @ch3rry15pin @danielle143 @thisisnotjacinta @geni-627 @barbie-girl84 @clairementsolo @stvr-l0stt @bangchansbig-nose @chandlxa @flippedccc @astrayapple @ylstacy @cchapssaltteok @NiKu_0704 @writtenbypeachy @emeraldgem22 @bahngarang @cb9711 @parkairis18 @persassyismysecrettwin @hey-i-really-miss-you @mikachux3 @haunted1nk @sugarcoathan @udontknowmeppl @estella-novella @angrygardendeer @candyquokka @darbyjaneeee @lyuuu88 @iheartkentonanami @mintchip17 @valpalmaka @missvanjii @iownachihuahua @crashmunson @wolfhallows4 @dustyinkypages @artemiss-moonchild @elliesim19997 @kibs-and-bits @awkwardlyshawna @bunbunbl0gs @ebnabi @wendigo-the-deer @pinkyrec (if your username is in red I can't tag you for some reason; to join the permanent taglist fill out this form)
which one from each group not only would be friends, but all be in a poly relationship
honestly just based on who i think gives the same vibes. i think pairings would actually be different to avoid power indifferences
adult content featured, read at own discretion
hongjoong x bang chan x sangyeon
leaders. alpha men. they may butt heads sometimes so you have to make a schedule for them. daddies for a reason. pure dominants (with love).
seonghwa x lee know x jacob
dedicated mothers of the group. will love and care for you tenderly, but their mom side will flip whenever you be bratty to them.
yuhno x hyunjin x juyeon x younghoon
height. hands. romantics. yes. need i say more???? also getting brat tamer vibes just a weeee bit — unpopular opinion.
yeosang x felix x new
sunshine vibes. with a dark side. high key into the freaky stuff. like real freaky. most unexpected ones always the freaks.
san x jisung x eric x hyunjae
don’t let the innocent faces fool you. have you seen jisung lately? he’s buff! each of them will love you so tenderly but will also throw you around (with love)
mingi x seungmin x haknyeon
men who act tough but are just big princesses. you could easily discipline them although they want to be the ones to discipline you. who’s the real dominant one in the relationship?
wooyoung x changbin x kevin x q
i get menace vibes. wooyoung and changbin are actually friends too so yeah. all them love you so much and just want to care for you
jongho x jeongin x sunwoo
the men who share you, but on different days. they require your attention 100%. skinship is no unless with you. also maknae line and what is it jeongin said? maknae on top.
Stray kids as Your Husband – SFW & NSFW Headcanons
my main list / Stray Kids Masterlist
Bang Chan:
SFW:
Bang Chan is the definition of a dream husband. He takes the “leader” role very seriously even at home, always making sure you feel loved, protected, and taken care of.
He wakes up before you most days just so he can make breakfast or at least prepare your favorite coffee. You’ll often find little sticky notes with sweet messages like “Have a good day, my love” or “I’m so proud of you” hidden in your bag or on the mirror.
He’s extremely affectionate in private. Loves pulling you into his chest for long hugs the second he walks through the door after a long day at the studio. No matter how tired he is, he always has energy to listen to you talk about your day, rubbing your back gently while you speak.
Chan is the type to plan cute at-home dates when his schedule is busy — movie nights with all your favorite snacks, building blanket forts, or slow dancing with you in the living room at 2 AM. He remembers every important date and surprises you with thoughtful gifts that show how well he knows you.
He’s very protective. Gets a little possessive when other people get too close to you, but he expresses it in the softest way — wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him while smiling politely. He calls you “baby”, “love”, “my wife” and “Mrs. Bang” all the time, and you can hear the pride in his voice every time.
He’s incredibly patient and understanding. On days when you’re feeling down, he becomes your safe place — running you a warm bath, washing your hair, and holding you tight until you fall asleep in his arms. He never raises his voice at you, even during arguments. Instead, he prefers to talk things through while holding your hands.
Physical touch is his biggest love language. He’s always touching you somehow — playing with your fingers, resting his hand on your thigh while driving, or cuddling you from behind while you cook. At night, he sleeps best when you’re tucked against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you.
He loves building a future with you. You’ll often catch him talking about “our house one day”, “our kids”, or “when we grow old together”. He makes you feel like you’re his greatest priority and his safe haven at the same time.
NSFW:
As your husband, Bang Chan’s possessiveness and desire for you only grow stronger. He no longer holds back — you’re his wife now, and he wants to claim every inch of you every single night.
He’s still incredibly attentive in bed, but there’s a much more dominant and hungry side to him now. He loves taking his time undressing you, kissing every new piece of skin he reveals while whispering how beautiful his wife is.
Chan has a massive size kink and breeding kink when it comes to you. He loves watching your face as he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you open with his thick cock. “Look at you taking your husband so well… so fucking tight for me even after all this time,” he’ll groan against your ear.
He’s obsessed with eye contact. He’ll fuck you in missionary with your legs over his shoulders, holding your hands above your head while he thrusts deep and slow, making sure you feel every inch. When he gets more desperate, he pounds into you harder, the sound of skin slapping filling the room as he growls, “You’re mine… my wife… gonna fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”
His dirty talk is constant and loving but filthy. He loves calling you “my good little wife”, “babygirl”, and “Mrs. Bang” while he’s buried deep inside you. When he’s close, he gets even dirtier — “Gonna breed this pretty pussy… want to put a baby in my wife… you want that, don’t you? Want your husband to cum deep inside you?”
He’s amazing with his mouth. Chan can spend ages between your legs, licking and sucking your pussy like he’s starving for you. He uses his tongue expertly on your clit while two thick fingers curl inside you, moaning against your folds because he loves how you taste. He won’t stop until you’ve cum at least twice on his tongue.
He also loves when you suck him off. He’ll sit back against the headboard, one hand gently holding your hair while you take him down your throat. “Fuck… look at my wife sucking my cock so beautifully,” he groans, his voice getting rougher the deeper you go.
Bang Chan can go for multiple rounds. After he cums inside you the first time, he’ll stay buried deep, slowly grinding his hips to push his load further in while kissing you messily. Then he flips you over and fucks you again from behind, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks as he pounds into you.
He has a thing for marking you. Loves leaving hickeys on your neck, breasts, and inner thighs — places only he gets to see. After sex, he’ll gently trace the marks with his fingers while whispering how much he loves you.
The aftercare is immaculate. Even after the most intense rounds, he becomes the softest husband again. He’ll carry you to the bathroom, clean you up gently, bring you water, and then pull you into his chest, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet nothings until you both fall asleep tangled together.
Lee Know
SFW:
Lee Know is the kind of husband who loves you quietly but deeply, in his own special way. He may not be the loudest with words, but his actions show how much he cherishes you every single day.
He’s incredibly attentive in small, meaningful ways. He remembers exactly how you like your tea or coffee, makes sure your favorite snacks are always stocked, and leaves Soonie, Doongie, and Dori with you when he has long schedules so you won’t feel lonely. Coming home to you and the cats is his favorite part of the day.
He’s surprisingly soft and clingy when it’s just the two of you. After a long day, he’ll crawl into your arms, bury his face in your neck, and let out a tired sigh while you play with his hair. He loves when you call him “jagiya” or “honey” — it makes his ears turn pink every time.
Lee Know is the husband who teases you constantly, but it’s always filled with love. He’ll make fun of the way you sneeze or how you dance around the kitchen, only to pull you close right after and kiss your forehead, whispering “You’re so cute, I can’t handle it.”
He’s very protective in a calm, steady way. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, he’ll step in quietly but firmly, placing himself between you and the person while giving them that signature cold stare. At home, he makes you feel completely safe and adored.
He loves quiet domestic moments with you — cooking together (even if he pretends to complain the whole time), watching dramas while tangled on the couch, or taking late-night walks with the cats. He’s the type to randomly buy you flowers or your favorite dessert just because he saw it and thought of you.
On tough days, he becomes your safe place. He’ll pull you onto his lap, wrap his arms around you, and stay like that for as long as you need, gently rubbing your back and pressing soft kisses to your temple. He doesn’t always know what to say, but he knows how to make you feel loved and calm.
He often calls you “my wife” with a gentle smile, like he still can’t believe he gets to say it. He loves planning small trips or cozy weekends just for the two of you, always making sure you feel like the most important person in his world.
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Even as your husband, Lee Know remains incredibly soft and intimate with you in bed. He’s not the aggressive type — instead, he’s deeply sensual, patient, and focused on making you feel cherished and pleasured.
He loves taking his time with you. He’ll undress you slowly, kissing every inch of skin he reveals, murmuring sweet praises like “So beautiful… my pretty wife” against your body. His touches are gentle but confident, hands sliding over your curves with adoration.
Lee Know is obsessed with kissing you during sex. He wants his lips on yours, on your neck, on your chest — constant, deep, and loving kisses while he moves inside you. He enjoys slow, deep thrusts, rolling his hips carefully so you feel every inch of him, savoring the way you moan softly against his mouth.
He’s incredibly good at oral. He loves going down on you, spreading your legs gently and licking your pussy with slow, deliberate strokes. He takes his time exploring every fold with his tongue, sucking softly on your clit while his fingers slide inside you, curling just right. He moans quietly against you because he genuinely loves your taste and the way your thighs tremble around his head.
When you go down on him, he gets adorably shy at first, but quickly melts. He’ll thread his fingers through your hair gently, watching you with half-lidded eyes and letting out soft, breathy moans. “Feels so good… my wife is so perfect,” he whispers, his voice getting huskier the closer he gets.
He has a quiet but strong breeding kink. While he’s buried deep inside you, he’ll hold you close and whisper things like “Want to fill you up… want to make a family with you one day” in that low, sweet voice. When he cums, he likes to stay inside you for a long time, gently rocking his hips as if he doesn’t want any drop to escape.
Lee Know prefers positions where he can stay close to you — missionary so he can kiss you deeply, or you on top so he can hold your waist and look up at your face with pure adoration. Even when the pleasure builds and his thrusts get a little faster, he remains tender, never rough.
After sex, he’s the king of aftercare. He’ll clean you up carefully with a warm towel, pull you into his chest, and cuddle you for hours. He loves falling asleep skin to skin, one arm wrapped securely around you while his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back, whispering “I love you” until you drift off.
Changbin
SFW:
Changbin is the softest, most loving, and whipped husband you could ever ask for. He’s big, strong, and looks intimidating to others, but with you he turns into the biggest teddy bear in the world.
He’s incredibly affectionate and never shy about showing it. The moment he comes home, he drops everything to find you and pull you into one of his famous bone-crushing hugs, lifting you off the ground while burying his face in your neck and mumbling “I missed my wife so much today.”
He loves spoiling you. Whether it’s buying you flowers, your favorite snacks, or random cute things he saw that reminded him of you, he’s always thinking of ways to make you smile. He calls you “baby”, “princess”, “my love” and “jagiya” constantly, and his voice gets extra soft when he says “my wife.”
Domestic life with him is pure comfort. He loves cooking with you (even if he’s not the best at it), dancing around the kitchen while music plays, and carrying you around the house just because he can. He’s the husband who will do anything you ask — cleaning, laundry, carrying heavy things — and he does it with a proud smile because he loves taking care of you.
Changbin is extremely clingy and needy for your attention. At night he becomes your personal heater, always wanting to cuddle. He loves when you lay on his broad chest and when you play with his hair or trace his muscles with your fingers. He gets all shy and giggly when you compliment how strong and handsome he is.
He’s very emotionally open with you. If he had a hard day at practice, he’ll come to you immediately, lay his head on your lap, and let you baby him. He feels safest when he’s being spoiled by his wife. anniversaries and special dates are always celebrated big — he plans romantic dinners or surprise getaways just to show how much he treasures you.
He’s protective but in the sweetest way. He’ll puff up his chest if anyone looks at you too long, but the second you hold his hand or call his name softly, he melts completely. You’re his biggest pride — he loves introducing you as “my beautiful wife” with the brightest smile.
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Even though Changbin is big and muscular, in the bedroom he’s surprisingly submissive and absolutely loves when you take full control. Being “dominated” by his wife turns him on more than anything else in the world.
He gets incredibly needy and desperate the moment you start commanding him. Just hearing you say “Be good for me, Binnie” or “Lay down, baby” makes him instantly hard. He loves being told what to do — where to touch you, how fast to move, when he’s allowed to cum.
His favorite thing is when you ride him. He’ll lay on his back, gripping the sheets tightly while you sink down on his thick cock, moaning loudly as you take control of the pace. He looks up at you with heart eyes, whimpering “Please… use me however you want, princess.”
Changbin has a massive praise kink. He melts when you tell him how good he feels inside you, how strong and pretty he looks when he’s falling apart for you. Words like “Good boy”, “Such a perfect husband for me”, and “You’re doing so well, baby” make him moan and twitch inside you.
He’s very vocal and whiny in bed. Expect lots of breathy moans, whimpers, and desperate “Please… I need you…” when you tease him or edge him. He loves being overstimulated — even after he cums, if you keep riding him he’ll cry out from sensitivity but beg you not to stop.
Other kinks he has(I'm sure of that, okay? )
- He loves when you mark him up. Hickeys on his neck, chest, and thighs make him feel claimed and owned by you.
- Light choking (your small hand around his thick neck) drives him crazy.
- He has a breeding kink too, but in a more submissive way — he loves when you tell him you’re going to “milk him dry” and make him fill you up.
- He’s obsessed with giving you oral. When you sit on his face he becomes euphoric, licking and sucking your pussy eagerly while moaning loudly against you, happy to stay there until you cum multiple times.
Even when he’s inside you, he prefers when you’re in control. He’ll thrust up into you only when you allow it, always asking “Can I move, baby? Please let me fuck you…” His hands will grip your hips tightly but he won’t take over unless you tell him to.
After sex he becomes even softer. He loves when you take care of him too — cleaning him up, cuddling him, and praising him while he rests his head on your chest. He’ll whisper “I love you so much… thank you for taking care of me” with the sweetest, most satisfied smile.
Hyunjin
SFW:
Hyunjin is, without a doubt, the most romantic and affectionate husband in the world. He loves you so deeply and openly that sometimes it feels like you’re living inside a romance movie.
He’s incredibly soft and gentle with you. Every morning he wakes you up with slow kisses all over your face, whispering “Good morning, my beautiful wife” in that smooth voice. He treats you like you’re the most precious thing in his life — because to him, you really are.
He’s a master at making you feel loved. He writes you little poems, draws portraits of you when you’re not looking, and surprises you with flowers “just because”. Date nights with him are always special — whether it’s a fancy dinner, dancing under the stars, or staying home where he sets up a pillow fort and slow dances with you in the living room.
Hyunjin is extremely clingy and touchy. He always needs to be close to you — holding your hand, resting his head on your shoulder, or pulling you onto his lap while he’s painting or watching movies. He loves when you play with his long hair and will literally purr if you scratch his scalp.
He’s the type of husband who gets emotional easily. Sometimes he looks at you and gets teary-eyed because he can’t believe he gets to call you his wife. He’s not afraid to tell you “I’m so in love with you” multiple times a day.
He venerates you in the sweetest ways. He calls you “my queen”, “my love”, “angel”, and “my beautiful wife” with so much adoration in his voice. He loves spoiling you — buying you beautiful clothes, jewelry, or anything that makes you feel like royalty. He’s always taking photos of you because he says he needs to capture your beauty forever.
Even on busy days, he makes time for you. He’ll send you selfies from the practice room or voice notes telling you how much he misses his wife. When he comes home, the first thing he does is find you and hug you for a long time, breathing you in like you’re his home.
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As your husband, Hyunjin’s love for you becomes even more intense and worshipful in the bedroom. He absolutely adores venerating your body and making you feel like a goddess.
He’s incredibly sensual and teasing. He loves to provoke you until you’re shaking with need. He’ll spend ages kissing down your body, lightly biting your inner thighs, licking and sucking marks into your skin while whispering filthy but romantic things like “Look at how wet you already are for me… my perfect wife.”
Hyunjin is completely obsessed with making you squirt. The first time he made you do it, he became addicted. Now, every time you have sex, he makes it his mission to make you squirt for him. He’ll finger you with those long, elegant fingers, curling them perfectly against your g-spot while sucking hard on your clit, refusing to stop even when your legs start shaking. When you finally squirt all over his hand and face, his eyes light up with pure pride and lust as he moans “That’s it, baby… give it to me. Squirt for your husband again.”
He loves going down on you for a long time. He eats you out like he’s worshiping you — slow, deep licks mixed with intense sucking on your clit. He moans against your pussy because he genuinely loves your taste, and he gets even more turned on when you pull his hair and ride his face.
When you ride him, he becomes a complete mess. He lays back, hands gripping your hips, looking up at you with hazy, lovesick eyes while you take control. He loves when you use him for your pleasure, whispering “Use me, my love… ride your husband however you want.”
He’s very vocal and romantic even during sex. He constantly praises you — “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me”, “I love how you feel around me”, “You’re my everything”. He can go from sweet to provocatively dirty in seconds: “Come on, angel… let me feel you soak me again. I know my wife can give me more.”
Hyunjin especially loves positions where he can see your face and watch every expression you make. He’ll fuck you slow and deep in missionary, kissing you passionately while grinding against you, then suddenly speed up when he feels you getting close, determined to make you squirt all over his cock.
He has a strong worship kink. He loves kissing and licking every part of your body — your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, and especially your pussy after you cum. He’ll clean you up with his tongue while telling you how perfect you are.
After sex, he becomes even softer. He’ll pull you into his arms, kiss every inch of your face, and hold you close while whispering sweet nothings. He loves falling asleep with your bodies pressed together, his long fingers gently stroking your back as he tells you how much he loves being your husband.
Felix
SFW:
Felix is the type of husband that makes people around you jealous because he’s genuinely the sweetest, softest, and most caring man in the world. Everyone who sees the way he treats you says the same thing: “My God, he’s the most affectionate and loving husband I’ve ever seen.”
He’s incredibly gentle and warm with you. Every single day he makes sure you feel completely loved. He wakes you up with the softest kisses, his deep voice whispering “Good morning, my love” or “Wake up, beautiful wife” while stroking your hair. He loves hugging you from behind while you’re doing anything — cooking, brushing your teeth, or working — and resting his chin on your shoulder, breathing you in like you’re his favorite scent in the world.
Felix is extremely thoughtful. He remembers every little thing about you: your favorite flowers, the exact way you like your coffee, the songs that make you emotional, and even the small details like how you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating. He surprises you constantly — leaving love notes inside your bag, buying you skincare products because he noticed your skin was dry, or planning cozy movie nights with all your favorite snacks and blankets.
He’s the biggest cuddler. At home he’s always touching you in some way. He loves when you sit on his lap while he plays games or when you lay on his chest while watching dramas. His favorite moment of the day is when he can finally come home, pull you into his arms, and stay like that for hours, talking about everything and nothing while his deep voice vibrates against your ear.
He calls you the cutest nicknames in the softest tone: “sunshine”, “angel”, “my pretty wife”, “babygirl”, and “love of my life”. When he says “my wife”, his eyes sparkle with pure pride and adoration. He’s not afraid to show how whipped he is for you — he posts pictures of you two with the sweetest captions and loves telling everyone how lucky he is to be married to you.
Felix is incredibly patient and understanding. On days when you’re tired or overwhelmed, he becomes your safe haven. He’ll run you a warm bath with your favorite scents, wash your hair with the gentlest touch, cook your comfort food, and then hold you close while humming softly until you fall asleep in his arms. He makes you feel like the most cherished person on earth.
He dreams about building a beautiful future with you. You’ll often catch him talking about “our home”, “our future kids”, or “growing old together” with the brightest smile. He wants to give you the entire world and makes sure you never doubt how deeply he loves you.
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While Felix is the sweetest and most angelic husband on the outside, behind closed doors he becomes an entirely different person — dominant, intense, and incredibly commanding.
His deep voice is his biggest weapon. The moment he switches into dom mode, that low, raspy Australian accent becomes pure sin. He loves using it to control you completely. A simple “On your knees, baby” or “Be quiet and take what I give you” said in that velvet voice is enough to make your legs shake.
Felix has strong BDSM tendencies and loves incorporating them into your sex life (always with clear consent and aftercare). He enjoys light impact play — spanking your ass hard until it’s red and marked with his handprints, then soothing the skin right after with gentle kisses. He loves choking you just enough to make you feel owned, his large hand wrapped around your throat while he looks into your eyes and growls “You’re mine, understand?”
He’s very into degradation mixed with praise. He’ll call you “my dirty little wife”, “greedy slut”, or “such a desperate whore for your husband” in that deep voice, only to follow it up with “but you’re so fucking perfect like this… taking everything I give you so well.”
He loves putting you in submissive positions where he has full control: fucking you from behind while pulling your hair, bending you over the desk or the kitchen counter, or tying your hands with his belt or silk ties. His favorite is missionary where he can pin your wrists above your head with one hand and fuck you deep and hard while maintaining intense eye contact.
Felix is obsessed with power exchange. He loves when you obey him instantly — spreading your legs wider when he commands, or asking for permission to cum. When you’re being especially good, he rewards you with the most mind-blowing orgasms. When you’re bratty, he enjoys punishing you with edging, overstimulating you until you’re crying and begging.
He has incredible stamina. He can fuck you for hours — switching between rough, deep thrusts that make the bed shake and slow, teasing rolls of his hips that drive you insane. He loves making you squirm and moan loudly, pushing you to your limits and then pulling you back just to do it all over again.
Even when he’s being rough and dominant, there’s still an underlying layer of love. Between degrading words and hard spanks, he’ll lean down and kiss you passionately, whispering “I love you so much” against your lips while still pounding into you mercilessly.
After every intense session, Felix turns back into the softest husband imaginable. The aftercare is long and loving — he cleans you up gently, checks if you’re okay, brings you water, and holds you tightly against his chest. He’ll stroke your hair, kiss every mark he left on your body, and whisper sweet praises like “You did so well for me, my love… my perfect wife” until you fall asleep feeling completely safe and adored.
Han
SFW:
Han is the definition of a whipped, loving, and incredibly affectionate husband. He’s completely head over heels for you and doesn’t even try to hide it. To everyone around, it’s obvious how much he adores his wife — he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
He’s extremely clingy and touchy in the sweetest way. The second he gets home, he’s already searching for you, calling out “Jagiya~” in that cute voice until he finds you. He loves attacking you with kisses — quick pecks all over your face, long kisses on your lips, and soft kisses on your neck while he hugs you tightly from behind. He can spend minutes just kissing you without saying anything, like he can’t get enough of your taste.
Han is the type of husband who lives to make you happy. He obeys you so easily in daily life — whether it’s running to the store because you want something, doing chores the way you like, or changing plans last minute just because you asked. He genuinely loves when you take the lead and tell him what to do. “Yes, baby” and “Whatever you want, my wife” are phrases you hear from him all the time.
He’s incredibly playful and fun to live with. The house is always filled with laughter because of his silly jokes and random aegyo. But underneath all the chaos, he’s deeply emotional and soft. He loves cuddling on the couch for hours, laying his head on your chest while you play with his hair, or falling asleep wrapped around you like a koala.
Han is the king of random affection. He’ll send you voice notes throughout the day full of “I miss you”, “I love you so much”, and cute sounds. He brings home little gifts — snacks he knows you like, a plushie he thought was cute, or flowers he saw on the way home. He calls you “my wife”, “baby”, “princess”, and “noona” (even if you’re not older) with the brightest smile.
When he does something wrong or upsets you even a little, he turns into the cutest puppy. He looks at you with those big, round, sparkling eyes full of regret, pouting and saying “I’m sorry… please don’t be mad at me…” He knows exactly how weak you are to his puppy eyes, and most of the time you end up forgiving him quickly while he smiles victoriously and showers you with even more kisses.
He’s incredibly supportive and proud of you. He cheers for you louder than anyone, brags about you to the members, and always tells you how amazing his wife is. Being married to you makes him feel like the luckiest man alive, and he never lets a day go by without reminding you how much he loves you.
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In the bedroom, Han is an extremely desperate and eager submissive for his wife. He lives to obey you and please you in every possible way. The more you dominate him, the more turned on and needy he becomes.
He has almost every submissive fetish you can imagine. He loves being told what to do, being ordered around, and serving you completely. Whether you want him on his knees, tied up, edged for hours, or used as your personal toy — he’s more than happy to comply. “Yes, ma’am”, “Whatever you want, baby”, and “Please use me” are things he says breathlessly while looking at you with pure desperation in his eyes.
Han is insanely kissy during sex. Even when you’re dominating him, he’s constantly trying to kiss you — deep, messy, desperate kisses. He’ll whine into your mouth while you ride him, kiss your neck and chest when you let him, and beg for kisses as a reward when he’s being good. Kissing you turns him on almost as much as being dominated.
He gets incredibly whiny and vocal when he’s needy. Expect lots of desperate moans, whimpers, and broken “Please… I’ll be good… I promise…” He loves being punished. If he does something “wrong” (like touching you without permission or cumming too early), he’ll look up at you with those big puppy eyes, pouting and begging for forgiveness while his cock twitches with excitement. Most of the time you forgive him quickly because he looks too adorable, but sometimes you make him wait and suffer a little longer just to hear him whine more.
His favorite thing is when you take complete control. He loves when you ride him hard, when you edge him until he’s crying, when you sit on his face and use his mouth for your pleasure, or when you make him wear a collar while you stroke him slowly. He has a strong praise kink too — every “Good boy”, “You’re doing so well for me”, or “Such an obedient husband” makes him melt and leak precum instantly.
Han especially loves being overstimulated. After he cums, if you keep touching him or riding him, he becomes a shaking, whimpering mess — tears in his eyes, body twitching, but still begging “Don’t stop… please… I can take it for you.”
He’s very into body worship from the submissive side. He loves kissing and licking every part of your body when you allow it — especially your thighs, your pussy, and your breasts. When you sit on his face, he eats you out like a starving man, moaning loudly and desperately trying to make you cum as many times as possible.
Even in his most submissive moments, there’s so much love. Between desperate whimpers and pleas, he’ll look at you with heart eyes and whisper “I love you… I love being yours…”
Aftercare with him is incredibly sweet. Once the scene is over, he becomes extra clingy and soft. He’ll nuzzle into your neck, cover you with small kisses, and let you baby him while he recovers. He loves when you praise him and tell him how good he was, falling asleep in your arms with a satisfied, lovesick smile on his face.
Seungmin
SFW:
Seungmin is the type of husband who shows his love in quiet, meaningful ways rather than grand gestures. His affection is subtle but incredibly deep and consistent — the kind that makes you feel truly cherished once you notice all the little things he does for you.
He’s not overly loud or clingy in public, but in private he becomes much softer. He expresses his love through small, thoughtful actions: making sure your favorite mug is clean and ready in the morning, leaving your favorite snacks on the counter with a small note, remembering exactly how you like your coffee or tea, and quietly taking care of things around the house before you even have to ask.
He loves listening to you. After a long day, he’ll sit beside you on the couch or in bed, gently playing with your fingers while you talk about everything that happened. He doesn’t always say much, but his attentive gaze and occasional soft “Hmm” or “That sounds tough” show how much he cares. He’s the husband who remembers the smallest details you mention in passing and brings them up weeks later.
Seungmin has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that he only fully unleashes with you. He teases you constantly in that signature deadpan way, but it’s always filled with affection. Right after teasing you, he’ll pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your temple or the top of your head, murmuring “You know I’m just joking, right? I love you.”
He’s incredibly reliable and steady. You can always count on him — whether it’s picking you up when it’s raining, helping you with work, or simply being there when you need quiet comfort. On days when you’re feeling down, he doesn’t overwhelm you with words. Instead, he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind, rest his chin on your shoulder, and stay like that until you feel better.
He calls you “wife” in a soft, almost shy way when it’s just the two of you. He also uses “baby” and “jagiya” sparingly, but when he does, his voice carries so much warmth. He loves holding your hand under the table or resting his hand on your thigh while watching movies. His favorite moments are the quiet ones — reading together, listening to music, or simply existing in comfortable silence while tangled up on the couch.
Even though he’s discreet with his affection, the love he has for you is profound. He shows it by always choosing you, by being patient, by making you feel safe, and by being the calm presence you can always lean on. He may not say “I love you” every five minutes, but when he does say it, it carries the weight of all the quiet ways he’s been loving you every day.
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In the bedroom, Seungmin is a perfect switch with a strong submissive lean. He’s not fully desperate like some of the others, but he deeply enjoys when you take control and push his limits, especially with overstimulation and toys.
He loves when you use toys on him. Vibrators, cock rings, prostate massagers, plugs — he’s very open to almost anything as long as it’s you controlling the pleasure. He particularly enjoys being edged for a long time. You can have him trembling and biting his lip while you slowly stroke him with a toy, bringing him right to the edge and then stopping, over and over again until he’s breathing heavily and quietly begging with that husky voice.
Seungmin is very responsive to overstimulation. After he cums once, he becomes incredibly sensitive, but he secretly loves when you keep going — using your hand, mouth, or toys to keep working him until he’s shaking, thighs twitching, and letting out those rare broken moans and whimpers. He’ll grip the sheets tightly, eyes half-lidded, murmuring “Fuck… baby, it’s too much…” even as his hips unconsciously push up for more.
He enjoys being told what to do, but he also likes a bit of push and pull. Sometimes he’ll be a little bratty on purpose just to see how you’ll react and punish him. He finds it incredibly hot when you pin him down, use a commanding tone, or make him keep a toy inside him while you ride his face or use his cock for your own pleasure.
Even when he’s submitting, there’s a certain elegance to it. He loves eye contact. He’ll look up at you with dark, intense eyes while you’re on top of him or while you’re using toys on him, letting you see exactly how much he’s feeling. He’s not super loud, but the quiet, breathy sounds he makes when he’s close or being overstimulated are addicting.
He also loves when you use him for your pleasure. Sitting on his face is one of his favorites — he’ll hold your thighs gently but firmly, licking and sucking your pussy with focused dedication until you cum, and even then he won’t stop unless you tell him to.
After intense sessions, Seungmin becomes incredibly soft and cuddly. The contrast is beautiful — one moment he’s trembling from overstimulation, the next he’s nuzzling into your neck, seeking comfort and affection. He loves when you praise him quietly (“You took it so well, Min”) and when you take care of him during aftercare — cleaning him up, holding him close, and stroking his hair while he recovers.
Jeongin
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Jeongin is the definition of a freshly married, lovesick husband who is still in the honeymoon phase even months after the wedding. Because your marriage is still relatively new, he’s constantly in awe that he actually gets to call you his wife. He’s incredibly soft, gentle, and ridiculously affectionate with you in every possible way.
He’s still getting used to married life in the cutest way. Sometimes he’ll randomly smile while looking at the wedding ring on your finger and blush when you catch him. He loves saying “my wife” out loud — it still gives him butterflies every single time. You’ll often hear him practicing it quietly to himself when he thinks you’re not listening: “My wife… yeah, she’s my wife.”
Jeongin is extremely caring and thoughtful. He wakes up early just to make you breakfast, even if he’s sleepy, because he wants to start your day feeling loved. He packs little snacks for you, sends good morning and good night texts with the sweetest messages, and always checks if you’ve eaten or if you’re feeling cold. Small acts of service are his love language — folding your clothes, warming up your side of the bed before you get in, or carrying your bag without being asked.
He’s incredibly clingy and cuddly. At home, he follows you around like a puppy. He loves hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, and peppering your neck and cheeks with soft kisses. He’s not afraid to be openly affectionate — he’ll pull you onto his lap while watching TV, nuzzle into your neck, and sigh happily when you play with his hair.
Jeongin is the type of husband who gets shy easily, but with you he tries his best to be brave. He writes you little love notes and hides them in places you’ll find later. He gets genuinely excited about planning dates, even simple ones at home, and always wants to know what makes you happiest. He brags about you to the members in the most adorable way, showing them pictures and saying “Look how pretty my wife is.”
He’s very protective in a gentle way. If you’re upset or having a bad day, he becomes your safe place. He’ll pull you into his chest, wrap his arms around you tightly, and stay there as long as you need, whispering “It’s okay, I’m here” while gently stroking your back. He hates seeing you sad and will do anything to make you smile again.
Even after being married for a while, he still gets flustered when you call him “husband” or when you do something sweet for him. He’s just so genuinely happy and in love that it shows in everything he does.
NSFW
As your husband, Jeongin is incredibly soft, loving, and eager to please you in bed. He’s still discovering his confidence as a married man, but what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for with pure enthusiasm and adoration — especially when it comes to oral.
Jeongin is completely obsessed with eating you out. It’s easily one of his favorite things in the world. He loves going down on you for long periods of time, treating it like his personal mission to make you feel as good as possible. He’ll spread your legs gently, settle between them, and look up at you with those big sparkling eyes before diving in.
He eats your pussy with so much passion and care. He starts slow, placing soft kisses on your inner thighs and over your folds, then uses his tongue to lick you from bottom to top, savoring every drop. He’s amazing at focusing on your clit — sucking it gently between his lips, flicking his tongue in steady rhythms, and humming happily against you because he genuinely loves your taste. When you start moaning and pulling his hair, he gets even more into it, licking faster and pushing his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose rubs against your clit.
He can stay between your legs for hours if you let him. He loves when you ride his face — he’ll grab your thighs and pull you down harder, moaning loudly into your pussy as you grind against his tongue. Multiple orgasms are his goal every single time. He won’t stop until you’re shaking, thighs trembling around his head, and even then he’ll keep licking softly through your sensitivity, cleaning you up with gentle strokes of his tongue.
Because he’s still getting used to married life, he’s very attentive and responsive to your reactions. He learns quickly what you like best and always asks “Is this good, baby?” or “Does it feel nice?” while looking up at you from between your legs with flushed cheeks and glossy lips.
When it’s time for him to be inside you, he’s still incredibly sweet and loving. He prefers positions where he can see your face — especially missionary so he can kiss you deeply while thrusting into you. He’s not overly rough, but he can get passionately intense, especially when he’s close. His moans are beautiful and a little shy at first, but they get louder and needier the better it feels.
He has a soft breeding kink that comes out when he’s really lost in pleasure. While buried deep inside you, he’ll whisper breathlessly “Want to fill you up… want to make you feel so full, my wife…” and cum with his face hidden in your neck, holding you tight.
After sex, Jeongin becomes even softer. He loves skin-to-skin contact and will pull you straight into his arms, covering your face with gentle kisses while catching his breath. He always asks if you’re okay, if it felt good, and then cuddles you close, playing with your hair or rubbing your back until you both fall asleep tangled together.
pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader
wc: 23 ss
tags/warnings: soulmate!au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, some angst, mutual pining, poor communication, cursing
part one // part two // part three
masterlist
Summary: Everyone has their soulmate's first words to them tattooed on their skin, which might be helpful if yours didn't just say a generic "Hi." Your best friend Chan has the same one—well, that's what he told you.
a/n: Part 1 of my 1K follower event! This one was built from polls that I ran a little bit ago. Thanks to everyone who voted in the polls to shape this series. Hope you enjoy!
part two
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⟢ ┆ stray kids x reader. ot8. new relationship. nsfw.
⟢ author’s note: hello, hello!! i’ve been a bit mia this past month and i got quite a few requests for some reason, so today i felt like writing this one about either y/n or skz!member waking up alone after their first time together. it was fun to write it and i hope it’s fun to read<3
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of feeling like a burden, feeling weak, not being enough, overprotectiveness, arguments
[XAVIER, ZAYNE, RAFAYEL, SYLUS, CALEB]
XAVIER
The fight wasn't even supposed to happen.
You'd come back from a solo patrol, all scratched up but alive. Wanderers had appeared faster than the mission intel had let in on, and you'd pushed through alone because backup was twenty minutes out and you weren't about to let civilians get caught in the crossfire. Standard hunter protocol.
Xavier was waiting at your apartment door when you limped in. Still in his uniform, hair a mess like he'd run straight from the association the second he heard the report. His eyes, usually soft with a trace of amusement, were sharp.
"You're hurt again," he says, voice steady. His gaze drags over the blood on your sleeve, the bruise blooming across your cheek.
"I'm fine." You try to brush past him. "Just need a shower and some sleep."
He catches your wrist. Gentle but firm enough you can't pull away. "You could've waited."
"I didn't have time to wait. People were going to die, Xavier."
His jaw tightens. "And you almost did."
You yank your arm free. "But I didn't. That's the job. That's my job."
Something flickers in his expression, something raw, something he’s been carrying for a long time. He steps closer, voice dropping low. "You need to stop being so reckless. Charging in like that... it's stupid. You're going to get yourself killed one day, and I-" He cuts off, exhales hard through his nose. "I can't keep watching you throw yourself away."
The words land like a slap.
He knows. He knows how much weight those words carry to you. How many nights you've spent curled against him whispering about the fear that you're not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough, not careful enough. That every time you come home bleeding it's proof you're still failing the people who count on you. That deep down you worry you're just a liability dressed up as a hero.
And he just called it stupid.
Your throat closes. Eyes burn. You stare at him, waiting for him to take it back, the soft apology he always gives when he realizes he's gone too far.
It doesn't come.
Instead he just stands there, breathing uneven, looking like he wants to reach for you again but doesn't trust his own hands.
You turn away. "Get out."
He doesn't move at first.
"Get. Out."
The door shuts behind him quieter than it should. Like even the hinges are trying not to make it worse.
You don't cry until you're in the shower. Hot water mixes with salt and you press your forehead to the tile, replaying it on loop.
Stupid.
He didn't mean it. You know he didn't. Xavier never means the sharp things that slip out when he's scared. But knowing doesn't stop it from carving deeper.
You avoid him for three days.
Missions. Paperwork. Extra patrols. Anything that keeps you out of the apartment, out of association’s common areas, out of range of those blue eyes that always find you too easily.
He texts once.
I'm sorry. Please talk to me.
You read it. Delete it. Turn your phone face down.
On day four he shows up at your door again. Leaning against the frame like he's been waiting hours. Eyes shadowed. Uniform rumpled. He looks like he hasn't slept.
You freeze in the hallway, grocery bag in hand.
He straightens slowly. "I know you don't want to see me."
You don't answer. Just stare at the floor between you.
He takes one step closer, stops when you flinch. "I was wrong," he says quietly. "What I said... it was cruel. I was angry and terrified and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."
Still nothing from you.
His voice cracks the smallest amount. "You aren't stupid. You're the bravest person I know. You run into danger so other people don't have to, and I-“ He swallows. "I hate it. I hate that I can't protect you from everything. I hate that every time you leave I wonder if this is the time you don't come back. But that's my fear, it’s not your fault. And I never should have made you feel like your courage is anything less than... everything that it is."
He sounds wrecked. Like saying it hurts more than the silence ever could.
You finally look up. His eyes are red rimmed. Hair falling into his face. He looks smaller than you've ever seen him.
"I didn't mean it," he whispers. "Not even a little. I was lashing out because I can't lose you. Not again." He stops. Shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
You don't move.
He doesn't push. Hands loose at his sides, itching to touch you but he waits.
Minutes pass. Rain starts tapping the hallway window.
Finally you speak. Voice small. "It hurt."
"I know."
"More than you know."
His shoulders drop.
You step forward. Just one step. Close enough to smell the faint scent of cedar and fresh air that always clings to him.
He doesn't reach for you. Lets you decide.
You do.
Your forehead bumps his chest. His arms come around you instantly, careful, trembling. Like he's scared you'll vanish if he holds too tight.
"I'm sorry," he breathes into your hair. Over and over. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."
You don't say it's okay yet. Not quite.
But you don't pull away either.
He stays like that for a long time. Rain outside. Heartbeats loud in the quiet. Him murmuring apologies against your temple until the words blur into soft nonsense.
When you finally let him inside, he doesn't try to kiss you. Doesn't push for more.
He just sits on your couch, pulls you into his lap, and holds you like you're the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
And maybe you are.
He spends the rest of the night proving, with quiet words, gentle touches, and the way he refuses to let go even when you pretend to sleep, that he will never let those words live between you again.
ZAYNE
It starts over something small. Or at least, it feels small until it isn't.
You've been pushing yourself lately, extra missions, ignoring the twinges in your chest, the way your evol resonance is getting weaker. Zayne's noticed. Of course he has. He's your doctor. Your primary physician. The one who knows every scar on your heart, literal and otherwise.
He's been gentle about it at first. Texts reminding you to rest. Quiet suggestions during check ups. But tonight, after you collapse into his apartment post mission, dizzy, short of breath, lying about how bad it was, he cracks.
"You're not invincible," he says, voice clipped as he checks your pulse. His fingers are cool against your wrist. "You keep ignoring the signs, and one day your heart won't forgive you."
You roll your eyes from the couch. "It's fine, Zayne. I handled it."
"You didn't." He sets his glasses down harder than necessary. "Your vitals are erratic. Again. Because you refuse to listen."
Irritation flares. You're tired. Sore. The last thing you need is another lecture. "I'm a hunter. This is what I do. You can't wrap me in bubble wrap forever."
His eyes narrow, that rare flash of real anger. "And I can't keep fixing you forever either. Do you even think about what this does to the people around you? To me?"
You sit up too fast. The room spins a little. "What, like I'm some burden you have to carry? I didn't ask for this heart. Or for you to play savior every time."
He freezes. Then, in a voice so low it's almost a whisper: "Maybe if you weren't so hell bent on destroying yourself, you wouldn't be a burden at all. You're not just risking your life, you're making everyone else's harder. Including mine. Sometimes I wonder if you even care about the guilt you leave behind."
The words hang in the air. Sharp and unforgiving.
You've confessed it to him in the dark, tears soaking his shirt,
“I feel like I'm always making you suffer because of me. Like I'm not enough to stand on my own.”
And he just... threw it back in your face.
Your chest tightens, not from your condition, but from the way everything inside you crumples.
Zayne's expression shifts the second it leaves his mouth. Regret floods his eyes. He reaches for you. "I didn't-"
"Don't." You stand, grabbing your coat. Voice steady even as it breaks inside. "Don't touch me."
He doesn't follow when you leave. Just stands there in the doorway, watching you go with that unreadable face he wears like armor.
You don't go home. You crash at a hotel. Turn off your phone. Cry until there's nothing left.
The next morning, you march into Akso Hospital. Request a transfer of primary physician. The admin looks confused
"Dr. Li is one of our best, are you sure?" but you nod. Firm on your decision.
Dr. Greyson gets your file.
You avoid the cardiology wing for a week. Take the long way to appointments. Duck into stairwells if you spot that familiar figure.
But hospitals are small. You cross paths eventually.
The first time is in the hallway near radiology. He rounds the corner, charts in hand. Freezes when he sees you.
You look through him. Keep walking. His footsteps falter behind you, but he doesn't call out.
Second time’s in the cafeteria. You're grabbing coffee. He's at a table, alone, staring at his untouched lunch. Your eyes meet across the room.
He stands. Mouths your name.
You turn away. Leave the line. Dump the cup in the trash on your way out.
Then, the elevator. Just the two of you. He steps in after you, presses his floor. The air thickens.
"I-" he starts.
The doors open. You bolt without a glance.
He doesn't try again that day.
He’s unraveling in his office.
Zayne doesn't break easy. He's built his life on control; schedules, scalpels, steady hands. But alone, door locked, he crumbles.
Paces the small space. Sits at his desk. Stands again. Checks his phone for the hundredth time, no messages. Your contact photo stares back: you laughing in his arms, snow in your hair from that trip to Chansia.
He slams the phone down. So hard the screen cracks.
Regret coils in his gut. He replays the argument on loop, your face when he said it, the way you recoiled like he'd struck you. Worse than any physical blow.
He skips meals. Works doubles to fill the void. Snaps at nurses over nothing. Greyson mentions your transfer in passing and Zayne just nods. Excuses himself. Locks the office door and presses his palms to his eyes until the burning stops.
Nights are worse. His apartment echoes without you. He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining every scenario where he loses you for good. Your heart failing because he wasn't there. You moving on with someone who doesn't carry this baggage. Or worse, you hating him enough to never look back.
He drowns in his self pity. Whispers apologies to empty rooms.
Two weeks in, he can't take it.
He gives you space, or tries. But seeing you in the hospital chips away at him.
A sigh. "Physically? She’s fine. Emotionally? She asked not to discuss you."
Zayne nods. Walks away. Punches the wall in the stairwell hard enough to bruise his knuckles.
That night, he breaks. Shows up at your apartment, looking a mess.
You open the door. See him. Start to close it.
His hand catches the frame. Gentle. Pleading. "Please. Five minutes."
You let him in. Not because you want to. Because he looks like a ghost, pale, hollow eyed, like he hasn't slept since that night.
He doesn't sit. Stands in your entryway. "I was wrong," he says immediately. Voice raw. "What I said... it was unforgivable. I was angry. At myself, mostly. For not being able to protect you. For watching you suffer and feeling helpless. But I took it out on you. On the one thing I know hurts you most."
You cross your arms. Stare at the floor. "You knew. You knew how much I hate feeling like a burden. Like I'm just... broken."
He flinches. "I know. And I used it like a weapon. Because in that moment, I wanted you to hurt like I was hurting. It was selfish and cruel. I regret it every second since."
Silence stretches between you. The snowfall outside clings to the windows.
"Why should I believe you?" Your voice is small, unsteady.
He steps closer. Like he’s approaching something fragile. "Because without you, I'm the one who's broken. These weeks... they've been hell. Seeing you in the halls, knowing I've lost the right to even ask how you are. Knowing I drove you to someone else for care because I couldn't be trusted with your heart anymore."
His voice breaks on that last word. Heart. Yours, his.
"I don't deserve forgiveness," he continues. "Not yet. But I'll earn it. However long it takes. I’ll give you as much space as you need. But please... don't shut me out forever."
You look up then. See the tears he doesn't bother hiding. The way his hands tremble at his sides.
It's not okay.
But you nod. Once. "Start by leaving. I need time."
He does. No argument. Just a quiet "I love you" on his way out.
The next day, flowers arrive at your door. Jasmines. Note in his handwriting: I'm sorry. Take all the time you need.
Then chocolates. The ones from that shop you mentioned once.
Then a book, the one you'd been eyeing.
Small things. Consistent.
You ignore him at the hospital still. But the edge softens. A nod in the hall one day. A brief "Good morning" the next.
He clings to them like lifelines.
A month later, you request the transfer back. Greyson's good, but he's not Zayne. No one knows your history like he does.
The first appointment is professional. But when it's over, he lingers. "Thank you," he says softly. "For trusting me again."
You meet his eyes. "Don't make me regret it."
"I won't."
Outside the exam room, he exhales. Leans against the wall. Smiles for the first time in weeks.
It's slow after that. Dinners. Walks. Him opening up about his own fears, the nightmares where he loses you, the weight of his oath clashing with his love.
One night, curled on his couch, you whisper: "I forgive you."
He pulls you close. Buries his face in your hair. "Thank you," he breathes. Over and over.
He never lets those words, or any like them, cross his mind again. Not even in anger.
RAFAYEL
You’re both still damp when you stumble back to his studio.
You’d followed him on one of his saviour plots again, not because he asked, but because you couldn’t let him go alone. Not after the way his eyes had darkened when he talked about the latest lead on the people who’d hunted his kind. You’d fought beside him, bled beside him, watched him lose himself in spirits of his past while facing humans who keep his people as decor.
You thought it meant something. That standing in the cold current together, watching him free someone from captivity, meant you were finally crossing the invisible line he always drew between you.
Apparently not.
He’s quiet the whole walk back. The kind of quiet that makes the air feel thick.
You try to break it when you step inside, peel off your soaked jacket, kick off boots, reach for the towel he tosses you without looking.
“Rafayel? You okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands by the tall windows, staring out at the black ocean like it owes him something. Water drips from his hair onto the floorboards in slow plinks.
Then, finally: “You shouldn’t have come.”
You freeze mid reach for the towel. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice is soft. The dangerous kind of soft he gets right before he says something that cuts. “You never should have followed me down there tonight.”
Anger flares fast. “I wasn’t going to let you go alone. You could’ve died.”
He laughs, short, bitter, nothing like his usual teasing lilt. “Died? Please. I’ve been dealing with this for longer than you’ve been breathing.”
You step closer. “That’s not the point-”
“The point,” he cuts in, finally turning to face you, “is that you keep throwing yourself into my wars like it makes you part of them. Like it makes you understand.”
Your stomach drops. “I’m trying to understand. I’ve been trying since-”
“Since when?” He tilts his head, eyes glittering under the low studio lights. Condescending. Almost pitying. “Since you conveniently forgot the first time we met?”
The room tilts.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You think charging into something you don’t understand fixes that?” he continues, voice silky and cruel. “You think bleeding a little makes up for years I carried alone? You’ll never truly understand, will you? Not really. You’re human. You get to forget. I don’t.”
The exact fears you’ve had ever since you’ve gotten closer, that no matter how much you love him, there will always be a chasm. That you’re inadequate because you can’t carry the same weight he does.
And he just… confirmed it. In the most condescending tone he’s ever used with you.
Your throat closes. Eyes burn. You stare at him, waiting for the flinch. The immediate regret. The way he usually backpedals when he sees your face crumple.
It doesn’t come.
Instead he just watches you with that same detached, almost academic curiosity. Like he’s studying how deep the wound goes.
You don’t scream. Don’t cry.
You just turn. Grab your wet jacket. Head for the door.
“Running away already?” he calls after you. Still soft and sharp, all the same.
You don’t answer.
The door closes behind you with a click that sounds final.
You don’t go back to Mo Art studio for days.
You stay at your apartment. Take extra commissions that keep you busy. Avoid every beach, every gallery showing his work, every place that reminds you of him.
He doesn’t text at first. Then one message days later:
Come back.
You delete it.
Days pass and a painting is delivered to your door. A small canvas. Just your silhouette against a stormy sea, the same view from the island where you first kissed after he saved you from drowning. There’s no note, just the painting.
You hang it facing the wall.
Then, he shows up outside your building. Doesn’t come inside. Just stands under the streetlamp in the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, coat dripping, looking like something the tide dragged in.
You watch from the window for ten minutes. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t wave. Just waits.
You close the curtains.
Inside, he’s losing his mind.
Rafayel has always been trying to get your attention, theatrical sighs, exaggerated pouts, the whole artist temperament. But this is different.
He paints obsessively. Canvases everywhere. All of them you, angry, sad, laughing, sleeping. Some half finished, some torn. He can’t get the eyes right. Keeps scrubbing them out until the canvas rips.
He talks to the empty studio. “Stupid. So stupid. Why did I say that?”
He knows why. Fear. The same fear that’s lived in him since the day you walked back into his life as an adult. The terror that you’ll leave again, not because you want to, but because you’ll realize you were never meant to stay. That the gap is too wide.
He drinks too much wine. Smashes a bottle against the wall when the silence gets too loud. Cuts his hand. Doesn’t bother bandaging it. Just lets it drip onto the floor like paint.
Nights are the worst. He curls on the couch where you usually fall asleep against him, hugging the pillow that still smells faintly of your shampoo. Whispers apologies into it like it can carry them to you.
He doesn’t sleep.
On day ten, he can’t take it anymore.
He doesn’t knock this time. He uses the spare key you gave him months ago.
You’re on the couch when the door opens. You don’t move, silently staring at him.
He looks wrecked. Eyes bloodshot. Shirt untucked. Bandage on his hand soaked through.
He doesn’t step farther than the entryway. Like he’s afraid crossing the threshold will make you run again.
“I was wrong,” he says. Voice hoarse. “Everything I said… I didn’t mean any of it. I was terrified. You almost died down there. And I thought- if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you finally realized you can’t fix me. That you can’t carry what I carry.”
He swallows. “But you’ve never tried to fix me. You just… stay. Even when I make it impossible. Even when I throw every insecurity I know you have back in your face like it’s nothing.”
He takes one careful step closer. Stops when you tense.
“You do understand,” he whispers. “More than I deserve. You remembered how to find me. How to love me. That’s more than I ever thought I’d get.”
Silence.
Then, quieter: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll spend every day proving I didn’t mean it. That I want you here. That the gap doesn’t matter because you’re already on my side of it.”
He sinks to his knees. Right there in the entryway. Head bowed. Hands loose at his sides like he’s offering himself up for judgment.
“I’ll give you space if that’s what you need,” he murmurs. “But please… don’t forget me again. Not because of something I said when I was too scared to admit how much I need you.”
You don’t answer right away.
Minutes drag.
Then you stand, walk over and stop in front of him.
He doesn’t look up. You can see the faint tremble in him.
You reach down. Touch his hair, still damp. He leans into it like a man starved.
“I’m still angry,” you say softly.
He nods slightly.
“And it hurt. More than you know.”
The shame in his eyes is evident.
You sink to your knees too. Wrap your arms around him.
He breaks then. Arms crush around you. Face buried in your neck. Shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes against your skin.
You don’t promise it’s okay yet.
But you hold him tighter.
Later, when you’re tangled on the couch, he traces your face with careful fingers. “I’ll never say anything like that again. I swear to you.”
You believe him.
Because the way he looks at you now, like you’re the only shore he’ll ever run to, leaves no room for doubt.
SYLUS
You've been at his side for months now, navigating the N109 Zone, accompanying him on deals that skirt legality, quiet nights spent together where he lets the mask slip just enough for you to see the man beneath all of it. Sylus has always been careful with you. Even in anger, he reins it in, turns it to ice rather than fire.
But tonight, after a botched negotiation that nearly got you both killed, a setup from a rival faction, bullets flying, you acting reckless to protect him, the reins snap.
You're in his safe house, adrenaline still buzzing. He's pacing the length of the floor to ceiling windows, city lights casting harsh shadows across his face. Mephisto perches on the back of a chair, head tilted like he senses the storm.
"You shouldn't have jumped in like that," he says, voice low and edged. "I had it under control."
You scoff from the couch, pressing a cloth to the graze on your arm. "Under control? They had almost had you beat, Sylus. If I hadn't-"
"If you hadn't, nothing. I don't need you playing bodyguard." He stops pacing. Turns to you with eyes like shattered rubies. "You're in my world now. Act like it."
Irritation boils over. You're tired. Sore. And yeah, maybe a little scared at how close it was. "Your world? The one where you act like nothing touches you? Like you're above it all?"
He crosses his arms. "Careful, sweetie."
The nickname grates tonight. "No. You don’t want my help? Fine. But if you want people to think you're human, start acting like one. Stop treating everything like a game where you're the only player who matters."
The room goes deathly quiet.
His expression doesn't change at first. Just a subtle tightening around his eyes. A flicker of something raw, hurt, maybe, before it's gone.
You know that line cuts him. You've talked about it before, in more vulnerable moments: how he struggles with his own humanity after everything he's lost, everything he's built from the ruins. The way the world sees him as a monster, and sometimes he wonders if they're right. You've held him through those confessions, whispered that he's more than his this, more than the blood on his hands.
And now you’re using it against him.
He steps closer. Voice dangerously even. "Human? That's rich coming from you. You're barely cosplaying as one yourself, stumbling through my shadows like a lost child, pretending you belong. Pretending you're not exactly like me. Acting blind to who you are like I won’t have to bury one day because you can't keep up."
The words slice clean through.
Your breath catches. Eyes sting. You stare at him, waiting for the retraction.
It doesn't come.
Instead, he just holds your gaze. Unblinking. Like he's daring you to break first.
You don't. You stand. Grab your things and head straight for the door without a word.
He doesn't stop you. Doesn't even move.
The elevator dings. Doors close. And you're gone.
You avoid him for twelve days.
Back to Linkon. Association work. Anything that keeps you out of the N109 Zon. You block his number temporarily, not forever, just enough to breathe. Mephisto shows up on your balcony twice, cawing softly, but you shoo him away with a sad smile. "Not yet, buddy."
The twins text once.
Boss is in a mood. Everything okay?
You don't reply.
In the N109 Zone, Sylus fractures.
He doesn't rage at first. Just sits in his study, glass of whiskey untouched, staring at the city he rules like it's mocking him. Replays the argument on loop, your words first, that barb about his humanity that hit like a gut punch, then his retaliation. Sharper. Crueler.
He skips meetings. Snaps at Luke and Kieran over nothing,
"Get out. Now."
until they slink away exchanging worried glances. Mephisto brings him reports from your side of the city, but he waves them off. Doesn't want to know. Can't bear it.
Nights are endless. He lies in the bed you shared, sheets still faintly scented with you, and stares at the ceiling. Imagines every worst case: you deciding he's right, that you don't belong. You finding someone softer, safer. Or worse, you getting hurt in Linkon because he's not there to pull you back.
He drinks more. Eats less. Paces until the carpets wear thin. One night, he punches the heavy bag in his gym until his knuckles split, not healing them with evol, letting the pain ground him. Like his punishment.
Regret coils tighter. He knows he should give you space, you're not one to be crowded but every day without you feels like drowning in his own isolation. Everything he has means nothing without you there with him.
A week later, he cracks. Sends Mephisto with a small box: your favorite earrings, the ones you left behind.
You keep them. Don't wear them.
A few days later, a delivery. Rare protocore from the N109 Zone, the kind the association’s been looking for.
You set it on your desk. Stare at it for hours.
Eventually, he shows up himself.
Not at your door. Outside your building, leaning against his motorcycle in the storm. Eyes shadowed like he hasn't slept in weeks.
You spot him from the window and your heart clenches.
He doesn't look up. He waits. Hands in pockets. Shoulders hunched against the downpour.
You grab an umbrella and step out.
He straightens when he sees you. Doesn't move closer. Lets the rain soak him further.
"You look like hell," you say. Voice neutral.
He huffs a laugh, short and self deprecating. "Feel like it too."
Silence stretches. Rain patters on your umbrella.
"I was wrong," he says finally, his voice is low. "What I said... it was inexcusable. I was hurt, your words cut deeper than I let on and I lashed out. Hit where I knew it would wound you most. I shouldn’t have."
You say anything.
He runs a hand through wet hair. "You're not weak. Or lost. You're the strongest person I know, walking into my world without flinching, standing up to me when no one else would. And keeping up? Kitten, you set the pace. I wouldn't have survived that ambush without you. Wouldn't want to."
His voice cracks the smallest bit. "I gave you space because I know that's what you need. But these days... they've been empty. I built all that I have thinking it would be enough. It's not. Not without you."
You step closer. Umbrella covering you both now.
"Why should I come back?" Whispered.
"Because I need you." Simple. "You’re what keeps me tied to this world. I wouldn’t want to be human if it wasn’t for you."
He reaches out. Hesitates. Drops his hand.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "For every word. For letting you walk away. For not chasing sooner."
You remain silent.
But you tilt the umbrella more over him. Let your free hand find his, it’s cold and trembling.
He exhales. Pulls you close slowly. Forehead to yours. Rain mixing with the salt on his cheeks.
"Missed you," he murmurs. "More than I thought possible."
You stay like that for a while. Rain slowing. Him holding you like you're the only anchor he has.
Later, inside your apartment, he doesn't push for more. Just sits with you on the couch, hand in yours, talking quietly about the days apart. His fears and yours.
Because without you, he's just a facade. And he hates how close he came to shattering it for good.
CALEB
You’d just come back from a solo mission, nothing catastrophic. A few bruises, singed sleeve, but you handled it.
Caleb was waiting at your apartment. Not unusual. He’s been doing it more lately, showing up unannounced with takeout, or coffee, or just himself. Always with that same easy smile. Always checking you over like you might vanish if he looks away too long.
Tonight, though, the smile is tighter. He’s already spotted the burn mark on your arm before you even close the door.
“You didn’t call,” he says.
“I didn’t need to.” You drop your gear bag. Head for the kitchen to grab water. “It was routine. I’m fine.”
He follows. Leans in the doorway. Arms crossed. “Routine still means wanderers. You could’ve at least texted when you were clear.”
You exhale through your nose. “Caleb, I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need to check in every time I step outside.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m not asking you to check in like a child. I’m asking you to remember there are people who-” He stops. Starts again. “People who worry. People who’ve already lost too much.”
The undercurrent is there. Always is. The explosion. The time apart. The way he came back different, harder, carrying ghosts you can’t see but can feel. You’ve talked about it. You’ve held each other through the nightmares. You thought you were past the part where he treats you like fragile glass.
Apparently not.
“I know you worry,” you say, softer. Trying to deescalate. “But I’m not helpless. I’ve been doing this job for ages without-”
“Without me?” he finishes. Voice low. “Yeah. I know. And look how well that turned out.”
You freeze. Water bottle halfway to your mouth.
He keeps going. Like the dam broke and he can’t stop the flood. “You keep acting like you don’t need anyone. Like you can just charge ahead and handle everything alone. But you can’t. Not really. You never could. That’s why you always end up hurt. That’s why you always need someone to pull you out. And if you won’t let it be me-” His voice cracks, just once. “then fine. Keep pretending you’re invincible. Keep pretending you don’t need protecting. But don’t expect me to stand by and watch you break yourself again just to prove a point to me.”
He’s rejecting the one thing you’ve fought tooth and nail to build since Gran’s house burned down: your independence. Your ability to stand on your own. The quiet pride you carry that show you survived. You grew up. You don’t need saving anymore.
And in his eyes, in the heat of fear and frustration, that pride is delusional. Childish. Something you cling to because you can’t accept reality: that you’re still the little girl who needs him to keep her safe. That you’ll always be dependent. That without his protection, you’re just… waiting to fall apart again.
Your throat closes with something colder, something final.
You set the water bottle down.
“Don’t,” you say. Voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t talk to me like I’m still ten years old and hiding under the table during a storm.”
He flinches. Opens his mouth.
You shake your head. “I’m done being the person you have to save. If that’s all I am to you… then I don’t want to be here at all.”
You walk past him. Grab your keys. Coat. Phone.
He reaches for your wrist. Gentle and pleading. “Wait-”
You pull away.
The door closes behind you with a soft click.
You don’t go far. Just a friend’s place across the city. Crash on their couch. Turn your phone to Do Not Disturb.
You stay gone for days.
Caleb doesn’t bombard you. That’s not his way.
But he breaks in slow motion.
He sits in your empty apartment for hours. Doesn’t turn on the lights. Just stares at the spot on the couch where you usually curl against him.
He knows it’s not true. Knows you’ve pulled yourself out of worse than he has. Knows you’ve saved him more times than he’s saved you lately.
He doesn’t sleep.
The next day he flies back to base. Tries to bury himself in work. Fails. Snaps at subordinates over nothing. Gets sent home early.
He leaves a small paper bag in your apartment. Inside is a tiny plush airplane. The one he won for you at arcades when you were kids. Faded tag still reads “To my co pilot.”
You cry then. Quietly. Into the plush.
Nights get worse for him.
He stops going to the fleet. Stays in your room in his apartment instead. Sits on your bed. Holds your pillow like it’s you.
After a week he can’t wait anymore.
He waits outside your place. This time in the morning light. Clean uniform. Shaved. Eyes hollow but steady.
You step out for coffee and see him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Voice rough from disuse. “I was wrong. Every word. You’re not weak. You’ve never been weak. You’ve carried more than anyone should have to, and you did it without me for years. I had no right to make you feel small just because I’m terrified of losing you again.”
You don’t speak.
He keeps going. “I don’t want you to need me. I want you to choose me. Even when you don’t need saving. Even when you’re stronger than I am. I want to stand beside you, not in front of you. And I failed at that. Badly.”
Silence.
Then, quieter: “I’ll give you more time if that’s what you need. I won’t push. But I need you to know, I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to leave for good.”
You look at him.
See the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands tremble just slightly. The way he’s holding himself like he might shatter if you walk away again.
You step forward.
Close enough that he can smell your shampoo. Close enough that he stops breathing.
“I’m still angry,” you say softly.
“I know.”
You reach up. Touch his cheek. He grabs your wrist and leans into your touch more.
“But I missed you,” you whisper.
His eyes close. A shaky exhale.
You step into him then. Let him wrap his arms around you. Careful. Reverent. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
He buries his face in your hair. “I’m sorry,” his voice is soft.
You hold him tighter.
Later, back in your apartment, he doesn’t try to fix everything in one night. Just sits with you. Talks. Listens. Lets you set boundaries.
No more showing up unannounced without asking.
No more assuming you need rescuing.
Just partnership.
He still worries. He always will.
But now he channels it differently; quiet support. Pride in your strength. Standing at your six instead of blocking your path.
And every time you come home safe from a mission, he greets you with that same easy smile, only now it’s softer. Grateful.
Because you chose to come back.
And he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure you never regret it.
caleb and nonMC!reader in an loveless arranged marriage, where he's secretly in hopeless love with her
warnings. angst fest, eventual fluff, failing marriages, misunderstandings, suggestive content, jealousy, stalking/following, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial, feelings are hard
preview. "Why wouldn't I be romantic? I'm your husband." He's been doing that lately--dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they're nothing. Somehow always when you're least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he's either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he's doing. You're willing to bet on the latter.
wc. 7.4k
Your husband does not love you. He doesn’t love anyone except for one, and it is not you.
You used to like romance. You’d fantasize about who your beloved forever would be in your room, kicking your feet childishly at the thought of someone loving you so purely. So innocently. You wondered what kind of person they’d be, what kinds of foods they’d like, what their family is like. You wondered which holiday would be their favorite, whether they’d want children, whether they’d have a time-consuming job. But really, none of it mattered, because you only wanted someone by your side.
So when you were told you’d be put into an arranged marriage, you tried to be hopeful. An embarrassing, pathetic hope that maybe this man could love you the way men love in books and movies if you tried hard enough.
Caleb Xia is not a loving person. You realized this the moment he stepped into the room with cold, lifeless eyes that seemed to stare straight through you as if the wall was worth more than your presence. He’d smiled, but it felt stiff. Awkward. But you’re sure yours was the same.
Still, his eyes were beautiful. Your hope flickered like a small stubborn flame in your chest that you wanted to guard against the blizzard. The marriage was simple. You showed up to the courthouse in a knee-length white dress, constantly adjusting at the pearls around your neck anxiously while he signed the papers. Once he was done, he’d simply slid it over to you, evidently avoiding your eyes.
“Are you sure?” you’d asked meekly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter your heart. You weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself. Not that it mattered, much.
He spared you a soft smile. Pity, maybe, with how his eyes remained empty, but you took it anyway.
A starved man does not beg for more. The flame remained.
The only reason he married you was because MC had gotten married to another childhood friend of theirs. When he mentioned it, you thought nothing of it at first. But when the only photo he’d put up throughout your entire house was one of him and her as children, while your awkwardly situated courthouse picture sat beside it, you knew. He didn’t stop to stare at your photo, ever. Not any of the photos. Only hers.
The final blow to the puny flame remaining in your heart was when you’d finally initiated physical contact. To perform the marital duty, he’d hovered above you in just his pants while you stared up at him in your thin pajamas that did little to hide what was beneath it. There was no setting the mood. The air was cold, the room dull because only your half had any semblance of effort that had gone into decorating it. When he kissed you, it felt more like his lips were simply touching yours gently. Almost tapping it.
It felt like nothing.
This was not romantic at all.
“Are you okay? Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back with a furrow in his brows—probably because you were lying lifelessly while holding your breath. You wondered how he could ask something so softly when his eyes remained so muted. Maybe not softly. Maybe just quiet.
“It’s okay.” You wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he was the only semblance of warmth in the freezing room.
But when his hand slid up your shirt, resting atop of your stomach, you stopped breathing again. He stopped as well. Your gazes met silently, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. A dull, slow stop. And then suddenly, he was off you, clambering to pull his shirt back on as you sat up in confusion, eyes wide.
“I can’t,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”
The flame went out.
Were you really so distasteful? So disgusting that he didn’t want to lay his hands on his own wife? Or was it that you were just too different from her? Should you be offended? Are you even offended? Relieved? Hurt?
Does it even matter?
Once you were sure he’s gone, you cried yourself to sleep.
The next few years are a blur that you wish had somehow gone even faster. The days are a bore. He’s away for weeks—maybe even months—at a time. In those periods of time, the house feels like a maze not meant for only one person. At the same time, maybe it’s better he’s away.
Caleb Xia is not a mean person. On paper, he’s a decent husband. He cleans, cooks, and never complains if you ask him to do something. He smiles, nods, and goes on his way. Yet, it feels more like a vaguely close roommate than a husband. The two of you eat in silence, watch TV in silence, and even go to bed in different rooms. You suppose you can’t complain—it’s not like you put in much effort to get to know him well anyway.
The only thing he does that even comes close to romance is bringing you flowers. You’d told him once that you wished the house had space for a garden to plant them, and he’d brought you a bouquet later that week. Since then, he brings them every few weeks routinely. They appear in the vase beside the couch as if they’ve just magically appeared.
They’re pretty, you think.
Resentment builds, slowly but surely, probably on both ends as in most marriages. This kind of life is killing you inside. This lonely, aimless life in a house that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, in a bed that feels too large.
“I want to work,” you say one day, picking at your food blankly. “I have an interview tomorrow, so I won’t be here for most of the day from now on if I get it.”
A fork clatters from across the table. “What? Why?”
You don’t necessarily have to work given Caleb’s plentiful paycheck, but you want to anyway because you can’t stand being in that gigantic house all by yourself. But of course, how could you tell this to the man in front of you? The man you don’t even know the favorite color of?
“It’s a regular office job.”
“I didn’t ask what it was,” he blurts, eyes narrowing in concern. “I’m asking why? Do I not give you enough money? You know you have access to everything on the card, right?”
You shrug. “It’s not about the money…I just think I need something to do throughout the day.”
“What about picking up another hobby?”
“I’ve exhausted most of them.”
“Then traveling?”
“By myself?” you frown. “It’s not like you’re ever here.”
You’re not sure why the words slip through your teeth, but they do, and the disdain is apparent. He seems surprised at first, blinking, before his shoulder slump again and the corners of his lips twitch downward. For some reason, it makes you feel—good? Alive, more so. So you keep talking. “You’re always working. You even missed my friend’s wedding after I told her we’d be there.”
He shoots back immediately, brows tight. “That was a special case—it was an emergency.”
“That’s fine,” you chew slowly on your food. “But I don’t want to wait around all day for you to get back.”
“You shouldn’t work if you don’t have to. I make more than enough.”
“Again, not the point.”
His lips tighten, pursing. “What will your family think if they hear that I’m making you work after I told them that I’d take care of you?”
You snort. “Is this what you call ‘taking care of’?”
Immediately, you can tell that you’ve struck a nerve. And for some reason, it feels good again. Like you’re alive, again. Maybe you just like pissing him off. His expression shifts momentarily to something you can’t recognize before it settles disapprovingly and silence befalls the both of you. You like when he doesn’t have that stupid smile he always has. The fake, lifeless smile he’d given you when you first met. You’d rather he just be upset, just like this. He looks like he wants to say something, but then shuts his mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat.
His phone rings, slicing the tension in the air like a knife. Caleb glances at the caller ID for a split second before he’s already on his feet, pacing to the sink to put his plates away in a hurry. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. Let me know how the interview goes..”
You stare at your plate, listening to his feet pad around in a hurry. “Is it MC?”
He whips his head around. “What?”
You stand from your seat to dump your food into the sink, ignoring the slight clench in your chest. He’s always been this way. Jumping at any opportunity to be useful to her, while he leaves everyone else in the dust. “Nevermind. Go.”
Once you hear the front door shut, you slump into the couch face first, hoping it swallows you whole before he comes back. This has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. Perhaps you committed a grave sin in your past life, because you’re not sure what you could’ve possibly done to warrant such a feeling. The sunset seeps through the window planes and hits half of your face, bathing you in a warmth that had been missing from the rest of the house. The heat makes you sleepy, and you soon find your eyelids drooping shut, gazing lazily at a photo of the two of you on the coffee table. You don’t remember when it was taken, but in it, you genuinely look like you’re almost enjoying yourself. You can’t tell with him, though. You can never really tell.
“Stupid Xia,” you mutter as you fall deep into slumber.
When you awake again, the sun has fully set. There’s a blanket draped over you and when you blink away the blots in your vision, you’re met face to face with a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table. They smell nice.
Damn it.
Sometimes, you wish he was just an asshole.
You learn about him through the photo albums he has stashed away in the attic. It’s not like you were looking for them. You’d only been cleaning when they managed to topple right into your hands, and since he always says whatever’s his is yours, you figure you might as well satisfy your curiosity. There’s less than you expected, unfortunately. Most photos are taken by him, but there’s a few in between where he’s the subject. Him at his birthday party, his graduation ceremony, him packing for college, and the day he left for the DAA.
It’s odd. You forget he was a normal teenager at one point, and not a high ranking colonel.
The pictures are through his eyes. Before you can stop, you find yourself becoming engrossed in lacing the photos together into some semblance of a story in your head. You see his childhood home and the model planes he enjoys building. His outings with MC and his grandmother. His last minute halloween costumes. Him and his friends carrying out a prank on someone. His studies. His likes. His dislikes.
Caleb Xia is a charming person. If you hadn’t met the way you did, you think you might’ve liked him a little more.
When you ask him a question regarding one of the photos at dinner, he nearly chokes on his food. You quirk a brow in response. “Was I not supposed to see them?”
“No, it’s fine if you look…” he mumbles, taking a sip of water to gather himself. You squint—are his ears pink? You didn’t know he was capable of doing something kinda adorable. “It’s just a little embarrassing.”
“Like the picture of your airplane swim trunks from when you were a kid–”
He coughs again, and you snicker.
You think he’s tolerable—just a bit.
Weeks pass. Life gets a little easier with your job and more to do—it might even be a bit fun. With your new friends at your workplace and a new sense of accomplishment, the less you stress about your loveless marriage and the more you appreciate what you have. Your interactions with Caleb become less forced. Not because you’ve somehow managed to miraculously understand how his brain functions, but because you put less weight on what you say. It’s hard to see someone as intimidating when you’ve seen a photo of them in a stupid halloween costume. He seems to notice the change too.
[Caleb Xia]: I got us fried chicken for dinner. Don’t be too late so it doesn’t get cold :)
Your mouth waters. It’s nice, almost. Emphasis on the almost.
Outside, the evening chill hits your cheeks, sharp enough to wake you up and wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. The street is busy but not crowded, as the sun has just set. A couple laughs too loudly across the road. Somewhere, a bus exhales.
You start down your usual route.
At first, it’s nothing. Just footsteps. Not out of place. People exist. People walk. People go home.
But something’s off. Your gut insists on it, and it’s hard to ignore.
You slow slightly, just enough to be subtle. The footsteps slow too.
Your fingers tighten around your bag.
Coincidence, surely.
You don’t turn around, yet. Turning means you have to see something and acknowledge that it’s real. Instead, you adjust your pace again. Faster this time.
The footsteps quicken, dropping your heart to your stomach.
Your eyes dart around you anxiously. It’s dark. Streetlamps are guiding your path home, and though the neighborhood is nice, it’s empty. Well, except for you and the footsteps that seemingly sound like they’re getting ever so closer every few seconds. You throat feels dry.
Phone. You need to tell someone. Even if you’re wrong—even if it’s just a hunch.
[You]: Still there?
[Caleb Xia]: Yea. why?
[You]: I think there’s someone following me
Your message sends, and for a moment air doesn’t enter your lungs.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
[Caleb Xia]: I’m coming.
You don’t know how he’s going to find you, but you don’t bother questioning it at the moment. You swallow, and your throat is dry enough that it hurts. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement, and it’s hard to discern whether something is just a shadow or something else in the dark.
You don’t turn around.
Your legs carry you as fast as you can go without breaking into a sprint, and your grip tightens around your phone until your fingers ache. Hurry, you think. Hurry up, Caleb.
A car passes.
He’s closer now, whoever it is.
Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs feel like they’ve forgotten how.
Suddenly, a car turns the corner too fast, tires kissing the curb before readjusting and you nearly jump out of your own skin. The tint on the car makes it too difficult to see inside, not that you’d be able to see much regardless due to the dark. It slows to a stop as it sees you, and you think if this isn’t who you’re expecting, it might actually be the end for you.
The passenger door swings open.
“Get in.”
Relief floods your body when you hear his voice and you stumble to clamber in.
Relief?
This is Caleb Xia you’re talking about. Now that you think about it, you’re unsure why he was the first you contacted instead of the police. Your fingers had tapped on his profile faster than you could think. Was it just because he was at the top of your contacts? Was it because he was near? It must be, right? It had been instinctual. Your body had reacted—and it had somehow worked out.
Regardless, you can’t possibly deny how relieved you feel right now.
You wonder if this is how MC always feels. It must be nice to know that someone so reliable is always at her beck and call, right? To come running at just a few words—maybe she wouldn’t have had to walk home in the first place. Maybe he would’ve driven her. You feel sick. This isn’t what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to report it to the police and take a much needed nap.
A part of you is envious of her.
“You should’ve called me earlier.”
The chicken doesn’t look as appetizing anymore even despite it sitting before you in all its crispy fried glory. The growling in your stomach from earlier is replaced by a slight pain, and it’s difficult to tell if you’ve only lost your appetite or if it’s a different kind of anxiousness. He watches you from across the table with a perplexed frown while you pick at the chicken aimlessly, nodding blankly.
“I’ll report it first thing in the morning,” Caleb sighs. “I should pick you up from work from now own. Or I’ll call you a taxi if I can’t.”
You nod again.
“Are you okay?”
Ah, he’s asking that again. You hate when he does.
You tilt your head. “I’m just sort of in shock, I think.”
“I know, but you should eat at least a bit. Here.” He holds a piece of chicken on a fork to your face and you scrunch your nose. He smirks. “Here comes the airplane?”
“I might vomit all over you.” A half lie.
He replies instantly. “Then I’ll clean it. Eat.”
For a reason that you just attribute to exhaustion, you don’t bother arguing. Instead, you pop it into your mouth, cheeks dusting pink at the intimacy of the act. He hums in approval and you try your best not to choke. Why was he feeding you—a grown woman? And why were you letting him?
How bizarre. This whole day is bizarre.
At least you’re home—thanks to him.
“Thank you,” you mumble softly. “For getting there so fast.”
He looks almost offended, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, it was a given. I’m just happy you thought to call me. I was worried you wouldn’t.”
Why did you call him? Well, you suppose he is your husband at the end of the day. One who has eyes for another, but your husband nonetheless. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He stops for a moment, as if in thought, and then smiles sheepishly. Not the annoying fake smile he puts on for show, but one that’s riddled with guilt. Shame. You want to know why. “Just assumed you wouldn’t.”
Strangely, the words make your chest tight.
Your eyes meet his usual striking violets, shoulders slumping as you look away once the eye contact feels too intense. “I’m glad I did.”
You barely catch the tips of his ears turning pink.
Caleb keeps his word for the months following the event. You never have reason to pass by that street again on foot, and although you continue to insist it’s not necessary, having him as your private driver of sorts does feel kind of nice. You think eventually, you’ve come to call him more than a stranger. He’s easier to talk to. Funnier than you thought, actually, when he’s not being annoying to tease you.
You’d never tell him that though, of course.
You blink warily, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand when a ray of sunlight escapes through the shades of your bedroom and hit your face. However, it’s not what awakes you. Rather, it’s the insistent buzzing of your phone on your bedside table, which you barely manage to snatch without falling off the edge of the bed.
[Caleb (husband)]: morning sleepinghead, you awake?
[Caleb (husband)]: Come eat breakfast :> made apple juice too
[Caleb (husband)]: I better hear you shuffling around in your room in the next few minutes or i’ll have to come drag you out.. :)
Caleb Xia, you find, nags a lot.
“Sleep well?” he chuckles when you finally emerge, still half-awake despite being fully dressed. You scratch the back of your neck, yawning as you perch yourself on one of the chairs at the counter where he’s standing with an apron tied neatly behind him. If you were just a tad bit more awake, you’d have a field day making a snide comment about it.
“Mm.”
He laughs again, gently. Did he always sound so soft?
“You can always quit your job, y’know,” he shrugs, placing a plate of breakfast foods in front of you. It smells immaculate, as usual. “Offer’s always on the table.”
You shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth, squinting at him. “Why do you wanth me shoo be unemployed sho bad? My parentsh don’t care.”
“It’s not about your family…It just doesn’t seem necessary.”
“I like working. Just not waking up so early.”
“I only want you to avoid overextending yourself if you don’t have to,” he pops a tomato into his own mouth. “I make enough for you to get whatever you want, don’t I?”
“But I want my own money, too.”
“My money is your money. This is the least I can do.”
“Careful,” you snort. “You sound dangerously close to being romantic.”
He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be romantic? I’m your husband.”
This time, you really choke on your food, coughing as he quickly hands you the apple juice. He’s been doing that lately—dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they’re nothing. Somehow always when you’re least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he’s either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he’s doing.
You’re willing to bet on the latter.
Caleb Xia, as you figure out in the time you spend with him in his car on the way to work, has terrible taste in films.
“That movie is awful. There’s no way that’s your favorite.”
He gasps dramatically and you don’t bother suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “Hey, don’t judge before you try it.”
“I’d like it if I never had to try it, actually.”
The smile adorning your lips falls in an instant the car slows to a stop. You find yourself growing disappointed when you arrive at your workplace, because it means you’ll have to leave him. You want to scold yourself for thinking such preposterous thoughts. What are you? A teenager who’s hanging out with a boy for the first time?
You’re married, for god’s sake.
Then again, so what if his company isn’t so bad? What if you think he’s a bit more to you than tolerable? Isn’t that allowed? He’s your husband, after all. If it doesn’t feel so bad, maybe you could let yourself reprise and enjoy it while it lasts.
“Ah, right, I should tell you—I’ll be leaving this weekend for work.”
Ah, nevermind. Reality has a way of slapping you across the face when you least expect it.
“How long?”
“A few weeks at best,” he pauses, voice quieter. “Months, if I’m unlucky.”
You really despise the subtle aching in your chest.
You hate how easily it slips in. How, for a second, it makes the flame that’s gone out years ago flicker, as if these moments could mean more than they do. They don’t. You know they don’t. They aren’t yours to keep. None of it is.
The warmth, the ease, the way he looks at you like this—like you’re something he actually cares about—it’s all fake. Stolen. You’re just standing in the space where someone else is supposed to be.
You press your lips together, forcing the feeling down before it can spread any further. Get a grip.
His palm pats the top of your head, making your cheeks heat against your will. With a grin, he nods. But it’s stiff. The slight crinkle between his brows. Upset. Upset? “I’ll see you tonight.”
It’s like he knows what you’re thinking before you know yourself.
“Who said I want to?”
“You wound me.”
As soon as you enter the building, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.
[Caleb (husband)]: I know you’re at work, but…
[Caleb (husband)]: Movie night tn ?? i can make us popcorn :D
[Caleb (husband)]: And yes we’re watching my fav so you can stop calling it bad :>
[Caleb (husband)]: Last hurrah before i leave
This is dangerous, you think. Really, really dangerous.
You seriously hope you don’t fall for him, if it isn’t too late already.
A few hours later, the living room is dimly lit with soft lights, the low hum of something playing in the background as Caleb sets everything up. The bowl of popcorn ends up a little too full, a few pieces spilling onto the counter as he carries it over, muttering something under his breath as he munches on the ones that are about to spill over. You sink into the couch, watching him move around the room—adjusting the volume and flipping through options he’s already decided on.
It’s strange, how easy it feels. How normal.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he glances over.
So you look away quickly, fixing your gaze on the screen. But a few seconds pass, and you can feel his attention still lingering.
You pretend not to notice.
What are you doing? What are either of you doing?
You don’t say anything, swallowing the question down into the pit in your stomach.
The movie stars a side character with a passionate devotion to his family, who reminds you of Caleb. Oddly enough, the resemblance is almost uncanny. You kind of want to root for him but also want him to lose terribly. You huff quietly. “He’s so intense.”
Caleb glances over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “What? You wouldn’t want someone like that?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I mean… he’s a bit much.”
A pause.
“…but it comes from a good place. I like him.”
He stills.
You pick at a piece of popcorn, rolling it between your fingers. “He reminds me of you a little.”
“Yeah?”
You shrug, still not quite looking at him. “Yeah.” A small breath escapes you before you can stop it. “MC is really lucky to have you.”
He goes quiet. When you glance over, he’s already looking at you.
“…Lucky,” he repeats, almost to himself.
You hesitate, then ruin it by saying more. "I mean, you're always there for her, you know? If she calls, you come running. Everyone wants someone like that."
It was supposed to come off lightheartedly, but it only digs the hole deeper.
Something in his expression shifts. His smile fades, his face losing its usual ease as it drops to something you’ve never seen on him before. It contorts in phases. Surprise, and then confusion, and finally into one you prefer the least.
Panic. Something is wrong.
You wish you’d just shut up. The long pause makes you wish you were just a fly on the wall right now.
“Is this why?” he blinks, and his eyes glisten with something you haven’t seen from him. Void of the usual emptiness but replaced with something fuller. Heavier. “Is this why you hate me so much? Because of MC?”
Huh?
“Fuck,” one hand pulls at the roots of his hair, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he attempts to hide his face from you. “I’m a moron. I should’ve known.”
What? Despite your hands growing clammy, you feel cold. Like the blood is draining from your face.
“You must hate me so much.”
When did you ever hate him? You’ve loathed him, certainly, when he’d disappear for weeks on end leaving you all alone in this cold, lifeless house. You’ve wanted to punch your balled up fists into his chest, knowing that it wouldn’t phase him in the slightest simply to alleviate some of your own anger. You’ve wanted to run away a multitude of times. But hate? Have you ever hated Caleb? Can you hate Caleb?
“Caleb.”
“This is my fault. I should’ve been more aware. It’s so obvious now, I feel like an idiot.”
“Caleb.”
“I thought you just hated me because this isn’t a marriage you wanted,” his voice cracks, and he’s burying his face into his palms. “I thought staying away from you was what you wanted. Shit, I’m so stupid.”
“Caleb,” you say, more firmly this time, and he finally looks at you. There’s a watery film over his usually lifeless eyes, glistening against the light of the TV screen, and it makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You don’t like seeing him like this. You thought you would, but you don’t.
His voice is a mere whisper now. He looks like he wants to vomit out a million words at once, but there’s three specific ones that linger on his tongue. Is this what they call a woman's intuition? You’re not sure how, but in the moment, it feels like you’re in his head. For the first time in the 4 years you’ve been wed to Caleb Xia, you feel like you can understand him.
A victory that doesn’t feel like one at all.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your hands in his, holding them in front of his chest. “I don’t love her—not as a woman. I haven’t in a long time. She and Zayne are like my family, and I’d be a terrible person not to be happy for them. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear to you. I’m so sorry.”
Your heart doesn’t seem to be beating anymore.
The air is too thick. Like liquid entering your lungs.
Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his words stuck in the back of his throat. You’re not sure if you want to hear what he wants to say. The words hold too much value, too many years of hurt, and you don’t know how you’ll react. You don’t want to acknowledge any of this as real, because if it is, what was all of this for? What were the years you spent holed up in your room meant to achieve? Were you just being a fool? And in that case, would you even want to know?
No. You don’t.
So instead, you kiss him.
A wordless, messy kiss. Though he’s taken aback at first, he’s quick to slot his mouth against yours eagerly, hands flying to your waist to pull you closer as if a man starved. It’s desperate. Different from the kiss you shared with him at the courthouse, or for transactional purposes. His mouth feels hot against yours, and when his tongue swipes against your lip, you let him in.
You climb onto his lap, straddling him as he presses you flush against him. The movie is long forgotten. His hair weeds through the crevices between your fingers and he deepens the kiss as if he’s trying to physically become one with you. His heart hammers against your own like a timer, warning you of what this could mean, but you don’t care.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he mumbles against you, and then you’re suddenly being lifted up to your room with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist. But even those few seconds aren’t worth staying apart for, because he’s kissing your neck, mouthing at spots that have you pursing your lips to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. He lets you down gently onto the middle of your bed and follows suit, pushing you onto your back.
You’re here again.
He’s looming over you, face flushed in a deep red this time. He’ll ask if you’re okay. If this is okay. And then he’ll take off his shirt and his hand will slide up yours. It’ll be better this time, because it’s not out of some twisted sense of duty. Desire pulses at your core, but you can’t help but shake off this curdling feeling in your chest, as if you want to hurl. You wait for what you expect, eyes never leaving his.
Instead, he breathes sharply. “I love you.”
The world stops.
“You don’t have to say anything back that I don’t deserve. I just want you to know,” he whispers.
Can anyone love someone like you—much less, your husband? You start breathing again because you have to, staring up at him as if he’s gone insane. In fact, you think you’ve gone insane. Kissing him, lying beneath him, enjoying his presence, looking forward to his breakfasts, letting him drop you off at work, feeling disappointed that he’s leaving—you’ve most definitely died and come back as another person, because this is not you.
This is Caleb Xia. He is an unloving person. He cannot love. But what happens if he does? With tears stinging at his eyes, watching you with a mix of pure adoration and sorrow, he’s telling you he loves you. Love is a strong word, isn’t it? But he means it. He loves you. Caleb loves you. You want to call him a liar, but he’s not.
You want to cry into his chest and run away at the same time.
The flame flickers, and you panic. Not because you despise him, or because his confession is one you don’t want to accept, but because this flame is not one you welcome with open arms anymore. It’s too easy to hurt. Too easy to shrink, yet somehow impossible to destroy.
“I can’t,” you croak. “Not right now.”
Even Caleb can’t mask the hurt that deepens his frown, as if you’ve torn his heart straight from his chest. For a man with so much power, he’s never looked more powerless than he does now.
It feels too vulnerable. Open. As if you’re naked and he’s fully clothed, when it’s infact the exact opposite. You don’t want to open up to him again. You don’t want him to snuff out that small flame you have that never seems to go out no matter how much you douse it in water. Or maybe you do?
He forces a crooked smile, strained against his very will and nods before leaving the room. As the door slips shut, he doesn’t turn to look at you. “Sleep tight.”
You don’t get much sleep that night at all.
Morning comes anyway.
And then another.
And another.
His absence returns, but this time because you’re the one avoiding him. You leave earlier than usual, linger longer at work, find excuses in the smallest things—emails, errands, anything that keeps you just a little out of sync with him. When you do cross paths, it’s brief. Polite. A short good morning or a quick goodnight. It’s easier that way.
You tell yourself this is what you wanted—to put distance back where it belongs. Whatever that night was, whatever flame flickered between you, it will fade. It must fade.
He isn’t yours. Even if he says he is, there’s too much pain--too many years of resentment built up that you don’t know what to do with.
You catch yourself thinking about it at mundane times—standing in line, walking home, staring at your coworkers chatting amongst themselves. The apartment feels different already, like it’s preparing to be emptier. As cold as it was a few months ago, when he was still Caleb Xia, and not just Caleb.
You take the time away from him to reset. To think, but not too much. You find yourself flipping through his photo albums again, smiling when you flip to a particularly embarrassing one. You hear him shuffling outside your room, probably packing for his business trip. You’re aware of what he risks everytime he disappears for weeks at a time—not only his life, but the lives of his men—and you don’t know how he bears to leave home everytime he does.
But he always comes back. He has to.
You suppose it’s for the best for now. And when he returns, things will return to normal. The house won’t be as awkward as it is. The two of you will slip into your usual routine of a loveless marriage, and you’ll find other avenues in life to derive joy from. So will he.
The front door shuts faster than you anticipated.
He’s gone.
This is fine.
This is what you wanted.
The house is empty again. You pace to the living room, and surprisingly, a fresh bouquet of flowers is propped inside their usual vase. You lift the vase into your hands, letting the scent of the flowers waft into your nose. They smell good. New. Sort of like the detergent he uses when doing the laundry.
You set the vase back down, nails pressing faint crescents into your skin.
His face when you last saw him keeps flickering in your mind. So much hurt. Raw with fear.
“I love you.”
You want to tell him he doesn’t. You want to remind yourself that this is your husband. Your heartless, cunning husband who kills people for a living—who doesn’t care about anyone but his family.
But you’re his family, aren’t you?
You can still smell his cologne in the air.
You must’ve missed it from the glint of the sunlight in the glass coffee table—there’s a small shimmer of something sitting beside the vase. With a quirked brow, you pick it up. He usually never leaves trash lying around.
You nearly drop it.
His wedding band.
Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven, like your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your heart pounds as you realize that you're shaking, eyes wide as saucers as you stare at the object in your hands.
No.
He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just leave it.
The ring sits in your palm like a brick that weighs your entire body down. This isn’t something you can pretend will reset when he comes back.
This means no more quiet dinners. No more stupid arguments over movies he insists are good. No more messages waiting for you when you’re at work. No more him, standing at the counter every morning with a pan in his hand. No more him.
And worst of all, no more chance to fix it. To tell him your side of the story.
Your body moves before your mind catches up.
You wrench the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind you as your feet hit the pavement with just your socks. The air burns your throat as you run, lungs screaming, heart still pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage.
He can’t leave.
The stinging beneath your feet go unregistered as you clutch the ring so tightly that it feels like it might dig into your flesh.
Just forward, you hiss to yourself. Faster. You turn corner after corner, your body begging you to stop overexerting yourself, but you can’t bother to care. You don’t even register where you’re going, but you need to go somewhere. It feels like ages and seconds at the same time, as you beg nobody in particular for one more chance.
A chance for what, you're not sure.
Reconciliation? Love? Understanding?
Is any of that possible? And if not, why are you running like your very life depends on it?
The ring digs further into your skin, and you realize it doesn't matter as long as you find who it belongs to. Him. Caleb. The reason and bane of your existence, and apparently what has you running across the entire town in hopes of bringing him back.
Finally, you slam into something solid.
The impact knocks the breath out of you, your grip loosening as the ring nearly slips from your fingers. A hand catches your arms before you can stumble back too far, steadying you with a familiar scent that somehow lets you breathe again.
“Hey—watch it—oh.”
You freeze in place, breath hitching as you look up. Standing right in front of you, he appears slightly disheveled, one hand still gripping your arm while the other awkwardly balances a paper bag of groceries. Caleb blinks, his eyes immediately scanning over your frame before landing on your feet. “Why are you here? Are you okay? And where are your shoes, it’s dangerou—”
“Don’t go, Caleb,” you sniffle, tears already stinging at your eyes as your body finally has a chance to rest, though it doesn’t feel much better. “Please don’t go.”
He stares at you as if you've grown a third eye, nearly dropping his bag of groceries at your pleas. Even the tips of his ears turn red, flustered. "What are you--"
“Why did you leave the ring? Did you lie?” About loving me?
His expression falls, attention honing in on the ring gripped in your fist. Something seems to click in his head, and immediately, he shakes his head. “No, of course not, I was going to leave a note. I just went out to get groceries before I left—”
“So you were going to leave the ring?”
“Well, yes, but can we–”
“Do you not like me anymore?” you blurt, finger bunching at the fabric of his sleeve. “Is it because I ignored you for a week?”
He almost looks offended. “Of course I still like you.”
“Then why?”
His voice softens, as if speaking too loud will scare you away. Hesitantly, he sheepishly releases your arms. Instead, he slowly takes your hand in his, lips pursing as he sighs. His palm feels rough with calluses from the work he does, but light as feathers against your skin. His touch is gentle, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I figured there was no reason for me to tie you to me anymore. I won’t force you to be with someone you can’t even stand to be around. Someone you hate. It’d be selfish.”
Your words tumble out before you can process them. “I don’t hate you.”
Finally, with your hand in his, the world feels okay again. This feeling tells you you’re screwed, but you don’t care.
“I’ve been mad at you, and I don’t know what to do with your feelings because they make no sense, but I don’t hate you,” you mutter. “You’re just too confusing.”
“...Confusing?”
“I just—I don’t know what to do, Caleb,” you wipe vigorously at your eyes with your free hand, head falling to avoid looking him at him. “I don’t know what to think about you. How to feel about you.”
His eyes ease, and you feel him squeeze your fingers. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
“Do you love me?”
“I don’t know.”
Caleb has always been better at reading you than yourself. A flash of hurt ripples across his face, but his eyes maintain its soft glimmer—because he knows. Even if you say you don’t know, he knows. He also knows that you’re afraid of those words, and he doesn’t blame you for it.
So instead, he asks something else. “What am I to you?”
You want to call him a million things. The man who left you by yourself, the man who refused to touch you for so many years, the man who’d chosen to sleep in the guest bedroom just to avoid taking up space in yours. He’s felt awful, inconsiderate, and cold. But he’s also the man who’s gotten you flowers, the man who’d break four speeding laws to make you feel safe, the man who makes sure you’re never hungry, the man who folds your laundry neatly and organizes it color-coded in your closet. The man who you wish you could slap across the face and hold close to you at the same time. The man who’s made you feel alone yet so cared for all at once.
You like him, you think. In some strange way that’s never been covered in the romantic films you used to clutch onto like a life line, you like him. The ‘L’ word teeters on the tip of your tongue like a marble rolling around to decide what these emotions settling in your heart really are, but it doesn’t really matter. All you know is that you need him. You want him. You want him to hold your face and kiss you tenderly, like he did that night. You want him to do it again and again until you can’t breathe, and all you can feel is him. You want to eat dinner with him every night and wake up in the morning to his stupid apron. You want to go grocery shopping with him. You want to fall asleep watching a movie in his arms.
“What am I to you?”
Tears fall down your cheeks in fat globs and you try your hardest not to let your voice crack. “My husband.”
His eyes widen for a moment, and then his lips split into a wide grin that resembles the lovesick expression of a teenage boy who’s holding hands for the first time. Caleb drops his grocery bag to his feet and reaches either hands to the sides of your face, cradling you gingerly as he guides you closer. Before you’re even registering it, he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead and presses a soft but firm kiss to your temple, where you can feel him smile against your skin.
“Who am I to say no my wife?”
Your marriage is a messy, complicated jumble of emotions. The confusion. The fear. The warmth. It’s not perfect. It never will be. And despite it all, you don’t want it any other way, because Caleb Xia is a loving person.
taglist. @inzanekillian @someonestopsoren @sweetieelilii @3rdslide2heaven @gabburabbu @moltensceptergambit @cherrysherryblossom @younbeanz @txtworlddom @glitterykingdomheart @applebrat9 @ephemeraleb @cherrybomb5000 @chartreuxxlikesboba @corvusmemoriae @toorulee @ilovecoffe8 @cordidy @younghideoutberserker @yesbiaswrecked @madnesslusy @bypanana @noosummert @littleappleorchard @anyeeyna @xie-hua (I apologize if I didn't add you! I always struggle with tagging on tumblr lol!)
⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
⭑ four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while you’re all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right?
⭑ lots and lots of pinv, mxm, oral(m&f), edging, public play, bdsm dynamics (feel free to correct me on anything!! i tried to be accurate) praise, degradation, yunho being 3comp yunho. yes that's a warning in itself
⭑ part three of three / wc 36.5k
⭑ — holy shit i can't believe it's over. thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, this series is my actual fucking baby. it brought so many eyes to my blog and led me to meeting so many wonderful amazing people, thank you so much if you're reading this, if you have read anything about my 3comp babies. no other series has taught me so much. nothing will ever mean as much as this.
⭑ — if you don't recognize my rortor or if haos confused you, pay my good friends a visit here <3 thank u @svgaplvm for letting my people hangout with yours <3
“You can’t seriously think this would ever work.”
You and Mingi haven’t moved an inch since he left for the bedroom. Now stood in front of you in cargo pants and the same dirty tee that was crumpled on your bed, it seems his anger hasn’t dissipated in the three minutes it took for him to get his things together. A bag thrown over his shoulder, jaw locked, eyes wide and wild like you’d just sentenced him to death, it seems very clear that Jeong Yunho wasn’t coming back here.
“I was honest with you guys from the start,” his voice keeps its edge, “I told you what I look for in a relationship, what I want. There’s none of that here.”
Your teeth grit together, eyebrows slanted, fingers squeezing beneath your arms folded over your chest. “You’re overreacting,” you manage, heart running a marathon in your chest, ignoring the fact that his words hurt as you mask your feelings with a show of anger.
“You two are together,” he points between you and your boyfriend with a finger. “I shouldn’t even be part of the equation. I let this go on too long, let it become too serious.”
“You think you’re the only one to blame?” Mingi surprises you with his words, the sharpness behind them, the glossiness in his eyes the only signal of sadness. “We thought we were already in a relationship, it’s all of our fault for not communicating.”
Yunho looks like he’s seen a ghost. “You– Are you serious?”
You nod, you thought it was obvious, “Yunho, we haven't been apart for more than twelve hours in weeks.”
He turns on his heel, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
Mingi stands, following Yunho as he crosses your living room, “You’re just going to leave? You aren’t gonna talk this out?”
You watch from the couch, breathing deep into your lungs, ignoring how your eyes watered. Yunho turns around sharply, “What is there to talk about? We were fucking, and now we’re not. That’s it.”
You gasp from the couch, Mingi shrinks where he stands. Taking a step back, shaking his head, his voice is shaky as he says, “You don’t mean that.”
“I told you,” Yunho slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ve been honest from the start. If you took it more seriously, that’s on you. I’m sorry.”
Mingi’s arms fall to his sides as Yunho leaves through your front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him. Your heart breaks as Mingi’s head hangs low, his shoulders shaking, and it’s the sniff you hear from the couch that gets you on your feet, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend.
“He’s just scared,” you whisper, tears lining your own eyes as Mingi racks a sob into your chest. “He’s just scared, Min. He’ll come around.”
His voice is wrecked, ragged and layered with grief, “I can’t believe he said all of that.”
“Me either,” you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand rubbing circles into his back. “It’s Yunho, we know how he is, especially with relationships.”
“I thought we were different,” Mingi picks his head up, pulling away from you to wipe his eyes. “I thought he was getting over his dramatic relationship block because of us.” He sniffs, then speaks through another sob, his voice cracking, “I thought he loved us, too.”
“You love him?” Your eyes widen, hands landing on his shoulders, and he nods without hesitation. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to get your mind to bypass the shock so you can think.
“Don’t you?” Mingi asks, his voice small, like if you said no he might crack entirely.
His laugh crossed your mind first. Eyes squeezed to crescents, grin spread wide, head tipping back as the most beautiful sound left his lips, you always got lost in him when he laughed. A hearty chuckle or a small giggle, when Yunho was emitting nothing but pure joy… Yeah, you loved him.
You loved how he walked closest to the street, how he already had your order memorized at the cafe around the corner. You loved how he touched you, soft and delicate, how he complimented you every time he saw you. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to say the hard things, like telling you that you snore, or that this time your boss was in the right. You loved that he kept small pieces of you close in the years of knowing you, how he revealed his knowledge of you in the past month, how he wasn’t afraid to show his passion.
You loved him, and you fucking knew he loved you back.
“Yeah,” your nod isn’t immediate. “I think I do.”
Mingi’s lip quivers, “We’re just gonna let him leave?”
“We’re adults,” your voice is shakier than you need it to be, forever the rock holding Mingi’s hurricane. “He’s an adult. If he wants us, this, he’ll come back.”
Mingi shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from you, “If we love him then we fight for him, I’m not waiting around while he thinks this is over.”
Your lips curve upward, the most Mingi thing he’s ever said, “We’ll be with him for four days at the beach. Let him sit in the hole he’s dug himself in, let him miss us for a few days.”
Mingi looks at you like you’re speaking another language, “He probably won’t even look at us while we’re at the beach if we wait until then.”
“If we love him,” you step closer to him. “Then chances are he loves us, too. Let him take the time he needs to realize it.”
Mingi takes a heavy breath, thinking about who Yunho is, how he handles situations. With poise, consideration, vigilance. He thinks of all outcomes, all strategies, Yunho thinks of everything with his mind, and not always his heart. Mingi nods, because he hopes that just this once, he’ll think with his heart, and figure out the rest later.
Yunho hasn’t called.
Not a text, not a word, not a breath.
But you were on your way to Haos– and from Wooyoung’s call this morning, asking what time to pick you up, you found out that he’d talked to Yunho just before he called you, and he was still coming to the beach. A shred of relief washed over you as the words left his mouth, it couldn’t be that bad if he was still coming to the beach, four days spent in proximity with you and your boyfriend. And your ten other friends. Right?
“Do you want to stop at the convenience store for anything? Water, coffee, a snack?” Wooyoung asks from the driver’s seat, black hair shagged over his ears, his forehead, curling at the nape of his neck.
Sana groans from the seat beside you, “Can we just go straight there? I’m itching to be on the beach with a drink in my hand.” Dressed in jeans and a strappy tank, heels on her feet, curled dark locks framing her cheekbones, she looked like she was going to the club rather than traveling for a vacation. Being eight in the morning, you looked like you just rolled out of bed.
Mainly because you did.
“I wasn’t just asking you, San,” Wooyoung cuts from the front of the black rental he drove. “We’ve been driving for an hour already.”
“Which means we should only have ten more minutes in the car if you just drive,” she bites back, rolling her eyes. She gives you a look, shaking her head as if Woo was asking the stupidest question in the world. She whispers to you, “He should have asked an hour ago.”
You smile at her instead of giving her an answer, redirecting your gaze to the top of Mingi’s head that peeks over the headrest of the passenger seat. After spending some time away from her, you thought you’d at least be a little excited to see her, but alas, she still drives you up a fucking wall. You could have gone longer.
You lean your head against the window for the last ten minutes, listening to soft rock music with your eyes glued to the intricate, tall houses along the coast, the small shops, the ice cream parlors, everything about this place screaming beach. Summer. Rich summer. You were still excited to come here, drama aside, spending time with your friends, cozying up in one of San’s queen-sized beds in one of his several bedrooms. You loved his house, the feeling it gave you, how badly you’d like to own something like it one day.
You didn’t mind four days of pretending it was yours, nor did you mind laying on the beach, a drink in your hand. Maybe you’d shove your feelings aside and stay glued to Sana all weekend.
Finally pulling up on a rocky driveway, you pull your eyes away from the beach just beside it, taking in the cream-colored fucking mansion before you. Ridiculous architecture, a two-car garage, a double main staircase, several balconies and a fenced rooftop, what always took your breath away was the windows. So much light poured into the house, salt scented air rushing through the space when the countless pairs of double doors opened, this house screamed happiness. It screamed carefree.
You let the feeling fill you, let it take a weight off your chest as you stretch your body upon leaving the backseat. Whatever happened this weekend, you’d accept. However you and Mingi returned home, with or without another boyfriend, you’d be okay. Both of you.
You took a look around the driveway as Wooyoung and Mingi went into the trunk to grab all of your luggage. You and Mingi shared one, but Sana… She had two for herself, she bragged about it as soon as you opened the car door.
Three other cars sat in the driveway. You recognized Yeosang’s, Jongho’s, Seonghwa’s, you assumed San and Jongin’s cars were in the garage. No sign of Yunho’s car.
Mingi carried your luggage in behind you, you didn’t knock as you walked through San’s front door, nor did you have time to appreciate the creams, whites and blues stretching across the inside, because the only other person in the living room when you walked inside was Yunho.
Your jaw clenched as your eyes slid over the back of him, faced away from you as he scrolled on his phone.
“Honey, I’m home!” Wooyoung yelled from behind you, and his voice echoed through the archways of the main floor, bouncing off each perfectly staged wall, the balcony above you.
Yunho snapped around, meeting your eye, and he immediately stiffened. With one of his infamous linen sets on, barefoot and his hair swept back, you had to stop yourself from muttering damn under your breath. You loved when he looked like summer, but you also loved when he looked like winter, when he needed the comfort of fleece to keep him warm. Maybe you loved Yunho in anything.
You looked away fast, turning to face Mingi who was already staring over your head, at his best friend who had undoubtedly become something more. Mingi stared at him with hope, with an unanswered question, with so much fucking love in his eyes you felt the cracking of your heart in your chest.
“Finally!” You heard San before you saw him, shirtless and in swim trunks, body tanned and golden and sculpted by God himself. He wore a wide grin, Jongin following behind him, his boyfriend just as gorgeous as he is, taller and handsome and damn, just as sculpted.
San pulls Wooyoung into a tight hug, “I missed you, man. It’s been too long.”
“It’s barely been a month,” Wooyoung chuckles. “But yeah, too long.”
Sana’s heels click against the pale hardwood as Jongin pulls her into a hug, the two men exchanging with the couple as you and Mingi attempt to ignore the elephant in the room only visible to the two of you.
Wooyoung pulls Yunho into a hug as you and Mingi share exchanges with San and Jongin, just as the others start piling into the living room.
“We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Tzuyu squeals as she enters your view, and you’re immediately pulled into all the women of the house, sharing hugs and kisses on the cheek.
“I can’t believe we’re the last ones here,” you’re smiling, warmth filling your chest as you bathe in everyone’s excitement.
Jihyo smirks, “Late because you were getting frisky?”
You roll your eyes, heat warming your cheeks, “You need to let go of that. Like, now.”
“Frisky?” Tzuyu pops a brow. “Fill me in.”
“I went over her and Mingi’s place and saw a vib—”
“Okay!” You speak over her, hands ready to clamp over her mouth, and she winks at Tzuyu in a silent promise to fill her in later. You prayed it didn’t include Yunho’s name.
“Who has which room?” Sana asks loudly, speaking over everyone in the midst of conversation.
“We were waiting for you to decide, princess,” Seonghwa replies, voice smooth, a snarky remark hidden behind a beautiful smile. Your lips curl upward when you see him, stood tall next to his boyfriend, Seonghwa’s open shirt matched Hongjoong’s shorts.
“Jongin and I have the master,” San says. “There’s five other bedrooms, one has a pull-out futon.”
“Assuming I’m on the futon,” Yunho immediately adds, his voice flat. “Since I’m the only single one here.”
Your eyes flicker between the two, heart thumping against your chest, stomach feeling sick at hearing him say he’s single.
“You would have been fucked if you brought a date,” San's smile is anything but sheepish. “But I’m sure no one will mind if you crash their room, maybe one of the girlies are out of commission for sexual activity and it won’t matter.”
Jongin smacks his chest with a disgusted look, but San giggles to himself. You look around the room and all the girls fall quiet, all the guys stay quiet, too used to San and his remarks to feed him a reaction.
“He can room with you and Mingi,” Jihyo nudges your shoulder from beside you,.“Duh. You guys are super close, anyways, just kick him out when you wanna fuck.”
“We aren’t twenty years old, Ji,” you muster. “We can go a few days without fucking.”
You look up at Mingi and you can tell he’s teetering on the edge of losing his shit. You turn to Yunho and he looks like that’s the last thing he wants. Seeing his face, the clear dislike of the idea, imagining the thoughts racing through his mind, all of it combined makes you slap a smile on your face, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll take him.”
“Hope you left the hitachi at home,” Jihyo whispers in your ear, winking. You nudge her back, forcing the smile to stay on your face— no one has any idea of what you’ve gone through the last few days. What happened. What started it in the first place.
“Perfect!” San claps his hands together. “That was easy. Go unpack your shit and then we can go to the beach.”
Mingi is at your side as soon as everyone takes a step toward the staircase, voice a low growl in your ear, “Why did you do that?”
You whisper back, “It’ll be fine.”
You didn’t know if it would be fine.
“Three bedrooms on the second floor, two on the top, master is on the main floor. You guys can figure out which rooms yourselves,” San says from the base of the steps as you all make your way up, your shoes hitting the hardwood in chorus, everyone dragging their belongings behind them.
Yunho stays close behind you and Mingi as you check each room in search of yours, taking in the detail of the hallways, where the bathrooms were. The paintings on the walls, tables with vases, starfish, framed pictures of small sayings of wordplays with the word beach, you made sure to take in everything, let it fill you with ease, you were on vacation.
You wouldn’t let Yunho ruin it.
On the third floor, Jihyo and Jongho peeled off into a room at the beginning of the hallway, a bathroom and two closets between you as yours lived at the end. A queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall that pulled out to a bed, the room was decently sized. Cozy, with its balcony attached, white covering the walls, the bedspread and couch a pale blue.
Mingi threw your suitcase onto the bed as Yunho threw his duffle bag onto the couch. The air was tense, heavy, you could hear conversation downstairs, Jihyo and Jongho unpacking just down the hall. There was no sound coming from your room other than zippers sliding and clothes being shuffled.
You stood opposite Mingi on either side of the bed as he sorted through the suitcase, zeroed in on his hands as he separated the clothes you were hanging from the ones going into drawers. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you stood focused, yet thinking of nothing as your ears rang, buzzing beneath the heaviness of silence.
What was he thinking right now?
Your eyes flickered to him as he pulled clothes out of his duffel bag, folding them along the couch, laying out the clothes he was hanging up, keeping his toiletries separate. Your gaze fell on his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath the linen he wore, the length of his legs stretching to the floor beneath him, bare feet pressed against hardwood, stepping to the side to fold another tee along the cushion.
You turn your attention back to Mingi, shaking off the discomfort as you grab the clothes to hang up, heading for the closet next to the couch. You lay the clothes over the armrest, hanging up tops, Mingi’s favorite pair of nice pants, the dress you brought to wear to the bar on Saturday. You think that’s the only time you were going out all weekend other than to small shops around the town.
The last shirt you had to hang, one of Mingi’s, you knew you grabbed it from the stack of clothes on the bed, but it wasn’t splayed out on the couch beside you. Brows furrowed, you turned on your heel to check the bed, just for Yunho to be stood at your side, holding the shirt out for you while he had his own stack of clothes folded over his forearm.
You swallowed, avoiding his eye, “Thanks.”
Grabbing the shirt from his hand, your fingers brushed against each other, the feeling of his skin on yours no matter how small immediately sent a jolt of electricity up your forearm, into your shoulder. You were quick to hang up the last shirt, moving out of his way, back to where Mingi was before the dresser.
While he laid folded clothes, pajamas, boxers and panties into separate drawers, you grabbed your bikinis, his swim shorts, cover-ups and the singular bra you brought to help him. The room still silent, suffocating with everything left unsaid, you began laying out your toiletries along the top of the dresser.
You could feel his eyes. Lifting your gaze, meeting his stare through the mirror, you shuffled to the side as he sauntered up next to you, throwing his own clothes into the rest of the empty drawers.
God, is this what the rest of the week was gonna be like? If so, fuck that, he can sleep on the couch. Downstairs. Far away from you and Mingi so you can enjoy this room and its balcony all to yourself.
“Hey!” Tzuyu gleamed, knocking on the doorframe at the same time as she spoke. You jumped a foot in the air, hand clasping your chest, a gasp escaping your chest. She giggles, long brown hair in a braid over one shoulder, bikini already on her body. “Yeosang and I are going to the liquor store before we head down to the beach, want anything?”
“Uh,” you glance up at Mingi, trying to find words. “Tequila, beer, some kind of seltzer to sip on. The usual shit.”
She nods, “Same beer as always, right?”
“Please,” Mingi nods back, giving her a smile that she would never know wasn’t real.
Your stomach fucking aches. You could push your pain aside, but when it comes to Mingi, seeing him hurt in real time, you could feel it as if he shared it with you. Your jaw locks, you could not go the whole week like this.
Tzuyu peeks her head back in, “You should get ready, we’ll be back in ten.”
“Got it,” you smile, and when she bounces out of your room again, it drops. You needed to do something. You rack your brain as you zip the suitcase closed, shoving it beneath the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
Yunho was pretending. He was forcing a mindset on himself, ignoring his feelings for you and Mingi, he was putting on a show that he didn’t mean. In his head, he was protecting himself, or maybe he was protecting you two from getting hurt, of what could go wrong in the future.
You glance up at Mingi who stood leaned up against the dresser, on his phone. You glance over at Yunho who sits on the couch, on his phone. Just because he was acting like he doesn’t love you, doesn’t mean that he believes it.
Your eyes land on Mingi again, holding them there. He looks up from his phone, meeting your stare.
Your lips curve upward. I’m gonna do something crazy.
He pops an eyebrow, lips crinkling. Oh no.
Your smile grows, eyes flashing something dangerous. You gotta trust me on this one.
Mingi nods, face still wary. I always trust you.
You push yourself up off the bed to the dresser, opening one of the drawers, pulling out one of your bikinis from the bottom. You should really thank Jihyo for even putting it in your mind that you should wear one of your college bikinis— so small and skimpy it could barely be considered anything other than string, you funneled confidence into your veins. You wouldn’t care about how you looked after a drink or two, anyways.
Your eyes meet Mingi’s through the mirror, bikini in your hands. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
Mingi shoots you a silent laugh. You’re fucking nuts.
You stick your tongue out. You love it.
Mingi licks his lips. I love you, and that bikini.
You hold his eyes through the mirror. Remember what I said, trust me.
Letting your eyes dance over Yunho once more, you lay the bikini out over the dresser, and then pull your shirt over your head in one quick motion.
“Shiiit,” Mingi mutters under his breath, long and dragged out from the bed, purposely loud enough for Yunho to hear. His eyes pick up, seeing you through the mirror, eyes catching on you shimmying your shorts down your legs, then your panties.
You don’t let your gaze linger, pulling the bottoms up your legs, then tying the top around your back. “Min, can you tie me?”
He’s at your back in an instant, letting his hands dance along your waist before settling at the back of your neck, bikini strings between his fingers. You’re smiling at each other through the mirror and it’s then that you know he understands what’s going through your mind, the plan you cooked up just a minute ago.
His hands settle on your hips after he finishes tying your top, and both of your eyes slide to Yunho, catching him just as he looks back down at his phone, fingers pressed to his forehead. You smirk at Mingi through the mirror, wondering if maybe you pushed Yunho just a little harder, could you crack the shell of his facade?
Yunho’s never been a huge fan of the beach. He burns easily, sand gets between his toes, in places he simply can’t reach, he hates how his hair looks after being in the breezy, salty air for too long. He’s been excited to come to Haos despite it, to spend time with you and Mingi away from home, but he didn’t give it enough thought to really consider the logistics of it all.
To himself, he thought it easy: Around everyone else, you and Mingi would be your usual selves, madly in love for the world to see. At the end of the night, behind closed doors, where no one could hear you or see you, that’s when he’d have his way with you both. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited for that most of all.
Forcing you into submission, into silence in the dead of night, so the whole house couldn’t hear the whiney moans that leave Mingi’s mouth when Yunho takes him, or the shrill screams that Yunho pulls from your chest when he pushes you just a little too far. It’d be fun— that was fun to him, keeping the two of you hidden away, his two nasty little secrets. No one had to know.
Because if they did, if anyone knew anything, it’d break your perfect bubble. He’d be forced to admit that he hated the idea of not being able to touch you in public, not being able to kiss you, or even flirt with you. Either of you. Which opens another question, one Yunho wasn’t willing to answer, or give any more of his attention.
Luckily, it blew up in his face before he had the chance to worry about it too much, like it has a hundred times before with plenty of different partners. This was the routine— fuck for awhile, become a little more on accident, realize that this isn’t what he wants, leave. Leave, leave, leave. Yunho was good at leaving, at hiding, at not taking what he wants when it’s staring at him in the face.
It was too fucking vulnerable. He ached for love, for true routine, to wake up next to someone and go grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. He yearned for someone to know him down to his core, to love him for the silly things, not just how he fucked or how he guided. For how much he needed to take care of his partners, he never realized how much he needed to be taken care of, too.
This morning, how you stared at him with a locked jaw, a storm in your eyes, he knew he deserved it. He deserved your anger, your pain, he wishes he could take it from you and keep it for himself. How Mingi looked at him, with pain and love and hope, seeing Mingi’s feelings raw in his eyes terrified Yunho. Knowing Mingi hurt, that he was the cause of his ache but also knowing he’d take him back in a second, it sent a shiver down his spine, leaving a hole too deep, too cold in his gut.
He really fucked up this time. He really, seriously, absolutely fucked up. He's fallen asleep cuddled up to your side, he’s woken up beside you for weeks. He’s gone grocery shopping with you, he keeps a mental list of everything you have in your house. You made space for him in your home, for his body and his clothes, he has a toothbrush beside your sink, products in your shower, socks in the top drawer of Mingi’s dresser. He’s felt the rush of affection when Mingi finishes his sentence, he’s felt the pain sitting in the crease of your brow without it having anything to do with him.
He walked into what he was most afraid of, but what he’s yearned for without even realizing. Everything happened so fucking fast. That night with Mingi was the true beginning, he thinks, the catalyst that made him fall headfirst without casting a net. That night changed all of your boundaries, leaving everything in open field for the taking. Yunho took it with greedy hands, but then he destroyed it all the same.
He knows what you’re thinking. In that pretty little head of yours there’s millions of beautiful, strategic thoughts, plans, ways to get him back in your bed. Even though he fucked up. Even though he was the one that destroyed it all.
The curve of your chest in the mirror, a peek of the goldmine between your legs as you bent over, if this was a week ago he would have pinned your chest to the glass and fucked you until you were crying just for teasing him. Mingi’s hands trailing down your skin, his breath on the back of your neck, jealousy infested Yunho like a disease. He could feel the ghost of Mingi’s hands on his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his torso, he forced himself to tear his eyes away so he didn’t break.
Yunho was the one who fucked it all up, and here you two were, trying to get him to fix it. Naive and optimistic, two traits that you two shared that made Yunho feel like he was your missing piece. He wouldn’t break so easily, you two have to know that, you know him.
He watches you run across the sand, wet chest bouncing beneath golden sunrays with a can grasped in your palm. Mingi follows you from the water, trunks slick to his thighs, the inseam of his shorts shorter than any other pair he owned. Yunho sits with his jaw locked, his fingers curled around the armrests of the beach chair beneath the umbrella, watching as Mingi picks you up from behind, a grin on his lips as he presses them to your cheek.
You two didn’t do PDA. You haven’t since you were in your early twenties, when your relationship just began. Everyone in the group knows it, but no one notices, no one pays any mind to the clear show you were putting on just for him. Mingi’s arm is hooked around your torso, black hair clinging to his cheeks, his neck, the two of you dripping in saltwater and love. He keeps you there, hanging off his arm as he walks back up to where you set up, your giggles becoming clearer, reminding him of his favorite song the closer you get.
He could just get up and go back inside. The beach was San’s backyard, after all.
“Can you hand me another seltzer, please?” You ask sweetly as soon as Mingi puts your feet back on the ground. Yunho blinks beneath his shades before the question registers in his mind, it’s the first that you’ve spoken to him other than thanks in the bedroom.
He reaches into the cooler, making sure to hand you your favorite flavor, feeling bile rise up in his throat when Mingi opens it for you and plants a kiss on your lips before you take a sip. Maybe he had it all wrong— maybe you didn’t fucking care that Yunho was no longer apart of your relationship. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, what happened just a few days ago made your relationship stronger. Seems about right for the two of you.
“Let’s play volleyball!” Wooyoung shouts over the hum of soft rock music and waves in his ear. He forces his eyes away from you two to glance at Wooyoung, holding a volleyball to his chest while beads of sweat drip down his bronzed, tanned skin.
“Hell no,” Sana responds from her towel, laying on her stomach with a bucket filled with God knows what kind of liquor in the sand just above her head. “We’re relaxing.”
“I meant the guys,” Wooyoung replies, the smile on his cheeks never faltering, ignoring his girlfriends’ tone completely. He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, “You up for it? A little friendly game?”
“I’m out,” Hongjoong responds from his chair, can of beer in his hand, head laid back along the headrest beneath the shade of the umbrella, “I just ate a gummy.”
“I’m out, too,” Yeosang lifts his head from his towel, Tzuyu at his side, the two of them cuddled up so close under the burning sun he wondered how they weren’t suffocating.
“I’m going to swim,” Jongin waves a hand, already turning his heel to walk down to the shore.
“I’m down,” Yunho says, needing a break from staring, standing from his chair.
“I’m down, too,” Mingi adds as if on command, pressing another kiss to your lips before walking towards where Wooyoung stood behind Yunho.
San, Jongho and Seonghwa make their way towards them, too, and Yunho quickly regrets his decision when Mingi stops directly at his side. He stiffens, eyes glancing down to where Mingi’s hand lingers inches beside his.
“Three versus three then?” San smirks as the six of them make their way towards the net across the beach. “I call Woo and Mingi on my team.”
Jongho breaks into a laugh as he leans on the pole beside the net, fingers sinking into the webbing, “So it’s me, Hwa and Yunho?”
“I think that’s fair,” San shrugs. “We share the towers.”
Yunho rolls his eyes, and Mingi’s smile is wide. Seonghwa dips under the net to the other side of the sandy court, “They’re both competitive, too. Think it’s best we share.”
“We can hear you, y’know,” Yunho follows, sliding into position flanking Jongho’s side, a grin crawling over his cheeks that was nothing short of competitive. “No need to fight over us.”
“First team to twenty,” Wooyoung juts out his chin from the other side of the net, “Best out of three?”
Yunho pushes out an accidental sigh, “Three games?”
Mingi, like he’d been waiting for that comment, snaps. “Why not?” He cocks his head to the side, smile dangerous. “Three games too much of a commitment for you?”
The blood from Yunho’s face drains, the amusement in his eyes gone. After Yunho’s face falls, Mingi giggles, and the rest of the guys seem completely unaware of the jab that just left Mingi’s mouth. Yunho glares at him, knowing now that the two of you are serious about getting under his skin, but he chooses to ignore the shred of pride he feels with your efforts.
The first game went by quickly— Mingi, San and Wooyoung were good. Yunho, Seonghwa and Jongho were good, too, but fell just short of their opponents. The second game went by just as fast, but instead this time it seemed Yunho’s team had a chip on their shoulder, a little too much pride to let their friends win twice. The third game, everyone was drenched in sweat, covered in sand from diving for the ball, forearms burning from bumping it, everyone’s patience was running thin. Curses were shouted, insults thrown from one side of the net to the other, they had gotten serious real quick.
Mingi and Yunho stood at either side of the net, eyes on the ball above their heads, the two of them jumping at the same time to either spike, or block. The ball fell on Mingi’s side and his eyes dropped for a millisecond to see Yunho, both hands up, palms flat out to block his spike.
Yunho, ambition living in the slant of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips, didn’t give Mingi an opening to push the ball through. So Mingi hit it to the side, just past Yunho’s hands before he could even think of sliding his arms over.
Yunho cursed, and Mingi’s arms went over his head in a cheer for winning them one more point towards victory. Mingi leaned in close to the net, a smirk on his lips, “Pay attention, Yun. You don’t want me thinking I’m distracting you, do you?”
Yunho’s jaw locks. Mingi was pushing it, he usually wasn’t the bratty one, that was your area of expertise.
“Careful,” is all he says, venom on his tongue as his chin tips upward, just to stare down at Mingi through lowered brows.
Mingi’s smirk grows, almost a full smile, fingers hooking into the net to lean closer. “Or what?”
Yunho licks his bottom lip, shaking his head as he turns around, back to where he stood, waiting for the ball to be served. Maybe he was stupid for considering you two didn’t care about him, especially after the bedroom, and now he had Mingi taunting him ten feet away?
The ball hits the sand beside his foot before he can process that it was served. Mingi, San and Wooyoung high five, cheering because they were one point away from winning, and Yunho’s teammates turn to him with a scowl.
“What are you doing?” Seonghwa stands with his arms out beside him, face warped into annoyance and confusion.
Jongho barks from beside him, “Lock the fuck in, we’re winning this.”
Yunho nods, shaking off his thoughts, “My bad.”
Then Mingi calls your name. Yunho’s head turns, watching as you turn your head from where you stood with a group of girls that weren’t a part of your group, staring as you jogged towards them when Mingi ushered you over.
That fucking bikini, all string, barely covering anything. His fists clenched when the house hooted and hollered for you, as Jihyo whistled when she saw you. It wasn’t for you. It wasn’t for Mingi. It was revenge.
His neck snaps back to the court before him when he hears San’s hand smack the ball, body moving before his brain can think, diving into the sand to bump it up. Jongho is quick to get under it, two hands setting the ball high in the air, but as Seonghwa jumps to smack it over the net, Mingi is already there.
Broad, sculpted abdomen, hard chest he’s rested his head on too many times, hipbones peeking from just above his waistband. Yunho watches Mingi’s arms flex as he blocks the ball, how his torso folds to send the ball into the sand, Yunho nearly shoves his face in the sand too when his three best friends jump for joy across the net.
Seonghwa and Jongho stand defeated, faces set toward the sun, chests heaving. Yunho gets up slowly, just to see you perched on Mingi, arms and legs hooked around his body, lips pressed to his. Mingi’s hands hold you up by your thighs, fingers making indents where they pressed into your skin, and it’s war for Yunho to peel his eyes away from the sight.
“Sorry,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the sand as he walks toward Seonghwa and Jongho.
Jongho clasps a hand on his shoulder, heavy but reassuring, “It’s just volleyball. We’ll beat ‘em tomorrow.”
Seonghwa nods his agreement, and at least one weight is lifted off his chest. He watches his friends duck under the net, and Yunho follows, ready to get berated by his three other friends, good sportsmanship be damned.
“This is my boyfriend,” he hears, and his eyes land on where you stood with Mingi, just beside the court with the two girls you were standing with before. One a grinning dirty blonde, the other a miserable-looking brunette, Yunho tried to listen as his friends spoke beside him, but jealousy pierced his soul that Mingi was the only one standing beside you, getting introduced as yours.
His feet moved before he could think about it, coming up to your side, and the blonde caught his eye, looking him up and down as he made his way over. You beamed, not showing a flash of surprise or confusion as Yunho stood beside you, you immediately gushed, “This is Yunho, he’s single, super tall, clearly.” You giggled, leaning into Yunho’s side, you were drunk. You whispered not quietly to the blonde, “I think you’d like him.”
Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, weight hitting his gut with force, and the blonde before him blushed as her hands gripped the cocktail between fingers, her eyes dragging over him again.
The brunette, eyebrows low, stares at Mingi before her, “You look really familiar.”
Your hand clings to his, wrapping your fingers into your boyfriends, shoulders pushed back, no one would know you were standing your ground unless they knew you. Mingi laughs along, “Really? You kind of do, too.”
“Do you have any relatives that go to Nasara?” She cocks her head to the side, “We’re in ITZ, a sorority at Nasara University in Delo.”
Mingi shakes his head, then turns it to look at Yunho, “Do you?”
Yunho shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders, she does look familiar. Yunho asks, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Sitara Song?”
The brunette makes a tch noise, then grabs the blonde’s hand, voice dripping in irritation, “Come on, Ror, I’m sure Wooyoung is missing you.”
The blonde looks back at him twice as the brunette drags her away, and Yunho feels unsettled. Not only are you making a show with Mingi in front of his face, taunting him, but now you’re pimping him out to strangers?
Mingi’s eyebrows are knitted together as they walk away, “They have an Wooyoung, too?”
Yunho faces the two of you with his arms crossed, “What the fuck are you doing?”
You’re already smiling, mischief in your eyes, “What do you mean?”
If the three of you were at home…
“What was that?” He asks, a hand stretching in the direction of the two girls walking away.
You giggle, back pressing into Mingi’s abdomen, “Was I wrong? You are single, aren’t you?”
Yunho laughs a low, disbelieving chuckle. He turns on his heel, past the court, back to where you set up, sitting back in the chair he was sulking in before. He reaches into the cooler, pulling out a can of beer. If this was how the weekend was going to be, he might as well be drunk for it, too.
Clean and close to sober, your hair was still wet after your shower as you sat around the bonfire, sweats on your body, under a blanket on the sand. Even in Haos the beach was cold at night, a sharp breeze ruffling everyone’s hair, egging the fire to blaze higher.
Yunho barely looked at either of you during dinner. Lounged out on the back balcony after grilling, he laughed along with everyone, cracking jokes and engaging in banter, but he shut you and Mingi out. After his second beer it was as if he put a wall up, he was choosing to not let the two of you bother him, not that you had much to bother him with after the beach.
Fear lived in all your joints that you took everything too far as you sat cuddled up to Mingi, head on his shoulder. With Yunho on your other side, you tried not to let your eyes slide to him, despite his closeness. Even mad, even apart you still drifted together, you try to let the thought relieve you, but you’re too tightly wound to let anything but his hands steady your heart in your chest.
You missed the way Yunho doesn’t see your fear. Instead, all his tunnel vision allows is the way your arms lay over Mingi’s, the way you melt against your boyfriend, how comfortable Mingi looks with your body touching his. You don’t see his frustration, how his mind whirls a mile a minute in yearning to have any part of you two touching him, too.
“You guys must have needed a vacation,” Hongjoong declared from across the fire, the growing blaze making his orange hair burn brighter, white teeth still shining despite the warmth laying over all of you.
You smile, and Mingi agrees in a small noise from beside you. San perks up in a chuckle, “I haven’t seen you two act like that in years. There’s really never any trouble in paradise, huh?”
Mingi snorts, and you close your eyes with a smile on your lips. If only they knew what trouble was terrorizing your paradise right now.
Jihyo cracks a laugh, holding up a hand like she just remembered something hilarious, “No, can you guys remember the beginning? When they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?”
Your cheeks burn as the group laughs around the fire, a chorus of amusement and remembrance. Jihyo continues, laughter still erupting from her chest, breaking up her words, “I miss when we still had true house parties, I remember catching you guys in Yeosang’s garage.”
Mingi tips his head back with a groan at the memory, you remembered it like it was yesterday, he had you lifted on Yeosang’s father’s workbench, tools covering the space around you. Luckily, Jihyo didn’t see your legs spread for him, or his fingers hooked inside you. Your cheeks blaze hotter than the fire before you.
“That’s not the only time, either,” Jihyo’s leaning forward now, cocktail in her hands threatening to spill over the blanket on her lap.
San interjects, laughing himself, “I think we’ve all caught them once or twice throughout the years.”
Wooyoung frowns, “At least none of you have caught them in your own bedroom. That’s worse, trust me.”
Your hand covers your face, digging your forehead into Mingi’s shoulder as he laughs along, muttering Enough in a low voice. The reason you weren’t as open with your relationship anymore was being laughed about in a circle, filling your gut with embarrassment and shame, Mingi felt it.
You couldn’t see Yunho’s fists clenched at his sides, digging into the blanket above the sand. He tries to laugh along, he has a few stories he could tell himself, but he’s ruined them all with thoughts of what those memories would look like if he was included in them, too. He feels weird inside. Knowing it would always be you two, as it’s always been, but feeling so fucking frustrated that he isn’t included, as if two halves of him were fist fighting just beneath his skin.
“My bad, today just reminded me of back then,” San waves a hand, a warm smile on his lips, showing his dimples. “I’m happy to see it. I’ve missed when you were attached at the hip.”
“I was starting to get worried that you guys were chilling out too much,” Sana interrupts, her head tilted, a cheshire smile on her lips, “I assumed that’s why you didn’t have a ring on your finger yet, that your relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be.”
The circle quiets. A beat of silence lays over you, thick and heavy, her comment feels like a jab. Yunho doesn’t know why it fills his veins with ice cold rage. He bares his teeth, “Where’s the ring on your finger, Sana?”
Seonghwa gasps, Tzuyu’s eyes widen, Wooyoung cracks a smile. Everyone’s eyes dance between Yunho and Sana with fear at her awaiting rebuttal. She tips her cocktail back, takes a sip, then raises it up to Yunho with a sinister smile, “Hopefully we both see rings within the year.”
You blink in confusion and awe, sitting up straight, both of your heads turned toward the black hair sat beside you. He meets your gaze and his eyes feel warmer than they’ve been all day, since before the fight, even. The others redirect the conversation into something lighter, but the three of you stay locked in on each other, a bubble within the ash and smoke surrounding you.
You purse your lips. What was that for?
Yunho smiles. Couldn’t help myself, I guess.
Mingi lays a hand over your thigh. Sana will always be Sana, it’s not worth it.
Yunho leans into his hands stretched out behind him. I’m tired of her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
Your cheeks warm with a small smile. Thank you.
After all the cans had been thrown into the fire and San had smothered it with the lid, the whole group decided it was time for bed, your day tomorrow required a full night’s sleep. Beach, boardwalk, dinner, a repeat of today, but tomorrow you could really drink. You had half a mind to stay sober tomorrow, you think you had enough day-drinking already, your brain muddled and your limbs sluggish, you didn’t miss the feeling of a hangover.
The queen sized bed felt like a cloud beneath your thighs compared to the sand you were sitting on prior, the bottle of water Mingi handed you when he entered your bedroom healing you. In a hoodie and sweats, the house much too cold for a summer night, you sat up and chugged while Mingi got his toiletries ready for a shower.
Yunho didn’t enter the bedroom until Mingi had left, drying his hair with his towel, sweats hanging low on his hips, droplets of water still trickling down his abdomen. You kept your water in your lap, lips pursed, trying to think of something to say. Just earlier today you weren’t speaking at all, you teased him all day, and then he… Sticks up for you to Sana? It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense.
Yunho pulls a tee shirt over his head, barely glancing at you sitting on the bed, then reaches into the closet to grab a blanket. Folded over his forearm, he tucks a pillow under his other arm, then without as much as a word he makes for the door.
“Hello?” You sit up a little taller, confusion in the knit of your brows. “Where are you going?”
He looks back at you over his shoulder, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“No,” you answer, shaking your head, staring at him like the idea is ridiculous, because it is.
He raises his brows, “No?”
“Stay,” you urge, heart picking up speed in your chest. “We need to talk at some point.”
He finally turns around, brows still raised as he shrugs, “Talk about what?”
Your lips part but nothing comes out. Jaw clenching, you sit dumbfounded and annoyed. Talk about the fight? Talk about today? Talk about how there’s still clearly something romantic between the three of you?
“How you toyed with me all day?” Yunho finishes your thoughts, taking a step towards your bed, “How the two of you drove me up a fucking wall? How I snapped at Sana to defend you because clearly I’ve lost the ability to control myself?”
You stare at him wide-eyed, speechless, excitement rippling beneath your skin because he took a step toward you.
“They were right, you know,” he tilts his head, taking another step forward, “You haven’t been all over each other like that in years. And I sat there, knowing it was all for me, and couldn’t do a damn thing.”
“Yes, you could have,” you finally counter, voice barely above a whisper.
“What would you have me do?” He says through a sharp chuckle, “Put you over my fucking knee in front of everyone? The whole beach? That's what started all of this, right?”
“I— What do you—?”
“This all started because of sex. You worked me up all day to have me at my wits’ end when we finally got back here at the end of the night. That was the plan, right?”
You blink at him, that was the plan. Partially. “I just wanted you back here so we could talk—”
He smiles as he cuts you off, “You don’t want to talk, not really. I know what you want.”
You sigh, frustration curling your fingers around the water bottle, ignoring the heat between your legs. He drops the blanket and the pillow on the floor as he takes another step forward, thighs just touching the mattress you sat on.
“I do want to talk,” you frown, heart pounding against your chest, scared those five words will stop him from doing everything he was about to do. Voice lowering, you whispered, “I want you.”
“It’s pointless,” he shakes his head, smile dropped,.“You can’t separate it.”
“Because it’s already blended together,” your voice is still low, teetering on the edge of shaky. “The lines were crossed a long time ago, Yun.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” he meets your eye, and there’s nothing kind behind them. No emotion that makes you feel like there’s any possibility of salvaging what you had. You refuse to trust it, the mask he puts on, you cling to how he’s looked at you these past weeks, with love and trust in his eyes, the mask he wears now is to protect himself.
You give him a bitter chuckle, “Who are you to tell me what’s right? Do you not feel anything when you look at me?”
“When I look at you,” he keeps his face steady, emotionless. “I see Mingi’s girlfriend.”
“You’re a liar,” you spit, sitting up on your knees, crawling closer to him on the bed. He watches, unmoving, eyes not even flickering a change in feeling. “Why did you stick up for us to Sana then?”
“Because you’re my friends, and I’m tired of hearing her project her own insecurities onto you.”
“Why were you bothered when I told that Aurora girl you were single, then?” You stand on your knees atop the mattress, almost face to face with him. “You are single, aren’t you? You want to be single.”
“I don’t want to be single,” his voice cracks, exasperated, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “but that doesn’t mean I can just join a relationship that’s been established for over five years!”
“Why are you making it sound like a decision that’s made on a whim? We just spent the last four weeks already in one, Yunho,” you raise your voice to match his, every ounce of emotion punctuating each syllable.
“We spent the past month fucking,” he lowers his voice, words sharp enough to cut. “That’s it.”
As if every single one of your emotions swim up to your waterline, your voice cracks as tears blur your vision, “You’re a bullshit fucking liar, Jeong Yunho.”
You keep your eyes on Yunho as Mingi enters the bedroom, catching the towel hanging from his waist out of your peripherals. Yunho breaks eye contact before you do, his eyes sliding to Mingi who stares dumbfounded in the doorway, then quickly closes the door behind him when his eyes land on you.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide and concerned, one hand on his towel as he quickly makes his way across the room. The streak of sunshine in a hurricane, you can feel the hostility fizzle, his presence comfort enough to cool the fire in your veins.
“Nothing,” you shake your head, then wipe your eyes with one hand as you sit back down on the mattress, legs folded beneath you. Your sniff betrays you, as if Mingi didn’t already know you were crying, “I’m fine.”
Mingi stands beside Yunho, a knit in his brow as he turns to his best friend, “What did you say?”
“Nothing I haven’t said before,” Yunho bends down, picking up the blanket and pillow he was holding before. “I’m sleeping on the couch downstairs.”
“No you’re not,” Mingi chokes out a laugh in irritated disbelief, all of his features blown out as he faces him. “You’re not leaving again, you don’t get to walk out twice.”
Yunho’s chuckle mirrors Mingi’s, his voice louder and strained, “I don’t know what else you want me to say!”
“Say you don’t want us,” you answer from the bed, voice unsteady, terrified of his answer even if you’re certain you know it already. “Say you don’t want this, and we’ll let it go.”
Yunho’s eyes dance between the two of you, the cogs turning in his mind visible in his tight features. Mingi takes a step away, walking towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of briefs to sleep in as he mumbles, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
You stare at Yunho as his lips open and close, racking his brain for something to say that isn’t that. He shakes his head, “Even if I want this, it doesn’t mean it’s right. What will everyone say?”
The slap of Mingi’s briefs against his hips sounds through the room, “Who gives a fuck what anyone has to say?” He faces Yunho, “If we’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
“It’s not that easy,” Yunho drops the blanket and pillow again, his shoulders pushed back in defense, trying to hold onto what’s left of his control as his hands wave with each word. “As much as I want to believe everything will be sunshine and rainbows, it’s you two. Your relationship is concrete, everyone’s expecting a wedding within the next few years and you want to fuck all of that up?!”
Your stomach drops with the validity of his fear, cheeks warming, ears burning hot. You and Mingi have never decided on marriage, not fully, the two of you semi-estranged from your families, not completely in a place financially to make that kind of commitment. A ring, a big party to show off your relationship was nowhere in the near future. A house came first. Stability came first.
Yunho knows that. He knows all of that, but his fear is still valid– because what happens when you are stable? You and Mingi never got that far, the rest was hopes and dreams that would maybe come true one day. You swallow, sniffing again, raising a hand to wipe what’s left of your lingering tears as understanding turns into a bloom of warmth in your chest.
“I understand this isn’t normal,” Mingi takes a step toward Yunho, confidence clear in his voice, it seems you’ve switched places since the last time you talked. Mingi looks over Yunho’s shoulder to meet your eye for a second before looking at Yunho again, “But this won’t fuck anything up, Yunho, our relationship has always been… What it is. This.”
“Your relationship,” Yunho reiterates, his voice quiet, body leaning towards Mingi. “What if that doesn’t stay the same with me in the picture? What if down the line, you decide you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where does that leave me?”
A rush of something you can’t describe swallows you whole. It was overwhelming enough having this conversation with Mingi, and you haven’t had the conversation again with Yunho in the picture, what that would look like for the three of you. Tears crawl their way back up, a tightness in your throat, heat in your cheeks. You didn’t have an answer to his question, fear leaves your stomach hollow, your limbs tingly.
“We’re not asking you to make a decision now,” Mingi’s hands curl around his waist. “Even if it seems like we are. All we know is that we want to be with you, we’re willing to figure all of the details out together, with you. We want you, Yunho, isn’t that enough to at least try?”
Yunho’s head dips down, his face hidden, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You need to touch him, feel close to him, you need your skin on his, you need to feel like he still wants you. It feels like losing him– a sentiment you can’t bear to accept, you haul yourself off the bed and press yourself into his back.
“This is a lot,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, weak, frail, strained with uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do, I- I want you too, but this is,” his voice breaks. “Terrifying.”
“I know,” you feel Mingi’s hands swimming along his sides as you keep your cheek pressed to his back, your fists balled into the cotton of his tee. Mingi continues, “You can do it, the commitment, the titles. It’s scary and vulnerable, but it’s us, we won’t hurt you.”
Another trembling breath leaves him as his forehead meets Mingi’s, his hands resting on your own, curled into his shirt. Your lip quivers, trying so hard to keep your own tears in to be the stability he needs, the rock you're used to being; seeing him hurting is like an arrow through your chest, it hurts the same way it does with Mingi.
“You don’t need to make a choice,” Mingi whispers. “But don’t shut us out. Don’t make us think we don’t mean anything to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers, sniffing, his body rigid between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean any of it, I was scared. I am scared.”
You press your lips to his clothed spine, “It’s okay, Yunho.”
He squeezes your hands, palms over knuckle, his touch is grounding. Mingi’s hands glide from his waist over his chest up to the curvature of his shoulders, landing there for a moment as Yunho’s head perks up. Mingi leans in, lips grazing Yunho’s as his hands move to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” Soft, honest. Yunho barely gives him a nod before Mingi attaches their lips, Yunho’s hands darting to his waist. You keep your hands on him, body pressed into him, feeling Yunho’s body relax, shoulders drooping, back arching into Mingi’s touch.
Their lips move slowly, unhurried, a practice of searching for something in one another, finding it, reveling in it. The air changes around you, expanding, room opening, tension slipping through the balcony door and into the saltwater air, dissipating into the humidity. Yunho’s hands find Mingi’s cheeks and they move together, bodies arching into one another, getting lost in emotion and feeling and longing, you could feel all of it, it bled from both of them and into you, watching from behind.
Hands on Yunho’s waist, you guide him backward until your back hits the bed. You crawl onto it, never breaking your eyes from the pair, watching as Yunho uses one hand to support himself while Mingi lays him down onto the mattress.
“I missed you.”
You’ve never heard him sound like that before. Emotional– soft and whiney, honest, like he’d pulled the words from the deepest part of his consciousness, a box he kept tucked away. It has you moving, crawling over to them, inserting yourself into their bubble. Yunho’s hand reaches for your cheek as soon as you come into view, your eyes meeting, and for the first time you see him consumed by lust without the harsh blade of control in his eyes. Raw, open, free, there’s nothing but delicacy swirling in chocolate brown as he pulls you down into him, attaching his lips to yours like he’d been waiting to do it all day.
Hungrier than those with Mingi, his lips move quickly, tongue slotting between your lips to search your mouth for something true, as if you haven’t given him all of you since the start. “I want you,” you whisper, sharing his breath, a soft smile curving your lips before he swallows down your words with his mouth. You swing one leg over his hips and he sits up on an elbow, his other hand moving to your hip for leverage as he pushes himself up until he’s sitting, shifting you properly on his lap.
Mingi moves behind him, hands on his waist under his shirt, lips finding his neck with soft presses of his lips as your fingers reach for the hem of his tee. “Need this off,” you whisper into his mouth. “Want to feel you.”
Mingi’s the one who pulls the cotton tee over his head, lips finding Yunho’s shoulder as you kiss his lips again, tongue dancing with his, hands splayed on his pecs, letting the warmth of him seep into you. Yunho reaches beneath your hoodie, fingers cold as they dance along your skin, palms curled around your waist while his thumbs brush against your abdomen, his touch is soft, like he’d break you if he pressed too hard.
You break the kiss only to pull the hoodie over your head and Mingi steals Yunho’s lips, using two fingers to his chin to turn his face. You watch them for a moment before leaning in, lips following the curve of his jaw down to his throat, flattening your tongue down to the base of his neck, sucking into his skin just above his collarbone. He tastes clean, like his bodywash, him, your hands find the waistband of his sweats, tugging them downward.
Yunho gasps as you slip them from under him, hips moving easily for you, “I– Are you sure?”
You’re nodding on command, “Of course, I’m sure.”
He’s talking as you tug his briefs down to his thighs. “I said a lot of things.”
“You didn’t mean them,” Mingi answers as you settle yourself between his thighs, coaxing Yunho backward until his back is pressed to his chest.
His cock stands tall against his pelvis, pink-kissed and leaking, it makes your mouth water. Yunho’s hips twitch as your nails graze his thighs, making you smile, eyeing him through your brows. He looks… scared. Like this was unknown territory, his eyes wide, red splotched chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers curled into the sheets beside him.
It makes you want to take care of him in the same way he’s always taken care of you.
“Is this okay?” You ask softly, making him nod. Your head tilts, needing the words to continue, “Do you want this?”
“Yes– fuck,” his hips twitch again, brows raising like he’s surprising himself. “I want it, I want you. Please.”
There’s a pit in your gut as the plea leaves his lips and you’re wrapping your fingers around his length, making a show of the glob of spit dropping from your tongue and onto his length, using your fingers to spread it. He groans, head tipping back into Mingi’s chest as you start working his length with your hand, watching him carefully. So pretty, hair mussed about, chest splotchy and body twitching, you wonder if this is how you look beneath him. You dip your head down, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick at his tip, salty, raw, Yunho– you wrap your lips around him and suck.
“Fuck,” he draws out the word, low and heavy, a hand reaching down to tangle into your hair. You let him ease you down his length, tongue flat against the underside of him, lips suctioned tight. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”
There he is. You smile, barely, lips stretched around the width of him, bobbing your head as your fist works the base of him, pumping, twisting, gripping him just right– the moan he releases is nothing but nasty, Mingi swallows it, stealing his lips again, you can hear their mouths as much as you can hear your mouth around his length, everything wet, sloppy. Mingi’s hands reach beneath his arms to his chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples and his hips buck into you, making you gag, a hand clawing into his thigh, eyes squeezing tight.
“Sorry– fuck,” he curses again, voice desperate, “feels so good, don’t stop.”
You take him down your throat, gagging yourself purposefully as your nose meets the tuft of black hair at his base, the hand that was curled around him reaching below, cupping his balls softly, tightening your throat around him as you squeeze your palm ever so lightly. The sound that leaves him is obscene, abdomen clenching, his hands finding Mingi’s thighs, nails digging into his skin. You bob your head, breathing through your nose to keep him deeply rooted in your throat, constricting around him just to hear that noise over and over.
“Oh my god,” his voice is strained, harsh, “I’m gonna cum– I want to fuck you, please, wait–”
His hand finds your hair but you don’t budge, keeping your rhythm on his cock, nose buried in his hair as your saliva drips from your lips and onto his pelvis, sliding down to where your hand lays below.
“Baby, baby–”
His moan is strangled, caught in his throat as his limbs lock, legs straightening while his grip tightens in your hair, hips bucking into your mouth once, twice before his release shoots down your throat. You swallow him down, keeping your mouth suctioned to him as you ride out his high until he’s shaking, slipping off of him with your tongue still flat to ensure you’ve gotten every last drop.
You break off of him with a pop, eyes glassy as you find him winded. Chest heaving, head lazily thrown on Mingi’s chest, your brown-haired boyfriend just smiled proudly from behind him.
“Mouth just as dangerous as your pussy,” Mingi says, hands still splayed across Yunho’s abdomen, fingers softly petting his skin.
“Only for you,” your smile is coy, of all things. Crawling up to where they sat, you lean down and press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, then one to Yunho’s. He still looks winded when you pull away, making you giggle, “You okay?”
He nods, “I just… I haven’t come since the last time, with you. Need a second.”
You snort, “A whole week, is that a new record or something?”
Yunho smiles, laughter in the exhale through his nose, “Don’t get smart with me, I haven’t forgotten about today.”
You lean down to press another kiss to his lips, keeping yourself close as you say, “Been waiting for the chance to do something about it, like you said?”
His eyes flicker up to yours. In that one sentence it’s as if you reminded him who he was, what he’s capable of. These eyes you know, deep and controlled, harsh in a way that tickles your spine. Your core clenches around nothing, tongue poking out to lick over your lips, anticipation heating your blood.
“Take off your pants, sit at the top of the bed.”
He barely gets the sentence out before you’re shimmying yourself out of your sweatpants, crawling up to your pillows. You’re vibrating as Yunho turns to Mingi, standing up on his knees, grabbing the younger man with one palm below his jaw to pull him upward. Mingi scrambles to his knees, brows already furrowed, lips still touching in the center as they part.
Yunho smashes his lips into Mingi’s, there’s nothing graceful about the way his other hand digs into the nape of Mingi’s neck, making him arch into the older man with a whimper pouring straight into his mouth as his hands find Yunho’s biceps for leverage. It’s messy, rough, Yunho picking him apart with nothing but his lips– it makes your knees tie together, adding pressure between your thighs.
“You,” Yunho starts, the word accusatory, giving Mingi another unforgiving press of his lips before he continues. “Teased me all day. Taunting me during volleyball, in front of our friends, do you have anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Mingi squeaks, fingers curling into Yunho’s biceps, the sound makes a smile spread across your cheeks, eyes flaring.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Better,” Yunho mumbles, reaching down to pull his shirt up and over his head. One hand reaches down to palm Mingi over his briefs, palm flat and fingers splayed over his length, and Mingi folds upon contact. Head dipping low, abdomen clenching, a groan spills from his lips as his hips buck into Yunho’s touch.
“Don’t tease,” Mingi whispers, voice a strangled moan.
Yunho huffs a laugh, “Like you teased me earlier? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”
Mingi lifts his head up to look at Yunho just as he starts grinding his palm against his length, bare chest leaning into Mingi’s, using his height to his advantage to look down at him. Mingi sputters, “T-That’s different, Yun. We were trying–”
“Trying to what?” Yunho squeezes his length and Mingi whimpers. Yunho smiles, “Bait me into fucking you in front of everyone?”
“No–”
“Then what?”
“Wanted to feel like you still wanted us,” Mingi says it all in one strained breath, his voice rising in pitch as Yunho’s hand slips beneath his briefs, fingers wrapping around his length.
“I wanted you,” Yunho’s voice slips into something quieter, other hand reaching up around Mingi’s neck, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as before brings his face to Mingi’s, lips almost touching. “The whole time.”
“You left,” Mingi’s voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, a hiss leaving his lips when Yunho twists his wrist, palm closing over the tip of his cock. Yunho pushes Mingi’s briefs down his thighs, lowering Mingi down until his knees are spread, arms splayed behind him, cock jumping against his pelvis, red, angry and leaking like a fucking faucet.
“Do you want my mouth?” Yunho, between Mingi’s knees, asks before his eyes slide to you at the top of the bed. “Or do you want to be filled?”
Mingi’s brows raise. “I get a choice?”
Yunho shrugs. “My way of saying sorry.”
Both of their eyes slide to you and your eyes widen under their attention, back straightening against the pillows. They drink in your posture, knees pressed together, hands scrunched in the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you from slipping your hand between your legs.
“Come.”
Yunho’s voice is unyielding, it has you crawling across the mattress on all fours, landing on your knees before them. Mingi’s head tilts, “Thought I had a choice?”
Yunho snorts his amusement, “Like you’d choose anything other than my cock filling you up.” He plants a hand against your cheek, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “You can kiss while I prep him, but don’t touch.”
You nod, eager as you settle yourself laid down in front of Mingi, your beautiful boyfriend who already looked so gone. Cheeks pink, chest heavy, his muscled biceps land on either side of your head against the mattress, your calves curling over his thighs with him above you. His cock lands against your lower tummy, heavy, sticky, the order not to touch has your heart picking up speed in your chest, a desire you can’t fulfill.
“Hi, baby,” Mingi’s smiling as he presses one, soft kiss to your lips. Your arms are bent up, hands on either side of your shoulders, palms faced up with your fingers loose and limp, hips fighting the urge to buck up into him.
You push out a sigh, “Need you,” your back arches instead, nipples pebbling beneath the breeze that drifts through the room. “Wanna feel full.”
He places another soft kiss on your lips, “Soon.” He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth, you can taste him, taste Yunho, it makes you moan into him, fingers twitching because you want them on his face, in his hair, around his cock.
Yunho leaves the bed to cross the room, you hear him opening the closet, the zipper of the duffel he brought sliding open, but Mingi’s tongue is licking into your mouth, rendering you thoughtless, you don’t care to look over. “Wanna touch you,” you whisper, back arching more until your nipples press against his warm skin, whining at the contact.
“Patience, baby,” his lips find your jaw, elbows closing in around your head, tongue sliding down to your neck to lick a stripe back up to your jaw. You moan, legs tightening around his thighs, hips bucking against his length that tapped against your stomach with each movement. Torture, being naked beneath him, wanting so badly to touch, to feel.
You feel the dip of the bed when Yunho kneels behind him, you hear the cap snapping open on what you can only assume is a bottle of lube. It makes you smirk, knowing he brought it with him, that it was in his bag, waiting to be used. Yunho’s palms flatten over Mingi’s ass, and his head dips down into your shoulder at the contact, in anticipation of what comes next.
You watch over Mingi’s shoulder as Yunho squirts some into his hand, closing it before running two fingers down the space between, thumb circling his hole. Mingi’s whole body jerks, gasping into your neck, cock digging into your stomach.
“Open up for me,” Yunho says softly, “let me in.”
Mingi’s knees spread a little wider, lips meeting your shoulder, your neck, back arching lower, the position Yunho likes. Yunho keeps his eyes on you beneath him as he pushes a finger inside, his own brows furrowing together at the feeling of him, the tightness around his digit.
“Shit,” Mingi whimpers into your skin and one hand comes up to tangle in his hair, relaxing him into the stretch, all while keeping your eyes on Yunho.
“That’s it,” Yunho nods, voice just above a whisper, “there you go.”
Yunho bites his lip as he crooks his finger and Mingi fucks back, head lifting from your shoulder to push himself into the older man, moaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. You quickly turn your head to catch a glimpse, his slacked jaw, eyes softly shut, brows knitted together in pleasure, so fucking beautiful. The sight of him when you’re wrapped around his cock versus Yunho pushing into him, the sight of his pleasure was so different, so raw seeing him this way, so open and desperate.
“Yes,” you find yourself whispering, back arching at his pleasure, almost feeling it as if it were your own.
Yunho adds another finger, making Mingi moan, lifting himself up onto his palms, head craning to see Yunho behind him. “More, gimme your cock, I can take it.”
Yunho nods, ripping open a condom packet from beside him and slipping it on in one quick motion. Tapping his cock between Mingi’s cheeks, he looks over Mingi’s shoulder to you, “Go ahead.”
At the speed of fucking light you’re reaching between you, making Mingi gasp as your fingers wrap around his length, Yunho lining himself up behind him as you line him up at your center. You didn’t need the prep, the head of his cock slipping around as soon as you brought it to your slit, sliding through your wetness until it caught against your entrance, making you gasp out a moan.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s voice sounds strangled, strained, preparing himself to fuck you full while he gets fucked full– you’ve done it plenty, but each and every time it’s overwhelming for him, for you to be fucked by Yunho’s thrusts.
“Breathe,” Yunho says, and it’s both a warning and an order as he pushes inside, making Mingi’s breath catch in his throat until he forces it down into the base of his lungs. Yunho groans, head tipping back as he slowly pushes inward until he seats himself inside.
One of your hands cups his face, pressing your lips against his unmoving ones, “That feels good?”
“Full,” Mingi grits out as Yunho bottoms out, hands squeezing his ass, face contorted in pleasure.
You smile, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth, “Ready?”
He nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open like he’d unhinged his jaw. You tighten your legs over his thighs, an elbow planted under you, lifting your hips up to press his tip inside, and with Yunho’s next thrust he’s pushing inside, all the way, all at once. Your eyes blow wide as a shrill sound escapes you, and Yunho’s head picks up over Mingi’s back.
“If you’re loud, I stop,” Yunho grits out. “We don’t need the whole house hearing us.”
Your other arm is clawing at Mingi’s shoulder, so fucking full and stretched out it’s dizzying, you barely process Yunho’s words as Mingi catches your lips with his own. The three of you readjust closer together now that you’re positioned, and with every thrust of Yunho’s hips against Mingi, Mingi fucks into you the same.
“So tight, Min,” Yunho gasps. “Missed this ass, fuck, craved this tight fuckin’ thing.”
He’s beautiful, hair soft and messy, brows quirked in focus as he watches himself drill into Mingi, how his cock disappears, how Mingi sucks him in with each thrust. You’re clinging to Mingi, one arm over his shoulder as your hips fuck back into him, his cock curving into you just right, making you moan into his lips as his tongue steals every sound from your throat, pouring another one right back into yours.
“Faster,” you whimper, eyes lifting. “Please, Yun. More.”
“Never satisfied,” Yunho spits out through his clenched teeth, two hands gripping Mingi’s hips as he fucks into him harder, faster, ricocheting into you, body slamming into the mattress with each thrust. You’re a crying, whimpering mess, clawing into Mingi’s skin as he cries into your mouth, lost in a bubble of pleasure, Mingi’s body locking up with each thrust of Yunho’s hips.
“I’m close,” Mingi whispers, straining. “Fuck, too good, so full, you’re so tight–”
“Cum,” you whisper, hips rolling into each thrust. “Fill me up, baby. Come on.”
Yunho’s hands slide up to his waist, nails biting into his sides, “Hold it.”
Your hips buck into him faster, a pit forming in your stomach as the pleasure builds, catching Mingi’s lips again. Yunho slaps his palm against Mingi’s ass as he feels Mingi buck into you, “Hold it.”
“Can’t!” Mingi cries, “I can’t, I cant, I’m cumming–”
You moan as his cock twitches inside you, still rolling your hips against him as he fills you up, warmth spreading through your lower half. Yunho hisses from behind, “You never fuckin’ listen.”
You smile, dazed and lazy as you stare up at him over Mingi’s back, “Happens every time.”
“Fuck,” Yunho huffs, “wanted to cum inside you, Min.”
You slow your hips as Mingi’s arms waver, shaking on either side of you. “’m sorry,” Mingi says, breathless. “Felt so fucking good.”
You pull your hips off of him as you let go of his shoulder, falling flat against the bed as he crumbles on top of you, Yunho pulling out behind him. Sated, he hums into your shoulder, left hand digging beneath your back, holding you close.
Yunho slips off the condom and pulls you toward him by your ankles, Mingi’s startled enough by the action to roll off of you and onto his back, head turned with eyes half open to watch as Yunho tugs you upward by your hips. Yunho sinks down to sit on his calves, pulling your thighs over his, not wasting a second as he runs his cock through your folds, spreading Mingi’s release. You hiss at the contact, hips bucking into him, digging your elbows beneath you to hold you up. “Kiss me,” you beg, “kiss me while you fuck me, please. Need it.”
His brows furrow, lips parting like you’d just taken your cock down his throat, your words hitting like a pang to his gut. He lines himself up, cock prodding at your entrance as he leans forward, grabbing you by your waist to pull you on top of him, using your thighs on his as leverage to sit yourself over his cock.
Lowering yourself onto him, you lay your hands over his shoulders to attach your lips to his, nothing about it structured or neat as he pushes inch after inch into your heat. You moan into him, whining as you reach the base of him, feeling the full length of him in your fucking guts.
“Big,” you mumble, a whiney whisper. “Wanna cum on your cock, Yunho.”
His fingers tighten around your waist, lifting you up on his cock before slamming you back down, making you cry out into his mouth. “Quiet,” he grunts, then places a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I know it feels good, baby.”
Your fingers claw into his shoulders, “So good, missed your cock, fills me up so fuckin’ perfect, so full.”
He guides you with two hands on your waist, lifting you, lowering you, shifting you into a dirty grind, “Take me so well,” he says before he kisses you again. “Pussy so tight, missed her, missed you.”
You catch his lips, words staggered by each slap of your hips against his, “Don’t fucking leave again.”
His fingers sear your waist, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks behind, making you moan. You grind yourself into him, rolling your hips until his cock reaches the sweet spot inside you, a high pitched noise escaping your lungs before you can stop it.
“Shit,” you cry out, panicking at the pleasure, lowering your voice. “Shit, shit, shit– good, right there, so good.”
Yunho meets you where you roll into him and your eyes drop to watch, his sculpted abdomen flexing under the movement, how you swallow his cock with each grind, it’s too much. Mingi’s behind you before you can process it, feeling his heat before his bare skin, his lips at your neck, teeth grazing your steaming skin, fingers toying at your chest, you fall into him as your hips move on their own.
“Min,” you moan out. “Yunho, fuck– wanna cum, wanna cum,” you’re repeating the words like a mantra, Yunho’s cock kissing your walls, the tip of him running over that spot inside you like it has nowhere else to go.
“Cum,” Mingi says into your skin. “Cum around his cock, let him feel it.”
You grind your teeth, a strangled sound escaping you, so close you could fucking taste it.
“Need more, baby?” Yunho asks, breathless, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. “My girl, never satisfied, always needs more.”
“Insatiable,” Mingi’s tongue drags along your neck and you nearly fold, the pleasure overwhelming. One of his hands dips down between you, two fingers rubbing at your clit and your eyes blow wide, entire body jerking forward at the touch.
“There she goes,” Yunho smiles and your breath completely catches in your throat, hips stuttering in their grind, he quickly uses two hands on your hips to keep you moving in rhythm. You feel it building impossibly further, your orgasm right below the surface, your skin vibrating, your breath coming out in shallow bursts.
Mingi reaches up, one hard pinch to one of your nipples and you’re falling forward, head on Yunho’s shoulder as your limbs lock, pressure blowing, euphoria consuming every inch of your being. You hear Yunho mumble something haphazardly to Mingi before he’s pushing you backward, holding onto your hipbones as he drills into you, chasing his own high. It’s more than overwhelming, your orgasm never ending, prolonged with each thrust of his cock inside you.
“Mouth,” Yunho bites, and Mingi’s palm clasps over your lips on command. You don’t even realize what sounds are leaving you, that your lungs are even working properly, so consumed by euphoria.
You’re seizing around him, body twitching, core clenching with each thrust of his cock until his hips stutter, emptying himself inside you with consistent, punched strokes so you feel every inch of him, every drop of him as he fills you up.
Mingi releases your mouth when Yunho finally pauses, his hand shaky, chest heaving, cock half-hard again against his thigh. The only sound in the room is your breathing, distant waves crashing ashore, the sound of the breeze blowing through the room, making the curtains dance around the balcony doors.
“I could watch you two forever,” Mingi mumbles, more to himself than to you.
Yunho pulls out slowly, keeping a hand steady cupped over your center, so if you do drip it’s not on San’s comforter. Always thinking ahead, even after sex, when one would think his brain would turn at least a little fuzzy.
You swallow down nothing but air in your dry throat, reaching for the man beside you and the other across from you, “Lay with me.”
“You need to shower,” Yunho counters, running his other hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Or pee, at least. Get this out of you so we can sleep.”
You mumble your discontent, groaning, body spent and tired but so fucking elated at what just transpired. Yunho smiles up at you, “We aren’t at home, little lady, you need to go pee.”
“Little lady?” You and Mingi ask at the same time, mocking him, brows furrowed, smiles amused. You snort, “Try a different nickname.”
“Shut up and go to the bathroom,” Yunho huffs, standing up off the bed, pulling you by your ankles to the edge. Mumbling under his breath, he’s looking at the sheets, “Always something to say.”
“You love it,” you smirk, standing on shaky, tired legs. You wobble, he slides a grounding arm around your waist, you look up at him with smiling eyes, “If I wasn’t such a brat you wouldn’t have anything to punish me for.”
“A well-behaved submissive is a well-trained one,” he’s quick to respond.
You scowl, eyes pointed as you look at him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “I’m not your submissive.”
“What are you, then?” He asks and you steal your arm back from over his shoulder, ignoring the leakage between your thighs, just to look up at him and see him smirking, face fully amused.
“Not funny,” you grumble. “Mingi will shower with me, you can wait outside.”
“No,” he half-whines the word, still fully amused, leaning into you before he bends at his knees, scooping you from beneath your legs into his arms bridal-style. “We’re all showering together, end of story. Say a prayer that Jihyo and Jongho are asleep.”
You’re giggling at him butt-ass naked in the dark hallway, it seemed Jihyo and Jongho were asleep with how easily you snuck into the bathroom without being caught, Mingi on your heel. Your shower was innocent, soft touches and bubbly soap, exhaustion dancing in the steam, the humor had dissipated and exposed what was left over. The three of you, together again. Whole.
Back in bed, you in the middle, Mingi on your left, Yunho on your right, you didn’t even bother with clothes. The only light came from the still open balcony doors, moonlight acting as a beacon, calming in how it coated the room in a soft pale hue.
“I really did miss you,” Mingi cuts through what felt like an hour of silence, just waves and breeze. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Yunho’s response is soft, fingers playing in Mingi’s hair above you, you cocooned in the middle of the two.
For the first time, those three little words sat on your tongue, begging to be said. Instead, you ask, “You know what you said? The submissive thing?”
His hand cups your cheek, “I was just kidding, baby.”
“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not that. I was wondering… What it’d be like.”
“To be my sub?” His brows raise, tipping your head up to look at him. “Like, for real?”
You smile, “Yes, for real. I’ve wondered since Woo’s going away party, what you’re like when you’re serious about it.”
“You don’t think I’m serious with you?”
“You know you let shit slide,” you narrow your eyes. “A lot slide. I want to experience a day, in public and stuff when you’re being you. In your element.”
Yunho’s eyes slide up to Mingi, “You too, baby?”
Mingi smiles, bashful but honest, nodding. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, too.”
“You’re both untrained–”
“You’ve taught us a lot,” you cut him off. Rearranging yourself, head pressed into Mingi’s chest so you can see Yunho easier, you urge, “We can do it. Let us try tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yunho.”
“Fine,” his smile is soft, eyes so dreamy it’s hard to comprehend that a man like him could ever be mean. If you hadn’t experienced it, you wouldn’t believe it. You love him mean. You love him nice. You love how he looks at you. You keep the words inside.
“We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
You didn’t say another word, other than goodnight. You could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore just outside the house, you could smell Yunho’s body wash everywhere, the moon shining down on your bedroom, for the first time in days, everything felt… Peaceful. Normal.
Your heartbeat hasn’t been this even since the day Yunho walked out of your apartment.
Feet twitching, a tickle on your leg, your nose scrunches as consciousness pulls your eyelids apart. You suck in a short breath when you feel warmth on your thigh, the heaviness of a hand, Yunho’s hand, it snaps you awake like someone poured cold water over your head.
“What are you doing?”
His other hand moves your panties to the side, his head already between your legs, which was enough to answer your sleep-induced question. Your thighs parted for him further, arms limp against the bed, you could hear the soft snores from Mingi still fast asleep beside you.
A moan passes softly through your lips as his tongue makes contact with your center, slipping between your folds, lips swirling around your clit. The fingers curling into your thigh tells you to shut up, and you listen by slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut.
Fuck, you’ve missed his hands on you, you’ve missed his mouth, you’ve missed the way he tells you what to do without saying a fucking word. You’ve missed everything about him.
He pulls away only to pull your panties down your thighs, throwing them somewhere on the floor before both hands push into the plush of your thighs, spreading them wider than before. The mewl that leaves your lips, the way your leg bumps into Mingi’s sleeping body has his eyes cracking open, confusion and sleepiness present in the way he blinks himself awake.
“Damn,” Mingi groans, stretching out his limbs as Yunho devours you all over again. “I’ve missed this.”
Mingi leans over, pressing his lips sleepily into your neck, tongue poking out to slide up onto your jaw, your mind clouded with a whirlwind of pleasure. Too long since you’ve had two bodies on you, focused on you, pleasuring you, days had felt like months.
Yunho’s hand left your thigh to grab onto Mingi’s ankle, pulling him downward, a cue to get off of you without him saying a word. Mingi shuffled himself down the bed until Yunho grabbed his already stiff length over his briefs, Mingi pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, eager to feel Yunho’s touch like it was the first time.
Yunho’s fingers slip through your folds to gather the wetness onto his hand just to use it in gliding his hand over Mingi’s length, which had both of you squirming in pleasure, light moans blending together. He spits on your center before sitting up on his knees, slipping two fingers inside you, the other hand still pumping Mingi’s length, he used the same rhythm on both of you, where you both stared up at him with parted lips, furrowed brows, glassy eyes, you think that maybe you were dreaming, or maybe you’d gone to heaven in your sleep.
“Missed me, huh?”
You and Mingi nod erratically, your hips jerking into his touch, he wore a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes that told you he missed you just as much. Having the two of you splay out beneath him, victim to his hands, to his hold over you entirely, he had you exactly where he wanted you.
His fingers curled into you at the same time as his wrist twisted around Mingi’s length, movements he knew drove you close to the edge, you could feel the pit in your stomach forming just from how deep his fingers hit inside you. He knew you so well, too well, he could pull you to orgasm so fast, even at god knows what time in the morning. From the rising sun outside of your balcony, you knew it was early.
“You want to be with me for real?” Raised eyebrows, temptation in his voice, a depth to his eyes that only came out when he was in the mood to have you crying beneath him, the ghost of fear nipped at your spine. You nodded.
“You– fuck,” Mingi gasped, hips bucking into Yunho’s hand. “You know we do.”
“Then you’ll learn what it’s like to be with me,” staring down at you beneath his brows, his jawline sharp from where you looked up at him, you gulped at the sight of gravity in his eyes. Fingers hitting the spongy spot inside you repeatedly, it was hard to feel the fear through the pleasure, to understand the weight of his words as he pulled you so damn close to the finish line.
“Yes,” you whispered, back arching, eyes closing, your orgasm so close you could taste it.
Mingi wasn’t far behind, his fingers curling into the bedsheets, his legs trembling, small gasps and mewls falling from his lips one after another, it was ridiculous how easily he had the two of you rendered stupid before him.
Lifting yourself onto your elbows, your voice shaky, you cry, “I-I’m close.”
“Me too, don’t stop, Yunho,” Mingi moans from beside you, sounding weary, teetering on the edge.
Yunho smiles, a flicker of something in his eye that assured you the fear in your spine was right. His fingers scissor you open like he could make you cum with his eyes closed. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give you permission, and you push a heavy breath through your lips like it’d help pause your impending orgasm while you wait for the green light.
“I’ve been too lenient with you,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “I did some thinking, too, and I think you two forgot who I am, why you asked me to share your bed in the first place.”
Your eyes blow wide, panic surging through you, “Yunho, I’m gonna cum–”
He slips his fingers out of you at the same time as he pulls his hand away from Mingi’s cock, your thighs snap together, a curse slipping from your lips. A too verbal cry leaves Mingi’s throat, his cock spurting ropes of white cum onto his hips, his stomach, his orgasm completely ruined.
“We’ll see if you still want me by the end of today,” Yunho is smiling while ignoring Mingi’s heaving chest and teary eyes, proud of himself, happy with what he had just done to the two of you. Your eyes are dancing between Yunho and your boyfriend that has tears slipping past his waterline, his jaw dropped in shock, in anguish of what had just been done to him. You wished you could have seen his raw reaction, the moment his orgasm was denied.
“I didn’t forget everything that happened yesterday, did you?” He asks, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between you and Mingi. “Today will be different.”
Your body was on fucking fire– fear, arousal, the orgasm that was still on the brink beneath your hipbones, you didn’t know which emotion to pay attention to first. You tried to speak, some form of rebuttal, every string of words came out jumbled, completely incoherent. Yunho grinned. Mingi whimpered.
“Clean yourselves up and come to breakfast,” Yunho climbs off the bed, running a hand through his black locks as he makes for the door. “Don’t touch each other, don’t touch yourselves. I’ll know if you do.”
You swear the beach is hotter than it was yesterday.
All thirteen of you, after having breakfast out on the deck, packed up for another beach day that was thankfully right in San’s metaphorical backyard. No one was acting out of the ordinary, it seemed safe that no one heard the three of you getting edged by Yunho’s hands just a few hours ago, or getting split open by his cock last night, but you wondered if anyone could pick up how fucking frustrated you and your boyfriend were come this morning.
You obeyed Yunho, you didn’t touch each other after he left this morning, instead you kept your distance in your bedroom while you got ready for breakfast, as Mingi took a cold shower, letting ice fill his veins as he replayed his ruined orgasm in his mind.
Yunho was careful around you at breakfast, around your friends, only meeting your eye when he felt yours on him, while you were daydreaming, fantasizing, watching how his veiny hands picked up his utensils, how his pretty pink lips wrapped around the food he ate, how his body bent when he stood up from the kitchen table, the low rumble in his tired voice as he spoke to Hongjoong…
“This one.”
After escaping a calm breakfast, you were upstairs, getting ready for the impending beach day. Yunho had picked out a pair of swim shorts for Mingi, ones with a longer inseam, and had ruffled through all the bikinis you brought with you, choosing one less skimpy, but still as revealing as a bikini would be.
He handed you a black triangle bikini with small, white polka dots printed on the nylon, the bottoms were string-tied, the back ruched at the middle. Thrill danced in your blood at the thought of wearing something he chose for you, an invisible display of dominance to the people who would see you in it. He hasn’t done this yet. This was new.
“We’re playing today,” he sat back on the bed, you and Mingi standing before him, backs straight, heels touching, as per Yunho’s request. You were already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, anticipation. “If it’s too much, you know what to say, but I’ll be expecting obedience, without question. Understood?”
You and Mingi nod furiously– he clicks his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” scrambles out of both of your mouths simultaneously. You’ve never spoken about or decided on a title formally, you’ve only said the word to Yunho playfully a few times, just for him to respond ‘be careful what you wish for.’
You were more than careful, it’s indescribable how the title makes you feel. Yunho has taken care of you both from the start, slipped into a role on his own when he started spending time with you, but today he’d officially take on the role fully, no shortcuts, no excuses.
There were times you’ve gone grocery shopping or went out to eat and he’s told you to not speak unless spoken to, to only walk on the right side of him, Mingi on his left. Something like this lit a fire in your belly, playing in front of your friends when you and Mingi knew Yunho didn’t want them to know anything about you three, you’d have to be discreet, yet still obey him completely, it made you nervous. Excited to comply, to appease him. Still excited, but nervous about what happens if you don't.
This was Yunho, unshielded, unapologetically himself, this was Yunho showing you who he is, what he wants. Your request had turned into a test, one you deeply wanted to pass; because in your mind, passing felt like the last obstacle. That if you passed, he’d have no reason to deny you any longer, no further reason to say no.
Because he didn’t answer you last night with a yes, in your mind, it was still a no.
Excitement flared in your eyes when he nodded, pleased, “Good.”
When he laid out the rules for today, they seemed simple.
You’re to sit with good posture on his left, Mingi on his right. Easy.
There shouldn’t ever be sand on his towel, if there is, you or Mingi clean it off when you see it. The thought of the two of you doting on him makes your heart skip a beat.
You’re both to make sure he is never without a drink, you get him another when he’s finished the one he has. He’s testing your ability to pay attention, to focus on him only. He should be at the forefront of your mind all day— as if he already doesn’t live there.
If you need anything, if you want anything, you ask permission first. Submission, structure.
No complaining about the sand, the heat, if you or Mingi are in distress, you tell him properly, without whining. He wants you polite, but neither you nor Mingi were one to complain about anything, anyhow.
You both are to stay within arm’s reach of him all day. You want to be by his side, anyways, but being expected to… you would pass his test with flying colors.
You didn’t ask what happens if you didn’t follow them, maybe you should’ve. It feels full circle from Wooyoung’s going away party all that time ago, when you were curious about the date he brought, why she acted the way she did. How a part of you craved it, when you didn’t even know what it was.
The sun scorched the sand, inescapable, a dry heat that was only eased by the salty breeze that snuck past your bodies every now and then, so sporadically you could barely call it relief. You had created a small village on the beach, multicolored towels laid out in a line, beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers with liquor, bags full of snacks, a large speaker that played nostalgic music over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Looking at the scene made you laugh, you could remember coming to the beach with the same damn people with nothing but a towel and a handle of vodka.
A lifetime ago.
You sat with your knees bent in a pretzel, back straight, palms in your lap. A drink was buried in the sand next to you, something sour, Tzuyu mixed it, she claimed one was enough to keep you buzzed for a while. That was fine with you, sunglasses on your face, watching the waves fold onto the wet sand at the shoreline, head tilted, humming to a song you knew all too well while it danced with the breeze.
Yunho bent down beside you on the empty, clean baby blue towel, the corners still stiff and bent from how it was folded in San’s linen closet, the print on it still bright, likely new. Your chin perked up with his presence, sunglasses perched on his nose, black hair already damp with sweat and mussed on his forehead, sun-kissed and angelic. Your mouth watered before he uttered a word.
“You have sunscreen on?” Short, curt, filled with expectation. It wasn’t just the simple question forcing a rush of adrenaline to sweep through you, heart rate picking up, fingertips twitching against your skin, it was his tone; strong, composed, yet somehow condescending, as if you couldn’t remember to put your own sunscreen on.
You nodded, the need to appease him curling low in your gut, the desire to make him pleased. His tongue clicked, words. You sputtered, “Yes, I put some on before we left the house.”
“That was an hour and a half ago,” he sighed, running long, milky fingers through the damp black locks on his head. “I’ll get some.”
He used his palms braced on his thighs to stand again and your neck twisted to Mingi on the far towel, raising your brows.
Mingi gave you a small shrug, Here we go.
You glanced around the group, taking in everyone’s whereabouts. San and Jongin laid out on beach chairs beneath the sun, carved abdomens dipped in honey, shiny and slicked by sunscreen and sweat. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were down by the shore, mid-conversation, hats blanketing their hair, ankle-deep in the water. Tzuyu, Jihyo and Sana laid in a line to your left, gossiping, drinking, bodies a contrast to the towels beneath them.
Wooyoung had dragged Jongho and Yeosang into the sand off to your right, convincing the two men to bury him. You think Wooyoung started drinking when his eyes opened this morning.
You felt Yunho’s presence at your back like a shadow, a promise of unfinished business. He leaned in tight, next to your ear, “This drink is the only one you’ll have today.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded. You didn’t ask permission before drinking it. His silence, his lack of movement, snapped you back into place, back straightening. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Fuck. You could genuinely moan at his tone, the way he’s biting his words, silvery in what he expects of you, the power he holds in two small words. Maybe he wants you all fuzzy and moldable, like jelly, testing your ability to control yourself and keep your focus on him.
“Yes, sir,” it’s a mere mumble under your breath, head tucked down, just low enough for him to hear. You can feel Mingi’s eyes on you, you wonder if he heard, too, or if your cowering body is lost on him.
Yunho hums in satisfaction, “Sit on your knees, I’ll get your back.”
You don’t hesitate to tuck your knees under your body, ass pressed against your calves, the breeze on your now exposed tummy making you feel bare. Exposed in front of your friends. You can’t believe how it sends a deep pang of arousal through your entire fucking body. You hear the bottle open, lotion squirting into his hands, rubbing it together in his palms before he touches you.
It’s like lightning hit you, how your entire body jerks at his touch, how his palm pressed to your skin makes your thighs clench on command, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You can blame it on this morning, how he left you tightly wound and needy, the rules swimming in your mind, but the truth was that any time his skin touches yours it’s electrifying, it reminds you of all the times he’s fucked you brainless, it makes you ache for more.
He rubs the lotion onto your back slowly, massaging it in, you couldn’t tell if his movements were erotic or if your brain had dropped to the gutter. Over your hips, the sides of your waist, the tops of your shoulders, the backs of your arms, each movement was controlled, slow in a way that let you feel each point of pressure, how he was studying you as he worked the lotion onto your skin. Your neck inevitably bends, head drooping, shoulders slouching, despite the lotion being cold, his hands on you were so warm. Your thighs untensed, knees breaking apart, lungs emptying themselves into the summer air, it felt so fucking good to have his hands on you.
One palm smoothes up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other hand squeezing your hip over the waistband of your bottoms. “Up,” he bites, the singular word a nasty whisper. “Pathetic for you to lose your composure over sunscreen.”
You were grateful for your sunglasses– no one could see your eyes fluttering at his words. Your back straightens, knees kissing once more, hands folded in your lap. “Good girl,” his voice is still too low for anyone else to hear, if anyone was paying attention. It probably seemed like Yunho was just being friendly, helpful, putting sunscreen on your hard to reach places.
It didn’t look like that at all to Jongho and Yeosang, sunglasses shading their eyes as they scooped sand onto Wooyoung’s body, hands going motionless with each curve of Yunho’s fingers on your skin.
“Are you seeing this too?” Jongho asked the older man, eyebrows furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.
Yeosang nods, “And Mingi’s just watching. I’d lose my shit if you touched Tzuyu like that.”
“I’d fucking kill you if you looked at Jihyo like that,” Jongho agrees. Their eyes linger, watching how Yunho leans in close to your ear, how your back straightens, body locking all over again.
Wooyoung’s head peeks up from the sand, “What am I missing?”
“Do you think she’s cheating on Mingi?” Yeosang asks, sitting back on his heels.
“What?” Wooyoung sits up straight, the layer of wet sand on top of him cracking and falling in chunks onto his lap. The two other men groaned, knowing they were going to have to put it back on him in a moment's time.
Jongho shakes his head, “Mingi’s watching, no way she’d cheat, and no way Yunho would do that to him. Plus, he's never been territorial.”
Wooyoung’s neck stretches forward like he was squinting to see beneath his sunglasses. “Mingi doesn’t care if you flirt, I think giving her a back massage in front of the entire group is different.” His head tilts to the side. “But yeah, he really is just watching. Huh.”
“Interesting,” Yeosang’s lips scrunch, but he brings his head of red hair back to Wooyoung. “Lay down and let us restart, dumbass.”
After getting a slew of pictures of Wooyoung’s bronzed body buried beneath the sand, a mermaid tail packed over his legs, fake abs drawn onto his abdomen, the still-giggling men came back over to the group, covered in sand head to toe.
Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, shooting back a mouthful from his can, “Anyone wanna go swimming?”
Jongho and Yeosang were behind him, sweaty and beautiful, sand on their exposed bodies like a second layer of skin. You blinked at them, silent, because you didn’t wanna swim, part of you was scared that if you stood, someone would notice the patch of wetness on your bikini bottoms, despite them being black. Your fear held no bounds, no logic, but it was enough for you not to move a muscle.
Mingi leaned into Yunho, whispering something in his ear.
“Can I go?” Too low for your ears to catch, Mingi gave Yunho puppy eyes from below his shades, his voice sweet as candy.
Yunho gave him a short nod, forgoing a rule for Mingi’s appropriate execution of another, your boyfriend hopped up, a smile on his face, following behind his friends down to the shore. His dimpled lower back above the green shorts, how they scrunched around his thighs, the muscles in his shoulders too defined as he jogged away, fuck. You felt like an animal. A perverted, sex-crazed freak with the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him, how your toes dug into the towel beneath you.
You laid on your back instead, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts, of the expectations over your head. Taking a deep breath to ground yourself, to stop being so fucking horny on the blazing beach with all your friends around you.
Yunho’s empty can pressed against your arm.
You turned your head to see his jaw in a steady line, his brows raised. Shit. You stood up, walking over to the cooler in three steps, grabbing him another drink. You opened it for him, he thanked you as you handed it to him, you smiled as you took the empty one.
Even doing something this small, this insignificant, had goosebumps raising on your body. Doing it for him.
Yunho was facing you when you got back to your towel, laying back again, hands laying at your sides. His voice was quiet, soft in a way that meant he was just checking in, “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you answer in a smooth breath.
“Give me something better than that,” he frowns, voice lowering in volume, “I don’t want to ask you to throw a color all day, if I ask you how you’re feeling, give me words. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
You sit up on your elbows, sunglasses sliding down to the bridge of your nose. The first word that comes to mind, “Stimulated.” You smile, head tilting, “Hot, a little frustrated. Mostly eager.”
He smiles, “That’s good, right where I want you.” He leans back on his own elbows, his can buried in the sand beside him, between you. “Sometimes I think you were meant for this, y’know. You take structure well, you perform easily with it.”
“That’s because I enjoy it,” you respond, words coming easily, the alcohol making your lips loose. “More than I’m supposed to, I think. I like it the other way around too, sometimes.”
He quiets, watching Mingi out on the water. “You both switch. I wonder what I’ll do with you both sometimes.”
Your lip curls in gratitude as you lean your head towards him. “You’ve changed since spending time with us too, you know. Maybe you don’t need to do anything, maybe the three of us are fine how we are.”
He turns his head tight, but doesn’t say anything. You stare through your shades, holding your ground, hoping he feels what you said, and doesn’t cower in fear because what you have is real. He jerks his head to the towel next to him, voice unyielding once again, “Over here.”
You push yourself up without a word, cleaning off your towel before you grab your drink and move to Mingi’s towel, laying back down, all without question or hesitation. Yunho smiles, pride etched into the curve of his lips, “Good.”
The praise sets you ablaze all over again.
When Mingi returns, water dripping down his body, dark hair pushed back by his fingers, Yunho already had a towel in hand. Up by the umbrella, you watched with your head tilted back as Yunho ordered him over by just a nod of his head.
“Water feels so good,” he beamed, sandy feet walking between your towels, shedding droplets of water from his swim shorts as he walked past. He didn’t even notice you’d switched spots, or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
He reached a hand out to grab the towel from Yunho’s grip, but the older man shook his head, “I got it.”
Mingi stood dumbfounded for a moment, but turned around to face the three boys’ gaze who walked up from the water, also dripping saltwater, coated in sunshine. You were sure Mingi’s skin was burning as Yunho dried him off, slowly wiping the towel across his wet skin, on his hair. You bit your cheek. For someone who didn’t want anyone to know, he wasn’t exactly being discreet, but you supposed no one noticed Yunho at the going away party, either.
“They’re so weird,” Sana mumbled under her breath, on her stomach, elbows holding the weight of her upper body. She dipped her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose, watching Mingi and Yunho across the sand.
Jihyo and Tzuyu turned over on their towels, looking at Sana to see where her eyes were locked, then focusing in on the scene before them.
Tzuyu smiled, “Yunho’s so sweet, it must be nice for them to be so close.”
Jihyo squinted. The way Yunho’s hands dragged up Mingi’s body, his fingers curled over Mingi’s shoulder, how he leaned in to say something in his ear. She had a feeling since that morning, catching Yunho in your apartment, but brushed it off because you wouldn’t lie about something like that. Especially not to her. She would never judge you for having a threesome.
But Mingi’s head dipped down, eyes on his own crotch, mumbling a few words in response, and Jihyo’s lip curled. There’s no fucking way. She turned her head, “I caught Yunho at their apartment, you know.”
Sana and Tzuyu’s heads snapped to Jihyo, eyebrows raised, silently saying continue. Jihyo sighed, “Yunho was shirtless, towel on his waist, he had just gotten out of the shower. In their living room. Mingi had on boxers, she looked just-fucked. They said he was only there to shower because he had no water.”
“Doesn’t he live right around the corner from Joong and Hwa?” Sana asked. “If he didn’t have any water, why didn’t he just go there for a quick shower instead of traveling across the damn country?”
“They’re close,” Tzuyu leaned in, forever devil's advocate. “Would you go to Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s for a shower if Ji was home?”
“First of all, girls are different,” Sana shook her head. “Also, yes. They have a waterfall shower, and those jets in the walls for your body, plus Seonghwa uses that really good body wash from—”
“Exactly!” Jihyo cuts in. “Literally exactly my point. There’s something going on there, right? I’m not crazy?”
“Definitely not crazy,” Sana shook her head again. “Remember how Yunho snapped at me last night, too? When has he ever done something like that?”
“Maybe he was tired,” Tzuyu’s voice was small, like she didn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “I don’t know girls… They've been together forever. Do you really think Yunho would be involved with them… intimately?”
Jihyo shakes her head, lips scrunched, disappointed that you’d keep something so important from her. She even insinuated it, and you said no. “Who knows what goes on with them anymore. It’s not like we get any details.”
Yunho is more than pleased when Mingi cleans off the left side towel for Yunho, then the center one for himself, after Yunho nodded his head in silent direction, instruction in his body language only.
You were buzzing. You were both following instruction cleanly, discreetly, you were passing with flying fucking colors, you wondered if your ability to obey made him any more inclined to be your boyfriend. Your boyfriend’s boyfriend. You wish you could be inside his brain so desperately.
Yunho stood, brushing the sand off his multicolored, patterned shorts, throwing his sunglasses back on the towel. You sat up involuntarily, knowing if he moved, you moved with him.
He didn’t look back as he started for the shore. You stood, Mingi following, within arm’s reach as you flanked him down the beach, to the water. None of you knew you had eyes on you the entire time. Or that Wooyoung approached San the moment you walked away.
You minded your surroundings as you breached the shore, no sign of Hongjoong or Seonghwa, they must be on a walk, or back at the house. You’ve been so laser focused on Yunho and Mingi you almost forgot everyone else was there.
“Min said the water’s nice,” Yunho looked to you, then over to Mingi on his other side, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Wanna swim?”
You nodded, even if you didn’t have a choice. You wondered where the line stood with things like this, if you didn’t want to swim, if the urge to obey wasn’t so heavy. Would you be punished? For something measly like swimming?
Ice wraps around your ankles, your calves, your body shaking, hissing the deeper you went into the sea. Mingi and Yunho dove in, completely unaffected, fully submerged by the time you got up to your hips. “Fuck, it’s cold, fuck,” you had your arms tucked tight to your chest, slowly wading deeper into the water while they swam a few feet out, laying under the sun for hours would have made the warmest water freezing.
“How the hell are you guys so deep?” You yell across the waves that crashed against your abdomen, water reaching your belly button. “It’s fucking cold.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Mingi teased, grinning, hair melted around his face, flat against the curves of his cheekbones.
“And watch your mouth,” Yunho added, also teasing, smiling, on his back as he floated in the water. You scoffed, then faced the water before you, you’d have to rip the bandaid off if you were ever gonna be comfortable in the water.
“Just go underwater, baby,” Mingi called again. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
You scowled, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “It’s too fucking cold.”
Yunho’s smile widens, listening to your complaints, drinking them all in. You hissed again, dipping your fingers into the sea, up to your forearms, legs pushing against the moving water to get deeper. Up to your waist, below the tie of your bikini top, you finally said fuck it and sank beneath the surface.
Holding your nose, you gasped when you came back out to the salty air colder, ice consuming you head to toe. The two men just feet away cheered.
“Come here, baby, swim over,” Mingi called out, ushering you over with one hand. Breathless from the cold, you wiped the saltwater out of your eyes, blinking through the sting as you swam closer to them. Clinging onto your boyfriend’s front for life, he tucked one arm under your ass as you moved his hair out of his face. He smiled proudly, eyes bronzy beneath the sun, “It’s nice, right?”
You still shivered in his hold, but smiled playfully, he’s so handsome it hurts. “Fuck, fuck you.”
“Curse again,” Yunho taunts from a foot away, swimming closer, affection in his voice. His eyes go over your head, scanning the beach behind you, before they land back on you, just as icy as the water. “See what happens.”
“I’m sorry,” you whine, “it’s cold.”
“I’m in the water with you, quit whining,” he muses, coming closer. “I’ll give you something to whine about. Is that what you want?”
Arousal licks up your spine, you twitch in Mingi’s hold, but you shake your head. Yunho’s head tilts, “You sure, baby? You’ve been fidgeting all day, bet you’re feeling empty by now, aren’t you?”
You’ve been doing so good. Keeping up with his rules, being obedient, focused, you didn’t think your arousal was noticeable at all. You shake your head again even if Mingi could feel your thighs clench, “No. No, I’m fine.”
Yunho’s hands tug on your hips below the water, turning you until your back is pressed against Mingi’s chest, slotting himself between your floating legs. Mingi keeps his hands on your waist as your breath goes shaky, eyes widening, “Y-Yunho they can see—”
“Mingi is blocking us, they can’t see this far out,” Yunho cuts you off. “This body is mine. You don’t get to question me, you don’t get to worry. That’s my job.”
Even in the water, being held up by your boyfriend, he still feels so fucking big in front of you. You swallow, looking up at him through lashes coated in saltwater, voice as small as you felt, “O-okay.”
“You take what I give you, when I choose to give it,” he tilts his head, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs curling into your plush skin, feeling so soft beneath the water. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” you nod, and he grins. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hands sliding up your hips, up to your waist, over Mingi’s hands. He breaks away just to press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, too.
Your heart is racing in your chest. Intimidation, adrenaline, the press of cold surrounding you, concern about someone seeing you.
He leans back, keeping himself close. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Horny,” you blurt and he laughs. You shake your head, smile on your face, “Overwhelmed.”
His eyes look up to Mingi behind you, who responds, “Also horny. Stretched thin.”
“Color?”
“Green,” you and Mingi respond simultaneously without missing a beat.
“Don’t be scared,” Yunho shakes his head, grabbing your wrists lightly, sliding them onto his abdomen. “Do you trust me?”
You nod, “Yes, sir.”
His eyes jump to Mingi who didn’t realize Yunho was talking to him too, in a rush he responds, “Yes, sir.”
“Then make me cum.”
Mingi keeps a knee beneath you as his hands race to Yunho’s waistband, reaching in to feel Yunho’s cock that wasn’t even hard. Mingi looks up at Yunho who smiles, “The water’s real cold.”
At the shoreline, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had almost returned from their walk, fingers interlocked, legs moving at the same pace, mirroring each other’s movements. A mile down the beach, a mile back, the sun was warm, the water cooled them down, they loved everything about the beach. They’d get married on the beach, one day, soon.
Standing in the shallow water, arms stretched by how Seonghwa kicks about the waves and sand, Hongjoong stops him. “Baby, Hwa.” Seonghwa looks up, his attention grabbed, Hongjoong’s chin dips in the direction of the sea, a little ways out from where they stood, “Is that Yunho out there with them?”
Seonghwa puts a hand atop his eyes, shielding his vision, squinting beneath his glasses. “I think so. Maybe they stopped fighting.”
A theory the two had going from the time you’ve spent at San’s beach house so far, one they discussed before going to bed last night, a silly question from Hongjoong’s mouth that Seonghwa couldn’t believe he caught on to, too. From your reactions when choosing rooms to the bonfire yesterday to breakfast this morning, Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been keeping an eye on you three, reading your body language, your interactions.
“Oh shit,” Hongjoong’s jaw dropped when Yunho leaned in to kiss you. “Oh shit,” he smacked Seonghwa’s arm when Yunho kissed Mingi, too.
“What? What did you see?” Seonghwa is leaning in, bending forward, fidgeting where he stood, angling his head around to see.
“They kissed, Hwa,” Hongjoong is whispering, his voice coated in sheer disbelief, “they fucking kissed!”
“Who kissed?” Seonghwa raises himself on his tippy toes as if he wasn’t already taller than his boyfriend who could see clearly, “Joong! Who kissed?”
“Yunho kissed both of them,” Hongjoong’s hand moved to Seonghwa’s forearm, “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” Seonghwa whispers, a small mumble, his eyes widening beneath his sunglasses. “No- no, what are they doing now?”
Hongjoong breaks out in a wide grin, before a disbelieving laugh punches through his lips. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In public? In ocean water? People pee in there. Fish pee in there.”
“I feel like we’re intruding,” Seonghwa shakes his head, turning away. “We’re definitely not supposed to see this. We shouldn’t watch. This is an invasion of privacy.”
“They’re hooking up on the beach! They’re lucky there’s no one else out here.”
“This section is private,” Seonghwa turns away fully. “San owns it, or something like that, I don’t know how it works. Plus, we can’t see what’s happening under the water, they could be—”
“You mean to tell me they aren’t jerking him off right now?” Hongjoong’s orange brows bend over the frame of his sunglasses, his smile completely amused.
Seonghwa cringes, but turns around again to meet Hongjoong’s grinning cheeks. He looks out in the water, studying, frowning, “I don’t know if she’s doing anything. It might just be Mingi and Yunho.”
“Okay, but still,” Hongjoong smacks his teeth. “They’re seconds away from fucking in the ocean. Am I wrong?”
Seonghwa’s lips flatten, “Don’t say anything. They didn’t seem okay yesterday and today they’re inseparable, so clearly they’re figuring something out, and keeping it private.”
Hongjoong pouts, “Boo.”
Seonghwa smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “Do the right thing, my love.”
“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighs, looking out in the water again. "That's so juicy, though. In the middle of the ocean for anyone to see is crazy.”
You feel dizzy on your walk back up. Frustration curls low in your gut, a pestering weed left alone for too long, growing at a rapid pace through your veins, into your limbs, your chest. You needed to get off. Your composure was running scarily thin.
“Can I go to the bathroom when we get back up?” You ask Yunho, fingers laced with Mingi’s, both walking behind him, you on his left side, Mingi on his right.
“Are you gonna touch yourself?” He looks over his shoulder, brows raised.
You shake your head, “No, sir. Just need to pee.”
He nods, small, but permission-granting.
You didn’t say anything to anyone as you walked past the group, up to the house, to the outhouse tucked into the side of the property. It was more like a shack, no roof, thin bamboo walls to separate the toilet from the shower, nothing was enclosed except for the main door which was latched shut.
You eased a breath as you put the black steel hook through the matching loop, running your hands through your hair, eyes squeezing shut while the throbbing between your thighs becomes too much to bear in the silence of the bathroom.
Just for cursing.
Just for complaining about the water being cold.
He’s mean. He’s so fucking mean. You asked for this, he reminded you three times, but the words that left his mouth, so degrading, so teasing, all while being passed between them like a fucking doll. All while neither of them touched you. That was almost worse than having your orgasm ripped from you this morning, watching, listening to them pleasure each other, while being on the sidelines but also right fucking between them, you don’t know if you can do it.
You don’t know if you can take him like this. Mean, arrogant, purposely denying you pleasure because you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been good all day. You deserve it.
You sit on the toilet with furrowed brows, knees kissing, toes touching the wood beneath you. Your clit cries for attention, throbbing, buzzing, there’s a streak of wetness in your bikini bottoms that was too fucking slick to be washed away by the ocean. Your body feels tight, wound-up, aching for attention.
You could probably get away with it if you touched yourself. He’s not in the bathroom with you, he’s down at the shore with Mingi, with your friends, he’d never know. Your thighs clench at the thought, it wouldn’t even take long. You could probably get off in thirty seconds. Your jaw clenches, fingers curling to fists on top of your thighs. Don’t do it, your subconscious screamed at you. He’ll know.
You swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath. Your need to obey, to please him, outweighed the ache. At least that’s what you told yourself while you wiped. You opened the latch after washing your hands to be met with Yunho standing outside the door. You jumped, a gasp leaving your lips, “Shit, you scared me.”
“Give me your hand.”
You stared at him dumbfounded before the instinct kicked in. He pulled your fingers to his nose as soon as you lifted your palm, sniffing deeply. Just his fucking touch made your thighs clench.
“You didn’t touch yourself,” he says it like he’s surprised.
Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No, sir.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, moving to push past you and you want to scream. He’s even denying you a kiss to your fucking lips?!
“I can’t do it anymore,” you whisper.
He leans back, brows furrowed. “Can’t do what?”
“I need you to touch me,” your voice cracks on touch. “I need you to kiss me, I need you to fix whatever is happening to me right now. I’m gonna freak the fuck out.”
His eyes thin, jaw settling and god you want to sit on his face. “You don’t need anything.”
“Yunho,” you fall forward, forehead pressing against his still-wet chest, hands landing on his hips, the soft skin just above his swim shorts. “I need you. I can’t take it anymore.”
His neck cranes side to side, a heavy sigh pushing through his lips, his hand landing on top of your hair, fingers massaging at your scalp. “I’m teaching you submission,” he says into your hair, his voice steady. “It’s what you asked for. This is what it would be like. You can say red if you want to stop.”
Red feels like giving up, failing the test. You’re frustrated, but not enough to say the three lettered word that would end it all. You’re wound tight, clit still throbbing for attention, but the need to impress him aches worse.
You stare at him blankly, saying nothing. His lips curve, standing back a step. “You have your answer then.”
“Wait,” you interject, pleading with your hands on his chest. “Why did Mingi get to cum, then? How is he any more well-behaved than I am?”
“You didn’t follow the rules,” he shrugs, answering plainly. “I don’t have to give you a reason, if I don’t want you to cum, then you don’t cum. Your body is mine to do as I see fit.”
“I can’t,” you whine, hands going into your roots, frustrated. You don’t even know what was going to follow the two words, what’s left to say after that.
“Stop whining,” he bites. “It’s ugly, and you’re not ugly.”
Your bottom lip quivers, leaning into him, hiding your frustrated face. “I’ve been good.”
“And that’s ending now, I guess.” “Yunho.”
“Are you acting like this because you want to get punished?” Two hands on your cheeks, he pulls you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him. “Purposely whining to piss me off, even when I gave you clear, concise instructions for the day?”
You shake your head, ears tipping with heat. You can feel the heat everywhere. Shame, arousal, they blend together with the need to appease him, to impress him, you’re fighting against your own instincts.
“Then listen,” he snaps. “That’s the last time I’m going to say it.”
Jongin sees you as he leaves the house. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the kitchen after the group decided to go out for an early dinner, a place that served bar-food just down the street. You, standing with your head in Yunho’s chest, until he grabs you by your cheeks and tilts your head backward, talking to you… sternly? He stays pocketed behind the tall pampas grass, watching through leaves, his heart picking up in his chest. Is he catching something he isn’t supposed to?
Somehow, he moves far enough to where neither of you see him, and makes his way back down to the beach. He has to tell San, he has to tell Mingi– should he even get involved? Considering what Wooyoung told him and San earlier, there’s a chance Mingi is in on it, too.
“Got our keys,” he smiled briefly at San. “We should wait until they get back.”
San lifts a brow, “Did you see them? Any treachery?”
Jongin shakes his head quickly, not exactly sure why his gut tells him to lie. “I saw him inside, she was outside. No treachery to be seen.”
San’s lift lips in distaste. “Boring.”
Jongin feels bad lying to his boyfriend of three years, the man who changed everything about himself for Jongin, the yin to his yang. But this felt out of his control, a little too heavy for the friend group to be throwing around so easily, it's more than gossip. You, Mingi, you’ve been together for so long… longer than he’s known San. From what he’s learned, you’ve been together longer than any of the couples here.
Except for Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Maybe. He’d have to ask San for clarification on that one.
It wasn’t long until you and Yunho were bouncing back down the beach, wide grins on your faces and damn, his conscience feels heavy after lying. You bend down to press a kiss on Mingi’s lips and the way he grins with stars in his eyes tells Jongin enough. He’d keep his mouth closed for now. But if you and Yunho were any more obvious, if you take another risk— maybe someone else wouldn’t be as nice.
There’s bamboo everywhere. Sand under your feet, surf boards lining the baby blue, wooden walls, the roof coated in thatch, the tiki bar–cafe-restaraunt whatever the fuck was the pinnacle of everything Haos claims to be. An escape, another world, somewhere the wealthy pride themselves in vacationing, it reminded you to breathe. To enjoy everything around you, your friends’ laughter, how the sun just beginning to sink was now far less brutal, the way Mingi and Yunho both had a claiming hand on either one of your thighs under the long, wooden picnic table.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” with one hand on either of your shoulders, Yunho walked in the center of you and Mingi in the parking lot, one step behind you after you climbed out of Jongin’s Jeep.
You were still playing. Stomach still churning, body still wound tight, you wished you could force yourself to believe that you wouldn’t explode if someone didn’t touch you soon. Still embarrassed over your outburst earlier, not being able to handle what you asked of him, most of you was glad he didn’t give in– even if arousal kept your body temperature heated to a low-grade fever.
Mingi, free as a bird, was giggling to himself at something Wooyoung said across from you, his face sunkissed, his forehead, the tip of his nose, like the sun shone down on Mingi alone. Maybe it did, your irresistible boyfriend with a heart of gold, you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun woke up every morning hoping just to see him. The sound was music to your ears, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands holding onto the small, laminated menu.
You flexed your thighs, I missed you guys.
The answering squeezes to your skin told you they missed you just as much.
“Today went by too fast,” San shook his head of messy black hair to the left of Mingi, it was a rare sight to see him unkempt. San was always dressed to the nines, hair gelled back, face chiseled, the face of masculinity. Seeing him with pink cheeks and an affectionate grin made your heart swarm with affection, you loved it most when the group left business behind and lived in the moment instead. “I need to have you guys here more often.”
“Invite us then,” Wooyoung teased back, still shirtless, sitting on the end of the table across from Yunho. Skin bronzed and glowing, he reminded you of some kind of Greek God, like him and summer had a contract. “We’ll come when you call.”
Jongho leaned forward, his flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned and dragging along the picnic table, his dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, sunglasses still sitting over his eyes. “Says the one who lives three states away.”
Wooyoung laughs, leaning forward, looking to his right to see Jongho almost at the other end of the table, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“At the risk of being fired, I’m sure,” Hongjoong smirks, the only person to his right Seonghwa, who held the end of the table. The pair still had their matching hats on, sunglasses resting above the brim, the only two whose faces were unaffected by the sun’s rays. Maybe you should all invest in hats, the sun was inescapable in Haos.
Yunho leans in, eyes dancing between each speaker, “Are you gonna get fired?”
Wooyoung shakes his head with his face scrunched like his company wouldn’t dream of firing him. Sana’s dark eyebrows raised, glossed lips falling in a line like he wasn’t telling the whole truth, the sight made a snort fall from your nose. When Wooyoung noticed, he nudged her side, scoffing, “You know they won’t fire me, they need me. You’re supposed to be on my side, Sana.”
You lean back with a laugh, hand covering your mouth, so stupid it was funny. You missed him so much, and if the possibility of Wooyoung getting fired was any indication, you think he missed you guys just as much.
“We should take pictures after dinner, at sunset on the beach,” Tzuyu chimes in, sitting in her crochet cover up between Yeosang and Jongin at the end of the table on your side. “No dressing up, just in our bathing suits with some drinks, candid style.”
Jihyo and Sana agree, nodding, sitting next to each other like two peas in a pod. “We should get couples shots, too,” Jihyo adds, dark hair waved by saltwater covering her bikini top, “Jongho and I haven’t taken a proper picture together in so long.”
“Woo and I need pictures for our holiday cards,” Sana agrees, nodding, already leaning into Jihyo. Wooyoung, with his sunglasses pushing his hair off his face, silently groans from beside her. You giggle at his face, stealing Sana’s attention.
Before she could open her mouth, San leaned forward, talking across you and Mingi, “Yun, we need to get you a girlfriend so you can be involved, too.”
You stop laughing immediately like San had reached over and stolen the smile from your face. You blink as Yunho’s hand jumps from your thigh, your body stiffening, trying not to let your eyes widen, to show surprise or discomfort on your face while a sharp pang of something sour hits your chest.
“We could ask a random girl from the bar to pretend,” Wooyoung snickers, eyes locked with San’s.
Jongho laughs, a high-pitched, amused sound, “We’d have to pry him away from those two first.”
Yours and Mingi’s attention jumps to Jongho, who eyes you both, mischief in his eyes. Yeosang, with his elbow on the table, props his chin on his cheek, staring down at Yunho, asks, “What happened to that girl from Woo’s going away party?”
Yunho shakes his head of chocolate locks inflated by humidity. Voice clear like he wasn’t bothered at all, he answers, “Just didn’t work out.”
Your body is on fire. So badly you wanted to tell them all to stop speaking about the past, to not bring up a future that isn’t centered around yourself and Mingi. Yunho is yours.
“Are you okay?” You pick your head up to Jihyo who was eyeing you carefully, eyes pointed, jaw set. “You look sunburnt.”
You shake your head, forcing an easy smile on your face, “I’m fine, probably am sunburnt.”
“How? Yunho put sunscreen on you, like, four times,” San wore a slimy grin, the table erupting with laughter.
“It was once,” you counter, eyes narrowed, tone biting. “And I can’t reach my back.”
“You’re quiet, Mingi,” Wooyoung interrupts, and Mingi’s eyes pick up, wide and doe-like.
“What do you want me to say?” He asks, brows furrowing, head tilting like Wooyoung said something stupid. You smile. Yunho puts his hand back on your thigh.
Like a saving grace, the waiter finally approaches your table, breaking your conversation to ask for your order. Yunho orders for you, then for Mingi, exactly what both of you would have chosen if you’d ordered for yourself. You felt eyes on you as Yunho finished, but you didn’t dare meet a single person’s stare. You didn’t want to know what their eyes would tell you.
You didn’t have to guess, not when San spoke after the waiter left your table, his voice a blanket over one end of the table to the other. “Am I crazy? Is anyone else seeing this, or is it just me?”
The three of your heads pick up in a line. The table is quiet, the only thing you can hear is the reggae music, soft from the speakers, dissipating into the summer breeze. Low, far but close, it melts into the sound of waves, offsetting how thick the tension had become at the table.
San’s face bulges out, bewildered, “No one’s gonna say anything?” He turns to you three and your heart falls into your ass. “Are you three together?” You swallow the bile in your throat. “Are you fucking?”
“No,” Yunho’s answer comes before your lips could part. The word is rigid, a wall, a finality. You look at Mingi who’s already looking at Yunho, his eyes so big, so round, you can hear your heartbeat over the music, the breeze, the waves. No.
Yunho even laughs a little. “Come on, are you serious?”
You glance at Jihyo who’s already looking at you like she knows everything. Like your skin was transparent, and she could see your heart cracking beneath your ribs all over again.
“You’ve been joined at the hip all day,” Wooyoung’s grin is feline, like he wasn’t done prying for information. “Can’t blame our minds for going there, can you?”
You and Mingi don’t smile, don’t laugh. You can’t pretend. Yunho takes a sip of his drink, “They’ve been together for years, you know we’re close. It’s weird that your mind would go there.”
Weird. It’s weird. He’s not yours at all. You feel like ice under the summer sun, melting too quickly, soon you’ll be a puddle darkening the sand beneath you if you don’t remove yourself from the situation. You refuse to let any of them see you upset. You hate that a part of you doesn’t want them to know if Yunho doesn’t want them to know.
You look at Mingi, I’m going to the bathroom.
He nods once, eyes glossy, you wish you could bring him with you. Pushing yourself up with your palms on the table, you swing a leg over the bench and don’t look back, don’t listen to a single word as you nearly run to the bathroom. Your skin is on fire, there’s no air conditioning in the small two-stall bathroom with baby blue walls, it’s suffocating.
You stand at the sink, throwing cold water on your face, two hands hooked around the white ceramic to force yourself to calm the fuck down. What was last night for? What did you talk about all of that shit for? What did you fuck for? Now you feel fucking stupid for today, for thinking you’d pass a test he was never proctoring. It all felt redundant. Pointless.
The door swings open, you don’t move. “Are you okay?”
Jihyo, smiling softly, apologetically. Your lips tighten, you refuse to let tears fall. You refuse to repeat what happened last time. You should have expected this.
“All good,” you force a smile. “I think I got too much sun today.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she leans in the middle of the two sinks, shoulder pressed to the wall between the mirrors, one manicured hand on your forearm. “Did he lie?”
You huff amusement, it lacks any semblance of warmth. “Yeah, he lied.”
“Fucking asshole,” she crosses her arms. “What’s with him and commitment? That day I came over, I knew it, I knew what he was there for.”
All you can do is shake your head, “I don’t know, Ji.”
“How long has it been?”
You hum before answering. “A month? Five weeks maybe?”
“Damn,” she shakes her head. “The way he looks at you… I don’t understand him. I don’t understand the denial.”
You give her another weak smile. “Don’t tell the others. Please.”
“I won’t,” she scrunches her lips to one side. “You still have Mingi, though. And Mingi has you.”
“Thank god for that, right?” Your smile is only half-fake now, moving away from the sink, pressing your back against one of the stalls. “Although I think he’ll be more upset than I am.”
“He was holding it together out there,” Jihyo shifts to lean her butt against the sink, head tilting. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”
You shrug, lips flat. “It was instinctive, we hadn’t talked about it yet. After you left that day he freaked out, we fought, we only worked that situation out last night.”
“He said you’d tell people?”
You tilt your head, showing your bottom row of teeth, “Not exactly. More so that we’re more comfortable being in a gray area now, our feelings out on the table, working towards something. We weren’t expecting anyone to call us on it.”
“They’re such assholes for airing out your business,” she pushes herself off the sink, taking two steps toward you to throw her arms over your shoulders, tucking you into a hug. “I’m sorry, you guys will figure it out.”
You let your eyes close, sucking as much comfort as you can from the hug, “I hope so. Thanks, Ji.”
She pulls away to cup your cheeks, “You know you can talk to me, right? Let me in, I can be a shoulder to cry on.”
You nod, fingers wrapping around her wrists, “I will.”
The rest of dinner was damn near silent. Yunho was in your head with apologies, none you answered, you didn’t want to talk to him or hear him out. Mingi answered once or twice, short responses, it was clear the two of you were hurt and needed time to reset your feelings again. You didn’t want to argue, or settle your feelings in the bedroom again, you’d done that already. It clearly didn’t work. Pictures on the beach were swift, yours and Mingi’s were all fake smiles and silence, watching the live photos in your camera roll made your skin crawl. You don’t think you or Mingi said five words between dinner and bedtime, until it was the three of you in your bedroom again.
Yunho actually had the audacity to pull down the comforter. You stopped him with your palm splayed flat on the right side of the mattress, voice monotonous and bored, but your eyes shot daggers. “You can sleep downstairs.”
His brows raised, “Are you serious?”
You settled deeper beneath the comforter, Mingi still throwing on clothes after his shower. You hold his eye, “It’s weird that you’d try sleeping in our bed.”
His hands fall to his sides, all emotion wiped from his face. “I just said that so they would leave us alone.”
“You could have been honest,” you answer simply. “You could have laughed it off. You could have said anything other than it being weird, Yunho.”
His face softens, “It wasn’t my intention to–”
“You don’t seem to have any intentions,” you cut him off. “You can sleep downstairs, like you were planning to last night.”
Lips bending, a slow nod, without another word he turns around, grabs a pillow and a blanket, and leaves your bedroom. Mingi, watching from the dresser, finally crawls into bed after Yunho closes the door behind him.
You open your arms, welcoming him into your chest, fingers immediately scratching into his hair, pressing a kiss to his clean scalp that still smelled like seasalt, “You okay baby?”
“Tired,” he mumbles into your chest, voice deep and heavy. "Don't wanna do it anymore. Too confusing.”
“You wanna be done?” You pause, fingers stalling in his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes big and round, sad. You frown, one hand sliding down to graze his cheek. “We can be done.”
“I don’t want to,” his voice is so small, just barely above a whisper. “But I think it’s obvious we’ll end up being his secret forever. I don’t want to be a secret, I want him to be proud.”
“Me too,” you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m proud you’re my boyfriend, y’know.”
He smiles, “And I’m proud you’re my girlfriend.”
“That’s all we need,” you kiss him again, parting your lips for him, sinking farther down the mattress until he can roll on top of you, elbows bracketing your head. Throwing your arms around his neck, your legs over his thighs, you break the kiss to say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he smiles into the kiss, body pressing into yours, and it’s the easy reminder that you’ll always have him, no matter what, that eases weight off your chest.
It’s easy to pretend everything is okay when you lean into the reminder that Mingi will be by your side forever. It’s stuck with you since seven in the morning, when San abruptly woke up the house cracking a wooden spoon against a pot, screaming activities day over and over. He popped into your room with a wide grin, asked where Yunho was, and left your room as confused as he entered it.
Jet skiing, mini-golf, a barbecue, ending the night at Rêve, a reputable bar in town. San insisted that your last day should be filled with the best things Haos has to offer. Of course he left out the part that jet skiing was at the yacht club he was a member of, and that he owned shares at Rêve, making him part-owner; never humble until he was supposed to be, you wished he told you to be on your best behavior today.
Not that your group would ever be on their best behavior. Wooyoung was already drinking by the time you went downstairs for breakfast, he made mimosas for everyone, you had two. The first you chugged after Yunho went upstairs immediately after you entered the kitchen, the second you chugged when he came back downstairs, shirtless, swim trunks painted onto his thighs. If you were going to be forced into activities with him all day, you should make it easier for yourself.
White buildings with terracotta roofing, there were too many buildings to count, a winding paved asphalt driveway up to the front where men in suits stood under a white awning, one approaching as San put his Bronco in park parallel to the main doors. It had valet.
The yacht club was beautiful, massive, every nook and cranny of the main building screamed prestigious. All patrons you encountered were dressed up, some in sports wear for the golf course you could only assume is somewhere on the grounds, in long summer dresses or business-style suits, everyone seemed important. Everyone looked proper. Part of you felt out of place, with your group half-dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups like you were headed to the beach, but it didn’t last long when you got outside to where everything was docked.
Your mouth didn’t close once from the time you walked inside the heavy red doors all the way out to where he kept his jet skis docked, next to his boat, The Kai. Not a far walk, you realized, you assumed meant he was also a very important person here, too, the size of his boat only aided in the confirmation.
He owned four jet skis, which meant four couples could ride at a time, leaving two couples and a Yunho out. Luckily he had a cooler fully stocked on his boat, one he and Jongin brought out to the dock while the first wave of people went out on the water. On the dock were Mingi, Jihyo, Jongho, and Yunho– of course, naturally. You sipped on a seltzer, sitting between Mingi and Jihyo, your feet dangling over the side, one arm behind you holding you up.
Yunho sat on the other side of Jongho at the end and as much as you were grateful after you and Mingi threw in your white towels last night, it hurt that he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t even look at you, not once today, you think. At least when you got out on the water you and Mingi were smiling and laughing, he let you drive the jet ski, which he quickly regretted when he realized the watercraft turned you into an adrenaline junkie.
Mini-golf was ten minutes from the yacht club, half of your group in San’s Bronco, the other half in Jongin’s Jeep. A standalone establishment that had a small course on the outside, an ice cream shop on the inside, and a small kitchen for bar-type food. The alcoholic bar itself was small, connected to the kitchen-half of the indoor space, but it didn’t stop your friend group from ordering a round of shots, cocktails, and beers for all. Even better, the tab at the bar plus admission for minigolf was all paid for by San. His treat, he said, and who were you to argue after seeing The Kai?
There were too many of you for one singular game, but the consensus amongst the group was that you wanted to play together. So instead of splitting your group in half to play two separate games, you played in pairs, and once again you and Mingi were thrown into a triplet, this one you didn’t agree to so easily. One shot down and a cocktail in your palm, no one could feel the tension between the three of you, the energy should be light at mini-golf. You mentally decide you’ll be civil. Maybe you’ll even try being friends.
Mingi and Yunho both had beers in their hands, neither jumping for joy at the blue club you chose, it wasn’t the longest, and the two men you shared with were a hell of a lot taller than you. You stifled a laugh as Mingi uncomfortably hunched over the club as he lined up his feet, awkwardly swinging the club to hit the blue ball.
“This game is fucked,” he stands up straight when the ball bounces off the back wall, missing the hole completely. The first hole is the easiest.
You snort a laugh where you stand, watching his face morph into frustration, his brows knitting and lips parting like he couldn’t believe he missed. “You’ll get it next time,” you encourage, taking a sip of your cocktail.
Hongjoong goes up next, he makes it in with one swing. Tzuyu goes next, she makes it in with one swing. Sana next, she makes it in with one swing.
“This is fucking rigged,” Mingi curses, taking another sip from his beer. Yunho laughs under his breath as your arm comes up to rub his back encouragingly.
“Don’t worry,” you coo. “Yunho and I will win for you.”
“I can play golf,” Mingi argues defensively. “The club is just short. Yunho won’t be able to do it, either.”
Jongho goes next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s brows raise like he’s seconds away from losing his shit. Jongin next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s fuck is loud enough for the children at hole thirteen to hear.
“Don’t get us kicked out of minigolf, Min,” Wooyoung is still laughing, a hand clutching his belly. “We know you’re competitive, it’s just a kid’s game.”
“I know it’s a kid’s game,” Mingi bites, all in one breath, barely looking at the younger man as he says it. Your face is full of amusement when Wooyoung turns to you, brows raised in surprise.
“Don’t ask me,” you shake your head. “I’m not his keeper. When it comes to games, he’s on his own.”
It’s your turn again, the blue ball alone on the green. You’ve played enough minigolf in your life for this to be muscle memory– childhood games at arcades, random birthday parties from school friends over the years. But it’s been a long, long time since you were a kid, too long since you’ve come close to a minigolf course. Your first swing, just a foot away from the hole, you miss. The group laughs and you roll your eyes, waving a hand, “I’m just warming up!”
“Oh, I’m sure!” Sana’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and your lips tighten. Feeling hotter now, you line up your feet, the club with the ball, and swing.
You fucking miss.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff. “Someone hand me my drink, I need to be drunker if I’m gonna suck.”
Yunho’s laughing as he hands you your cocktail and you suck down half of it before lining your feet up all over again. You hit the ball this time, but it’s fueled by your rage, it bounces off the brick siding and onto the green of hole four right next door to hole one. You straighten, hand covering your mouth, eyes widening as your ball hits someone else’s ball that was currently playing hole four.
“I’m sorry!” You call as the young kid, definitely not a day over the age of eight, throws the baby blue ball back onto the faded putting green. It’s as if it was in slow motion, how he threw the ball in a perfect arc for it to land flawlessly in the hole without as much as a singular bounce. You whip around to your friend group, eyes wide, “Does that count? Can that count? Jongin, count it.”
Your friend group sounds like a clan of hyenas, loud cackles, obnoxious laughter breaking out across twelve people because of how ridiculous that unfolded.
“Are all three of you competitive?” Seonghwa asks, genuine, voice light and kind.
You shrug as you walk off the green, “I’ve never really played sports, I don’t know.” Skipping over to Jongin who was keeping score, you brush up close to his sculpted arm, tone candy sweet, “So? Are we counting it or what?”
He makes a shh motion, one finger raised, smiling behind the purse of his lips. Your hand forms into a fist and you tuck it into your body with success, “Yes, hole in two, baby.”
Mingi and Yunho are snickering when you return to them, but it’s Yunho who mocks you, “Not competitive, my ass.”
“Hey,” you point a finger at him. “You can’t make fun of me, I’m pissed at you. I said I was gonna make up for Mingi’s shit swing.”
“Yours was even worse!” Mingi’s voice is high-pitched, still defensive. You’re all giggles when you lean into him, pressing a hand to his cheek to pull him down for a kiss. Beer and home, he tastes like half of you.
You feel Yunho’s eyes, but you don’t stop, you don’t do anything to make him think it’s for him. Even if there’s the evil part of you that hopes he wants to rip his skin off his body, that he’s so enraged he sees red, you hope he doesn’t act on it. You hope he doesn’t act on anything ever again.
At hole two, Yunho surprises you both with how efficiently he makes the ball into the hole with only one swing, yours and Mingi’s jaws falling to the concrete. Yunho exudes everything smug on his return.
Smirk on his lips, rolling his shoulders, he says, “What? Like it’s hard?”
Your laugh is verbal disbelief, Mingi immediately quips, “Do not quote Legally Blonde right now.”
Yunho’s giggle is proud, his grin wide, his shoulders doing a little shake in celebration. So fucking cute you could rip out all your hair, you dig your head into Mingi’s chest to smell him, to rid yourself of feelings towards Yunho. Your forehead meets your boyfriend’s skin with a groan, “I need another drink.”
The third hole goes by quickly, efficiently, Mingi excited he got a hole in one, deservedly so. At hole four, you’re up again after a cocktail and a half, at least you’re at the starting line this time. You stare at the blue ball sitting on the green, eyes squinted, whispering, “Do not embarrass me. Okay?”
“Are you talking to the ball?” San asks, humor laced in his tone. “I don’t think it’s gonna answer, girl.”
“I’m giving it a pep talk!” You snap your head to respond and then stare at the ball once more. You line up your feet, then the club with the ball, and swing.
Your fuck is louder than Mingi’s was when you miss. You wave apologetically to the family of four that shoots daggers at you from across the course.
“I can’t watch this,” Yeosang shakes his head as he approaches you. “You're legitimately killing me.”
Your face heats with embarrassment as he stalks up to you, determination in the crease of his brow. You pull all your hair to one side as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around you, hands dwarfing yours over the handle of the club. “Hold like this,” he explains, then kicks one foot between yours, spreading your legs farther, your knees bending. “Stand like that.”
Yunho, tensing beside Mingi, snaps his head to the side to get Mingi’s attention. “Hello?”
Mingi’s brows furrow when Yunho’s shoulder bumps him, his feet staggering. “What?”
“Look,” Yunho says, like it’s absurd Mingi just asked what. He can see the flex of Yeosang’s arms as he stretches them over your shoulders, the veins swimming along his forearms while his hands clasp over yours. It makes his jaw tick, his heartbeat quicken— you’re not Yeosang’s to touch.
“He’s showing her how to play,” Mingi says casually, taking another sip of his beer, leaning towards Yunho like he was watching a sitcom instead of his girlfriend getting felt up by another man.
Yunho’s head tilts, dumbfounded and semi-enraged that Mingi doesn’t feel a shred of the possession he does, his voice a harsh whisper, “Yeosang has had a thing for her since… since forever.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Mingi’s brows raise as he turns to his best friend, a disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips. “No he hasn’t. Tzuyu is right there.”
Yeosang kicks your feet apart and Yunho’s body jerks at the action. His foot inches forward, fingers grasping his beer a little harder like he was ready to pounce. Instead, he grits his teeth, “Have you ever watched Yeosang interact with her? Like ever? He’s basically told you to your face he thinks she’s sexy.”
“She is sexy,” Mingi shrugs, rolling his neck nonchalantly. “If I’m not pissed off then you shouldn’t be either. She’s not yours, she’s mine.”
Yunho’s neck snaps, meeting Mingi’s dead-serious stare. Stunned into silence, he shuts his mouth, drinks his beer, and lets it be. Just when Yunho thought they were getting somewhere, that maybe you wouldn’t be awkward all day, he’s surprised that Mingi’s the one who put him in his place. It’s worse when you return smiling, overflowing with excitement, asking Mingi if he saw your hole-in-one three times before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. He feels sick, palms sweating, you weren’t doing this to get a rise out of him, you were leaning on each other because he was the one who fucked up. Again.
The rest of mini-golf goes by in a blur. He doesn’t speak much, he doesn’t have anything to say, his mind is on a roll, trying to come up with any sort of plan to fix this. He needs to get you two alone, he needs to apologize, he needs to say something to get the two of you to stop looking at him like you don’t care about him because that in itself is so fucking terrifying he can feel his goddamn throat close another inch every time he notices.
The drive home is quiet, wind in Yunho’s ears, he can’t even hear the soft music playing through the speakers, he didn’t care to. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you sink into Mingi in San’s backseat with the sun laying over your lap like a blanket, your eyes closed beneath your sunglasses like you didn’t have a care in the world. Like nothing was bothering you at all.
He’s never let himself learn just how terrifying it could be to love someone who didn’t want him. Two people who didn’t fucking want him.
“Who’s ready to BBQ?” Wooyoung shouts from the passenger seat of Jongin’s Jeep, emphasizing the acronym, basically hanging halfway over the door while grinning wide enough to showcase each and every one of his bone-colored teeth. You’d just pulled into San’s driveway, finally back at home to barbecue, to fill your stomachs with a good, hearty meal before you were back on the streets for Haos’ nightlife.
Everyone piled out of the cars quickly, heading inside just for the men to immediately split off into the kitchen to start prepping the grill. You watch as they gather around the kitchen island, shouting orders and ideas about cooking of all things until Tzuyu bumps your hip with her own at the base of the staircase, stealing your attention.
Pulling her hair tie from her bun, she lets it fall behind her in loose waves, scratching her fingers through her roots, “I guess the man-grill thing is genetic. Or built-in, like a default setting.”
“There’s nine of them,” you whisper. “How many does it take to man a grill?”
“Nope, I’m out!” Hongjoong raises both his palms beside his head in defeat while he retreats from the kitchen. “You’re all insane, I’m showering and napping. Call me when dinner’s ready.”
“Eight,” you correct yourself, a grin growing on your cheeks, and Tzuyu laughs from beside you.
Jihyo, her bag over her shoulder, enters the living room with Sana at her side, the two approaching you and Tzuyu with grins on their faces. Sana does a little shake of her hips, grin reading excitement, “Who’s ready to fuck up the club?”
“It’s a bar, I think,” Jihyo laughs, “but it’ll be nice for us all to go out and let loose.”
“We’ve done nothing but let loose all weekend,” Tzuyu furrows her brows.
“No.” you shake your head once. “We have not.”
“I brought face masks,” Sana’s fingertips dance together mischievously. “We should pre-game getting ready while they grill and shit.”
Out on the deck, Mingi stood over the grill in front of the railing, a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped pieces of meat and seafood on the black, steel grates. The speaker inside played music through the screen door, everyone mindlessly humming and singing along while they set the table, chatter and laughter flowing through the chilly summer breeze that ruffled his hair.
So many years these guys have been his friends, so many years Yunho has been his friend, he can’t believe it’s all gone to complete shit. This was his worst fear coming true, the lingering fear when all of this began, that he’d cross a line and lose Yunho. Yeah, they’d all still be friends, but his friendship with Yunho has always been different. Deeper. He can’t believe he’s losing it, right in front of his eyes.
He felt alive again that first night in Haos, back to normalcy, you three felt closer than before, just for it to be ruined all over again the next day. Each and every time he met Yunho’s eye today, he hated that those three words still sat in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his throat, begging to be spoken. He could tell it was the same for you, where your eyelids sat over your glazed pupils, a certain twinkle to them as you stared up at Yunho even if you tried to hide it. He knows what the words look like forming on your lips, how you tighten your smile to stop them from spilling out, he knows you like the back of his hand.
He can’t believe you both love him and you can’t have him.
“Almost done?” Mingi’s head snapped up to Yunho on his right side, his head peeking over Mingi’s shoulder, the heat of Yunho hotter than the grill. Speak of the devil.
Mingi nods, eyes sliding over his face. Big, brown eyes with clean cut brows giving them structure, cheekbones high and sculpted, lips a pretty, pale pink heart. He wishes there was no one else on the deck, he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to Yunho’s, he hates that his feelings still linger.
Yunho’s head tilts when Mingi lacks a response, amused by Mingi’s eyes locked in on his lips. “What’cha thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Mingi mumbles, bringing his eyes back to the grill.
Yunho sighs, “Mingi–”
“Don’t,” Mingi keeps his eyes locked on the burning fire beneath the grates. “I don’t want to hear it, it’s all bullshit.”
It feels like a blow to Yunho’s ribs. “None of what I want to say is bullshit, Mingi. You know me.”
“I thought I knew you,” Mingi mutters, purposely keeping his voice low. “I thought I knew how you felt about us, I thought we were getting somewhere, that even though you’re scared, you wouldn’t pretend you didn’t feel anything.”
Yunho frowns, his head dropping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Min.”
“But you did,” Mingi meets his eye. “And you knew you did in the moment. But you didn’t go back on what you said, you didn’t change your answer. You let me sit there looking stupid because I–”
Mingi cuts himself off and Yunho’s brows furrow for a second, “Because you what?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Yunho urges. “Everything you say matters.”
“Not to you,” Mingi turns sideways, his jaw locked, his brows flat. “Don’t apologize, don’t say whatever pretty words you think are gonna make it better. It was embarrassing, Yunho, sitting there while everyone laughed at the idea of us being together because you said it was weird.”
Yunho’s fingers rub at his eyes, exasperated, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, it was word vomit, I got scared–”
“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is so clear, so even Yunho stands a little straighter. “I know how you feel already. You’re twenty-eight years old, you’re old enough to know words have meaning. You know how we feel about you. We’re done here.”
Yunho’s throat is so tight he doesn’t think he could take a breath even if he tried. There’s no oxygen in the air, nothing to feed his lungs, Mingi’s words feel so concrete all he can do is turn around and walk away. Inside, toward the bathroom, he’s walking without vision, without a brain, he locks the door behind him and finally heaves a strained, verbal breath.
We’re done here.
You’re done with him. Mingi’s done with him. His back presses against the door, facing the ceiling, willing his tears to stay below the surface. He’s right. He’s grown enough to know that his fear is childish, that it’s time to settle down, he shouldn’t be afraid of what his friends think, what anyone thinks. He shouldn’t be afraid of commitment with you, he knows you won’t hurt him in his soul, he knows how you feel about him. He feels the same way toward you, if not deeper, he feels so fucking much toward you that it terrifies him.
He’s running out of time to get over it.
If this was a month ago he’d be seeing this situation as an out, he’d be thinking that this was for the best, but now his heart feels shriveled down to a husk in his chest. Hollow, like the best parts of him were gone, missing the people who made him feel whole, gave him purpose outside of sex. Outside of the role he gave himself.
When he goes back out onto the deck, the sun’s at its last moments of visibility over the horizon, the girls had made it back down, too. You sat next to Mingi at the corner, Jihyo and Jongho across from you, Tzuyu and Yeosang beside you. Yunho sits beside Hongjoong who’s next to Seonghwa, and the couple look at him with sad eyes.
Seonghwa leans across Hongjoong, his voice low. “What’d you do?”
Yunho sighs, lips flattening. He doesn’t question how Seonghwa read the situation. “You saw what I did. At dinner yesterday.”
Hongjoong makes a face, one that says you’re fucked. “That was a tough watch.”
“I know,” Yunho answers, tone flat. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t think we’re able to give you advice, this is out of our area of expertise,” Seonghwa looks apologetic, voice soft as he leans across Hongjoong to lay his palm flat over Yunho’s hand, encouraging. “You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.”
Yunho stares at him for a second and for the first time in thirty minutes he can’t actively hear his own heartbeat. He gives Seonghwa a soft, grateful smile, pulling his hands back in his lap, thinking.
You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.
He lets his eyes graze over the meal, a feast is what it was, far too much food for thirteen people to consume and feel good after digesting, but no one seemed to care. Music flowed from inside, loud yet calming, a backtrack to conversation, banter, laughter, not anything Yunho could hear over the sound of his pounding heart.
San made a toast to the last night in Haos, a small speech of how happy he was to maintain the friendships that were vital to him. Appreciation for all of you, gratitude for years of friendship, relationships he wouldn’t trade for the world, he even choked up talking about how close he holds everyone to his heart. Not often does he get emotional, but the way the table stood, clapped, clinked their glasses and took turns squeezing him tight, maybe he’ll be more inclined.
Maybe the three of you weren’t the only ones who are having an emotional weekend.
By the time dinner was over, all thirteen of you stuffed full, the impending night out seemed more like a chore than anything. Yunho’s stretched out on the couch half-asleep until he hears Wooyoung complain to San that the girls were getting ready in his room, perking his ears enough for him to wake the hell up and trudge up two flights of steps to his room, your room, to see Mingi passed out in the bed.
A white tee, briefs on his legs, he lays on his side, both hands pressed together beneath one cheek, lips parted as he snores softly. Yunho smiles to himself, staring from the doorway, leaned up against the wooden frame, he looks so peaceful. So pretty, Yunho wanted so badly to crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his lips, he knows better. Instead he creeps across the hardwood, gathering his things for a shower and leaves.
The hot water gives him clarity. Maybe it’d be easier to confess tonight with a little liquid confidence, it’d give him an easier flow, he could say everything he needs to say without the stupid fucking wall that’s embedded in him biting his tongue. He loves you, he loves you both so much he feels incomplete, the world feels tilted off its axis without you two by his side. One week without you was hell, one day watching you with each other was like living in purgatory, the in-between, where he can look but can’t touch, he thinks that might be worse.
Mingi’s still asleep while he starts getting ready, he only wakes up when Yunho’s buttoning up his shirt. He sits up slowly, wiping at his eyes, “What time is it?”
“After nine, I think,” Yunho responds, staring at Mingi through the mirror. His hair looks untouched, eyes half-lidded, he licks his lips three times just to get moisture in his mouth again. Yunho can’t fight his smile.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s top lip lifts. “You’re dressing up?”
Yunho grins, “I’m only in a button-up and pants.”
“Yeah, but they’re your good pants,” Mingi argues, “the ones that make your ass look good.” His eyes widen after he says it, like his own words woke him up the rest of the way, but he doesn’t correct himself.
Yunho looks over his shoulder like he’ll be able to see his own ass. “You think my ass looks good in these?”
Mingi stretches, a verbal noise of tightness leaving his chest as his arms go over his head, his shirt lifting at the hem, Yunho’s eyes snap to the exposed bit of skin like a moth to a flame. Mingi lays flat on the bed, arms straight out beside him, legs spread. “You know it does, don’t play coy.”
Yunho laughs a little as he buttons the last one, leaving the top three undone, one silver cross pendant sitting on his chest. He turns slowly, hands planted on the dresser behind him, taking a breath to build confidence since there was zero liquor swimming in his blood, “I regret what I said at dinner yesterday.”
Mingi sits up on his elbows, sleep still evident in his glossy eyes, his tone remains flat, knowing. “Do you?”
Yunho nods, lips scrunching to one side. “I don’t like how we are right now.”
Mingi sits up all the way, “I don’t like it either.”
Yunho’s voice is breathy, a little shaky as he asks, “Can I fix it?”
“Last time we were fixing things it took one day for it to get fucked up again,” Mingi lifts himself off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He stops right before Yunho, facing him, “You’re the only one who needs to figure your shit out, Yunho.”
Yunho watches as Mingi heads for the door, calling behind him. “What if I figured it out already?”
Mingi holds his stare from the door. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Stuck in time, Yunho stares, his tongue caught between his teeth, his heart in his throat. Mingi laughs a little, disappointment clear as he shakes his head. Before heading to the bathroom, he mutters, “Thought so.”
Yunho curses under his breath when he hears the bathroom door close, the shower turning on. He doesn’t wait around for Mingi’s return, he goes back downstairs, most of the guys already showered, dressed, ready to go. He opens a beer with the same tightness in his jaw, frustrated that Mingi just gave him an opportunity to speak and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word.
There’s music playing from the TV in the living room, something pop from a decade ago, he doesn’t have it in him to listen, or to the conversation happening around the kitchen island. San, Jongin, Wooyoung, Jongho, it’s all muted mumbling in his ringing ears, he feels pathetic.
It’s worse when Mingi comes downstairs and doesn’t even look at him. He joins the conversation seamlessly, the laughter grows, they’re talking louder than the music, it makes Yunho feel not only on the outside of his relationship, but on the outside of everything. Isolated because he can’t speak up, he can’t say how he feels, he’s trapped within his own mind, trapped beneath his feelings. He cracks another beer.
He doesn’t think it can get any worse until you walk down the stairs. On the couch now, he gets a front-row view of the black dress painted onto your body, tied around your neck, stiletto heels with straps that twist up your calves like vines. Mingi meets you at the base, picking you up off the bottom stair with one arm hooked around your body, lips pressed to yours, when he sets you down carefully he says something in your ear that makes your head fall back with laughter.
Emotion feels like bile rising in his throat. He’s jealous, but it’s different now; what was once frustrating was now driving, the words sit heavy on his tongue. You two look like you’re matching, dark clothes, hair styled, jewelry silver and offsetting one another, he looks down at his outfit and it’s almost like fate that he’s matching, too.
He looks back up to meet your eye across the room, what was supposed to be a glance lingers.
Yunho gives you the smallest of smiles, You look beautiful.
Your chin tilts upwards ever so slightly, I know, Mingi just told me.
Ouch. He leans into the backrest, I can’t tell you, too?
The corner of your lips tug upward. Thanks.
He watches as Mingi’s hand slithers around your waist. I need to talk to you.
You sink into Mingi’s hold, your back pressed against his chest, What if I don’t want to hear it?
Yunho’s jaw clenches. You do.
Sana shrieks from the staircase as soon as she sees Mingi’s lips pressed to the skin below your ear, “Do not fuck in that dress, I just bought it!”
You pull your attention away from him and he feels like grieving. You don’t give it to him again until you’ve had tequila poured into your mouth from the bottle, all thirteen of you in the kitchen fully dressed, pouring liquor like it’s water and calling it a pre-game. Outside, splitting two Escalades, rides San ordered for your group to take to Rêve across town, Yunho opted to sit in the back with you and Mingi, you scowled as soon as it left his lips. He smiles, because at least you care enough to frown.
San was immediately greeted upon approaching the upscale bar, stepping out of the Escalade to be met with two men wearing suits like it was regular, casual. Inside it was red everything, from leather booths to velvet barstools to the curtain that hung closed upon the stage; walls full of vintage framed photography, the architecture a brown so deep it appeared burgundy, dimly lit shaded lamps on tables, some traded for candles, the bar was drenched in an amber hue. It was definitely moody, a brand created off of atmosphere, it felt cozy as much as it felt expensive.
It was calmly crowded, plenty of people filling up the tables in the center of the room, a crowd before the stage that had waiters with trays between them. You spotted martini glasses, short glasses of whiskey poured neat, women in daring dresses and doused in jewels, men in suits who blew clouds of swirling smoke in the air from their cigars. All thirteen of you looked appropriate, expensive– but not old money expensive like some of the patrons you observed. You wondered about the history of Haos, about San, how deep his pockets really ran.
You couldn’t wonder for long, though, with how the group was directed past the stage to a steel door at the back of the building that seemed… insignificant. Like it’d bring you outside or to a storage room, not to a long, dark hallway that hummed louder and louder with each step he took.
Bass thumped beneath your shoes, the group quietly following the man in black like this was normal, no one questioned anything only because San followed with confidence, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Surprise wasn’t the word for what was behind the twin steel door at the end of the hallway, it opened to flashes of blue and purple, music so loud it made you jump where you stood.
Women on platforms half-dressed, swaying their hips to the beat of the song, bottle girls with buckets of ice and handles of liquor atop their heads parting through the crowd like it was the Red Sea, patrons in clothing that matched yours exactly. The room was filled with people in your age group dancing to the music at the center of the backdoor club, the walls filled with enclosed sections you assumed were VIP, all by velvet roped attached to silver poles.
“So? Are you guys surprised?” San asks from the head of the group, his smirk turned to a wide, excited grin, which everyone replied with a monotonous, confused yes. San laughed, leaning into Jongin, “We wanted to surprise you, you guys looked so confused at the front, like we were gonna smoke cigars and watch Cabaret.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Jongho shrugs, and most of the group nod their agreement, including you. You didn’t care where you ended up tonight as long as there was liquor for you to guzzle.
“This is better, no?” San raises his brows as he begins walking you toward the back wall, what you assume was your VIP section. “Music we know, people our age, it’s been a long time since we’ve all gone clubbing together.”
Tzuyu, in a red dress painted on her body, adds, “Because all the clubs at home suck.”
“Not the ones here,” San quips like he was waiting for that reply, entering the section backlit by blue lights cool enough to be white. “They love me here.”
“You own it,” Mingi snorts, “they have to love you.”
“I partially own it,” San raises a finger as he steps into the open booth, the table at the center already full of ice and champagne. “There’s a difference.”
Jongin starts pouring champagne into flutes, “Should we make another toast?”
“We don’t need to get all teary-eyed again,” Sana smiles, softly instead of the nasty smirk she usually wore with her rebuttals. This was appreciation. “We have our makeup done, Sannie made us emotional enough back at the house.”
“It’s not every day that you get to tell your friends how much you love them,” San holds the flute between his fingers, brows wiggling.
Yeosang laughs, “It could be, you just choose not to.”
You can feel the music in your blood, the dance floor calling to you, excitement in the bounce of your knee. You only spend fifteen minutes in your section, finishing a singular cocktail before Tzuyu’s pulling you out to the dance floor, after getting ready together in Sana’s room it was like all four of you had taken a breath of fresh air.
The dance floor was already swarming with sweaty bodies loosened up by liquor. Yours not quite there yet, you’re in a fit of giggles as the girls twirl you into the crowd, you stay on the outside of Jihyo and Sana who fall into rhythm, backs pressed to one another as they sway their hips, laughing as they twist around. You and Tzuyu are watching, smiling, giggling until the two pull you into their circle, forcing your hips into the same rhythm as theirs.
“I’m out of practice!” You yell over the music, and both Sana and Jihyo shake their heads, like they wouldn’t accept the excuse.
Jihyo slaps a hand on your shoulder, “You fuck, you know how to use your hips!”
Head tipping back with another laugh, you let her pull you into her, your hips so close they might as well be touching. You follow her rhythm, using a fuck-worthy roll of your hips as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you focus.
“You’re thinking too much,” Sana’s behind you, hands on your hips. “You need another drink, damn.”
Your lips tighten in a line as you look up at Jihyo again, embarrassed. She laughs in response, “She means you’ll feel looser with a little liquor in you.”
Sana stops the bottle girl holding a tray of shots, her screech for help loud as she tries to balance four between her fingers, the three of you snatch them from her hands like candy. Shooting it back in one swallow, you push a breath through your lips like it’d rid the sting from your throat, your face scrunching up at the taste. Vodka– bitter, painful.
But it helps, it’s not long until your arms lay over Jihyo’s shoulders, your back pressed to Sana’s as she moves to the same rhythm as you, Tzuyu swaying her body in front of Sana. You can feel the music in your blood now, your body thumping with the bass, bones turning fluid with each shake of your hips. You’re unable to feel the warmth spreading through your skin, your senses already overwhelmed by the atmosphere, you’re too busy watching Jihyo’s half-clothed body grinding herself against you.
Eventually Tzuyu heads to the bar for more drinks, handing you another shot before a glass full of something and tequila, you don’t realize how quickly you’re sipping it while Tzuyu is bent over in front of you, her ass pressed to your crotch. You can hear your obnoxious laughter over the music when Sana lands a few smacks to her ass, Jihyo pulling out her phone to record it, the four of you erupting in a fit of drunken giggles and snorts, bodies light, brains somewhere else entirely, not once did you remember there’s an entire club of people around you.
It’s been so long. House parties, clubs, bars, your friend group used to be outside on a weekly basis, you missed it. You missed them, dancing with them, completely carefree, like you’re twenty-three again. It was nostalgic in a visceral way, like maybe you were twenty-three again, sharing platonic kisses with your friends on the dance floor, waiting for your boyfriend to come scoop you up and fuck you in the bathroom because neither of you could wait.
You don’t realize you’re drunk until Mingi joins you on the dance floor. When you see his face, structured and beautiful, strands of hair hanging over his glossy eyes, a smile on his plump lips, you feel the rush of warmth from your chest to your toes. His pants cling to his legs like they’re tailored to him, strong thighs filling out the fabric, his unbuttoned shirt is showing enough skin for you to lick down his chest. You want to, the urge sitting at the forefront of your mind, you lick your lips as he approaches.
“I was wondering where you went,” Mingi’s loud over the music, you could get drunk off the rasp to his voice alone. You throw your hands over his shoulders, swaying your hips to a rhythm he meets you at immediately, his hands on your waist.
“I’ve been here,” you tilt your head, dazed. “We were dancing, the girls are so funny.”
Mingi snorts, “You’re drunk.”
“Nooo,” you shake your head, the word exaggerated, playful. “Just tipsy. Did I tell you how handsome you look?” Mingi looks amused, brows raising, you don’t wait for his answer. “You look sofuckingsexy.” His belly laugh makes your smile grow. “I’m serious, Min. I want you, like now.”
He leans in to attach your lips, a quick peck, he fights your strength to keep him close. “Now? Like were twenty-three again? Don’t wanna wait until we get home so I can fuck you in our bed?”
A small noise slips through your lips at the thought. “Too far away, we just got here.”
“We got here over an hour ago,” his hands curl around your waist, gripping you harder. “You’ve been out here the whole time, baby.”
It feels like you’ve been dancing for ten minutes. “Whatever,” you whine, pressing your front against his. “Kiss me already.”
He obliges, smiling before he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your body flush to his. You gasp into his lips, he tastes like whiskey, bitter but sweet, addicting. Your fingers find his hair as his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, groaning into you, your hands fall from his neck to feel him.
“Baby,” he says with caution, you swallow the warning, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He squeezes your hips as your hands fall from his hair to his chest, palms splayed over his pecs down to his abdomen, tongue dancing with his.
“I just wanna kiss,” you mumble into his mouth, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting softly. He groans, chasing your lips again, his hips pressing into you, he’s so easy it makes your core clench.
He parts your legs with one of his own, pressing into you, making you gasp a sound too lewd for where you are. Entirely bare beneath your dress, the pressure combined with the texture of his pants makes a breathy moan fall past your lips, one he drinks up with his own. Your fingers curl into his shirt tighter, hips bucking into him, one of his hands sliding up to the side of your neck.
“Can feel her on me,” his voice is deeper, almost a growl as he says the words into your mouth. “Knew you weren’t wearing panties.”
One of your heeled feet leaves the floor to grind against him at a better angle, head falling forward until your forehead lands against his, “Shit, feels good.”
He reaches behind you, fingers finding the hem of your dress, holding it taut over your ass. You moan again as your core drags over his thigh, forehead falling to his shoulder, the rest of the club melting away. He curses under his breath, “Baby, hold on, you gotta–”
You whimper into his shirt, eyes screwing shut, tequila and Mingi was a cocktail for impulsivity. Him, the smell of him in your nose, his body pressed to yours, he made you so fucking cockdrunk without even giving you an inch, without even touching you. The pleasure’s overwhelming, you needed more, pressure building steadily, you didn’t care where you were, who saw.
Yunho can’t believe what he’s seeing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he should have known not to follow Mingi out to the dance floor to find you. But he was growing antsy at the table, listening to the bullshit conversation everyone was having when all he wanted to do was kiss Mingi across the table. Sitting back against the couch with his knees spread, beer in his hand, lips wet and pink and plump, Yunho was stirring in impatience. He’s hungry, he wants to touch him, to kiss him, wants him on his knees between his legs, he wants to tell him how much he loves him with his lips wrapped around his cock. He stared with his chin in his palm, elbow pressed to his knee, his foot tapping against the floor, the liquor made him restless.
At least he waited a few seconds before following Mingi, just to find the two of you at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies and eyes while you grinded your hips against his fucking thigh like you were the only people out here. Mingi’s holding your dress over your ass, your hands in his shirt, leg hooked around his body, he stared until he understood the rhythm you were moving at, watching how you twitched like you were about to fucking cum.
He was seeing red. In his mind you were both still his, and you were letting all of these random fucking people see you like this? Seeing what’s his? He was moving before he could think about it, pressing himself up against your back, hands on your waist to shield you from everyone who could be watching. His voice comes out rough, harsh, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Your hips still like your blood was still victim to his command. Head tilting backward, you stare at him through wet lashes, lips parting, his name leaves your mouth in a soft gasp. Eyes hazy, glossed over, fuck, all his rage dissipates into the humidity of the club, just from one look at you. Disheveled, you didn’t have a frown on your face, your brows weren’t tied together, so fucking beautiful flushed with arousal he can feel it in his chest.
He looks at Mingi who’s equally as fucked out, cheeks red, eyes glossed over, he stares at Yunho like he wants to devour him, just like Yunho was staring at him in their section. His cock twitches in his pants, his heart twists, it’s been one fucking day and he misses you like he hasn’t had you in months.
He can’t take it anymore. He can’t do this anymore.
He isn’t thinking when he leans forward, sandwiching you between himself and Mingi as his fingers grab his cheeks, there’s no patience in the way Yunho kisses him, no softness, it’s all hunger and relief and driven by every single thought he’s had today. He says each one with each lick into Mingi’s mouth, he hopes he can feel it, the guilt, the fear, the ease he feels just by tasting the whiskey on his tongue.
“Oh my god,” he hears you whisper, it goes one ear and out the other as Mingi groans into his mouth, it goes straight to his cock. He feels you slip from between them as Mingi’s hands find his hair, his hands slide to Mingi’s neck, their chests pressed together like they couldn’t be close enough.
“I love you,” Yunho breaks the kiss only to say the three words into his mouth and he moans. Between kisses, he holds him close, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucking love you.”
“They’re watching,” you’re tugging on his arm, panic ebbed in your tone. “Yun, they’re watching you. They can see you.”
He pulls away from Mingi to turn to you, your eyes wide with fear, lips parted, eyes bouncing back and forth between Yunho and what he can only assume is all of your friends. He doesn’t care. There’s no shame, there’s no denial, there’s nothing inside him that could stop him from grabbing you by the waist, throwing the other in your hair, and pressing his lips to yours. He breaks it only to murmur, “Let them see.”
You’re stiff for just a second before melting into him, his kisses softer than those with Mingi, more controlled, like kissing Mingi took the edge off his impulse. “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. “I don’t give a fuck if they see me kissing you, you’re mine.”
You hook your leg over his thigh, palms on his cheeks, relief flooding you. You tilt your head to the side, smirking, “You couldn’t have said that yesterday?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop speaking,” your fingers tighten in his hair. “Your mouth gets you in trouble. Take us home.”
Your friend group watches Yunho guide you both through the club with wide eyes and parted lips, you don’t spare them a glance as you and Mingi trail behind Yunho like dogs to their owner. The Escalades are still parked out front, a few words from Yunho to the driver and he’s opening the door to the backseat for you and Mingi, ushering you inside.
You stole Yunho’s mouth the entire drive, Mingi settling for his neck, the skin on his chest, more with every button he ripped apart. You didn’t speak, you didn’t need to, you’d said everything on the dance floor, specifics could come later. The only thing left was consummation, which was the only thing on your mind as you nearly sprinted through the front door, almost tripping on your feet on the climb upstairs.
“Careful,” Yunho said from behind you when you’d taken two steps at a time, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter, amused at your impatience. You ignored him, forgoing an answer to instead steal his lips once more when you reached the top of the steps.
His hands found your hips, tongue pushing through your lips, you felt Mingi’s palms a steady wait on top of Yunho’s as he backed you into your room, then closed the door behind you. You broke away to untie your dress behind your neck, just for Mingi to trade places with you, stealing Yunho’s mouth.
“Bed,” you said into the air, and watched as they tripped over each other, stepping in each other’s line of direction as they backed closer, closer, and closer to the bed. Mingi fell backwards, Yunho’s hands flying for his belt.
You kissed your boyfriend, who hummed when your lips met his. “Tequila.”
“Tastes good, right?” You smile into the kiss, dress riding up your thighs, body bent over completely to keep your mouth on his.
You can hear Mingi’s pants hit the floor, grabbing your attention. Yunho has his shirt off, Mingi’s briefs discarded. Yunho’s eyes, always cool and collected, are wide, crazed; sparkling with the moonlight that makes a puddle of white at the balcony door, casting the room in a hue of midnight.
Reality settles, and it’s heavy. Drunk you may be, but not drunk enough to not be wondering what’s going through his mind. “Hey,” you offer. His eyes meet yours, charcoal, swirling with moonlight, not quite steady. Your lips curve, “I love you.”
His bare shoulders settle, ease washing over him. He leans over Mingi’s legs, two hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you deeply, speaking into your mouth, “I love you, too.”
“Holy shit,” you mumble into his mouth, making him giggle right back. He giggled.
He loves you. He fucking loves you.
Mingi reaches for your legs, pulling one over his chest, you’re absent-minded as Yunho keeps his tongue tangled with yours. He pushes your dress up over your hips, holding it up over your waist, and pulls you down to meet his awaiting tongue.
You gasp out a moan as Mingi groans, bare hips bucking against Yunho who was still leaning over him. Yunho leans back, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight, your hips already rolling against Mingi’s tongue.
“Fuck,” Yunho sighs, grabbing his length through his pants, his grip tight like he was pacing his own pleasure. Like seeing you with Mingi might’ve very well brought him closer than he should have been.
Mingi’s arms hook around your thighs, tongue poking out to let your hips rock against it, allowing you to set your own pace, to use him however you want. You waste no time setting a brutal pace, whimpering as his flexed tongue rolls over your clit, as your hips rock back onto his nose. Fingers curling into your skin, searing where they held you, no doubt leaving oval shapes behind, the sting only makes you grind against him harder.
Yunho’s fingers find his button, his zipper, his eyes zeroed in on the sight before him like he couldn’t rip his eyes away if he tried. Indents of strain dimple the space above his brows, just a slight furrow, his hand finds his length again over his briefs, running his flat palm over his hard cock, a moan tumbling off his tongue.
Your eyes flare. “G’na cum just like that? Watching?”
Yunho’s lips part. “Could, if I wanted to.”
You find the hem of your dress at your waist, pulling the thin fabric over your head in one quick motion. Still rocking your hips, abdomen flexed, breasts falling at your chest, Yunho groans.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. You hiss when Mingi’s nose catches on your entrance. Yunho’s eyes sink down to where Mingi’s tongue swallows your folds, how it blankets over your core, swiping through, spit sliding down the sides of his mouth. His hand picks up speed over his briefs, hips bucking into his own hand, chest rising and falling heavily, “I might.”
You lean forward, holding Yunho’s eye, moaning as Mingi’s tongue curls inside you. You take Mingi’s length in one hand, the other pressed on his chest, and Mingi’s hips jerk into your hand immediately, a sharp grunt vibrating your thighs.
Mingi’s knees spread, hips bucking off the bed, feet finding the edge of the bed, legs lifting just to spread wider. You keep your eyes on Yunho, voice a husky whisper, “Join.”
As if you were a siren, his body pulls him forward, his hand leaving his cotton-covered cock just to wrap around Mingi’s, his hand fitting perfectly right above yours. Mingi’s palms wrapped around your thighs keep your hips moving as you and Yunho pump his length, one-handed, your eyes never once leaving each other.
“Fuck him,” you nearly whisper, your voice still husky, coated in arousal. “Push his legs up to his chest and fuck him. I have his mouth.”
Yunho gasps, and it would have been silent if you weren’t so close. His face twinges, a jerk of a reaction, like he wasn’t used to someone giving him orders. But his hands find Mingi’s knees, the underside of them, pushing them upward. He leans toward you, taking your lips in his, and as his tongue pushes into your mouth you know it’s claiming. Steadying. Reminding you who he is, who he is to you.
Yunho’s hand disappears between Mingi’s legs, earning a shattered moan spat into your core, you smile through the sound that rips from your chest. Rocking your hips again, sitting up straight once more, Mingi’s fingers singe your thighs, each fingertip like iron soaked in fire.
Mingi’s heels find the bed, cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking all over the stretch of skin beneath his belly button. The skin of your thighs gathers between his fingers, but you rock yourself through it, the pain mixed with the pleasure better than any cocktail you’ve had tonight.
Your head tips back as Yunho preps him, listening to Mingi curse into your folds, whining and whimpering but giving your clit the most attention of all. “S’good, Mingi,” you moan out, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, sounding utterly dazed. “Mm, I love you.”
You barely hear him say it back, his voice lagged, muffled by a mouth full of you, head no doubt fuzzy from Yunho knuckle deep in his ass. You bring your eyes back to the older man who’s focused, taking his time opening him up, prepping him for his cock that neither of you can ever really be prepped for.
“Makin’ a mess, Min,” Yunho comments, finally noticing the painting the younger man made on his own skin. Droplets of pre, ropes that dripped down his sides, Mingi moaned in response. Yunho pushes his legs up, you catch them, palms splayed over his knees, holding him spread.
Beautiful, watching Mingi suck in every single inch. Beautiful, watching Yunho fight every fucking instinct to cum as soon as he bottomed out. It ignited the fire in your gut like you were the one Yunho was splitting open; a harsh moan pushing past your lips, clit throbbing against Mingi’s unmoving tongue. At least he stuck it out, you thought as your hips bucked against him, grinding harshly against the muscle he wanted you to use for your own pleasure.
When Yunho started moving, when Mingi started moaning like nothing has ever felt this good in his life, you could feel it like a phantom limb; brows furrowing, moans growing in pitch, watching your boyfriend fuck your other boyfriend brought you right to the edge.
“Shit… shit,” you moaned, your fingers finding your nipples, pinching, twisting. Hips bucking rapidly, watching Yunho’s abdomen flex as his hips rolled into Mingi’s ass, you neared so close you could taste it. “Gonna cum, Yun, gonna c-cum–”
“Wait,” he ground out, his voice ragged and harsh like he was nearing the brink himself. It made your eyes dart to him, he always lasted, he’s never cum this quickly. Ever. His grin is lazy, his head tipped backward, sweat kissing his moonlight-kissed skin, he utters, “Been waiting– for this, t-to tell you how I feel.” His chin dips, eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck.”
You understood then, that his release was so much more.
“Let me cum,” you urged. “Let me, want to watch you.”
Yunho’s eyes met yours, and agreement shone in the subtle spark of white dancing in charcoal. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around your neck, tugging you toward him to crash your lips onto his, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting the orgasm that washed over you as soon as you met.
Mingi’s grip rocked you through it, a sob leaving your throat, lips unmoving against Yunho’s. Whispering into your mouth, he uttered, “I love you.”
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do anything but roll off Mingi’s face, the younger man gasping for a breath, reaching his arms upward for Yunho. Yunho’s hips didn’t falter as he leaned down, as he pushed Mingi up the bed, crawling onto it himself. Head in the pillows, utterly dazed, lovesick and spent, you watched Yunho take Mingi for everything he’s worth.
Mingi sobbed, hands in Yunho’s hair, muttering I love you over and over again like he couldn’t believe he could say it. Yunho’s hips snapped against his, responding every fucking time Mingi said it, not missing a single time it passed through his lips.
And it occurred to you then, that they were yours. Both of them, finally, for real this time, they were completely yours. So beautiful together, their bodies molding perfectly, lips touching, speaking, not kissing; Mingi’s hands in Yunho’s hair, Yunho cradling Mingi’s cheeks.
You didn’t feel the tears on your cheeks until Mingi spilled onto his stomach, blurry eyes darting to where it dribbled down his side. They didn’t notice until after Yunho emptied himself inside Mingi, when the smack of hips became a sound of slick movement, and their heads turned to yours.
Mingi’s face, fucked-out turned to concerned. Brows bent, lips pouting, he scrounged to sit up on his elbows, “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, wiping under your eyes. “I just love you, both of you. That’s all.”
Yunho crawled over to you, a warm smile on his lips as he split your knees, placing a cupped palm on your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Wiping your tears, he murmured, “I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through this weekend.”
You sniffed, “I’m just… still a little drunk, you don’t need to console me. I know you’re sorry.”
After cleaning himself up quickly, Mingi curled up to your other side, pressing his lips into your bicep. The two of them watched you like hawks, taking in every micro-expression on your face.
“I’m fine,” you reiterated with a small laugh. “I swear, I’m just emotional. It was an emotional weekend.”
Yunho’s face drooped with guilt. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together. I didn’t mean anything I said to you–”
Your palms found his cheeks, guiding him down, cutting him off by pressing your lips against his. “I know,” you whispered, eyes opening to look into his. “I know how you feel, I knew the whole time. I’m proud of you.”
His lips quivered. Your smile grows, “Now why are you getting emotional?”
“Because I’ve been searching for this for so fucking long,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Searching for you, both of you,” his eyes find Mingi, “in everyone.”
“Search is over,” Mingi rolls on his back, eyes playful, lips pinned up on one side. He looks at Yunho with barely a turn of his head, “Should we throw a party?”
Yunho snorts, pressing another kiss to your lips before throwing your leg over his body, collapsing on your other side. After a moment, he adds, “I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you.”
Both yours and Mingi’s heads turn to him, listening. Yunho’s head angles toward you, but he doesn’t look as he continues, “I think it’s why I’ve never settled down. Nothing ever felt right, not until that first night with you both. I mean, after that, I never really left.”
“You tried,” you add with a grin.
Yunho looks at you just to roll his eyes. “It’s scary knowing the best thing that could ever happen to you is happening to you. I fucked it up before I even had the chance to fuck it up.”
“No you didn’t,” Mingi counters with a shake of his head. “You’re here, we’re here. Everything happened the way it was supposed to.”
Yunho’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you for letting me figure it out. For not abandoning me when I gave you every reason to.”
Before tears have the chance to fill your waterline again, you wrap yourself around him, literally climbing on top of him to attach yourself to him. Whispering into his neck, you say, “That’s what you do when you love someone.”
“And we love you very, very much,” Mingi adds, already cuddled up to Yunho’s side.
Yunho presses his lips to yours, a short, sweet kiss. Then turns to Mingi, pressing another short, sweet kiss to his lips. “And I love you both very, very much, too.”
