best friends to lovers! Hannie x fem reader g ・ smut cw ・ teasing, lots of tension, Hannie and reader are both horny for each other, drug usage (don’t!) wc ・ 2.8k | [library link here]
[ ۫ ꣑ৎ author’s note ] here’s my first ever preview for a work i’m working on! tbh, the fic is loooong and i’m still writing. i decided to post the preview bc the actual fic is kinda sad, depressing, and dark. i’m worried people wouldn’t actually like that part until it gets to the filth, however i wanted to write a hurt/comfort with some smut for a while… and i may or may not have stoner hannie brainrot. i may post just the smut and loving bits as its own thing, as well as the whole fic when i finally finish? idk i’m rambling… well here enjoy this preview for needy stoned Hannie x reader.
oh btw, here’s a playlist w songs i listened to while writing this
divider by @v6que
‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🕊️ ⋅ ˚Jisung was happy to see her smile, even if it was small and her eyes were still red and puffy from crying. A win is a win in his book. So, he happily followed along. The pair grabbed their shoes and the umbrella before leaving the building. The walk to their normal smoking hang out was pretty calm, despite the rain. At least, the rain had died down again into a steady drizzle, saving them from the monsoon-like downpour earlier. The only unfortunate thing was that the wind had picked up, blowing the rain sideways. This left her with no choice but to cling to Jisung as the bitter wind whipped around the two of them. It was about 10 minutes before they spotted the treehouse her parents had built when they were children. All their normal stuff was still there, pictures from their youth hanging on the wall. Now there was an old beat up couch (where their stash was hidden), a bed with a few pillows and blankets where many hours cuddling had been spent, and a projector.
Jisung climbed up first and turned around to offer his hand to y/n. After getting pulled up, she beelined towards the couch to pull out the bud as well as the lighter and the wraps. After wrapping the blunt, she handed it to Jisung as he flopped down onto the couch next to her. “Ladies first.” She giggled. He took the blunt with a begrudging look and held it in his mouth, waiting for her to light it. Y/n obliged and elbowed him “Don’t take all of it, make sure to leave some for me. You hog.” She elbowed her friend then rubbed at her eyes, probably trying to diffuse some of the puffiness remaining from her tears.
Jisung, of course, only offered her a punch to the arm instead and a snarky remark about how he ‘wasn’t the one who finished 70% of the last blunt.’ Y/n rolled her eyes and plucked the blunt from Jisung’s lips harshly. “Shut up, besides,” y/n says as she pauses to take a drag. “You said this was to smoke the depression away. Right now I think I need it more than you.” She stuck her tongue at Jisung, to which he replied by flicking her in the forehead. Y/n took another big drag and coughed. “Goddamn, it’s been a while since I smoked with you Jisungie.” After coughing for a bit, y/n tucked her legs under her and turned towards Jisung. She took a few more drags before putting it in between her two fingers and passing it to Jisung to take. He gladly took the blunt and took a large drag himself. Somehow, he didn’t cough like her, much to y/n’s dismay.
“Bro, are you fucking kidding me? You’re such a show off. Ugh, fuck you!” Y/n squeaked and started punching him anywhere she could hit. “You’re the worst.” She sighed and plopped her body forward so she could lean onto Jisung. Cuddling between them wasn’t something new by any means. She’d never admit it, but cuddling with Jisung recently has been giving her new thoughts to think about. She didn’t know when it happened, but one day she began to notice the way her heart beats louder when she feel jisung’s broad chest caging her in, as his arms wrapped around her. She’d especially take this one to the grave, but she really started noticing it as she slipped away to excuse herself to use the bathroom in a panic. It was pretty obvious when she slipped her underwear down to see the pearly string that attaches itself to her lips and her panties. It was slowly becoming clear to her that she was attracted to Jisung. Perhaps, in more ways than one.
Jisung chuckled at y/n’s cute little outburst and reached over to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Looked like it was getting in your lip gloss, y/nnie.” He said with a honey-dripped voice. He smiled as he noticed as a small blush crept along y/n’s cheeks, down towards her neck. His eyes trailed below as they followed the path the blush was burning on her skin. He swallowed thickly as his eyes reached below her collarbone where his white band t-shirt stuck to her skin snugly. The white had become similar to gossamer, her skin and black bra shining through, thanks to the rain. Taking a sharp inhale, Jisung unconsciously began digging into her arm tightly as he drank in the sight. As if on cue, he broke the spell and suddenly snapped his eyes back into y/n’s. He hoped that she hadn’t noticed, although he knew the chances were entirely too slim. He couldn’t even blink as he peered into y/n’s eyes. Now it was Jisung’s turn to blush, a warmth spreading across his own cheeks. He sputtered something about ‘needing space’ and ‘why are you over here when there’s the entire couch?’ then promptly shoved y/n across the couch, turning his head away from her to hide the blush that was igniting his skin.
Y/n, of course, wouldn’t stand for being pushed away from her heat source as the cold from the rain blew into the tree house. “Sungie, fuck off! What the hell was that for? You know it’s cold out.” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. After a few seconds of pouting silently she reached her arm out to grab the blunt that Jisung was holding in his hand, half forgotten. He yelped in surprise and moved his arm up in the air out of y/n’s reach. She slapped his shoulder and laughed as he grunted. After a few seconds of pretending to give up, she smiled and lunged even harder at Jisung. Launching herself off the couch and smiling in victory as she was able to reach the blunt Jisung held over his head, she failed to notice her miscalculation as she was now sitting in Jisung’s lap with her face very close to his own. He glared at her unamused but she still noticed the blush dusting his cheeks. The clock on the wall continued to tick on as the air around the pair thickened. Jisung’s own shocked expression melted into something much needier as she felt him try to physically run away from her hold. But with her sitting on his lap, he had nowhere to go. He pinched his eyebrows and turned his head, bringing his fist up in a feeble attempt to hide his teeth digging into his bottom lip at the suggestive pose the pair are in. With the way in which her arm is still frozen in the air at her attempt to get the blunt for herself, she begins to blush as bright as Jisung and feel a familiar slowly knot tying itself in her stomach. Y/n never thought she’d get turned on by such a small act, let alone from a simple mistake she made.
More time passed as the pair stared deeply, albeit curiously, into each other’s eyes. Jisung’s hands which were thrown around her waist in shock began to grip tighter at her hips, the fingers leaving indents in the milky skin where they were also splayed on her thighs. She parted her lips and he heard a small, breathy “Oh.” leave her. It was hard to deny, but this had a larger impact on y/n than she would have liked. She inhaled sharply as she felt her clit throb gently at the feeling at Jisung’s hands deliciously digging into her sides. It was her turn to look away in embarrassment as she quickly dismounted herself off his lap and back onto the couch with a pout. Stupid Jisung and the way he doesn’t realize the impact he has on me! She internally curses him as all she places the blunt back in between her sticky strawberry lips and inhales. After taking a long drag, and much to her enjoyment, the lack of a coughing fit, she crosses her hands back over into her lap and closes her eyes. She felt the beginning of her arousal begin to fade as she tried to be one of God’s stronger soldiers and put the thoughts flashing behind her eyes deep down into her subconscious. Something about the way Jisung’s fingers stung ever so slightly as he pushed into her plush thighs and waist with his soft hands threw her for a complete tailspin. Of course she’s had sex before, but never had she felt so ignited by such a small and subtle touch. It was as if a jolt of electricity had gone through her the second he laid his hands on her. Shaking her head vigorously to rid the sinful thoughts before they overwhelmed her and she could only imagine the way in which he would handle her, she tried to rid the unholy thoughts once more. Deciding to say “fuck it” and take another large drag from the blunt, end goal of becoming as high as possible in the fastest manner becoming clearer and clearer in her head. It was during this time in which she was so in her own head, she missed the golden opportunity to peek open her own eyes and see the disheveled state Jisung was in, similarly to her own.
If she were to peer over and turn her head towards Jisung, she would have had a heart attack and simultaneously seen the way he desired y/n so bad it was almost tangible. His head was reeling and chest heaving as he shut his eyes and flopped it back against the couch, staring up into the ceiling. His hair flopped with him and covered his eyes, but his own arousal was still apparent to any outsider. The way in which his bottom lip is still trapped between his teeth as he tries to catch his breath. The blush on his cheeks spread down to his chest where the slight dew of sweat began to gather. He pinched his nose bridge as he tried to will the thoughts and his raging boner away. The way in which y/n’s body looked so small on his lap, the way in which her thighs were so soft and plump in his hands. Her small, breathy, ‘oh’ that made his heart hang onto the idea that she was into him enough to find him sexually attractive, and the way in which her wet clothes clung to her form; it all made him go insane. He needed the weed to kick in any second now, hoping he could instead get lost in the sensation of being high rather than hopelessly longing for the feeling of y/n’s pink sugary lips gliding against his own. Heaving a heavy sigh, he looked over to y/n on the couch and slowly peeked his eyes at her form on the couch. Thanking whatever deity was allowing her to look so perfect before him, and luckily she was in her own world with her eyes closed. He let his eyes slowly drag down her body, a little more unashamedly now that he knew he didn’t have an audience to judge his own indulgence.
Jisung flitted his eyes down to her chest once again, running them along the valley of her collarbones, down to where her cleavage just faintly peeked out above the low collar she cut on his shirt, now claimed for herself and neatly stored in Jisung’s drawer for their impromptu sleepovers and other clothing emergencies. He dragged his eyes back up to her lips. He internally groaned as he saw the way her gloss smudged slightly from the blunt, the sugary pink tint shimmering softly in the light. After admiring her lips for a while, Jisung trailed his eyes down to her hips and smiled softly at what he saw. The grey sweatpants that they both owned as a matching set were sitting snugly on her hips. The ones with a little black star and the word “Youtiful” under it, that both of them got as a gift on graduation day from one of their closest friends. The ones that matched his very own. Thanking God and the people he saved in his last life, he smiled at the fact that even if y/n had so many other bottoms to choose from, she chose those special ones. Now here they were, both matching. As he thanked the universe for giving him this win, he stilled as he saw y/n inhale and slowly open her eyes before yawning and sitting up, lashes getting slightly wet from the unshed tears the strong yawn brought to her eyes. He sat up straighter, eyes still trained on her as he followed her every move. Imagine his surprise as he feels y/n shove the blunt between his lips and her hand on his cheeks, pushing into them lightly as she forces his mouth open (much like the kissy face a fish makes) to take the blunt. After she’s satisfied that the blunt remains lodged in Jisung’s plush lips, she withdraws her hand and whips her head away. He held his breath when the words y/n whispered met his ears.
“Mm feelin’ it slowly. It’s your turn to catch up now. Don’t wanna be high alone, Hannie.” Y/n mumbled out through pouted lips. She felt her cheeks heat up as she admitted to already feeling the pleasant sluggish feeling enveloping her body. After she was satisfied by seeing Jisung take a few drags himself, head laid back with one hand in his hair behind his head as he peered up at the ceiling, she let her own head flop back on the couch. Sighing with contentment, she snuggled further into the couch, allowing the comforting feeling of her incoming high roll onto her slowly. It was a few minutes that had passed before y/n’s eyes blink open again slowly as she sat up quickly realizing she had dozed off for about 30 minutes.
Embarrassment painted her features as she quickly realized where Jisung had been when she dozed off. She looked down and nearly yelped as she saw Jisung with his plump lips, open and spit-slicked, laying in her lap. She felt his hair tickle her thighs through the material of the sweatpants as she sucked in a breath and shook him gently, worried what would happen if he stayed there any longer. Now it was her turn to bite her lip as she felt him stir ever so slightly, and instead of waking up, he then wiggled his face deeper into y/n’s lap, grabbing at her and mumbling something incoherent except for the one word she caught. ‘Warm.’ Jisung burrowed in again, his nose nuzzling along her thigh as he breathed out peacefully, his breath fanning across her tummy, where her shirt had risen in her short slumber. Y/n’s breath caught as she let out a little hiccup when one deep sigh let out just the right amount of air to feel a small bead of arousal leak out of her hole and into her panties. After freezing in fear when she felt Jisung nuzzle impossibly deeper, almost driven in his sleep by his body’s unconscious drive to feel her closer. It was over for her though when she felt the tip of his nose nuzzle in just right so that it barely traced over her clothed clit. With a squeak she felt her clit throb more strongly this time and the arousal continued to pool in both her underwear and belly before she’d decided she’d had enough. She grabbed Jisung by the hair and lifted his sleeping body up.
Jisung awoke with a start and a yelp as his hands reached up to where y/n’s were caught tangled in his brunette locks. His bracelet jangled as he looked up at y/n with unshed tears and a pout on his lips, making them look so kissable. After a few seconds y/n smoothed her hand back over his hair and massaged it. She let her hands begin to knead into Jisung’s neck, trying to work out any sore spots as an apology for waking him up so urgently. With the pout still on his lips, he peered up at y/n as he felt his body begin to melt into her touch. “Why did you even do that anyways?” She shook her head and did something which Jisung did not expect at all. She leaned down and pressed her glossy lips to the tip of his nose gently. As his brain was short circuiting he looked up at her with his big boba eyes shining in the soft light and another pout formed on his lips. “W-what was that for?” He asked, his eyes trailing away to look at the posters and photos on the wall, a testament to the brilliance of their youth that you pair shared together. Y/n simply smiled and retracted her face from Jisung’s. She twinkled out a laugh, eyes turning into little crescents, and flicked him in the forehead.
Summary: Back home from your year working abroad, you assume it’ll be business as usual— that is, until you meet your dad’s new farm hand, who’s ready to show you something sweeter than sugarcane
*Warning: Eventual smut(chapters will be labeled accordingly)
A/N: Story takes place in Mexico BUT remember that you can be any ethnicity and have been born in Mexico so don’t let it put you off from reading it! Will have some Spanish sprinkled in, but I will translate it. I'll also work on an entirely Spanish translation soon 🤎
*Footnotes w/ translations every few paragraphs + the full list of translations at the very bottom
"Quita las manos," Move your hands, Your mom hisses, slapping your hands away from your head with the comb. "¡¹Amá! You're yanking off my entire scalp!" You whimper, wincing at the sting. She's been yanking on your hair for the last five minutes, obsessing over the braid not being tight enough. When you'd asked her to help you do your hair for nostalgic reasons, it was only because you'd somehow forgotten how fucking aggressive she is with it. At this point, your hair is so tight, you're essentially getting a free fucking eye-lift.
"Aren't you a little old for mom to be doing your hair?" Jongho snorts, laying across the couch with his phone in his hands as he plays Call of Duty. "You lack so much self awareness," You sigh, rolling your eyes. "There," your mom says, a proud smile on her face as she rotates your head on your neck to examine her work from all sides, "I would've done better but you're such a cry baby." You stand up and try to slowly move your eyebrows, so as not to tear the baby hairs straight out of your head. You walk over to the big mirror hanging on the living room wall and look yourself over, raising your brows at the neatly parted, perfectly winding French braids along your hair; as much as it hurts you for her to braid your hair, you must admit, she's the best at it. You're gonna need it too, since your dad recruited you to help prep the field for planting the sugarcane.
1.) Amá: Informal way to address your mother. Similar to 'mom,' rather than "mother"
"²Hija, are you ready!?" Your dad calls out from just outside the front door. "Yeah!" You run into the kitchen and grab the giant bag of food your mom packed, as well as the cooler full of drinks. It's heavy as hell, but you manage to get it to the door before turning back to glare at Jongho, "I know you're not coming with us, but you know, you could at least help load this stuff into the car." Jongho gently massages his shoulder, barely looking up from his phone, "Ah, you know, I would but my shoulder--" "You're so full of it, Jongho, I swear--" You get ready to go in on him, but then you feel the cooler getting tugged out of your hands, and you see a shadow cast across you and Jongho. You turn just in time to see Yunho, who's now got the cooler fully in his hands, staring down at you, "I'll help," He says simply. "Yunho," You say, surprised and suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. You thought you'd have the car ride, at least, to mentally prepare yourself to be around him.
2.) Hija/hijo: daughter/son
He walks out to the truck to load the cooler in, leaving you standing there at the doorway, hesitant to follow. "You know he's single, right?" Jongho smirks, sitting up. You turn to look at him, furrowing your brows, "So?" "Just sayin'," He says, finally standing up to stretch and walking back to his room, "Gonna go get ready for work." You stare at him as he walks away. He's always talking out of his ass. It's annoying. "¡Y/n, ya vamonos!" Let's go already, your dad yells. You quickly close the door behind you, the metal clanking against the frame, to which your mom yells out, "¡No asotes la puerta!" Don't slam the door!
When you round the corner to meet them on the side of the house where the truck is parked, you see your dad is already in the driver's seat, and Yunho is leaning up against the truck; his arms are crossed, and his sombrero is completely blocking his eyes as he looks down at his phone. You approach slowly, fixing your face to not look so nervous. "What are you waiting for?" You ask, tilting your head. "For you," He slowly lifts his head, and it makes your heart flutter. Goddamn him and that fucking hat. "Why me?" You ask. "Because you're in the middle," He nods toward the truck. "We're all in the same truck?" You're trying to fight the feeling but you slowly start to feel yourself turning red at the thought of being sandwiched between your dad and Yunho. "Would you prefer not to?" Yunho asks, looking down at you, a small smirk playing on his lips, "I can always take the ³cuatri." "N-no, don't be silly," You say, avoiding his gaze as you walk past him and slide in.
3.)Cuatri: shortform for "cuatrimoto," which means four-wheeler/ATV.
You try to scoot as close as possible toward your dad, but he makes a face, "¿Eres chicle?" Are you gum? "No?" You say, raising a brow in confusion. "¿Entonces porque tan pegada?" Then why are you so stuck to me? You roll your eyes, letting out a sigh as you scoot away from him-- though when you do, you realize you've miscalculated how far away to scoot, as your thighs are now touching Yunho's; Yunho doesn't say anything, just leans back, crossing his arms on his chest as he looks ahead. You swallow hard, feeling so hyper aware of him next to you. Just fifteen minutes, Y/n. Just last fifteen minutes.
Yunho stares out the window the entire ride down to the ⁴potrero. He keeps his arms crossed the whole way, knowing it'll give you more space. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable...though part of him is kind of enjoying seeing you so flustered. He's not even sure why he likes it so much, but he finds himself wanting to see you like that more and more. "Is San there already?" Your dad asks Yunho. "Yeah, he got there about five minutes ago." "What time does he have to be at the ⁵puesto?" "He's going in the evening; I'm gonna leave before him to help out over there at 12 but I'll be here all day tomorrow." Your dad turns to you, "I'll need you to go with Yunho into town. I ordered some lumber with Don Martin and he said it should be ready by midday." Your eyes widen, "You want me to go?" "Pues si," Well duh, "how else is Yunho gonna get to the puesto? I've gotta stay longer to finish up in the field with San." You remain silent, your mind racing. Sitting in a car, just the two of you...the thought makes your hands sweat.
4.)Potrero: Field
5.)Puesto: a stand of some sort (a taco stand in this case)
The work is so hard and back-breaking, you almost regret having come back. Working a cushy office job is nothing compared to this. You suppose you'll have to appreciate your dad extra hard for doing this kind of work all your life to put you through school. By 11, you're sweating profusely, the neat braids your mom had done for you, now frizzing in all directions. You stand up, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your forearm, as your hands are currently disgusting.
The worst part about being home really isn't the heat, itself; its the humidity. Everything is sweaty and sticky and makes you want to peel your skin off and hang it to dry. Not to mention, all the bugs; you'd been gone all year and forgotten how bad the bugs get. You slap a mosquito that's settled on your shoulder, just in time for it not to bite you. "Y/n, take a break," Your dad calls out from the end of the field. "I'm okay!" You respond. "No, take a break now. I don't need your mom on me because you passed out. Yunho, you take a break too." You roll your eyes and begrudgingly walk over to the giant mango tree in the far corner of the field. You hate how overprotective your dad gets with you; you sometimes feel like you're a child again when you're with your parents.
You sit down on a stool right at the trunk; one that's been there for years, and you lean back against the tree trunk. You then watch as Yunho also comes in this direction. It's so hard to relax when you know he's near by, and you find yourself tensing immediately. The entire time you've been working, he's been on the other end of the field, focused and moving quickly to plant the sugar cane stocks, so you didn't have to interact much this morning after arriving; but now, he's intent on also finding relief in the shade with you.
As soon as be steps under the lush branches, he doesn't say a single word; he immediately grabs the large water he'd left here at the start, unscrewing the top and tilting his head back to drink. He gulps like a man who'd just been wandering the desert; drops of water fall from the gap between his lips and the mouth of the bottle, dripping down his chin, and then slowly down his neck. You stare in awe, utterly hypnotized by the sight. Your mouth waters, and it's not because you want water. When he takes the bottle away from his mouth, he pants lightly, letting out a groan of relief, which ignites a sort of primal part of your brain. Oh God, are you no better than an animal? You look away, turning to look at your dad, who's currently talking with San. Yunho looks at you, fighting his own smile; he hadn't initially noticed you staring, but he definitely caught you looking away.
"Water?" He asks, holding out the one he just drank from. You glance at him, "No, thanks." "You sure? It's nice and cool." "I'm sure, thanks." He nods, and turns to look out onto the field. You squirm a little, uncomfortable with the silence, but still feeling too nervous to say anything. He looks up at the branches of the tree, examining the fruit as he says, "These look delicious." You look up too, "Yeah, they are. Tree's been here since when my dad was little. My grandpa planted it." He examines a little longer, then reaches up for one of them. You don't mean to, but you catch a glimpse of the bottom of his stomach, as well as the waistband of his underwear from the top of his jeans. Your lips hang open, taken aback by the beautiful sight. "This is a good one," He says triumphantly, looking down at the yellow mango in his hand; it's funny, the mango itself is a decent size, but it looks medium sized in his massive hand. You stare as he raises it to his mouth and takes a big bite; the slurping sound he makes when he tries to keep from dripping onto his shirt-- it's sinful, really. "Mm..." He says, snapping you out of your trance, "Sweet." His lips are covered in the sweet mango juice, glistening in the small pockets of sunlight from between the branches, before he wipes it off with the back of his hand.
Who knew eating a mango could be so sexual?
"Las llaves," The keys, your dad says, tossing the keys in the air for Yunho to catch. You furrow your brows, "Why can't I drive? I'm the one running your errands for you," You ask indignantly. Your dad shakes his head, "You can drive back but you're not driving up that hill. Did you already forget how you let the car roll back last time?" "It hardly rolled back," You roll your eyes. "You almost hit Maya." “But I didn’t though,” You cross your arms. “Oh, but you did. She still hasn’t forgiven you for it either,” Your dad say sternly, pointing an accusatory finger at you. Maya's your family cow. It was about two years ago; she’d been grazing at the bottom of the hill when you did, indeed, roll back. You narrowly missed her by about four feet or so.
Yunho stands there, watching the exchange, trying not to laugh as he imagines the entire scenario. Safe to say, he's definitely gonna be the one driving up the hill. He walks to the driver's side door, and you go to the passenger's side, slamming the door behind you, sulking a bit at your dad's lack of faith in you. "Ready?" Yunho asks. "Yeah,” You say with a sigh. He glances at you, a smirk on his face as he turns the car on. “Your dad’s just worried for your safety,” He says, changing the gear, “and Maya’s.” You furrow your brows, glaring at him, “You’re getting comfortable.” “Should I be uncomfortable?” He asks, tilting his head, though he keeps his eyes on the road ahead. You don’t respond; you just sit there, leaning against the door.
By the time you’re up the hill, your annoyance has dissipated, and the reality hits you that you’re in the car alone with him. You casually look over at him. He’s sitting there, relaxed as can be, the lap practically lying in his lap, his legs bent as much as possible to be able to fit in the seat and still be able to drive. “Sorry, I was rude,” You say. He raises his brows, not having expected that to come out of your mouth. “You’re sorry?” He asks, confirming it in case he heard wrong. You sigh, “Yes.” “Okay,” He suddenly pulls over on the side of the road, right next to a small convenience store,⁶Abarrotes Hidalgo. “What are we doing here?” You ask, looking out the car window. “You’re gonna buy me a choco-banana.” “Excuse me?” You say, taken aback. He jumps out of the car and walks around to your side, opening your door. “Why would I buy you a ⁷choco-banana?” “Because you’re sorry for being rude.” He says it like it should be obvious, which makes you all the more confused.
6.) Abarrotes: convenience store
7.)Choco-banana: a frozen, chocolate-dipped banana (sometimes w/ sprinkles). Originally from Central America
You follow him into the store, hesitantly trailing behind him all the way to the counter. “Buenas tardes. Dos choco-bananas, por favor,” Good afternoon. Two choco-bananas, please, says Yunho to the cashier, who is an old woman with two long braids going down her chest. She looks up at him in awe, then down at you, “Wow…que guapo,” Wow, how handsome, she says with a smile. He smiles in return, his ears turning pink, “No señora, la guapa es usted.” No, ma’am; the good-looking one is you. “No me digas eso, tengo esposo,” Don’t say that, I have a husband, she laughs, slowly walking over to the big deep-freezer behind her, grabbing two choco-bananas.
You watch the entire exchange, unable to hold back your own chuckle. She hands you both your frozen treats, with two napkins on the sticks. You stand there for a moment, then realize Yunho’s looking at you expectantly. You look up at him and then roll your eyes, reaching into your pocket for your wallet and taking out 40 ⁸pesos. “Cuánto será?” How much? “Nomas te cobro uno,” I’ll only charge you for one. “No, Señora. Please, let me buy both.” She waves you away, “No, it’s my treat…only because your boyfriend’s so sweet,” She says with a wink. You instantly feel yourself getting red again. Yunho, however, is standing there with a giant grin on his face, “You’re too kind, señora.”
8.) Pesos: Mexican currency
When you walk out of the store, you stand there staring at him. "What?" He asks, unwrapping the plastic wrap from his banana. "Why didn't you say anything to her?" "About?" "She thought we were together." "Why didn't you say anything?" He tilts his head. You shake your head and just get in the car, ignoring his question altogether. He slides in with ease, holding his banana in his mouth as he turns the car back on. "Has anyone ever told you how grumpy you are?" He asks. "I'm not grumpy--" You catch your tone and then bring it down, "I'm not grumpy, I just don't don't want people to get the wrong idea about us." "Why? It's not like you have a boyfriend, right?" He asks. His presumptuous tone irritates you, "What if I do?" "Do you?" He laughs, knowing the answer already. You're quiet for a moment before leaning back in your seat, "You're frustrating." "Hey, it's not that embarrassing to be single in your late twenties," He teases, pulling back off onto the road. "Oh it's embarrassing, is it?" You fully rotate your body to face him better as he drives, "Well what about you? People have told me you're single. Is it embarrassing for you?" "So, you've been asking about me?" He doesn't miss a single beat.
Your cheeks burn, "No, it's just information people have decided to share about you." "Then tell me, Y/n," He glances at you briefly, "What is it about you, that makes them want to talk to you about me?" He smirks. "Don't flatter yourself," You roll your eyes. "How can I not?" He asks, taking another bite, "even the ⁹abuelitas think I'm handsome. Why wouldn't you?" "You're incorrigible," You exhale, finally taking a bite of your own, focusing on the crackle of the sprinkles being mashed between your teeth. You don't even realize that Yunho's fully looking at you, admiring your indignant body language, along with how your lips wrap beautifully around the chocolate banana.
9.)Abuelita: grandma
After another five minutes, you're finally in town, pulling up to the small taco stand, where a lady is already serving a few customers for the lunch rush. It doesn't take a genius to see that this lady is clearly related to Yunho and San, presumably, their mom. Yunho hops out before you, quickly running around to your side and letting you out, despite it being perfectly manageable for you to get out on your own. "Come, get some tacos before you go," He says, nodding for you to follow him. You blink in surprise, but quickly get out and follow behind him right up to the front. "Hi Eomma, how are you doing?" "I'm doing fine, son," The woman looks over and catches sight of you, "and who's this?" "This is Don L/n's daughter, Y/n. She brought me to work." "Wow, que bonita," She says with a big smile; her accent is hardly noticeable as she speaks Spanish-- another indicator they've been in Mexico for a long time.
You smile and bow to her, at least acutely aware of basic Korean manners, "Gracias. Buenas tardes, Señora," Thank you, good afternoon, Ma'am. "She begged me to try some of your bulgogi tacos," He says, motioning toward you with his thumb. You forget he's not Jongho, and instinctively go to lightly shove his shoulder. He laughs, feigning being hurt as he rubs his shoulder. "Of course! They'll be done in a second," She says, urging for you to take a seat. Yunho leads you to a table, and you sit down in the red, plastic chairs. You look over at the stand, admiring the way it's decorated; in many ways, it looks like any other taco stand, except for the various Korean flags sewn together with Mexican ones hanging from the sides of the awning to block out the sun, along with a garland of Korean and Mexican flags hanging along the awning, itself. Yunho sees you staring at the decor, and he chuckles, "San is insistent on making it as obvious as possible that we're Korean." "Real patriotic," You nod slowly.
"Nah, he just wants people to be able to spot us easier so we make more money," He laughs. "Does it work?" "Absolutely. Back in Sinaloa, people would order tacos from her for special events and stuff. San had the idea to just open up a taco stand using her recipes, as well as more traditional Mexican ones." "That's kind of genius," You say in surprise. "Just don't tell him that. We gotta keep him humble," Yunho snorts. You laugh, throwing your head back lightly, which makes Yunho smile wider, "Finally." "What?" "You smiled." You immediately look away, "Well, see? Now you made it weird." He laughs, opening his mouth to say something, but then you hear his mom, "Jeong Yunho, come get the tacos!" He quickly pops up out of his seat and grabs the plate, along with a glass bottle of Pepsi (to match the table, of course). Your eyes light up at the sight of the plate, realizing you'd only eaten two small breakfast burritos right before beginning to work on the field.
"These look so good," You say when he sets the plate down and scoots it over to you. "Will you not have any?" "No, but you eat." You sit there, smile falling slightly. You hate when people just watch you eat. He seems to gather that's what you're thinking, and rolls his eyes, though he's endeared more than annoyed. He reaches over and picks up one of the tacos, careful not to let any of the onions or cilantro fall off. You watch, once again stunned by his level of comfortability, considering he just reached into your plate to take one of the tacos meant for you. He nods toward the plate, urging you to pick one up too. You quickly do so, "Alright, alright." You both take a bite at the same time, and you can't help the slight moan you let out at the flavor. Your eyes go wide, "Woah- this is so good." He smiles, chewing and nodding, "I know, right?"
You grab the Pepsi, then realize it’s not open. “Oh, do you have a bottle opener?” You ask, looking around to see if he brought one. He puts the taco down, his mouth too full of food to reply; he grabs the bottle gently from your hand, then puts it at the edge of the metal table and slams his palm down in it, popping the metal cap off swiftly and then handing it to you. He has done too many attractive things in one day, and it makes you flustered. You put on an unaffected act, and it’s obvious he buys it, considering he doesn’t tease you for it.
You share the rest of the tacos in silence, though it’s not an uncomfortable one; it almost feels like two old friends, sharing a meal. He occasionally grunts in delight as he eats the taco and takes a bite of pickled carrot or a jalapeño. “You gonna eat that?” He asks, pointing to the last red radish on the plate. You shake your head, “Go ahead.” He takes his last bite of taco and then pops the radish into his mouth, leaning back against the plastic chair. You do the same, letting out a deep, tired sigh, “Thanks again for the tacos…how much were they?” You ask, pulling out your wallet, to which he shakes his head, “Free.” “Don’t be silly. How much?” “You sure you wanna know? They’re expensive,” He says, though his coy smile is making you hesitant to ask again. He carefully wipes his lips, “You have to be nice to me from now on.” “Huh?” “That’s the price: being nice to me.”
“And why is that the price?” You snort, playing into his antics a bit. “Because,” He leans in, “‘Tas bonita cuando te portas bien.”
So if mingi watches bl and yeosang and yunho are fudanshi kings and woosan kiss on stage and have matching tattoos and seonghwa reads gay books and posts every pride flag he can find and jongho wants everyone to take their shirts off and hongjoong produces music for queer movies and goes on queer shows and makes rainbow accessories then who is driving the bus
warnings: nsfw 18+, bf!mingi, f!reader, pwnp, backshots, dirty talk, nicknames (baby) size kink, tummy bulge, kinda mean dom!mg, filming, fingering, just dirty overall.
wc. 1k
an. this is just me being thirsty as fuck over this mingi video tbh.. hope you enjoy <3 not proofread! taglist: @yslj1n @joongnoodle @matznana @kisssan @fixonjade
something about having you like this was mingis favourite thing in the world.
your back facing him, knees and arms pressed deep into the mattress. his other heavy hand rested on the dip of your spine, bending your body to bend even more forward as his eyes tightened.
his other hand was dragging down the back of his neck, mouth slightly cracked as he watched your pussy twitch under his gaze. some of your juices were dripping down to the bed, the skin slick to the touch as his body inched closer.
his cock was tight in his grip now, leaning forward to trail down your slit, messing up his precum with yours, his lip now tightly between his pearly teeth.
”you need me don’t you? desperate girl”
his other palm made contact with your cheeks, slightly tearing them more open to get a better visual of your pussy sucking him in. he couldn’t get enough of it.
that slight stretch as he pushed in, the sound it made, the amount of liquids running down your thighs as his cockhead pushes its way inside properly.
mingi leaned forward a bit, trying to catch the best view of the situation. his gold chain swung on his neck as he pushed forward, making you squeal into the pillows.
he knew he was big, big enough to make you writhe yet beg for more. and he made sure you felt every inch, every vein, everything as he moved into you in a slow rhythm.
”you feel that? feel me tearing this pussy open, yeah? just the way you like it”
all you could do is mumble, the sensation overtaking you as mingis pelvis met your ass. he knew if he turned you around, he could see himself bulging out of your lower stomach, and it only made him more hungry.
snapping his hips back, the first thrust was enough to knock the bedframe harshly against the wall. he couldn’t hold back anymore, hands tight on your hips as he started to pick up his pace, making you an absolute mess.
his sounds were rough, sharp. groans and moan tore out his throat, his tongue hanging out his mouth as he watched the opening of your pussy taking him in just right.
your thighs were shaking as your hips made contact, your mouth spread wide open but unable to respond as you felt yourself drawing awfully close so quickly.
mingi knew he wouldn’t last long like this either, but he didn’t care. he would love this view even if it’s for two minutes, or two hours. still, worth every second.
some spit trickled down from his tongue to your ass, running down your inner thighs. the sensation made your pussy clench tight around his cock, making his breath hitch in his throat. his fingers digging into your flesh, he basically hissed:
”do that again.”
and so you did, clamping down against him as his tight and precise thrusts continued, and you knew it would end very soon. mingis entire body twitched, one slightly higher moan leaving his throat as he leaned forward towards you.
”min-” you tried to speak, your voice a faint whisper. his hand tucked around your chest, pulling you up to meet his thrusts, his face near yours now.
”yeah? what is it baby?” his voice was out of breath, yet still seeping that same need. you gulped between moans, trying again.
”d-don’t stop-please” your voice was tiny, barely leaving your mouth. mingis fingers tightened around your torso as his pace picked up again, his other hand trailing down to your pussy.
”oh trust me, i won’t.”
you were so out of it by now, maybe almost as much as mingi. his body was like moving on its own, his thrusts sloppy but rough, tongue running up the side of your neck, other hand twisting and turning around on your clit.
”wish you could see this, too fucking good. have to film you next time, let you see, fuck”
your nails dig into his arm around you, body shaking back and forth as he fucked you full. his fingers on his other hand were spinning consistent circles on your bud, making sparks run all over as you gripped him tighter.
”wanna cum on your ass, please baby” mingi growled into your ear, kissing into after like a soothing sensation. you nodded swiftly, feeling your body dropping back to the bed.
his hips thrusted forward a few more times before pulling back, and then you felt it. thick hot ropes of cum splashed onto the skin of your asscheeks, marking you like mingi intended. he was so loud, mouth hung wide open as he jerked himself through his orgasm, his tip occassionally touching your pussy as he leaned forward.
”shitttt baby.. you’re unbelievable.” his voice spoke breathless, his chest heaving as you looked back. you saw him lean over to his pants on the floor, digging for his camera.
”min- what-”
”told you i’ll show you, now, stay there just like that” he adviced you, and so you did. back arched, ass up in the air for him to capture onto his film camera.
the flash light shone over your body, and then you finally slumped down properly. you were worn out. mingi threw his camera back onto the floor before rolling next to you, pulling you up to meet his gaze. he had that special grin on his face, leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek before pulling you back up to him.
”got more energy?” he asked simply, his hand snaking back down to your leaking pussy. you nodded, albeit not as energetic as you wanted to. he nodded, biting onto his plump lip.
”mhm, then let me clean up after myself, yeah?”
his fingers curled up into your pussy, making you shriek into his shoulder, only causing him to chuckle.
”relax baby, just cleaning you up, everywhere.”
his fingers fucked into your pussy, meeting that spongy spot inside you deep inside. you gripped tight into his bicep, holding on as you felt yourself falling apart so soon.
”there you go baby, let me have it, take it all out of you” his mouth eager against your neck, you let yourself fall apart on his lengthy, thick fingers.
you gushed everywhere, the squirt drenching both you and mingi, as well as the bedsheets, making him smirk agaisnt your skin.
you’re just trying to volunteer for a summer charity event at the pier, but you meet an infuriatingly handsome guy who makes it his mission to get under your skin
pairing: han jisung x fem!reader
genre: fluff, humor, smut
content: jisung is annoying (affectionate), ft. yeji from itzy and jihyo from twice, semi-public sex (car), fingering, riding, creampie, dry humping, unprotected sex (p in v)
word count: 7.0k
a/n: thank you so much for all the love you've shown us so far!!! i thought of this as soon as belen asked me to do this event with her and i wrote it immediately lol. this one was my personal favorite to write, it's just a fun time!! ♡
♡ m.list
a wet hot skz summer event masterlist ☼ schedule
When your company sent out an email saying that they needed volunteers for a charity event at the pier this weekend, you rolled your eyes at the idea. A whole day of small talk with coworkers you barely tolerate, surrounded by corporate greed, but pretending that you just love working for them? Hard pass.
You signed up anyway.
Yeji, your coworker and best friend, would be there too. She’s kind of the one who convinced you to sign up for it, even though you were reluctant at first. She dangled the idea of getting a promotion in front of your face, and you were hooked immediately.
What she failed to mention was that you’d have to sign up for specific booths upon arrival, and that setup started bright and early at 8 am on a Saturday.
“I thought we were just going to unload some boxes and maybe set up some tents,” you groan, moving the trolley of boxes up the angled ramp of the pier. “I don’t want to talk to strangers and beg for money!”
“First of all, you’re not begging for money,” your friend quips. “You’re asking for donations! To save the turtles!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, for the turtles.” You shove the trolley the rest of the way up the creaky planks and stop at the volunteer booth.
“Good morning, ladies!” Jihyo greets the two of you through her megaphone, far too cheerily for this early in the morning. You aren’t surprised she’s running the show, you just wish she weren’t so damn loud. You love her anyway, she was the only one who really tried to show you the ropes when you first joined the company.
“Hi, Jihyo,” you groan, trying to put on your best enthusiastic smile and wave.
“Have you two signed up for your booths yet? Almost all the good ones are gone!” Jihyo gestures to the clipboard on the table behind her. You exchange a look with Yeji and let out a huff of air before heading over to the table.
“By the way, the booth that makes the most money gets a special surprise in the office on Monday!” Jihyo adds, like it’ll somehow make you more excited for hours of sitting around doing nothing. “The kissing booth wins almost every year!”
A kissing booth? In a post-pandemic world?
“That sounds unsanitary and disgusting,” you scoff.
“Oh, c’mon, you don’t have to kiss them on the lips!” she states, like it makes the idea sound any more appealing. “Unless you see a cute guy.” She winks, pushing the clipboard closer.
“That sounds kinda fun, plus we’d be together!” Yeji chimes in. “It won’t be that bad, plus whatever this surprise is, it’s probably worth it!”
You both know the “special office surprise” is more than likely just a stupid pizza party or a gift card. Neither of which is worth having to kiss a bunch of strangers for.
The two of them put on their best puppy eyes as they turn to look at you. “For the turtles?” they say in unison, very creepily.
“Okay, fine!” You give up. These stupid turtles are going to be the death of you.
Maybe a kissing booth won’t actually be that bad. The best case scenario, some handsome guy comes along and gives you his number, sweeps you off your feet, and hopefully, ends your dry spell you’ve been having when it comes to dating.
But then you think about how many people you totally, super, don’t want to kiss, and you shudder at the thought. Cheek kisses for everyone it is.
The sun is starting to rise higher, your fingers are covered in glue, and you’re breaking a sweat trying to help Yeji add the last of the decorations to your booth.
“I’ll go first, if that helps ease your mind,” Yeji chirps up, handing you a stack of glittery pink letters. “You can walk around and play some games!” It does, even just a little.
“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry if I’m being a grouch. I’ll try to make the best of today.”
That sentiment is quickly proven false by a flying volleyball that hits your booth, knocking down most of your hard work.
“What the fuck?” you exclaim, almost too stunned to move. You turn to where the ball came from and see a guy with messy brown hair and a blue volunteer shirt jogging over to you.
“I’m so sorry!” he says, running over. You glare at him, and he just smiles back at you.
You can’t find any kind words to say, so you don’t say anything at all as you hand him back his ball. Now you’re going to have to spend extra time redoing the decorations. Fucking dick.
“What booth are you working?” he asks as he takes the ball from you. You look back at him, still pissed off, but surprised now. Your face doesn’t exactly scream friendly and open to conversation right now, and he’s ballsy for trying.
“Hi, I’m Jisung.” He extends his hand out, a grin still planted on his face. “And again, I’m really, really sorry.” He seems apologetic, even if he’s wildly careless. It doesn’t hurt that he’s cute, too.
It’s good enough for now. You wanted to have a good day, and you weren’t going to let a flying ball ruin that. You introduce yourself, begrudgingly shaking his hand. “We’re working the kissing booth.” God, it’s even more embarrassing to say it out loud.
“Wow, really? I didn’t think they still did that.”
“It’s for charity!” you scoff at him.
“Right, the turtles,” he laughs, glancing around your shoulder at your booth, now in shambles thanks to him. “I’ll uh…stop by later.” He sends you a wink and turns, taking the stray ball with him.
Your face must be all scrunched up because Yeji just laughs at you.
“Who even is that?” You turn to start fixing up your booth, the look of disgust still on your face.
“Han Jisung,” she says, like he’s someone important. “The I.T. guy? The one you’re supposed to call when you click on those stupid phishing emails by accident?”
“Oh,” you say. He works at your company, too? “I’ve never met him.” Which is kind of amazing, because you click on those stupid things all the time.
“I think he likes you,” she says with a wink. You roll your eyes at her.
After an extra twenty minutes of re-decorating the booth, the letters are plastered right on the front and shimmer in the sunlight. Slightly crooked, but readable. Patrons are starting to come by, and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.
“Walk around, have a good time!” Yeji shoos you away from the booth as you’re taking a sip of your water. You oblige, since you don’t have too long before it will be your turn at the kissing booth.
“If this goes horribly, I’m blaming you,” you tell her.
“If you find a nice, handsome guy, you’ll be thanking me.” You huff out a laugh and turn to explore the rest of the event.
The pier is lined with tents of games and sponsors of the event. On a normal day, there would be a few rides present and families with children lined up to get on the ferris wheel. Today, there are mostly adults wearing their company's clothing, making small talk with each other. Networking, you suppose.
You walk to the edge of the pier where the crowd is thinner and take a deep breath, staring out into the ocean. The warmth from the sun hits your face, providing comfort in the already chaotic day. You don't love a crowd, but you were trying to keep yourself steady. Today will be a good day, you tell yourself.
The smell of hot dogs and popcorn wafts around you, and it reminds you of a simpler time. Boardwalks in the summertime with your family, the taste of cotton candy, and passing out after a long swim in the ocean. Kids pass by on bikes, and you let out a sigh. You missed being young when life was full of fun, and you didn’t have to worry about rent or a corporate job.
You turn to walk back down the pier towards your booth, taking note of the different games you could play on your break later. They had all the standard carnival games: a ring toss, throwing balls at bottles, squirt gun races, and….a dunk tank?
The sounds of bells and chatter cut through your thoughts as you approach the game. You can’t see who’s running it through the crowd of people gathered around it, but you can certainly hear them. You hear a familiar voice, teasing the patrons who have shown up at the booth.
“Oh, c’mon! My grandma throws better than that!” You weave through the crowd to the front, and you finally see him.
Han Jisung, still in his volunteer shirt, caged in a dunk tank. Dry from head to toe, and talking shit like his life depends on it. “Put some elbow into it, old man!”
Now he’s just being mean. The people seem to love it, though, cackling and pointing as they dig out their wallets to try and get him to shut up. You watch two, then three people line up to grab their balls. The first guy misses the target all three times. The second hits the cage, making Jisung jump and almost fall off his seat. You try to stifle your laugh with your fist, but seeing him like this is hilarious. The third guy misses, and half the crowd seems to give up. It doesn’t look that hard.
“Hey, kissing booth!” Shit. He saw you.
“Me?” you point to yourself, as if he could be talking to anyone else. People start looking over, and you feel like you could crawl into a hole.
“Yeah, you!” he points. “Why don’t you come show them how it’s done?”
You were still slightly irritated at him for fucking up your booth earlier, so you agreed. He looks like he could use a little cooling off anyway. You paid at the booth and took the balls to the starting line.
You take a deep breath and cock your arm back, aiming straight for the target. You throw a bit too wide and hit the spot right next to it.
“Okay, now once more with feeling!” Jisung teases, and your tongue pokes out of your cheek in response. He’s infuriating.
You throw the second one harder, faster. It dings the edge of the bullseye but doesn’t hit it hard enough to send him into the water.
“You gotta hit the target, sweetheart!” he calls with a wink. You clench your jaw. You have to make this. For your own pride and revenge for your booth.
“Do you ever stop talking?” you hiss at him.
“Depends, do you ever stop missing?”
He’s done it now. You let the last ball fly, and hold your breath as you watch it spin towards the target.
Ding!
“Oh sh—”
Splash!
You hear a series of hoots and hollers from the audience behind you. Jisung flails into the water and hits the bottom. You watch through the glass as he pushes himself back up to the surface and paddles to the ladder. A satisfied smile creeps across your face, and you fold your arms in front of you as you wait for him to come back up.
He runs his hand through his wet hair, still blinking away what you’re sure is very, very cold water. His clothes stick to his body, and you notice his muscled arms and lean frame. He’s kind of hot. You snap yourself out of it when he opens his mouth.
“That was personal,” he says, still spitting out water.
“No, that was funny,” you laugh. You start walking forward towards the cage until you’re only a couple of feet from it. “This is personal.” And without batting an eye, you reach over and push the target with your hand.
Ding!
“Wait!”
Splash!
You don’t wait for him to come up before you walk away with a wide smile on your face.
Were you flirting with him? Maybe. But you got a kick out of flustering him, because he’s way too cocky for his own good. He needed to be humbled, and if you had to be the one to do it, then so be it.
“I’ll see you later, kissing booth!” he calls out after you as you weave through the crowd. You roll your eyes so far back into your head it’s basically a full 360.
You catch yourself smiling as you’re walking back to your booth, and promptly shake any thoughts of Jisung away. You will not think of him. Not him jogging over to you this morning. Not him, wet and flustered after you dunked him. Not the fact that he might, maybe, possibly, stop by later.
“You’re back!” Yeji calls out as you walk up to the booth. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, I did actually,” you reply. You recount the story of Jisung and the dunk tank, both of you laughing to yourselves.
“Do you think he’ll stop by later?” she asks, a sly smirk on her face.
“Oh, god, I hope not.” You’re a liar. A big, fat, pants-on-fire liar.
“Riiighhhttt.” She nods her head with a knowing look, and you know she can see right through you. “Well, it’s your turn!”
Right. And now you get to regret every single life choice you’ve made that has brought you to this single moment. You’re hoping it’s not that bad, and you don’t know if the thought of Jisung showing up repulses you or excites you.
“Don’t forget your chapstick!”
The heat is starting to get to you, even in the protection of the tent that drapes over the booth. You started your shift not even an hour ago, and you’ve already kissed several grandmas, a dude that looked like he lost a bet, and a couple of girls. You’re counting the cash when you hear a mechanical shriek and a familiar voice echoing across the pier.
“STEP RIGHT UP, FOLKS!” Oh god. Please, god, no. You turn towards the noise, and sure enough, Jisung is standing not 10 feet from your booth, screaming into a megaphone.
“Donate to a good cause and kiss a beautiful volunteer! Don’t miss out, she won’t be here all day!”
You’re about to die of embarrassment if he doesn’t stop this nonsense.
“ONLY FIVE DOLLARS! Cheaper than therapy and probably just as healing!” God dammit, where’s Jihyo when you need her?
“Who gave him a megaphone?” you ask, turning towards Yeji. She just shrugs, her lips pressed together, trying to suppress a laugh. This is mortifying.
He finally turns to face you, and you lock eyes. He has a smug ass grin on his face, and you’re trying to gesture to him to tell him to cut it out. But of course, he doesn’t listen, because it’s fucking Han Jisung and he’s the most annoying person to ever breathe the same air as you. He just raises the megaphone back to his mouth.
“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND OUR NON-BINARY FRIENDS! The same person who VIOLENTLY dunked me in a tank this morning is currently accepting kisses for charity!”
“I’m gonna strangle him,” you mutter under your breath. Yeji snorts behind you.
“I think you like him,” she says.
You whip your head around at the speed of light with a look on your face that could definitely kill someone. “I. Do. Not.”
She’s unconvinced.
“Jisung! What the fuck are you doing!?” you try to shout quietly, but your anger cuts through the chatter of the crowds quite easily.
“Yes?” he says, through the fucking megaphone, because he’s insane and everything is a joke to him.
“Why aren’t you working the dunk tank?”
“I’m on a break!”
“Stop screaming! We can all hear you!”
He maintains eye contact with you, and for a second, you think that he might just let it go. And then, he slowly lifts the megaphone back to his mouth, and you’re covering your ears in preparation.
“ALSO! Just so everyone knows, she has a VERY STRONG throwing arm!” He gets a few laughs from that one, and that’s when you realize that he has a crowd of people standing around him, laughing at his dumb jokes. You’re five seconds away from throwing yourself over the edge of the pier and letting the sea take you.
“I hate you!” you shout back.
“AND SHE HATES ME! But that makes it more exciting!” He sends a wink your way. You cover your face with your hands, praying it's a dream.
He seems content enough with his little show to abandon it and walk over to your booth. He looks annoyingly pleased with himself as he finally sets the megaphone down.
“Where did you even get that?” you ask, still fuming.
“Nicked it from Jihyo,” he chuckles. “She’s probably looking for me now.” You close your eyes and sigh. If the turtles don’t kill you, Jisung certainly will.
“You’re evil, you know that?”
“Evil? But I just got you three more customers!” You glance around his shoulder, and sure enough, there are several people walking towards you. That little shit.
“You are insufferable.”
“I’m a genius,” he quips back. “Everyone loves a guy that can make them laugh.”
You roll your eyes at him, probably for the fifth time this entire conversation. “Whatever, move, there are people waiting.”
Just when you think he’s about to walk away, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He pulls out a crisp bill and slides it across the table. Your heart does a somersault. He leans against the counter on both elbows, waiting expectantly.
“Oh, hell no.”
“Oh, yes.” He bats his eyelashes like he’s trying to be cute.
You cross your arms in defiance, and you’re suddenly at a stand-off.
“You know, if you don’t hurry, I might just have to review the kissing booth over the loudspeaker.” He drops the megaphone on the counter, smirking again like he’s won.
Your jaw drops. “You wouldn’t.”
But he just slowly raises it to his mouth. He doesn’t seem like the type to back down from a dare, and you can’t handle any more public humiliation.
“Jesus, fine, pucker up!” You grab the front of his shirt and yank him forward before he can respond. Your lips slam together, and you feel the warmth and softness of his lips. You have half a mind to stay there for longer than a second, but you know there are people watching around you. You pull away before you really want to, and you’re not quite sure where that feeling came from.
Jisung is looking at you like his brain short-circuited.
“Go,” you say, urging him to leave. He seems to snap out of whatever trance you just put him in.
“I’ll come back later,” he says with a wink as he gets up to leave.
You watch him walk away before you let your breath. You turn to look at Yeji, and she’s giving you the smuggest look you’ve ever seen.
“Don’t,” you warn her.
“I didn’t say anything!” she says, putting her hands up in surrender. You glare at her, but you can’t hide the smile that sneaks across your face.
You take care of the rest of the line, cheek kisses only, before you see Jihyo walking up.
“Hey, girls!” she greets you cheerily. “Have you seen Jisung? I think he stole my megaphone.” Yeji snorts, and your face starts to grow hot at the mention of his name.
“Uh, he was just here, not sure where he went though,” you reply. You didn’t want to lie, but there was a part of you that didn’t want to get him in trouble. Even if he probably deserved it.
“Ah, okay. Well, you should switch off, you’ve been here a while.”
Music to your ears. You would love nothing more than to get away from this godforsaken booth.
You’re thankfully not due back at the booth until cleanup, but you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed about it. Time ticks by as you stop by to say hello to some of your fellow coworkers. Even if seeing them outside of the office makes your skin crawl, they’re good people, and you’re making the best of it.
At least the conversations distract you from your thoughts of a particularly annoying man who doesn’t seem to want to leave your brain.
You wander around the pier again, stopping for a pretzel, watching other people play stupid carnival games as the sun starts to set. You’re watching a fairly unskilled man attempt to win a plushie for his girlfriend at balloon darts when you feel someone come up behind you.
“Hey.” And you know exactly who it is. You turn to see Jisung standing there, hands in his pocket, mouth shut for the first time all day. He’s also, unfortunately, dry now.
“Hi,” you say back, your brain unable to conjure a single clever thing to say to him.
“Um, having a good time so far?” He’s being awkward. You feel awkward. You kissed this man just a couple of hours ago, and now you’re trying to think of a way you can get him to kiss you again.
But you just nod your head, hoping he can’t hear your thoughts. “Yeah, it’s been really fun, how about you?”
“Got dunked a couple of times and got to kiss a beautiful girl, pretty good for a work event, I think.”
Your face gets hot at his comment, and you’re not sure how to respond. He seems to get it, though.
“Walk with me?” he asks, gesturing ahead.
“Sure,” you say casually, even though your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest.
You walk next to each other, casually commenting on the different pier games and how you “could totally beat them.” His shoulder brushes yours accidentally as you’re walking, and you don’t pull away. It’s easy to be around him when he’s not showing off for an audience. He’s pretty calm.
“Oh my god, they even have turtle plushies,” you laugh, pointing up at the hanging turtles above you. You look at him as he looks up at the ceiling.
“I bet I could win one,” he says way too confidently.
“Hey, I’m the one who hit the target,” you smirk. “If anyone’s winning it, it’s me.”
“Okay, let’s see it.” A challenge. One you’ll gladly accept.
He crosses his arms as you step up to the counter. It’s the milk jug game, and you have to knock all the bottles down to get the prize. Piece of cake.
You step back with the balls in hand, and he reaches out to offer to hold the other two. You give him a small smile, thank him softly, and move behind the line.
Your arm cranks back, and you hit the bottles square on. Only one of them topples over, though. You frown at it, wondering how that happened. You know you have to knock all three down at once to win, but you’re determined to get it.
“Try to hit the bottom row,” Jisung whispers in your ear. His voice sends shivers down your spine, and you know if you turned, he would be just inches away from your face.
You shake it off, pull your arm back for a second try, and throw harder. The ball goes flying, and even you're surprised at the speed. The ball hits the cans with a loud thud, knocking two of the bottles down. You’re starting to understand why people always walked away from these games looking annoyed.
As Jisung hands you the third ball, he steps behind you, placing the ball in your hand. “Don’t throw it like you’re mad at it, try it like this,” he says softly. One hand comes up to your elbow to adjust it, and his other hand slides gently on your waist to straighten your posture. Every spot on your skin he touches feels like it’s on fire. You can hardly focus on the bottles in front of you, and all your mind can think of is him.
He steps back, and the cool air brings you back to Earth. You throw it exactly like he showed you, aiming directly for the bottom row. The ball smacks into the bottles, knocking all of them down with a loud crash.
“Woo! Nice job!” Jisung shouts, turning towards you for a high-five. You’re shocked that it worked, and even more shocked that he seems to turn completely back to normal even after that display.
The vendor hands you your stuffed turtle, and you walk away beaming, smiling wider than you have in months.
“Thank you,” you say to Jisung gently. “For helping me.”
“I didn’t do that, you won it,” he says back. “But, uh, yeah, anytime.” He gets shy like he’s replaying the interaction back in his head. You hope he is, because all you can think about is his hand on the small of your back, and where else on your body they might fit.
“Jisung!” You hear a voice call out behind you. It’s definitely Jihyo, coming to probably scold him for stealing her megaphone. You both spin around to see her, hands on her hips. “Give it back.”
“I’m so sorry,” he starts to apologize. “But you should’ve seen the look on her face when—”
“Jisung,” you warn him.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I put it back on your table.” She groans at him and storms off.
You both watch her walk off, and just when she’s out of earshot, you burst out laughing. You were never much of a rule breaker, but something about Jisung and his mostly harmless shenanigans sends you into a fit of laughter. The two of you lean into each other, trying to calm your laughs. You’re standing close enough that anyone passing by might have thought you’d had one too many.
The laughter subsides, and you continue walking to the edge of the pier. The sun is setting now, and streaks of pink, purple, orange, and blue light up the sky. The ocean is dark and mysterious beneath the surface, and the whole scene is beautiful.
“Thank you,” you say gently, leaning against the railing. “Again.”
“For what?” He turns to you, brows pointed up.
“I was grumpy this morning. Thought I’d have a shitty day. But it was fun, and now that I’m thinking about it, it was mostly because of you.”
You exhale, breath unsteady from the sudden confession. Just hours ago, you tried so hard to dislike this man, but something about him convinced you. He’s stupidly handsome,
He smiles widely at you. “I had to do something after fucking up your booth,” he laughs. “Which, I really am sorry for.”
“Apology accepted.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You watch him as he takes a step forward, eyes scanning your face, darting down to your lips. You can feel your heartbeat through your eardrums, and try to keep your breath steady. You’re still squeezing your turtle plushie, using it to keep you tethered to this moment.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“You already kissed me,” you tease.
“Yeah, but that was for the turtles,” he jokes back, and he moves closer, his face hovering only inches away from you. “I want one just for me.”
“Okay.”
He leans forward, and you close the gap, your lips meeting in a more gentle manner this time. You didn’t have time to savor it earlier, but now you get to enjoy it. You feel his plush lips against yours, his hand firmly planted on your waist, the warmth of his body against your chest. You move slowly against his mouth, trying not to seem too eager. He holds tighter like he can feel you hesitate, and brings his other hand up to your jaw. The two of you find a delicious rhythm, holding and kissing each other like you’re the only two left on the damn pier.
It’s fucking heaven.
A mechanical shriek rips through the air, and you both jump at the sound. It’s Jiyho, reunited with her precious megaphone once again.
“Oh, it’s clean-up time,” you say, disappointed. You turn back to him, watching as the breeze blows at the loose strands of hair on his forehead, but the moment has passed.
“Find me before you leave, okay?” he says, squeezing you once more before you part.
You nod your head at him and head back to your booth, your plushie still in your arms.
“You’re quiet,” Yeji points out, folding the tablecloths from your booth into boxes.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, sorry, long day.” You don’t tell her that you’re dying to go meet back up with the cute guy you just made out with on the pier at fucking sunset.
“Mhm,” she hums. “Waiting for Jisung?”
You snap your head at her. “What?”
“Oh, c’mon, you’ve been staring at him whenever he’s in your field of vision like all day.”
You scoff at her. You’re not admitting anything to her, at least not now. Not really because you’re embarrassed, but because you can’t give her the satisfaction of being right. She sees right through you and holds her head high, pleased with herself.
You think about it as you finish packing up your booth. In the span of a few hours, Han Jisung has managed to go from a complete stranger to the only person at the forefront of your mind.
“And to think, you almost didn’t come today,” Yeji says to you as you say your goodbyes. You give up on giving her any sassy comebacks, mostly because it’s been a long day, but also because you can’t keep up the act anymore. She’s right, you can’t wait to see Jisung again.
As soon as the last box is packed up and loaded back into the van, you wait for her with puppy dog eyes for her to let you go. She takes her time closing up the van and giving you a long hug before she makes jokes in your ear.
“Be safe, let me know if you’re going home tonight, yeah?” You nod your head. “And for the love of God, use a condom.”
You give her a playful slap as you pull away from the hug, and watch her hop into the van and drive off. You look around the end of the pier and notice that most of the volunteers have left, but there’s one in particular you’re looking for.
Your feet move in the direction of the dunk tank without you having to think twice about it. Several people pass, hauling boxes and bags of things, nodding at you and telling you to have a good night.
You see him talking to another volunteer under the tent, waving his hands around in that animated way he speaks. He catches your eyes as you walk closer and he lights up. He quickly says his goodbyes to whoever he needs to and jogs over to you.
“Hey, you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. You can't help but let out a giggle, the sound embarrassingly loud and high-pitched. You bury your face into his shoulder to hide. God, you feel like a schoolgirl with a stupid little crush.
You walk side by side down the empty pier, fingers intertwined. You hear the soft sound of the water lapping at the wooden posts below you. The air is warm, comfortable, you almost forget you and Jisung just met only a few hours ago.
“I had fun today,” you say, looking up at him with a shy smile.
Jisung looks down at you, his round eyes warm under the glow of the dim pier lights. “Me too,” he replies softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. He slows to a stop, turning to face you fully.
For a moment you both stand there, smiling at each other like idiots. Then he lets go of your hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles brush against your cheek as he moves his hand to cup your jaw. He leans in slowly, and you close your eyes in response.
The kiss starts soft, much like the one from earlier, before you were interrupted. You press your body close to his, feeling the warmth radiating off of him. Finally, a moment alone where you won’t be interrupted by the chaos of the day.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow hungry. His movements quicken, his tongue enters your mouth desperately and possessively. He reaches for your waist and presses his body against yours. You feel the heat in your body rise, and you’re not sure how much longer this will stay public-friendly.
“I need you,” you whisper to him. “Now.”
He looks at you with wide eyes. “Uh..you mean…like…”
You just nod your head and pull him closer by the loops on his shorts, biting your lip. Yes, Jisung, I need your cock inside of me.
“We could go to the bathroom?” he suggests.
You make a disgusted face. “The one filled with rats? No thanks. I am a lady.”
“Okay, car it is.” He pulls his keys from his pocket and puts his hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the parking lot.
The lot is near empty, being that you’re two of the last people to leave. Thankfully, he’s parked far away from any remaining cars and streetlights. His car is a small black sedan with tinted windows, you notice.
Jisung opens the door to the backseat, and you climb in. He looks around the lot warily, making sure that anyone who would walk by wouldn’t notice the suspiciously parked car in the corner.
Your heart is pounding out of your chest as he climbs in and shuts the door behind him. He only has a second to look at you before you’re back on him, lips crashing together. He melts into you easily, and you feel the heat reignite inside of you.
He settles in the middle and pulls you on top of him, his hands scrambling to feel every inch of you. You tug on his shirt, and he rips it off himself, and you catch a glimpse of his tattoos in the low light. Fuck, that’s hot.
Your hands move up his torso, and you thank god for a moment when your fingertips trace his abs. “God, why are you so fucking hot?”
Jisung chuckles and kisses you harder, deeper.
Everything is moving at double speed. You’re certainly not taking your time, and you’re glad he’s keeping up. He kisses your neck as he tugs your shirt off, followed by your bra, and you can’t help but grind into him when he grabs at your breasts.
“Off…take these off,” you gasp, reaching for the belt on his shorts.
He tugs his shorts off, and they fall to his ankles, groaning as you grind against his bulge through his boxers.
“Your turn,” he leans back to whisper, fingers reaching for the zipper on your shorts.
You hop off of his lap to pull your bottoms off, scrambling back onto him as soon as it hits the floor. His eyes scan over your body, and you hear the air escaping his lungs.
“Fuck, look at you,” he says, taking two handfuls of your ass and squeezing tight. “Am I dreaming?”
A snort comes out of you as you settle back in his lap, bumping your nose against his as you kiss him again. You drag your core over his lap again, and he lets out a groan into your mouth.
The windows fog up fast. The car fills with the sounds of desperate kisses and heavy breathing. You’re soaked through your panties, and the fabric between the two of you isn’t providing the friction you need. Before you can move another muscle, you feel his warm fingers reaching below the waistband of your underwear.
His fingers find your folds, soft and warm and wet. Your hands squeeze his shoulders to steady yourself, and you let out a soft moan into his mouth.
“You’re dripping for me,” he whispers as his fingers drag through your wetness. He finds your clit and you feel a buzz throughout your body.
“Jisung,” you whimper. “Please.”
“Shh,” he coos. “I got you.”
Two thick fingers push inside you, curling against the spot that makes your head spin. You cry out, rocking your hips against his hand, slick dripping down his wrist. His mouth laches onto your breast and your vision blurs, the knot in your belly grows tighter.
Your legs are shaking, and you’re grinding hard against his hand when he suddenly pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss, but when you open your eyes you watch him reach into his boxers and pull his cock out. It’s long, thick, and hard as a rock.
He pumps himself a couple of times, biting his lip as his eyes scan over you.
“Ready?” he asks, giving you a chance to back out if you’d like. You don’t.
“Yes, please,” you whine, and he moves your panties to the side and lines himself up.
He grabs your hip with one hand and helps you sink down onto him. Your eyes lock and you watch each other's face contort in pleasure as he fills you up. He thrusts the rest of the way until you’re fully seated on him.
“Shit—you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice strained. “You’re so tight, just for me.”
The car rocks as you start to bounce, feeling every vein of his cock drag against your walls. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hips snap up to meet you with every thrust.
“So big,” you moan. “Feels so good, Jisung.” You watch him as you move, sweat glistening against his body, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as you drop down hard against him.
You’re riding him within an inch of his life. He moans louder with every desperate roll of your hips. You feel his cock twitch inside you, and your only wish is for him to fill you up.
He angles you back slightly and takes over your movements. His fingers bruise your waist as he fucks into you at a relentless pace. This angle has his cock pounding into your g-spot, and the heat in your body grows.
The windows are completely fogged, the air around you hot and filled with the smell of sex. Jisung’s movements grow sloppier, and his moans get louder.
“Ji—I’m gonna, I’m close,” you warn him.
“Come on me,” he growls, thrusting up harder. His hand slips between you and he rubs small, tight circles over your clit. “Let me feel you come all over my cock.”
The knot in your belly snaps and your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body spasms as you clutch onto him, trying to stay upright. Your cunt clenches around him, dripping on his cock and soaking his lap. He fucks you through it, moaning at the way you squeeze him.
“Baby—fuck,” he cries as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you with hot, thick spurts of his cum.
You collapse against his chest, both of you panting and trembling. Your bodies are hot, skin sticky with sweat. His arms wrap around you tight, his fingers trace small patterns on your back as you both come down.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod your head. “Never better,” you laugh.
He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, and temple. You both lie there for a moment in the steamy car, still attached and euphoric.
“Let me drive you home,” he says softly, and you agree.
He finds an old shirt on the floor of his car to clean you up with, and helps you get dressed. It’s a bit of a struggle in the back of the car, but you manage to put yourself back to mostly normal.
The car ride home is quiet, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you. His hand finds your thigh and you rest your head against the glass. It feels like you’ve done this a thousand times before. Like you’ve known each other for years.
He pulls in front of your building and you feel a little uneasy. What happens now? You want to ask, but you don’t want to reek of desperation. Maybe this was just a fun day for the two of you, and you’ll say hi when you bump each other at work, but nothing more.
He walks you to the door like a gentleman, and wraps his arms around your neck as he holds you tight. You swear you could fall asleep to the way he smells, warm and inviting.
You’ve fallen head over heels and straight onto your face for this man. This really stupid, really annoying, really fucking hot man.
“You should go on a date with me,” he whispers into your hair, catching you off guard. “For the turtles, of course.”
“What is up with everyone and these stupid turtles?” you laugh into his chest.
He pulls back to look you in the eyes. “The turtles are the reason we’re here right now.” He is dead serious about these turtles. “The turtles are the reason I got laid for the first time in almost a year.” You try to hide your laugh. “The stupid fucking turtles are the reason that I haven’t been able to get you out of my damn head all day.”
Your heart skips a beat. You can’t hide the smile that grows on your face, or the way you wiggle from excitement hearing him say that.
“Please, let me take you out on a date.” He’s practically begging.
“Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “But only because it’s for the turtles.”
He laughs and grabs your hips to pull you back in, meeting your lips to kiss you. It’s perfect, filling you with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you’re falling in love.
a/n: HAN JISUNG IN A DUNK TANK!!!! RIDING HAN JISUNG IN THE BACK OF A CAR!!!!! i was going to make this quick n dirty since this takes place over the span of like a day but it wanted to be a love story…what can i say im a sucker i cant help myself 😭 but i hope you all enjoyed ♡
⌗ iwannagetnasty — scenarios where you and jeongin are getting nasty ( WITH LINKS )
( y. jeongin x fem!reader ) • warnings. fingering , unprotected sex , big dick jeongin , oral sex ( fem ), pnv 𓄵 word count. 645 { back to library }
LINK : jeongin knows he’s too big ; but he knows you can take it. folding you in half , slowly pushing half of his thick length inside of you; the rest unable to fit even though you cried for more. “more.” he grunted , his hips never ending. “baby your tiny pussy can’t fit anymore.”
“pl-please.”
hearing your please , he pushed your legs up even higher , pounding into you. “jeongin!”
he cursed , your cunt squeezing him tightly. “you wanted it baby.” your stomach forming a light bulge. “so.. take.. it.”
his pace fastened , your moans growing louder and louder as you reached your peak , cumming.
jeongin has a huge load that he buries deep inside you , by time he’s done with you , and he’s cum it’s leaking out of you , he pulls out with a light slap of your sensitive cunt.
“took all of me like a good girl.”
LINK : jeongin prides himself in being able to make you cum just from his tongue. before you two got together you’d never even felt the bliss of being eaten out — and from that point forward he made sure to eat you out at least once a night , more if he isn’t tired which he usually never is.
he’d had you on your back for what felt like hours now , his tongue flat as he licked your cunt. “jeongin.” you moaned out , he chuckled against your folds , you were about t cum again.
he never denied you the pleasure of cumming , he just never stopped after , you were left shaking. and what did he do? he kept going , sucking your clit listening to you moan , his nose brushing against your bud.
he didn’t eat you out for just your pleasure , he was addicted ; to your scent , to your taste — to you , by the end of the night you’d cum so many times , your vision went white.
and he still wasn’t done , he knew you had at least one or two more in you.
LINK : he loves when you’re loud , but sometimes chan is home and he needs to keep you quiet — so he presses his whole body on you , pushing his cock deep inside you , hearing your soft whines as he rutted into you.
“shh.” he groaned into your ear , kissing your neck. “you gotta be quiet for me.” that was so hard to do with his cock drilling into. “don’t want channie hyung hearing you moan for me.”
he made no effort really into keeping you quiet , and that didn’t stop him from lifting your hips , plunging back inside of you. “i feel it baby.. you gonna cum?”
you let out a yes , begging him to let you cum. “fuck , cum for me,” legs falling flat as you came , legs shaking as he busted , cumming all over your ass , giving it a slap.
chan definitely heard
LINK : although he likes to please you; making you cum on his tongue until you pass out — his cock is a different story , he loves to tease you , sometimes he’ll just fuck you using the tip , sometimes he likes to take his tip , teasing your clit until you’re sobbing for him to put it in.
“innie-ah.” you whined , tears in your eyes. “pl-please.” he laughed softly , his tip was already leaking with pre-cum , circling your clit , teasing you.
“please what baby?” he laughed , mocking your cries. “i’m touching you aren’t i ?” tapping your hardened bud. “your little clit twitching so much , you must be really needy.”
“put it in.” you tried to moving your hips but he just held them down , continuing to tease your clit.
“i don’t know baby.” he mocked. “you look like you’re already about to cum just from this.”
when you continue to beg , he just pushes himself inside to surprise you , mocking your moans , laughing when he feels your legs shaking — you had cum.
or: oh great. your roommate bailed on you right before the new month's payment, and you need to find a new roommate asap. lucky for you, chan came (literally) to your rescue. he's charming enough, and more importantly, pays rent on time. you've agreed to split rent by half, but rent won't be the only thing getting split in half, because he's hiding a big secret. and no, not just the one in his pants.
warnings: MDNI!!! contains heavy sexual content, camboy!chris x roommate!reader, porn with some plot, perv!reader, masturbation, piv, mānhandling, spānkïng, hāirpulling, too many kinks , kinda switch!chan but he's mostly a dom daddy dwdw, I'm a cocky chan truther so yk what's coming, a sprinkle of fluff and banter.
wc: 11k
a/n: loosely based off this drabble
"You're fucking kidding me." You stare at the text message. Three sentences that might as well be a bomb dropped in the middle of your living room.
Hey, sorry for the short notice, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend at the end of the week.
I know rent’s due soon, but I kinda already spent my half on the security deposit for our new place.
Good luck finding someone else!
shit
Rent is due in nine days, and your bank account isn’t exactly overflowing.
You’ve never lived alone before. Couldn’t afford it even if you wanted to. And the thought of scrambling to find a new roommate in a week makes your stomach twist.
You're halfway through drafting a frantic "roommate needed ASAP" text to your groupchat when your phone buzzes.
it's one of your few friends who actually bothers to check in.
Heard about your roomie bailing. Absolute bullshit.
Anyway I know a guy. Chill as hell, works freelance, needs a place.
You'd vibe.
You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last thing you want is some rando bringing chaos into your already crumbling life.
But then your landlord's terse "rent due on the 1st, no exceptions" text flashes in your mind.
Fine. Give him my number.
Chan texts you thirty minutes later. His messages are polite. Full sentences, proper punctuation, none of that monosyllabic grunting.
He suggests meeting at the apartment tomorrow afternoon to check the place out, and you agree.
The next day, you're scrubbing the bathroom sink when the doorbell rings. Chan stands in the hallway holding a paper bag that smells like garlic and herbs. "Figured we could talk over lunch," he says, smiling like this isn't weird at all.
Up close, he's so much cuter than you expected, blond hair, unfairly big broad shoulders, dressed in a blank tanktop that showed them off perfectly.
You blink at the take out bag, then at Chan’s easy grin.
There’s no nervous energy radiating off him, no awkward shuffling — just this unsettling calm, like he’s already decided he belongs here. “Uh,” you say, wiping your damp hands on your pants, “you didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he interrupts, already toeing off his sneakers without waiting for an invite. The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary spills into the apartment as he breezes past you toward the kitchen. “But food makes everything less weird, right?”
You trail after him, you don't know whether to be annoyed or charmed.
Chan unpacks the food containers, grilled chicken, some kind of herby rice, roasted vegetables that don’t look like the sad microwave steam bags you usually survive on.
He slides a plate toward you. “Eat first, then interrogation.”
“Interrogation?” You stab a piece of chicken, watching him warily.
Chan shrugs, mouth already full. “Standard roommate shit. ‘Do you snore?’ ‘Are you a serial killer?’ ‘Will you steal my leftovers?’” He swallows, grinning.
“The answer’s no, no, and only if you leave them unlabelled.”
The food is homemade stupidly good, and Chan’s presence is… unsettlingly comfortable.
By the time you’re scraping the last of the rice off your plate, you’ve learned he does something vague with digital marketing (“Basically, I convince people to buy shit they don’t need”), he actually enjoys doing laundry, and he likes to cook.
“So,” Chan says, stacking the empty containers, “you wanna show me around, or should I just start claiming drawers?”
The tour is quick — your apartment isn’t exactly sprawling — but Chan makes appreciative noises at the closet space and tests how sturdy the bed frame is (#whatdatmean).
When you hesitantly mention rent, he waves a hand. “Half’s fine. I’ll pay first and last upfront if you want.”
You stare. “You don’t even know the amount.”
Chan shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and, before you can protest, your own phone buzzes with a notification.
It’s a Venmo payment for double what you were about to say rent costs.
Your mouth opens, then closes. “You—what? That’s too much.”
“Nah.” He pockets his phone, grinning at your baffled expression. “Consider it a ‘sorry for being weirdly pushy’. ”
You don’t argue. You can’t argue — not when your bank account is currently breathing its first sigh of relief in months.
A girls got priorities, and he doesn't really seem to mind. it's a win win scenario.
~
The first month was… strange. Not bad, just strange. he was genuinely nice, easy to talk to. it wasn't long till the initial awkwardness — if there was any — wore off. you'd become something sort of friends, and both of you settled into a quiet rhythm.
he'd left cash for rent in a neat stack on the kitchen counter on first of the month, slightly more than his half again.
When you tried to give him the extra back, he just waved you off.
You caught glimpses of his routine. disappearing into his room at odd hours, the low murmur of his voice through the walls late at night.
And then there was the day you came home early.
You weren’t supposed to be back until ten, but your shift ended early, and the bus was miraculously on time for once.
The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, just the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.
You’d barely set your bag down when you heard it — a low noise from Chan’s room.
Your fingers froze on the zipper of your jacket. The sound came again, breathier this time, followed by the slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.
you thought it was a girlfriend he never told you about.
The idea punched a weird, hollow ache into your ribs — which was stupid, because it’s not like you had any claim on him.
Still, you stood there frozen in the hallway, his door slightly ajar, listening to the sounds of his pleasure like some kind of creep.
You backed out of the apartment, easing the door shut with just the softest whisper of the latch catching. Your pulse hammered in your throat as you ducked into the stairwell, pressing your back against the cool concrete wall.
The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop being weird, to just walk back in like a normal person. But the irrational part — the part currently in charge — was too busy replaying the sounds spilling from Chan’s room to listen.
You get out of the building and circle the block twice, three times, counting cracks in the sidewalk. The air smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet, and you bask in that atmosphere till roughly an hour has passed.
When you finally drag yourself back inside, the apartment is quiet. Chan’s door is shut tight, the shower running, and no girlfriend in sight.
she must've left early.
You freeze halfway to your room when the shower shuts off. your feet are planted still go to your room, go to your room
but you weren't quick enough, and a few seconds later, Chan emerges with only a towel slung low on his hips.
He's startled when he sees you, droplets flicking off his hair as he jerks his head up. “oh hey—” His voice is casual before you cut him off, "shit—sorry!" your face heats up at the sight, your eyes wander, trailing down his toned chest that still had water droplets running down, before snapping your head in the other direction.
was he always this muscular?
and you can't help but notice that there are no hickeys on his neck, no marks on his arms, and surprisingly put together for someone who just had his girlfriend over less than an hour ago.
"no no— you're good." he reassures with a smile, "you're back early."
You swallow hard. “Yeah. Shift got cut."
Chan leans against the doorframe, his damp hair curling at the ends. You try not to stare at the way his towel clings precariously to his hips, but your gaze keeps flicking downward anyway, betraying you.
"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.
"Y-yeah," you stammer, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. "Just—uh. Busy day."
Chan hums, nodding. His eyes flick over your face, lingering a second too long on your flushed cheeks before he grins. "Cool. I was just gonna make some food if you’re hungry."
The casual offer throws you off. You were expecting — what? Awkward silence? Averted eyes? Not this easy warmth.
but you just nod dumbly. "Yeah. Food sounds good."
he pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the kitchen. The towel rides up slightly with each step, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones, and you have to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise.
“You good?” he calls over his shoulder, like he can feel your stare burning into his back.
“Fine,” you squeak, following at a safe distance, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The kitchen tile is cool under your socked feet, a welcome distraction from the heat crawling up your neck.
Chan hums again, rummaging through the fridge with one hand while the other keeps his towel secured. The muscles in his back flex as he leans forward, and you’re suddenly very interested in the color of your sponge bob socks.
“Leftover pasta okay?” he asks, pulling out a container with a rattle of plastic. You nod mutely, watching as he moves around the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles.
The stove clicks to life, the hiss of gas filling the silence between you. Chan leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, “So,” he starts, “how was work?”
You blink. “Uh. Fine. Boring.” The words tumble out too fast, your pulse jumping when Chan chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every inch of space between you.
he scrapes the leftover pasta into the pan, the sizzle of garlic and butter filling the silence between you. His towel shifts dangerously low with each stir, but he doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does.
The corner of his mouth twitches when he catches you staring, and you snap your gaze to the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating.
"You know," he says, voice light, "most roommates don’t freak out when they see each other half dressed." The wooden spoon clinks against the pan as he scrapes the edges.
"I wasn’t freaking out."
Chan laughs, "You literally yelped like I pulled a knife on you." He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging down your body in a way that makes your knees weak. "Unless you’re into that."
The pasta sizzles loudly in the pan, drowning out the choked sound that escapes your throat at Chan’s words. "I—that’s not—"
Chan turns fully now, abandoning the stove, and the towel dips dangerously low. His smirk is infuriating, "Relax," he murmurs, stepping closer, "Just teasing."
You laugh nervously, the sound too high pitched, too obvious. "I'm just gonna—" You jerk your thumb toward your room, already backing away. "Change into something more... home-y."
Chan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Home-y,"
"yea—!" your voice cracks "y'know comfortable....home clothes"
Then you gesture vaguely at his towel, your voice cracking slightly. "Are you— uh, gonna put on actual clothes before we eat? Because I'm pretty sure health code violations apply to apartments too."
Chan glances down at himself, then back up at you, "Why?" He grins, tilting his head. "Distracted?"
"Yes—no," you sputter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest like armor. "I just don’t want your—" You wave a hand wildly in the general direction of his hips. "That—near my dinner."
Chan laughs, a full blown laugh, and you take that chance to bolt for your room, shoulders hunched as if that’ll make you smaller, less noticeable.
The door clicks shut behind you with a click, and you press your forehead against the cool wood, exhaling sharply.
"And turn the heat down!" you call out, voice too high,"Unless you want to burn the house down!"
Another laugh, muffled through the door. "Yes, mom," Chan drawls, the playful lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn hotter.
The stove clicks as he adjusts the flame, the sound followed by the soft thud of his footsteps padding down the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to the creak of his bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as he presumably — finally — changes.
You peel yourself off the door, fingers fumbling at the jacket of your shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with nervous sweat, and you wrestle it off.
Home-y. Right. who even says that?
Stupid stupid stupid.
Your dresser drawer sticks halfway open, You grab the first shirt your fingers brush against, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants with the elastic stretched out.
'He has a girlfriend,' you think, shimmying out of your jeans. The denim catches around your ankles, nearly causing you to trip.
'Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck knows.'
You yank the shirt over your head so hard the neckline stretches. The mirror across the room reflects your flushed face, your hair mussed from the fabric dragging through it.
You look and feel ridiculous.
You pull up your pants, then pause, fingers hovering at the waistband. Avoid him. Simple. Logical. You can do that.
but it wasn't that easy. after all there is only so much avoiding one could do to someone they live with.
The apartment isn’t big enough for elaborate evasion tactics, and Chan seems to have a sixth sense for popping up exactly where you don’t want him.
Leaning against the fridge when you’re raiding it at 2 am, or lounging on the couch just as you’re about to claim it for a late night tv binge.
So you just ended up being cooped in your room for most of the day.
But Chan isn’t stupid. eventually after days passed by, he’s leaning against your bedroom doorframe when you crack it open after what you thought was a safe half hour of silence.
“So,” he says, arms crossed, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re avoiding me.”
You freeze, one socked foot hovering mid step like a cartoon character caught mid sneak. “No,” you lie too quickly.
Chan raises an eyebrow. “You literally just ducked into the bathroom because you heard me coming down the hall.”
“I had to pee.”
“For the fourth time today?” His grin lopsided, “Either you’ve got a UTI, or you’re full of shit.”
You grit your teeth, fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Maybe both.”
he sighs out laugh, then steps closer, “Listen,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a serious tone, “if this is about the whole towel thing—”
“It’s not,” you answer quickly, too loud, too fast.
“So it is about the towel thing.”
“I’m not—” You exhale sharply through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you just—” You gesture vaguely at the space between you. “Give me, like, a three foot radius?”
Chan tilts his head, considering. His gaze drags down your body, before settling back on your face. “Nah,” he says finally, “I like you flustered.”
You bite your lip, eyes darting around, then settle on his, before darting around again.
The silence stretches, until you finally crack under the weight of it. “you—don’t you have a girlfriend?” you blurt, the words stumbling out in a rushed, stuttering mess.
Chan blinks, his smirk faltering for half a second before dissolving into genuine confusion. “A what?” His laugh sounds startled, almost disbelieving.
You press your lips together, suddenly regretting every life choice that led you to this moment.
Chan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline, "A girlfriend?" He repeats, "What, like, some theoretical girl who sneaks in when you're not looking?"
You gesture vaguely at him — the tousled hair, the unfairly sculpted shoulders, the effortless charm that clings to him like a second skin.
"You just—seem like the type." The words tumble out half mumbled, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.
Chan’s laughter echoes through the hallway, loud enough that you flinch—not just from the sound, but from the way it makes your stomach flip.
"Oh my god," he wheezes, leaning against the doorframe like he needs the support. "You thought I had some secret girlfriend sneaking in here to—what, fuck me while you're at work?"
You cross your arms tightly, "It's not that ridiculous," you mutter, but even you hear how weak it sounds.
"First of all, if I had a girlfriend, you'd know. I'm not subtle." His smirk tilts into something teasing. "Second, I'm very single. And third—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Wait. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was getting laid in there and didn't invite you?"
Your face burns. "No—that's not—"
His grin softens slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "So," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "what is it, then?"
You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of your shirt so tightly the fabric threatens to tear. "Nothing," you lie. "Just—roommate stuff. Boundaries."
Chan hums, "Boundaries," he echoes, Then, "You know you can just tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, right?"
You swallow hard, "Yeah," you mutter, gaze trailing to his eyes and holding his stare for the first time throughout this conversation "I know."
Chan pushes off the doorframe with a shrug, "Alright then," he says, clapping his hands together like he's wiping the whole conversation away. "Takeout time. You in?"
it's like all this man does is think about food...and make you weak in the knees.
You blink, "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Chan pulls out his phone, already scrolling through delivery apps, "Thai? Or that new Italian place that opened down the street?" He glances up, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Unless you're feeling sushi again, but last time you complained about the wasbi being too strong."
The normalcy of it — the way he remembers your stupid, offhand complaints about condiments — makes something in your chest tighten.
You clear your throat. "Thai’s good."
~
The weirdness fades slowly, chan doesn’t mention the girlfriend comment again, and you stop bolting like a startled deer every time he walks into a room.
He starts leaving his door open when he’s working, the rhythmic tap of his keyboard drifting into the hallway. You catch yourself lingering in the doorway sometimes, watching the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way he bites his tongue when he’s stuck on something.
once, he catches you staring and pats the space beside him on the bed without looking up from his laptop. “Help me brainstorm this dumb tagline,”
You perch awkwardly at first, careful not to touch him, but Chan sprawls like he owns every inch of the mattress, his thigh pressing warm against yours. and before you know it, you’re leaning into him, pointing at the screen. “That one’s terrible,”
~
Movie nights become a thing.
The first movie night starts by accident — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, scrolling through your phone while Chan sprawls across the other end, his laptop balanced precariously on his thighs.
Then the Wi-Fi cuts out.
Chan groans, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Fucking landlord,” he mutters, jabbing at his keyboard like it’ll magically fix the connection.
You snort, watching him glare at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “Guess we’re gonna have to talk to each other,”
“Horrifying,” he deadpans, then grabs the remote off the coffee table. “a movie it is.”
You end up with some terrible action movie Chan insists is a “classic,” but neither of you pay much attention. Halfway through, you catch him watching you instead of the screen, his head turning back to the movie when you caught him.
You brush it off, focusing on the screen, but your pulse jumps when Chan shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours.
The credits roll, and he stretches. The couch creaks as he shifts, stretching his arms overhead with a groan that does things to your already frayed nerves.
"Well," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "that was a cinematic masterpiece."
You snort, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, if you consider explosions and zero plot development masterful storytelling."
Chan’s chuckles “Plot is overrated,” he says, “Sometimes you just wanna watch things blow up.”
Chan then exhales heavily and stands. “Alright, I’m hitting the shower,” he says, stretching until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. You look away — too late — and Chan’s smirk is audible in his voice. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“In your dreams,” you mutter, but your pulse jumps when he pauses by the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Exactly.”
You sit there, frozen, until the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running. The sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment, and you press your palms to your overheated cheeks, exhaling sharply.
Stupid. You’re being stupid. That probably didn't mean anything.
But then your phone buzzes on the couch beside you, and Chan’s name lights up the screen.
forgot my towel. mind grabbing it?
You stare at the message, then at the hallway, Trap, your brain supplies helpfully.
type back,
Seriously?
he answers immediately
dead serious. i’m vulnerable here.
You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re already standing. His towel hangs on the back of his bedroom door, You grab it, then walk out to the bathroom.
You knock once, then freeze when Chan calls out, “Just come in.”
Your throat goes dry. “Absolutely not.”
Chan’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “Relax, I’m decent.” A pause. “Mostly.”
you squeeze your eyes shut, then shove the towel through the gap in the door, arm outstretched as far as possible. “Here.”
Chan’s fingers brush yours as he takes the towel. His skin is warm, damp, and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice closer than you expected. You can *feel* his smile through the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”
You bolt back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.
too much for your first movie night.
~
just when things were getting normal, It happens again on a monday.
You’re home early again, the apartment is silent. You toe off your shoes, and you were about to shout a "I'm back" when you heard it again.
Low, breathy moans slipping through the crack in Chan’s door.
Your feet root to the floor, ears straining as the noise curls around you.
His voice, thick with pleasure, murmurs something you can’t quite catch — then a wet, rhythmic sound that sends heat flooding your cheeks.
apparently, this man takes his....alone time very seriously.
that's what it had to be right? you can't blame him — you've been there once or twice.
Your breath sticks in your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The sound— god, the sound — wraps around you, thick and heady, Chan's voice breaking on a moan that scrapes down your spine.
You should move. should bolt to your room, slam the door, drown it out with headphones. but your feet refuse to cooperate.
You tiptoe into the hallway, his door is cracked just enough, and your pulse hammers so loud its drowning out any other coherent thought in your brain.
A peak wouldn't hurt...
The door creaks faintly as it opens another inch, just enough for you to see.
Chan sits on the edge of his bed, but not like you thought. Not hidden, not private. No, this is something else entirely.
A ring light casts a glow over his bare skin, the camera propped on his desk angled perfectly to capture every inch of him. His laptop screen is open with a reflection of him and a rapid stream of comments too fast to read.
Oh.
Oh god.
Your stomach drops, then tightens all at once.
Chan’s head is tipped back, his throat working around a groan as his hand moves lazily between his thighs.
You press yourself against the hallway wall, pulse hammering, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.
you did not expect this.
His breath hitches, a sharp, punched out sound, and your nails dig into your palms.
Chan’s fingers twist at the base of his cock, his thumb smearing precum in slow circles. The camera catches the way his abs flex as he arches into his own touch, his voice ragged when he murmurs, "Wish you were here." before he bites down on his lower lip. "Could use a mouth right now."
You watch, frozen in place, as his thighs tremble, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The comments on his screen blur into a frenzy of emojis and a bunch of pinging donations. His breath stutters, his jaw clenching as his strokes turn erratic, desperate. “Yeah,” he gasps, voice breaking, “yeah, just like that—”
Then he comes with a choked moan, stripes of white painting his stomach as his back arches off the bed.
Gosh, he’s gorgeous — and you barely register the dampness between your own thighs until Chan slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving.
Chan exhales sharply, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he leans forward, just enough to tap something on his laptop.
he ends the stream with a wink and a low, raspy comment that you didn't quite catch. The screen goes black, and you barely have half a second to process the situation before your body kicks into motion.
You bolt down the hallway, socked feet silent against the hardwood.
Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you just as Chan gets up. You press your back against the door, lungs burning from holding your breath, and listen.
Water runs in the sink. A towel rustles. Then you hear footsteps.
They pause outside your door.
You purse your lips and hold your breath. Then Chan hums, before his footsteps retreat down the hall.
You slump against the door, exhaling shakily.
Holy shit.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fumble to pull it out.
you home early?
You stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the screen. Lie, your brain screams. Tell him no. but then how would you fake going into the apartment if you're already inside the apartment?
Just got back
You hit send before you can second guess it.
Cool. Dinner soon?
Your fingers hover over the screen, the weight of his question pressing against your ribs like a stone. The air in your room feels — too thick — and suddenly the idea of sitting across from Chan at the kitchen table, pretending you didn’t just watch him get off on camera, makes your stomach twist.
Gonna shower first.
Your phone buzzes again before you can even set it down,
Can I join?
You nearly drop it, blood roaring in your ears. Then—
jk. don’t use up all the hot water.
You toss your phone onto your bed and drag a hand down your face with a sigh.
You're deeply fucked.
~
That night, you stayed up aggressively googling him till his page came up.
Onlychans? really?
you'd laugh at the username if it wasn't for the videos that popped up when you clicked on his profile.
Chan, shirtless, sprawled across what is unmistakably your living room couch, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweatpants.
Chan, biting his lip as he slicks lube down his cock, the camera angled to capture every twitch of his abs.
Chan, moaning, his head thrown back against the pillows of his bed —your apartment, your shared space — while his other hand works something thick and glistening into his—
You slam the laptop shut.
Your face burns. Your pulse thrums in your ears. The apartment is silent — Chan’s out for a run, or so he’d claimed when he’d left an hour ago.
You open the laptop again.
It’s Curiosity. That’s all.
It starts innocently enough — just checking his schedule, really. A quick glance at his calendar pinned to the fridge.
"For productivity purposes," Chan had joked when you asked.
Then, sure enough, it spiraled.
You memorize the time of his streams, monday nights, Friday nights, he'd timed them perfectly in sync with times he knew you wouldn't be home. that's why you've been blissfully unaware of him filming in different locations around your shared apartment for the past two and a half months.
And the occasional late night surprise session that leaves you fumbling for your earbuds at 1 am. You'd literally be home, but he'd go live anyway. was he into that?
you were into it too, admittedly, because you turned out to be just as shameful as him.
The notification pops up at 1:47 am on a Wednesday 'Chan is live!' (yes, you turned his notifs on) and your fingers freeze mid doom scroll through Instagram.
your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen, you're supposed to be asleep.
You tap the notification.
Chan’s face fills the screen, his grin already in place as he adjusts the camera. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard of his bed, one arm draped lazily over his bent knee. The ring light casts shadows along his abs, highlighting every dip and curve.
"Late night surprise," he murmurs, "*Miss me?*" aaaand heat is already pooling low in your stomach.
His fingers work on hinseld, slow and teasing at first, thumb smearing precum in lazy circles while he talks— god, he sure does talk, filthy praises and half formed fantasies spilling from his lips like he’s whispering them directly into your ear. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, your other hand slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts.
Chan arches his back on screen, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him. "Fuck, you guys are greedy tonight," he rasps, stroking himself slowly. His thumb presses against the head on every upstroke, just how you’ve learned he likes it — learned from watching, from nights spent with your phone hidden under your pillow, screen dimmed to its lowest setting.
"Fuck, m'close," Chan groans, your fingers moving between your thighs in time with his rhythm, matching the pace, hips shifting under the sheets, your breath coming shallow.
It’s not the first time you’ve watched him like this, but it’s the first time you’ve done it live, with the shaky thrill of knowing he has no idea you’re here.
A whimper almost escapes you when he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath hitching. You press your palm over your mouth, stifling the sound.
The last thing you need is him hearing you through the thin walls.
The thought alone, him catching you, realizing, sends a sharp jolt between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together, chasing the feeling before it slips away.
His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his skin moving over his cock muffled only slightly by the mic's noise suppression. "God, fuck—gonna come so hard for you," he grits out, his voice cracking on the last word.
You press your free hand harder against your mouth, fingers digging into your own cheek as you watch his stomach tense, the muscles there flexing under the sheen of sweat. Your own movements stutter when he lets out a low, punched out moan, his hips jerking up into his fist.
You’re so close you can’t think straight. The coil in your stomach winds tighter with every stroke of his hand, every filthy sound he makes, matching his rhythm like you’re desperate to prove something— like if you can just finish at the same time, it’ll mean something. Stupid. It’s stupid. But your hips jerk anyway, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts against your palm.
"Fuck, fuck—" His hand stills suddenly, fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he tips his head back, you watch as his body locks up for one second — and then he’s coming, stripes of white painting his stomach, his chest.
Your own climax crashes over you at the same time, so violently you nearly choke on the gasp you swallow down, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burns through you in hot, dizzying waves.
He’s still catching his breath, his free hand dragging lazily through the mess on his stomach, fingers tracing the lines of cum with a slow, absentminded swipe.
His lips curl into that stupid, effortless smirk you’ve seen a hundred times,
"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, still a little breathless. "You all got me good tonight."
He reaches for a towel off screen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wipes himself clean. You watch, transfixed, as he tosses the towel aside and leans closer to the camera, cheeks are still flushed, his lashes low.
"Hope that was worth the wait," he says, eyes flickering to the chat before he grins. "gosh you guys are generous with the tips tonight." and you catch a few of the comments.
slave4u: how bout you come and give me that tip
sweetheartonline: gone broke just for you </3
Chan just chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re all insatiable." He stretches his arms above his head, his torso arching beautifully, "Next stream’s friday. Be good for me til then, yeah?"
With one last wink, he reaches forward, and the screen goes black.
You yank your earbuds out, Your chest heaves, your skin still buzzing, your thighs still sticky, and you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids until colors bloom behind them.
you find it ridiculous that you're actually enjoying this, perverted thoughts. Stupid. So stupid.
~
Two weeks pass after that. You're hyperaware of Chan’s presence in a way that makes your skin itch. Every casual touch sends sparks skittering up your spine.
You try to act normal, you really do.
But you catch yourself staring at his hands when he cooks, remembering the way they moved over himself on screen, and have to physically shake your head to clear the image.
Chan, for his part, seems to thrive on your discomfort. He leaves his bedroom door cracked just a little wider than necessary, and infuriatingly, he's rarely not shirtless.
it's okay. you're okay. at least you tell yourself that.
till it's Friday morning, marking the beginning of your third month.
the apartment is quiet, still bathed in the soft gold of early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. you hum under your breath as you flip pancakes.
then Chan emerges, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair still messy from sleep.
He leans against the doorway, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “Morning,” he rasps, voice still thick with sleep.
this feels too domestic for your liking.
“Morning,” you mumble, not turning around.
Chan pads closer, bare feet silent against the hardwood, until he’s right behind you. His warmth radiates against your back, “Smells good,” he murmurs, and you swear his lips brush the shell of your ear.
The spatula clatters against the pan. too domestic.
Chan chuckles, as he reaches around you to steal a piece of pancake from the prepared stack. His chest presses against your shoulder, his skin searing where it touches yours. “Careful,” he teases, popping the bite into his mouth. “You’ll burn them.”
The pancake batter sizzles violently as you stand there, frozen, Chan’s body heat scorching against your back.
His fingers brush your hip as he reaches for the syrup, and you nearly drop the spatula again.
"You’re jumpy this morning," Chan muses, leaning against the counter beside you. "Bad dreams?"
sure, if 'bad' and 'wet' are the same thing. "something like that."
Chan hums, tilting his head as he studies you. "Got plans today?"
You flip another pancake onto the growing stack. "Just groceries later." The words come out steadier than you feel.
His grin grows. "Mind if I tag along?"
You shrug, "It’s just errands."
Chan snags another pancake, leaning into your space until his bare shoulder presses against yours. "Exactly. Sounds thrilling." His fingers brush yours as he steals the spatula, flipping the last pancake with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. I’ll even push the cart."
You huff a laugh despite yourself. "You’ll get bored in five minutes."
"Bet?" He bumps your hip with his, "Loser buys ice cream."
~
The grocery store is exactly as mundane as you predicted, but Chan makes it unbearable in ways you didn’t anticipate — his fingers lingering when he passes you items, his chest pressing against your back in crowded aisles like it’s accidental. By the time you hit the freezer section, your nerves are frayed.
"Pick a flavor," Chan murmurs, chin hooked over your shoulder as he reaches past you to open the glass door. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "I’m feeling generous."
The freezer air hits your face, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. Chan’s arm brushes yours as he leans in, his fingers tracing the edge of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "This one," he decides, plucking it from the shelf. "tastes like toothpaste sometimes, but eh" he said with a shrug.
You snort, grabbing a classic vanilla, but he plucks it from your hands and replaces it with something absurdly decadent, something with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.
"Live a little," he grins, tossing it into the cart.
The checkout line is agony. Chan stands close enough that his knuckles keep brushing the small of your back, each touch sending sparks up your spine.
the cashier — an exhausted looking college student — scans everything, he pushed your hand aside when you tried to pay, and handed the cashier his card.
he caried all the groceries too, and swatted your hand away when you try to carry any.
it feels like he's your boyfriend.
The apartment door clicks shut behind you both, grocery bags rustling as Chan kicks off his shoes. You’re still fumbling with the laces of your sneakers when he brushes past you with the plastic bags.
You follow, already going to pull things out and putting them in their designated cupboards, Chan’s already rummaging through to find the ice cream, His grin is wide as he holds it up. "Scoops or straight from the tub?"
"freezer" you deadpan, "it's probably melted by now"
his shoulders slump a little, turning around to place the tubs in the freezer.
"and, scoops," you mutter, "We’re not animals."
he snickers, "Debatable."
Chan nudges the freezer door shut with his hip, the ice cream safely stowed away for later. "Movie night?" he suddenly asks, casual as anything, "Haven't done one in a while."
You nod, "Yeah. Okay."
You retreat to your room to change, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt before you even reach the door. The fabric sticks to your skin, too warm and you peel it off with a relieved sigh the second you’re alone.
The dresser drawer squeaks as you rummage for shorts and a tank top since its getting too hot, but your hands freeze mid reach when you hear Chan’s door creak open down the hall.
The unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor — jeans, probably — makes your throat go dry. You strain to listen, pulse hammering in your ears, as Chan hums under his breath. Something clatters, a belt buckle, and then the soft rustle of fresh clothes being pulled on.
You yank your own shorts up so fast you nearly trip, ears burning. Pathetic.
When you emerge, Chan’s already sprawled across the couch in loose joggers and that stupidly thin white tank top.
"You took forever," Chan drawls from the couch, already eating his way through a popcorn bucket.
"You're picking?" he scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "After the garbage you called 'cinema' last time?"
You snatch the remote before he can lunge for it. "You picked Twilight unironically last time."
Chan clutches his chest like you've wounded him. "Bella Swan is a cultural icon."
You scoff, scrolling through the options, ignoring Chan's dramatic sigh as he flops back against the cushions. His knee bumps yours, but you don't pull away.
"Fine," he huffs. "But if it's another pretentious indie film where people whisper for two hours, I'm revoking your movie privileges."
"Fine," you grumble back, scrolling past a dozen of said pretentious indie films with moody black and white thumbnails. "But only because I pity your attention span."
Chan's grin is immediate as he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.
"pick something with action," then wiggles his eyebrows, "Or nudity."
You elbow him hard in the ribs.
"Ow—," Chan wheezes, but he's laughing, catching your wrist before you can retreat. His fingers are warm and rough against your pulse point, thumb pressing into the flutter there. "Violent and kinky," he muses, tugging you closer until your shoulders press together. "I like it."
You yank your wrist free and snatch up the remote again, scrolling through titles.
Chan's laughter vibrates through the couch cushions as you land on something, anything, just to shut him up. The movie starts with a car chase, tires screeching, glass shattering. Perfect. Loud enough to distract whenever Chan shifts beside you.
"Action and nudity," Chan murmurs, nodding approvingly at the screen where some actor's shirt rips open during a fight scene. "You do know me."
You sink lower into the couch, arms crossed. "Shut up and watch."
The first ten minutes of the movie blur into a haze of gunfire and badly timed one-liners, the volume turned up just loud enough to drown out the way Chan’s fingers keep tracing idle patterns against your shoulder.
You focus resolutely on the screen, but Chan’s warmth beside you is impossible to ignore. His knee presses into yours, his bare arm brushing against yours every time he reaches for more popcorn, and each touch sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.
Then, during a lull in the action, Chan shifts beside you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His fingers curl gently into your hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.
"You’re not even watching," he mmurmur.
You swallow hard, refusing to look at him. "Am too."
Chan hums, unconvinced, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. "Liar."
His accusation hangs between you, thick and charged, and suddenly the movie feels like background noise.
His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tipping your head back just enough that you have no choice but to meet his gaze.
His eyes are dark, there’s no teasing smirk now, no playful glint — just hunger.
Your breath hitches audibly.
Chan’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me to stop."
You don’t.
His lips crash into yours before you can form a coherent thought, the remote clattering to the floor as your hands fist in his shirt.
Chan groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with so much desperation.
The movie drones on, but all you can feel is the way his hips jerk forward against yours as you press closer. His hands slide down to grip your waist, hauling you halfway into his lap without breaking the kissl.
"You’ve been driving me insane," Chan pants against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the dip of your spine. "Watching me, pretending you weren’t—fuck—" His words dissolve into a groan when you grind down against him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.
He knows you know. he has all this time. The realization makes your eyes widen slightly—but it doesn’t surprise you. Not really.
Not when Chan’s fingers tighten possessively around your hips, his teeth scraping your lower lip like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.
His palm slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin tank top, and your breath stutters against his mouth.
Of course he knew. The cracked doors, the late night streams he timed too perfectly with your schedule. Those weren't just coincidences.
You pull back just enough to see his face, your eyes wide with the realization that just dawned on you.
his lips are swollen from your kisses, panting, “Surprise,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
Chan’s grip shifts, hauling you fully into his lap, and you gasp when his hardness presses against you. His chuckle vibrates through your chest as he rolls his hips up, slow and filthy. “Thought you’d never crack,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.
Your hands fist in his tank top, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to his chest. “You—asshole” you pant, hips jerking against his involuntarily. “All that teasing—”
Chan's grin widens "All what teasing?" he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kisses to your neck. "You mean leaving my door open just a little too wide?"
His teeth scrape your skin, "Or maybe streaming at exactly the times I knew you'd be home?" His palm cups your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple.
You gasp when he pinches lightly, hips jerking against his. "You're insane," you manage, though the words come out more breathless than angry.
Chan laughs against your throat, before his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hands slide down to grip your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him. The friction is dizzying, the thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the heat of him pressed against you.
"Insane?" His breath is hot against your damp skin. "Baby, aren't the one who watched my streams every other night?" His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with maddening slowness.
You whine, the sound high and desperate in your throat, and nod before you can think better of it. The admission burns your cheeks, but the way Chan groans against your skin makes it worth it.
"yeah?" he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.
Chan’s fingers flex against your waist, his breath hot against your lips. “Every fucking time,” he admits, voice rough “I’d pretend it was your hand on me,” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, “Your mouth.” His gaze drops to your parted lips, then back up, heavy lidded. “You have no idea how many times I came thinking about you watching me.”
Chan exhales sharply, his nose brushing yours. “cancelled tonight’s stream,” he murmurs, lips grazing yours with every word. “would rather beg you to fuck me instead.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers tracing the edge of your bra through your tank top.
“You don’t have to beg,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you swing your leg off his lap. Chan exhales sharply, hands gripping your waist tighter like he’s afraid you’ll pull away entirely, but then you’re sliding to your knees between his legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his joggers.
His breath catches when you tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking against his stomach.
gosh he's even bigger than he looks on camera.
Chan's breath stutters when your fingers wrap around him, his hips jerking into your grip before he can stop himself. "Fuck—" His voice cracks, a hand flying to fist in your hair as you stroke him slow, watching the way his eyelids flutter.
He's hot and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip, and the way his thighs tense when you swipe your thumb over the head is obscene.
Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair when your lips brush the head of his cock, his breath stuttering out in a ragged groan. “Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerk up instinctively, but you pull back just enough to tease, swirling your tongue over the tip without taking him deeper, and you can’t resist glancing up through your lashes to watch his face twist with pleasure.
“So loud,” you giggle, blowing a slow breath over the wetness you’ve left behind. Chan’s thighs tense under your palms. “All those streams,” you continue, stroking him lazily with one hand while the other traces the vein running along his length, “and you never moaned like this.”
Chan’s laugh comes out strained, his chest heaving. “it wasn't you,” he grits out, hips rolling up into your touch. His fingers tug at your hair, guiding you back to him with a quiet desperation that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “Now stop teasing—”
You swallow him down before he can finish, humming around him just to feel the way his whole body jerks. His moan is filthy, unfiltered, his hips canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can’t help it.
You take him deeper, throat working around him, and Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.
“god—” His voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. His other hand fists the couch cushion beside his thigh, knuckles going white. “So good—shit—you take me so fucking good—”
You pull off with a slick pop, lips brushing the flushed tip as you peer up at him, teasing, thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathered there.
Chan’s chest heaves, his abs flexing as he stares down at you, His grip in your hair tightens just enough to sting — a silent warning — but you just grin and duck back down, sucking him deep until his thighs tremble.
Chan curses, his hips lifting off the couch as you bob your head, the wet sounds obscenely loud even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.
“Gonna—” He's cut off by his own gasp, “Gonna come if you keep—”
You pull off with a wet sound, lips slick and swollen, and replace your mouth with both hands, jerking him so fast his hips stutter off the couch, his breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.
“Wait—fuck—” Chan chokes out, fingers scrambling at your shoulders, but it’s too late — his back arches off the cushions, muscles locking tight as he spills hot over your fingers and his own stomach.
His thighs shake under your palms, his cock twitching in your grip as you stroke him through it, slower now, milking every last drop until he’s whimpering and oversensitive, his hands weakly pushing at your wrists.
“Turn around,” Chan rasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers slide from your hair to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your spit slick bottom lip. “Want you riding me.”
Your stomach flips at the command, but before you can move, Chan’s hands are gripping your waist, hauling you up onto the couch with surprising strength. He settles you over his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips, and the sudden press of his bare skin against yours makes you gasp.
Chan groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he leans back to look at you, really look at you, his gaze dragging down your body with a hunger that makes your skin prickle.
he hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and tugs, sliding them off, his breath hitching when he finds you already soaked through your panties.
"Fuck," he exhales, dragging the damp fabric aside with one finger, his touch featherlight as he traces your slit. His other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touch, his breath mingling with yours. "You're so wet," he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. "Just from sucking me off?"
You nod, hips canting into his touch shamelessly, his finger circles your clit —once, twice, before dipping lower, sliding into you, crooking just right to make your back arch. His free hand fists in your tank top, dragging you closer until your chest presses against his, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden against him.
His thumb pressing firm circles against your clit, and your vision whites out for a second — just long enough to miss the way his free hand fists in your tank top, yanking it up until the fabric bunches just above your chest. His mouth replaces his fingers, teeth scraping over your nipple through the lace of your bra, and you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.
“Thought about this,” he pants against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wet spot he’s left behind. “Every goddamn stream—imagined you like this, wet and desperate for me.” His finger curls again, dragging a broken moan from your throat, and his grin is all teeth when he leans back to watch you unravel. “Knew you’d be prettier than I imagined.”
You grab his wrist, stilling his movements, and his brows furrow — confused, frustrated — until you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap properly this time. His cock, half hard again, twitches against your thigh as you grind down, the friction drawing a ragged groan from both of you.
Chan’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him, his breath hot against your collarbone.
“Wanna feel you,” you murmur, fingers fumbling between you to grip him, slicking him up with your own arousal. Chan’s head falls back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you line him up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
You sink down onto him with a choked gasp, thighs trembling as he stretches you open inch by agonizing inch. Chan’s hands clamp around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t rush you —just watches as you take him deeper.
"Fuck," you whimper, nails scraping his shoulders when he bottoms out, your body shuddering at the unfamiliar stretch. "You’re—god—you’re so big—"
Chan groans, hips twitching beneath you, fighting not to thrust up. "Yeah?" His voice is wrecked, breath hitching as you clench around him. "Feel good, baby? Stuffed full of me?" His fingers trail up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts while you adjust. "taking me so good."
You roll your hips experimentally, and Chan’s head thuds back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "That’s it," he rasps, hands sliding to grip your ass. "Use me—ride me just like you imagined."
The words send heat flaring up your neck, but you can’t deny them, can’t stop the way your body responds, hips rolling in slow circles. Chan hisses between his teeth when you clench around him, his fingers flexing against your skin.
"Christ—fuck—you’re so tight," he grits out, eyes locked on where you’re joined. "Bet you thought about this every night, hmm? Watching me stroke my cock on cam while you fucked yourself on your fingers?"
You whimper, thighs quivering as you lift yourself halfway up before sinking back down, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his breath stutters, his hips jerking up to meet you halfway, and the sudden shift punches a ragged moan from your throat. "Oh fuck—Chan—"
"Say it," he demands, thumb brushing your clit as you bounce in his lap. His voice is rough, wrecked, his pupils blown wide, "Tell me how much you thought about this, how many times you came imagining me inside you."
You gasp when he pinches your clit lightly, your rhythm faltering, "Every—ah—every night," you admit, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down harder. "Watched you—touched myself—god, wanted you—"
Chan groans, fingers tightening on your hips as he guides your movements, thrusting up to meet you. "Knew it," he pants, lips brushing yours with every ragged breath.
"Knew you were getting off to me—fuck—your little gasps when I’d look at the camera—" His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. "Bet you came so pretty for me, huh? All quiet so I wouldn’t hear?"
You nod frantically, hips stuttering as his cock hits that spot inside you, the pleasure building dangerously fast. "Y-yes—*fuck*—Chan, please—"
"Please what?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk even as his own breathing falters. He slows your movements deliberately, dragging you through each excruciatingly slow roll of your hips. "Need me to fuck you harder, baby?"
You whine, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to chase your own rhythm, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting. "Yes—god, yes—"
he flips you onto your stomach before you can finish begging, his hands rough and sure as he shoves your knees apart against the couch cushions. The fabric burns against your bare thighs when he yanks your hips back, his cock sliding out of you with a slick sound that makes your face burn.
You barely have time to whimper before his fingers dig into your waist, lifting you on all fours with a sharp tug — his chest presses hot against your back, his breath ragged in your ear as he lines himself up again.
he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He slams into you with one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your elbows buckle against the cushions. His cock stretches you open deeper than before, the angle hitting deeper, and you choke on a scream when his hips snap forward again, setting a punishing pace before you can catch your breath.
Hands clamp around your hips, fingers bruising as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound drowned out by chan’s ragged groans and the slick slap of skin on skin. His rhythm is merciless, no teasing now, just pure, desperate need as he fucks into you like he’s been starving for it.
Chan's grip on your hips shifts — one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bows beautifully beneath him. "Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with something between awe and hunger as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.
His fingers tighten, pulling just enough to make your scalp prickle, before his palm cracks down against your ass, the sound echoing through the room louder than the forgotten movie still playing in the background.
You gasp, thighs trembling as the heat blooms across your skin, but Chan doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that has your nails scrabbling against the couch cushions for purchase. "Take it," he orders, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "God, you feel so good—clenching around me like—" His words dissolve into a groan as he picks up the pace, each thrust punching a ragged sound from your throat.
His free hand slides around your waist, pressing firm circles against your clit, and the dual sensation has your vision blurring at the edges. "That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his rhythm falters for just a second, "Gonna make you come just like this—spread out, taking me so well—"
His thumb presses harder against your clit, and your back arches involuntarily, a broken moan tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.
Chan curses, his grip tightening as you clench around him, your body shuddering through the waves of it. "Yeah, there you go, gonna cum for me?"
You nod vigorously, your fingers twisting into the couch cushions as Chan’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against your ear. "Cum with me," he rasps, and it’s all you need.
Your body clenches around him like a vice, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision whites out for a second. Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken gasp, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.
Chan pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth when you clench around him reflexively, oversensitive.
The couch cushions are damp beneath your trembling thighs, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat as you collapse onto your stomach, chest heaving. Chan exhales sharply, running a hand down your spine, before flipping you onto your back, more gently this time.
The shift makes you wince, your body still thrumming with aftershocks, he slides off the couch onto his knees between your legs. His palms skate up your inner thighs, spreading them apart with slowly despite your weak protest. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just wanna taste you."
You squirm when his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, but Chan’s grip tightens, holding you open. "Chan—" His name comes out hoarse, your voice wrecked. "I’m—ah—too sensitive—"
Chan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open despite your squirming. His tongue flicks over your clit, just enough to make your hips jerk, oversensitive and trembling.
“You can take it,” he murmurs against your skin, “You’re a big girl, yeah?” His teeth graze your inner thigh, before his mouth closes over you again, and your back arches off the couch with a choked gasp.
You can take it. You do.
Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks shooting up your spine, your fingers twisting into his hair — not to pull him away, but to keep him right there, his mouth working you through the dizzying aftershocks of your orgasm.
Chan hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his grip on your thighs tightens when you try to press them together instinctively. “None of that,” he chides, nipping at your skin before dragging his tongue up your slit again, “Just let me have you.”
You whine, hips caving into his mouth despite the oversensitivity, the pleasure tipping into something almost painful, but you don’t tell him to stop. Couldn’t if you wanted to.
"so sweet," he groans against you, the words vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His fingers dig into your hips, pinning you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity. "No— stay still."
You whimper, but obey, letting him spread you wider as his tongue delves deeper, circling your entrance before dragging back up in one long, torturous lick.
"Chan—please—" you gasp, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for — him to stop or never, ever stop.
His response is to hook your leg over his shoulder, angling you deeper into his mouth, and then he’s sucking you in, his tongue working you with precision. You sob his name, your hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, too soon, too much—
You choke out his name, fingers scrambbling at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, before your hips jerk violently against his mouth.
“Chan, gonna—oh god—” The warning spills out brokenly, your thighs clamp around his head as you come with a shuddering gasp, your back bowing off the couch as pleasure rips through you.
he groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat, he doesn’t pull away, just laps at you greedily, his tongue dragging through the mess you’ve made of him with slow strokes.
“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re perfect like this.” His thumb brushes your clit once, testing, and you jerk with a gasp, your body still thrumming with aftershocks.
Chan grins up at you, all dark eyes and swollen lips, before dragging his tongue up your slit one last time.
Chan rises from between your thighs with a groan, his lips slick and glistening with you, you realize with a jolt — before his mouth crashes into yours, the kiss filthy and possessive, his tongue licking into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, sticky with sweat, and he moans into your mouth when you tug — sharp, just to feel him shudder.
You pull away eventually, both of you panting, sticky with sweat and other things, and collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Chan drags you half on top of him, your head resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin.
His fingers trace idle patterns along your back, the movie’s credits roll, forgotten, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.
You nuzzle into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. His skin is warm and slightly sticky, and you press a kiss to it without thinking, smiling when his fingers pause for a second before resuming their path along your spine.
"Quit staring," you murmur, tilting your head up just enough to catch him watching you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. soft, almost awed, Chan huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d gripped hard enough to leave marks earlier.
"Can’t help it," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion "You’re kinda fucking gorgeous like this."
You snort, but your cheeks heat anyway, and Chan’s grin widens when he notices. He shifts beneath you, rolling just enough to tuck you more firmly against his side, his arm a solid weight across your waist.
The movement makes you wince, your thighs ache in a way that’s equal parts delicious and punishing, and Chan’s fingers tighten reflexively, his smirk turning smug.
"Sorry," he lies, and you bite on his shoulder just to hear him yelp.
his yelp dissolves into laughter, his fingers digging into your sides as he squirms away from your teeth. “Fuck, ow,” he complains, but his grin ruins the effect, “You bite hard—should’ve known you’d be a menace.”
You grin against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the reddening mark you left behind. “Payback,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your tongue just to feel him shiver. Chan groans, his hips jerking reflexively beneath you, and you freeze when you feel him stirring against your thigh—already half hard again.
“Seriously?” you ask, incredulous, and Chan has the audacity to look proud, his smirk widening as he rolls his hips up against you.
“What?” he teases, voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t help it—you’re right there, all warm and fucked out—” His hand slides down your back, fingers skimming the curve of your ass before squeezing lightly. “And you bit me. That’s basically foreplay.”
You press a hand to Chan’s chest when he tries to roll you beneath him again, your thighs still trembling from the last round. “Shower,” you mumble, and Chan makes a wounded noise against your collarbone in protest.
“Five more minutes,” he tries, lips trailing up your neck like he’s trying to convince you with his mouth.
You laugh, breathless, and squirm out of his grip before he can distract you properly. “No—shower,” you insist, swatting at his hands when they try to drag you back. “We’re disgusting.”
Chan pouts — actually pouts, like this big hunk of a man didn't just fuck the daylights out of you — and flops back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, but his eyes track your every movement as you stand, snickering when you wobble slightly on unsteady legs.
You stumble towards the bathroom, then you glance back at Chan, sprawled across the couch with his arms behind his head, watching you with that stupid, smug grin, and ask, "When’s your next stream again?"
his grin falters into confusion when your question registers. "Monday," he says automatically, his brows furrowing, "Why?"
You hum, "Just thinking," then you shrug, "maybe I’ll join you next time."
he's caught off guard when you leave him hanging and close the bathroom door behind you, "don't start something you can't finish!"
So if mingi watches bl and yeosang and yunho are fudanshi kings and woosan kiss on stage and have matching tattoos and seonghwa reads gay books and posts every pride flag he can find and jongho wants everyone to take their shirts off and hongjoong produces music for queer movies and goes on queer shows and makes rainbow accessories then who is driving the bus
summ: jisung came twice already, yet he’s still whining and grinding against you like he’s never been touched before.
⋆ pairing: perv!jisung x f!reader, established relationship
⋆ genre: smut (minors dni)
⋆ tags/cw: pet names (jagi, baby), jisung is hella needy, kissing, lots of whimpering and whining, teasing, scratching, multiple rounds, breeding kink, cumming, creampie, piv, unprotected s*x
⋆ words: 1.7k
a/n: okay, i genuinely think this might be the filthiest thing i’ve written so far. i mean, UGH, jisung being a pathetic, freaky guy who can go for multiple rounds and still whine for more is actually my favorite agenda ever. anyways, i wrote this kinda fast and there was zero beta reading involved, so… yeah. i’ve ‘back to life’ on repeat since yesterday, real banger. now i’ll stop yapping. enjoy this short freaky fic! >.<
the second time jisung came was, honestly, kind of a pathetic accident.
“baby, c’mon…” he whined into your neck, breathing so hard you could practically feel his chest shaking. “i said i was sensitive…”
and yet he kept rolling his hips against you in tiny needy thrusts, completely incapable of staying still every time you ran your fingers through his hair or kissed that sensitive spot on his neck.
“mhm?” you murmured, barely holding back a laugh as you pulled away just enough to look at him properly. “then why are you still grinding on me?”
jisung let out an embarrassed sound immediately.
his glasses were barely hanging onto the bridge of his nose, crooked after the last thirty minutes of complete disaster. his cheeks were flushed, his bottom lip glossy from how much he’d been biting it, and his hands were gripping your waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching you.
and the worst part was that he was still hard. painfully sensitive, even after everything.
“i dunno…” he whimpered quietly, burying his face in your shoulder again. “fuck- i’m sorry. i can’t stop.”
the apology came out so sincere you had to bite back a smile. because jisung was genuinely embarrassed.
embarrassed that he was still turned on. embarrassed by how his body reacted to you. embarrassed that he’d already come twice and still kept chasing you with tiny desperate rolls of his hips.
and obviously, that was only making it worse for him.
“are you telling me you already came twice and you still want more?” you asked slowly, letting your nails lightly scrape against the back of his neck.
and that was a massive mistake.
because jisung’s entire body shuddered against yours.
a broken moan slipped straight onto your skin and his fingers dug harder into your waist.
“don’t say it like that…” he whined immediately. “you make me sound fucking pathetic…”
another tiny grind of his hips. another shaky breath hidden against your neck.
your hand slid slowly down his back and jisung literally stopped breathing for a second.
you felt him tense the second your fingers brushed the skin beneath his lifted hoodie. the way he swallowed hard. the way he tried to stay still.
and how he failed completely.
“baby- ah, shit…” he gasped nervously, pressing himself even closer to you. “don’t tease me right now, please…”
“or what?”
the question came out soft, teasing, just a little cruel.
and jisung made the most miserable sound you’d heard from him all night. a tiny broken whine, completely muffled against your neck.
“i-i’m serious…”
but his hips kept moving slowly, needily, like his body had stopped listening to him a long time ago.
he didn’t pull away even a little. if anything, he pressed himself against you again with another desperate movement that immediately made him hide his face in your neck.
like he couldn’t survive his own embarrassment.
completely pathetic.
“do you even hear yourself right now?”
he let out another embarrassed sound. “please- d-don’t…”
the next drag of your nails against his skin pulled a broken moan out of him that he uselessly tried to hide in your shoulder. another miserable whine.
your fingers slid up to his jaw, slowly forcing him to lift his head. jisung’s cheeks were completely red. his eyes could barely stay open behind his crooked glasses.
completely gone.
“you still want more that badly?” you whispered, amused.
jisung swallowed hard. and then he made the mistake of looking at your lips, because immediately his hips rolled against you again, needy, desperate, like he physically couldn’t help it.
“please…” the whine came out shaky, completely out of his control.
and honestly, that was what finally killed you.
in one quick movement, your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer and sinking him fully into your cunt, taking him in easily.
jisung let out a high-pitched moan instantly, completely wrecked by the feeling of your warm walls wrapping around his cock again so perfectly.
“mmmh- ah, jagi…” he whimpered, brows furrowing as he buried his face against your chest. “fuck… can’t think…”
his words kept breaking apart between messy pants muffled against your tits. his hips started moving again almost on reflex, needy, incapable of staying still.
you could feel his whole body trembling.
every breath came out shakier than the last. every touch seemed to make it worse. and he couldn’t hold back the whine that slipped out when he felt his own cum slowly dripping out of you with every lazy thrust.
his gaze dropped to where your bodies connected, eyes shining while he bit down on his lip at the obscene sight.
“feels so fucking good…” he mumbled against your skin, completely gone. “swear it’s never enough with you… need to fill you up completely, fuck-”
his fingers dug desperately into your thighs while he buried himself back into your neck again, hiding there like he couldn’t handle looking at you for too long.
your back arched when you felt his cock hit your sweet spot. you could tell every time the tip brushed your cervix, he lost even more control.
you dug your nails into his back when his movements started getting sloppier, faster. moans kept slipping from his lips before he could stop them.
jisung wasn’t going to last much longer.
“too much- ah, shit…” he panted, letting his head fall back for a few seconds. “you’re gonna kill me…”
he bit down on his lower lip when he felt himself pounding into you mercilessly, another broken whine slipping out when he noticed your tits bouncing messily with the frantic pace of his thrusts.
“fuck- just like that… you milk me so fucking good, jagi,” he whimpered, gripping your thighs even tighter.
you grabbed the sheets between your fingers, eyes squeezing shut when jisung hooked your legs over his shoulders and started thrusting deeper. both of you whimpered at the same time, hit with the same electric shock.
jisung was panting audibly now, whining and whimpering every single time your cunt swallowed his cock so perfectly.
and it was the satisfaction of seeing your face twisted in pleasure and knowing it was because of him. that he was doing this to you, that his cock was making you feel this good while fucking you this hard, and all you could do was moan his name.
all those thoughts intoxicated his brain, making his cock twitch with pure excitement while he kept up those erratic thrusts.
“love you, ah- love you so much…” he whimpered against your skin, completely dizzy with pleasure.
you grabbed his face to kiss him and jisung practically melted against your mouth. he sighed shakily between kisses, clinging to you even tighter.
soon his kisses started trailing down your jaw, your cheeks, your neck, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you first.
and then you said it.
“ji- want you to- want you to breed me, fill me up completely,” you whimpered against his ear, panting.
and the reaction was immediate, because that completely ruined him.
his hips stuttered for a second before moving even more desperately, like those words finally snapped something inside him. now every movement was full of hunger, excitement.
“baby- wait, wait- ah…” his moans broke apart messily. “too much, too much- i’m so close…”
he couldn’t think properly anymore.
you could hear it in the way he babbled nonsense against your skin. in how he could barely keep his eyes open. in how he kept chasing you even while trembling in your arms.
the wet sound of your bodies filled the entire room together with your uneven breathing and the tiny miserable whines jisung kept letting out every time he felt you clinging tighter to him.
jisung felt his eyes roll back, tongue slipping out as the unbearable heat drowned him completely and stopped him from thinking straight.
you felt your cunt spasm around his cock right before a violent orgasm hit you all at once. every muscle in your body tightened, feeling that overwhelming heat flooding through you completely.
but jisung didn’t stop.
he kept thrusting, inch by inch, burying himself mercilessly into your ruined hole. every twitch of his cock sent electric shocks through your body, his tip brushing against your cervix over and over again.
“oh god- gonna come so deep inside you, jagi. you take me so well, so fucking tight…” he groaned through clenched teeth, voice thick with arousal.
he thrust all the way in one last time, burying his thick cock deep inside your sensitive center, hitting your cervix and grinding the flushed tip firmly against it.
and when he finally lost control, he lost it completely.
his entire body tensed against yours while a broken moan fell from his swollen glossy lips.
his cock erupted like a volcano, cum spilling violently inside you in endless pulses.
you could feel the sheer amount of cum filling you up, hot and sticky inside your body, dripping out of your cunt even while jisung was still buried deep inside you.
jisung threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut while broken whines slipped through his messy breathing. his fingers dug even deeper into your waist, incapable of letting you go for even a second.
his body trembled through the last few spasms, still fully buried inside your cunt.
“s-sorry, baby… i just can’t stop-” he mumbled, voice completely wrecked, still shaking. “your cunt takes me so well, so full of me…”
his eyes were shining, looking at you with that devotion that never left his face whenever it came to you.
he pulled out slowly, little whimpers leaving his throat from how sensitive he was.
then he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder, trying to catch his breath between messy inhales.
his glasses were completely crooked now. hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks flushed all the way to his ears.
an absolute mess.
and yet he still clung to you like pulling away would kill him.
you let out a soft tired laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair.
“mmh… there’s definitely something wrong with you, baby,” you answered, staring at him for a few seconds before smiling. “round 4?”
jisung let out the most embarrassed sound of the entire night, hugging you even tighter.
completely exhausted. completely satisfied.
and probably ready to start all over again in less than five minutes.
──── ❛ he might not look like he gets bitches, but honey, that dick was 11 inches.ᐟ
❪ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ❫ ﹒﹒ hhj x f!reader 𝟭𝗸 smut emo!hyunjin pwp p in v sex dick piercing
reblog4kiss ・・・ ❤︎
you were supposed to be working.
the heavy textbook was still sitting open on the corner of your desk, its pages completely ignored. instead of highlighting important sentences, you were laying face down, hips arched high off the mattress of your bed, while the quiet guy from your lecture series single-handedly ruined your ability to think straight.
hwang hyunjin had always been an unreadable fixture in the back row of your lecture hall. with his dark hair falling across his eyes, sharp jawline, and an aloof aura that kept everyone at a distance, you had taken a quiet, intense liking to him from day one—although your friends never really understood what you saw in him. to everyone else he was a total weirdo, but you never thought so.
so when your professor paired you two up together to work on a project—you decided this was going to be your chance to make your move on him.
you never expected to find out what he was like behind closed doors—underneath that nonchalantness he always moved around with. now, you knew exactly how he could be.
he rammed his thick length relentlessly in and out of you. every deep thrust drove his metal barbell piercing straight through your hyper-sensitive walls. the sensation was delicious torture, the freezing metal offering a sharp, shocking contrast to the suffocating, white-hot heat of your sopping wet core.
hot tears streamed down your face, your throat catching on a ragged sob each time his hips slammed home against your backside.
“hyun- ah! wait,” you slurred your words, completely drunk on the intoxicating pleasure rolling through your veins.
his large hands ran possessively up and down your bare back. whenever he leaned down to press a wet, lingering kiss onto your shoulder blades, you could feel the biting coolness of his lip piercing against your flushed skin.
"wait?" he murmured against your neck "is it too much for you, sweetheart, hm?"
though the question sounded gentle, he made absolutely no effort to slow down. in fact, he redoubled the force of his thrusts, his long fingers sliding down between your thighs to rub circles over your aching clit. you stared down through your tear-blurred vision at his hand—the exact same fingers you had been daydreaming about while sitting next to him at your desk earlier that day. they were painted a glossy black with intricate nail art, and through the haze of your pleasure, you made a frantic mental note to ask him to paint yours exactly like that later.
"nooo- fuck," you babbled incoherently, barely aware of what was coming out of your mouth. "it’s just... wan' you to never stop. feels s'good..."
you weren't even sure if he understood your rambling. you didn't care much anyway; you were far too busy trying to fight back the impending wave of your orgasm, desperately not wanting to cum so embarrassingly quick.
through the haze of your pleasure, you registered a chuckle behind you. you turned your head around to glance back at him through your tear-blurred vision. he was looking down at you, his eyes hooded, his lips parted as he took in the ruin he was making of you.
“you’re gonna cum already? fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned.
you let out a high-pitched, pathetic whine as he shifted his angle, the heavy metal of his piercing hitting your sweet spot so flawlessly it made your brain go entirely blank.
“yes- mmph, shit! fucking me so good,” you sobbed, a fresh wave of tears gathering and running freely down your flushed cheeks.
suddenly, he pulled completely out of you. before you could even let out a single sound of protest at the sudden emptiness, his hands locked onto your hips. he flipped your body around onto your back with effortless control and immediately slammed back into you, bottoming out instantly. the abundance of your wetness made the impact produce an embarrassingly loud, squelching sound that echoed through the quiet room.
it was as if he had never left at all. his hips picked up the same brutal, relentless pace, but the new face-to-face angle made you approach your orgasm all the quicker. your eyelids fluttered, starting to shut on their own as the overwhelming friction dragged you over the edge.
before you could even warn him, you were coming. you gushed hard around him, your tight walls clenching down on his dick so violently that he completely stopped, momentarily trapped by the intense, pulsing suction of your climax.
“fuck, you’re a sight,” hyunjin panted, his voice completely breathless as he stared down at you.
and you definitely were. your face was completely wrecked with pleasure, your cheeks glistening with tears, your chest heaving frantically up and down while your thighs trembled so hard around his waist it seemed your body couldn't decide whether it wanted him locked inside or pushed out.
your mind quickly decided on the latter, your hips rolling up to chase his warmth.
hyunjin let out a strained groan, the violent clenching of your walls pushing him right past his own limit. realizing he couldn't hold back any longer, he gripped your thighs tightly, pulling himself out of your tight heat at the absolute last second. he grunted, his upper body tensing as he came heavily all over the outside of your pussy, the thick, white heat of his release coating your puffy cunt.
he collapsed down beside you on the tangled sheets, both of your chests heaving in the quiet room as your heartbeats slowly tried to sync back down to a normal rhythm.
you blinked through the fading haze, the cool air hitting your damp skin. the empty ache inside you returned almost instantly, the lingering phantom sensation of his metal piercing making you twitch restlessly.
“hyunjin,” you whined, reaching out blindly to tug at the hem of his dark graphic tee, your voice small and needy. “more. please. need more”
hyunjin let out a breathy, exhausted chuckle, rolling onto his side to look at you. he ran his fingers through his messy dark hair, a lazy, incredibly fond smirk pulling at his lips. “sweetheart, i just fucked you. you want more, already?”
“uh-huh”
“insatiable little thing,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss your forehead before pulling you right back into his chest.
“is the emo hyunjin in the room with us” everyone boos.. IMSORRY I TRIED SO HARD TO WRITE HIM DIFFERENTLY IVE UNFORTUNATELY NEVER FUCKED AN EMO GUY BEFORE SO😭💔💔💔💔💔💔
taglist 🏷️ @kloversung @yngjgn @stryscribbles @cherryblogger2003 @quokkaine @g0matchi @hyvnesangel @scoeng @gyuzies @hyunjinswife4ever @sturnsxbitvh @hanjisungs-favorite @miunicornfluff @viisstrayy @mvkas @twiddlehee ・・・ click here to be added !
EPISODE 1: HELP! MY HOT GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT ME CRYING AFTER GIVING HEAD! (NOT CLICKBAIT)
this is smut, do not interact if under 18
jisung thought tutoring the hottest girl on campus would ruin his GPA— not his pants. one month later, he’s somehow getting called ‘pretty’ mid-thrust and offering you pocky as a post-orgasm snack.
pairing: nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader, established relationship genre/tags: college au, smut, fluff, jisung is a loser with a capital L, humor sprinkled in bc i’m unserious asf, lots of references to anime and other dumb stuff, lowkey perv!jisung, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, protected s*x, kinda subby!jisung but he’s still a whore lol words: 5.4k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long… guess i yap too much)
[ note. ] — i had to make another nerd!ji fic bc i literally cannot stop thinking about him 😣 feel free to read my other fic for more context since it’s set in the same universe but i wanted to make a smut ver so here we areeee <33 also, i will be making more parts eventually, hence why it’s labeled as ‘episode 1’ so stay tuned for more !
cross posted to AO3
Jisung thought for sure that was going to die a virgin. Not in a sad, self-loathing kind of way, but more in a “yeah, that checks out,” kind of way. The type of peaceful resignation one might have while unplugging a broken router for the eighth time before crying into a bowl of instant ramen. Because guys like him— guys who quoted Dragon Ball Z unironically, who panicked when girls sat next to them in lecture halls, who built custom keyboards for fun and screamed at League. They didn’t date girls like you.
And they most definitely didn’t sleep with girls like you.
Still, that didn’t keep him from fantasizing. Constantly, shamelessly, unhingedly.
He’d never known what it felt like to have warm walls wrapped around his cock. Never heard those broken whines girls in hentai would make— unless he counted the ones he accidentally let out when he edged himself too long. His hand was simply never enough, no matter how many times he convinced himself he could “recreate the pressure.”
The bottle of lotion and box of tissues on his nightstand weren’t even hidden anymore— they sat like holy relics beside his gaming PC, ready for immediate access the second he closed League and opened incognito mode.
Porn never fully satisfied his craving though, he always wanted more. Even the best JAV compilation or doujinshi fan dub couldn’t compare to the real sickness consuming his brain: you.
You, with the glossy Instagram that he scrolled through like it was the damn Louvre. You, wearing micro bikinis in pool selfies with captions like ‘hot girl summer’ while he rots in bed, sweating and crying at the curvature of your ass.
You, biting your glittery, gel pen in class, leaning across the desk to ask for help, accidentally flashing a glimpse of cleavage so dangerous it made him pause mid-equation like he got hit with a stun grenade. Stalking your Instagram, seeing you in the tiniest baby tees and mini skirts. It was the perfect gooner material.
He’d stroke himself under the covers while biting a t-shirt to keep quiet, muttering your name between gasps like he was summoning a spirit. Fantasies playing out in his head that ranged from soft and romantic— like kissing you breathless during office hours— to completely feral, like bending you over his anime pillow while you called him “pretty boy” and ruined his life.
It didn’t help that you flirted with him now.
That you asked him to tutor you.
That you sat so close during study sessions he could sense your perfume from a mile away and taste the salt from the fries you always stole off his plate.
You laughed at his jokes, called him cute, even once said he had “nice hands,” and he nearly evaporated on the spot. Had to excuse himself to the bathroom with a boner and a prayer.
Every night ended the same. Him, fisting his cock in pathetic desperation at the thought of your pussy swallowing him whole, whispering ‘please’ like a man on the verge of religious enlightenment.
And every night, after he came all over his own stomach, out of breath and guilt-ridden, he’d sigh dramatically and say,
“I’m going to die alone. I know it. I’ll be the guy with the Zero Two body pillow and the unopened condom pack from 2017 that he keeps in case of a miracle.”
He did not, under any circumstances, expect you to be that miracle.
Never in a million years did he think he’d actually have a chance, let alone be dating you. You were just too perfect. The literal girl of his dreams.
Popular. Gorgeous. Cool in the kind of way that made any and everyone want to be around you without knowing why. You had that magnetic charm about you, an easily contagious laugh, a confident stride when you walk, and that dangerous habit of licking your lip gloss mid-sentence like you were in a CW drama.
And yet, somehow, here he was, currently horizontal on his bed, shirtless, breathless, with you on top of him wearing his oversized Bleach t-shirt and not much else, grinning like you’d just won first place in a science fair and a dance battle.
“Are you glitching?” You asked, poking his cheek. “Do I need to unplug you and plug you back in?”
“I- uh- w-what? No- yes? No.” He stuttered like every word had just magically left his vocabulary, he was definitely malfunctioning.
You laughed, head dropping onto his bare chest as he laid stiff as a board, arms hovering midair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you even now. Even after dating you for a whole month.
“A month,” he whispered, still stunned by the timeline. “That’s like… thirty days of you voluntarily being seen with me.”
“Thirty one,” you corrected, lifting your head to smirk down at him. “Don’t forget the bonus day where you kissed me in front of the vending machine and the entire basketball team clapped.”
“I thought I was going to throw up.”
“You looked like you did throw up.”
Jisung covered his face with both hands and groaned.
God, he still didn’t know how this happened. When you had asked him to tutor you in stats, he assumed you were just kidding— or high. But you weren’t. You’d actually shown up. You’d flirted, sat on his lap one time when all the seats were taken at the library, and then acted like it was no big deal while his soul left his body.
And now here you were. Straddling him. Teasing him. Literally wearing his t-shirt with the anime print on it and calling him “baby” in the kind of voice that should be illegal.
“You’re so tense, Sungie,” you murmur, lightly dragging your fingers down his chest. “I know you like it when I touch you. You make these cute little gasps like a baby bird.”
“I-I don’t sound like a baby bird,” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like a baby bird.
You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Chirp.”
Jisung squeaked.
You lost it, giggling into his neck while he covered his blushy face with a pillow. “Oh my god, stopp- why are you like this- why did you choose me,”
“Because you’re smart, and sweet, and you get all flustered when I call you hot. And because,” you sat up again, hips rolling ever so slightly and watching his pupils blow wide as you rocked against his clothed erect, “you say things like ‘This is just like my fanfic’ under your breath and then deny it.”
He groaned at the sudden friction, arms falling limp at his sides. “You heard that?”
“Babe, I hear everything. Like right now, I can hear how bad you want me to ride you.” You bit your lip, feeling your wetness growing at a rapid pace as you continuously grind on him.
Jisung whimpered. “Okay. I- this is really happening, right? This isn’t like, some kind of VR dream or like a… cursed hentai plotline where I wake up and you’re actually a sentient toaster?”
You blinked. “What the hell kind of anime are you watching?”
He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that..”
You kissed him then. Slowly. Tenderly. Like you had all the time in the world and like you couldn’t believe your luck either. Because yeah, you were the cool girl, but Jisung was the first guy who actually listened when you talked. Who remembered your favorite boba order. Who’d stayed up until 3 am tutoring you and still walked you to your dorm with sleepy, nerdy affection twinkling in his eyes.
So yeah, you were gonna roast him forever— but you were also gonna ruin him tonight.
“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching down to tug his sweatpants lower.
Jisung was in the midst of catching his breath like he’d just run a marathon. “Y-yeah?”
“After I make you cum, will you tell me all about the sentient toaster anime?”
“…Maybe.”
+
“Okay,” Jisung panted, curling into your side like a baby koala clinging to its mother, “that was better than every hentai I’ve ever seen.”
You snorted into his shoulder. “High praise coming from the man who owns a $300 body pillow.”
“She was limited edition!” He quickly defends himself.
You playfully roll your eyes, kissing his flushed cheek. “So are you, Sungie. So are you.”
And yeah, Jisung still thought he was going to die a virgin once upon a time.
But now, wrapped in your arms with kiss marks littering his neck and your laughter still echoing in his ears— he was just really, really glad that he’s been proven wrong.
+
The moment you straddled Jisung and kissed him again, something shifted in the room.
And not just him having an outer-body experience for the sixth time in an hour.
You pulled back from his lips to look around, and the first thing you said was, “Okay, I have to say it- your room is the most aggressively virgin-coded space I’ve ever been in.”
“I told you not to look too closely!” He whined, burying his face into your neck as you giggled and craned to inspect the chaos surrounding you.
“Let’s see…” you started ticking things off on your imaginary list. “Anime wall scrolls? Check. Neon RGB light strips that make your room look like a gaming dungeon? Check. Is that Hatsune Miku in a glass case next to middle school spelling bee trophies?”
He groaned. “They’re collector’s items—”
“You were runner-up in 8th grade and you framed it.”
“I peaked early, okay?!”
You laughed so hard you fell forward onto his chest. “I love you.”
He froze. “Wh-what?”
You blinked. “I said I love you.”
He looked like you’d just offered him a lifetime supply of ramen and also stabbed him in the heart.
“…I love you too,” he whispered, barely getting it out before he hid under the covers.
You tugged the blanket back down just enough to see his red face. “Hey. Don’t hide. I wanna see you. Look so pretty when you blush.”
“PRETTY?!” He yelped.
You nodded in confirmation, brushing hair off his forehead. “Mmhm. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Especially like this- messy hair, pink cheeks, all breathless under me…”
He made the most broken noise you’d ever heard.
His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying not to crush you or himself with how desperate he felt. His eyes were dark now, glazed and locked onto your every move as you slowly ground against the bulge in his sweats.
“This is real, right?” He meant to ask that in his head but blurted it out instead, voice slightly cracking. “This is really happening?”
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty real to me, baby.”
At this point Jisung was spiraling.
Not just emotionally. No, that happened daily.
This was a full-system shutdown.
You’d tugged your shirt off without warning and smiled down at him like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now his hands were hovering awkwardly mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to touch you or if he was being Punk’d by the gods of horny delusion.
Your skin. Your smile. Your fucking tits.
And worse— worse— as your fingers brushed through his messy brown locks and your thighs shifted over his hips, his brain suddenly screamed,
‘I can’t believe I’m about to get pussy before Jeongin.’
Jeongin, his slightly cooler, slightly taller, still-a-virgin roommate who had three rotating Discord kittens and a suspicious amount of cologne but somehow still never scored.
Jeongin, who walked around shirtless after push-up sessions and said things like “it’s not rizz, it’s charisma” unironically. Jeongin, who once said “I want my first time to be passionate and respectful” but also accidentally downloaded a virus trying to pirate a hentai dating sim.
Jisung had always assumed if one of them was gonna make it out of virginhood first, it’d be the guy with the Uzumaki clan symbol tattooed on his ribs and a social life.
But no.
It was him. Han Jisung. The guy who owned a limited-edition anime titty mousepad and squeaked like a kettle when a girl touched his arm. And now? You were grinding up against him slowly, teasingly, and he was barely clinging to reality.
“Y/n,” he whimpered, clutching your waist like you’d float away. “Can I- can I eat you out? Pleasepleaseplease.”
You blinked rapidly.
“…You wanna—?”
“So bad,” he choked. “I think about it all the time. Like in class. And when I watch those ‘how to’ videos online. Like, the diagram ones, not the porn ones, though I watched those too- but like educationally! For science!”
You stared blankly.
He was sweating.
“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re really cute when you beg, y’know that?”
He nearly ascended.
You barely had time to giggle before he flipped you gently onto your back, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked down between your thighs like a man on a mission from God. His hands trembled as he slid your shorts down, breath hitching at the sight of your soaked panties.
“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “It’s real.”
You snorted. “What were you expecting? A hologram?”
“I don’t know!” He cried. “I was starting to believe you were some kind of high-level succubus sent to punish virgins.”
You cupped his flushed face. “Wouldn’t be the worst punishment.”
And then he locks in— eyes meeting yours as he sticks his tongue out, licking a long, fat stripe across your clothed slit. Soft. Slow. As if he was trying to memorize you with his tongue, the heat of it makes you jolt. He’s not just tasting you— he’s learning you, tracing intricate patterns with his tongue like he’s trying to decode you one flick at a time. Every motion is precise yet hungry, like he’s writing a love letter in Morse code directly to your pussy. His glasses slipping adorably down the bridge of his nose, solely focused on pleasing you.
You gasped at the feel of him against you, the pressure of his mouth sent heat curling low in your belly, it was torture. Too much and not enough. You needed to feel him without the barrier of soaked lace clinging to your folds, and he must’ve read your mind, because he groaned like he was the one being denied. He kissed your pussy like he was thanking it, mouthing over your clothed core before dragging open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, leaving your skin slick with spit and bites to your inner thighs. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, everything about him felt so warm.
His teeth grazed you— playful, hungry— and your hips twitched as he whispered something nasty under his breath, half to himself, half to your cunt. By the time he slid your panties down, your thighs were trembling, tossing the flimsy fabric aside carelessly, like he didn’t care where they landed, only that they were gone. Then he buried his face between your legs like you’d been starving him for his entire life.
His tongue slipped between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping up everything you gave him like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He flicked up and down with obscene precision, wet, messy, relentless— his nose bumping your clit as he moaned deep in his throat, like he needed this, like the taste of you could make or break him. You were soaked, legs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, and all he did was keep eating like he was trying to crawl inside you with his tongue.
You were loving the way it feels, every bit of you being hit with electricity. Your fingers tangled in his hair the second his mouth met your pussy, gripping tight, yanking just enough to make him groan into you like he was grateful for the pain. He never slowed down. If anything, it made him hungrier, tongue flattening against your slit before flicking up again, sloppy and fast and fucking filthy.
“God- fuck, you’re so messy,” you gasped, thighs twitching around his head. “You like that? Being my dirty little mouth toy?”
He moaned. Moaned. Into your pussy.
Nodding obediently, even as you tugged harder, grinding him closer. His glasses were long gone, hair disheveled, chin dripping with spit and slick as he slurred out something unintelligible against your clit. His tongue working overtime like he was trying to spell your name in cursive with every flick.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, words caught in his throat. “I could live here.”
You threw your head back with a laugh— and then a sharp gasp as he got bolder, messier, more desperate. His hands kept you spread, his tongue curling and licking and worshipping like this was the only chance he’d ever get. He was sure that he’d jizz his pants just from giving you head— sure it’s pathetic, maybe even tragic. But he couldn’t help it. You were just too hot, too perfect, too fucking unreal, and the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs squeezing around his head, it was better than anything his fist or filthy imagination had ever given him.
Your fingers remain tangled in his hair, holding onto him for anchorage. He looked up at you with glassy, pleading eyes, the lower half of his face glistening with your arousal and rosy cheeks. “Tell me I’m doing okay? Please? I read five articles about this. I practiced on a peach.”
You gasped. “You practiced on what?!”
“Nevermind. Just- keep calling me pretty. I swear I’ll die happy right here.”
You tugged his head back down, voice ragged and ruined.
“Then make me cum, pretty boy.”
And he did.
Like a man with something to prove.
Like a nerdy little virgin who had just found his true calling.
Your eyes closed shut at the feeling, falling apart at the seams. Every stroke of his tongue making your insides tighten. You suddenly couldn’t remember how breathing worked, all you saw were flashes of white invading your vision, cumming so hard that you almost saw stars. You cried out, high and broken, hands grasping at his head as you came hard against his mouth.
Jisung moaned through it— loud and messy— tongue never letting up, licking you through every twitch, every gasp, every last jolt of overstimulation until you were tugging at his hair for dear life and gasping for air. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded, face absolutely drenched, and smiling like he just beat the final boss of his entire life.
Somewhere in the past twenty minutes between Jisung nuzzling your thighs like a man starved and moaning like he was the one cumming, you had apparently blacked out, transcended the mortal plane, and been reborn as a puddle of girl.
Now, you lay sprawled across his unmade bed, fully clothed from the waist up and violently ruined from the waist down, chest heaving, eyes wet and glassy, one sock half-off your foot like a casualty of war.
And Jisung?
Jisung was cuddled up beside you like the world’s horniest golden retriever, chin resting on your shoulder, looking so smug and soft it was almost offensive.
You could still feel the ghost of his tongue between your legs.
“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You croaked out, blinking up at the ceiling like it had answers.
Jisung tilted his head innocently. “What, that? Nah. I just… researched. A lot. And I… uh, practiced on a fruit.”
You turned your head slowly. “Was it the peach again?”
“…It might’ve also been a mango. For tongue agility. But I named it after you, so it was romantic!”
You tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. “I can’t feel my legs, Jisung.”
He beamed. “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Still taking it as one.”
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire nervous system with his mouth.
“I feel like I just unlocked a secret side quest,” he victoriously cheered. “‘Satisfy hot girlfriend until she sees God.’ Bonus XP for oral stamina. Am I your favorite now?”
You blinked at him, still fighting for air. “I don’t even know my name right now. You’ve ruined me.”
Jisung squeaked and tucked his face into your neck, practically vibrating with joy. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“You should. I saw the afterlife. It was just a video game buffering screen.”
He laughed, then rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re real. Your thighs are real. I had a girlfriend and head privileges all in the same night. I feel like I need to call my mom.”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late. She deserves to know her son peaked.”
You smacked him lightly with the nearest pillow, still grasping for air, still dazed.
And then he smiled at you— so big, so genuine, so sickeningly in love that your tired heart clenched.
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y’know,” he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. “Just say the word.”
You looked at him, the boy with anime figures on his shelf, lotion still on his desk, and love in his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss.
“Next time,” you whispered, “I’m returning the favor.”
Mindlessly reaching into his sweats, the second your hand wrapped around his length, you froze.
“…Jisung.”
“H-huh?”
You gave a blank expression. Looking down. Looking back up.
“This is- you’re.. how is this even—?”
“I DON’T KNOW,” he cried. “IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE, I’M ONLY 5’7!”
You stared at him like he just told you he had a second life as a Marvel superhero.
“Oh my god, I just assumed you’d be, like—”
“Average?!” He gasped, scandalized.
“No! I just- I mean- look at you! You’re this cute little nerd with anime socks and a keyboard with cat ears.. how are you packing all this?!”
You were in utter disbelief, there’s no way your sweet, stammering little boyfriend had been walking around with a dick that big and had no idea what kind of weapon he was carrying. Just raw, untapped dick potential— XL stats on a man who still apologizes when his knees crack too loud. Poor baby had been lugging around a whole third leg, and didn’t even know the first thing to do with it ;(
He simply shook his head, fully tomato red now, flailing beneath you like he was about to spontaneously combust. He watched you like he was afraid to blink. You pumped him once, slowly, watching him shiver under your touch. His lips parted. His back arched. You hadn’t even gotten started and he already looked completely ruined.
“Can I ride you?” You asked sweetly.
He nodded so fast his head could nearly fell off. “Yes. Yes, oh my god, yes- please, I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” You cocked your eyebrow.
“I’ll uninstall League right now if you ask me to—”
You giggled as you rolled the condom down over him, letting his hands greedily grab at your thighs. He was panting, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, like his brain was overheating just from the anticipation.
Then you finally lowered yourself, sinking down onto him, gradually, feeling the way you take him so easily from being soaking wet. Jisung mumbles something illegible under his breath as your cunt swallows his cock whole. It didn’t take long for you to reach the end of him since you were already so ready for him, staying in the same position to feel all of him inside you. His cock was splitting you open so nicely, it felt like you were in utter paradise.
And he made the sound.
Like his soul physically left his body, floated into the air, and gave you a salute on the way out.
“F-fuck.. you’re tight, I can’t—” he clutched your waist, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go.” He desperately bucks into you, wanting to feel more movement from you.
You move your hips to match his rhythm as you gain your balance, pressing both hands on his shoulder blades. You bounce slightly up and down on his cock, feeling your walls being filled up by every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him real slow to picking up your pace indefinitely. Jisung threw his head back against the pillow from the pleasure, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass with the combination of it jiggling as you rode him like a bunny was enough to make him want to burst on the spot.
You leaned down and give him a chaste kiss. “Best way to go, huh?”
He nods vehemently. “Please don’t stop. Ever. I’ll cancel my Crunchyroll subscription for you. I’ll stop buying figurines. I’ll even delete my Genshin account.”
“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”
He groaned helplessly as you continuously rode him like your life depended on it, breath hitching with every drag of your hips. He was so sensitive, so overwhelmed with it all that he couldn’t stop moaning into your mouth, mumbling broken, incoherent things like, “You feel soso good,” and “I can’t believe I get to have this,” and “Am I still breathing? No? Cool.”
You kissed down his jaw, showing no signs of stopping. You knew this was going to be one of those moments you’d both play on loop in your heads for a long, long time. “Still pretty, baby.”
He pants out. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You simply keep moaning as you kept bouncing on his cock, he was thrusting back into you, going even deeper. Your eyes reaching the back of your skull from the way he was hitting all the right spots. It wouldn’t take long before you started screaming his name and showering him with endless compliments.
“You’re so fucking pretty, Ji.” You were a broken record at this point, nothing but your whines and his grunts filling the room. You felt tense, your clit was throbbing, the pressure build up making you dizzy. Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes off you for a second, the way your tits bounced through your shirt, the way your long acrylics dug into his skin, he wasn’t even sure how he was still alive.
This was better than any of those fake scenarios that he’d absentmindedly create in his head, better than finally beating a level that he’d get stuck on for hours. He was in pure heaven, and he felt his high approaching any minute.
“I-I think ’m gonna cum,” he desperately choked out, rocking into you like a dog in heat.
Jisung was wrecked beneath you. Hands fisting into the sheets, mouth agape, his eyes rolling back every time you sank down fully and clenched around him.
“Fuck, please- please, I-I can’t,” he whimpered, voice shaky, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach tightening with every motion, trying so hard not to lose it.
You leaned forward and cupped his face, riding him a little harder, the slap of skin soft but steady. “You said you could take it, baby,” you whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “You begged for this.”
“I know, I- just- pleaseplease can I cum?” he panted, nearly on the verge of tears. His voice was raw, wrecked, like every second you didn’t let him was a cruel punishment. “’m so close, I’m- I’ll be good, I swear, just let me.. please—”
You seal his lips with yours, just to quiet the begging, grinning against his mouth as his hands fumbled for your hips again. He moaned into the kiss, his hips twitching helplessly under yours.
“You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg,” you airly chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at him. His eyes were wild, glazed over, the pretty sounds he made were like music to your ears.
“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, the gratitude in his voice borderline ridiculous. “’m gonna- I’m- oh my god—”
And with that, he finally let go. Releasing every last drop of his seed into the condom, muscles tensing up, gripping you like you were his only tether to reality. He looked down to see your arousal creating a white, creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, almost about to cum again just from the mere sight alone. Your legs felt like jello, you were weightless, collapsing onto his sweaty, sticky chest as you try to catch your breath, brain all foggy in your post-coital daze.
You didn’t expect him to cry.
Okay— not, like, full sobbing. But a little misty-eyed? A little “what did I do to deserve this?” A sparkle in his gaze as you lay draped across his chest, both of you blissed out and glowing in the soft, RGB-lit afterglow?
Yeah.
He was trying so hard not to sniffle.
“You okay, baby?” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw.
Jisung nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “I just… I thought my first time would be like, awkward. Or disappointing. Or I’d accidentally sneeze into someone’s mouth and get banned from touching boobs forever.”
You laughed against his skin. “Definitely didn’t happen.”
“No,” he grins, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “this was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined in my head. Better than my first SSR pull in Genshin. Better than when I tried the seasonal spicy chicken ramen and lived.”
You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty long list of victories to beat.”
“You’re the only victory that matters.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned playfully, “who is this smooth man and what has he done with my sweaty, anime-obsessed virgin boyfriend?”
He huffed, burying his face into your hair. “He’s still sweaty and obsessed with anime. He just… also happens to be madly in love with you.”
You smiled into his chest.
“Also,” he added, completely deadpan, “I think I saw the shadow realm.”
You snorted. “When?”
“When you said I was pretty and grabbed my—” His voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t say it. My ancestors are watching.”
You giggled, shifting to lay next to him and intertwining your fingers with his.
And for a while, it was just quiet. Safe. His hand slowly brushing over your side. Your heartbeat syncing with his. The faint whir of his PC fan still spinning in the corner because, of course, he never actually shut it down.
Then he jolted upright suddenly, as if he remembered something urgent.
“Wait.”
You blinked up at him, amused. “What?”
He slid off the bed, naked except for one, singular sock and scurried to his cluttered desk. You watched, dazed and curious, as he fumbled with drawers and cracked open a cabinet that definitely shouldn’t have had food in it.
Finally, he turned around triumphantly. Holding out a white, rectangular box.
“Pocky.”
You stared. “…Seriously?”
“I always imagined I’d give my girlfriend Pocky after her first time with me,” he said solemnly. “Like a weird little anime reward.”
You sat up and grinned. “You are a weird little anime reward.”
He climbed back into bed beside you and opened the box, pulling out one, white chocolate-dipped stick and offering it with both hands like it was a sacred gift.
You bit it gently from his fingers.
“Mmm. You’re such a good boy,” you purred with a playful smile, “giving me snacks after ruining me.”
He short-circuited. Almost choking on his own Pocky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I hope so.”
You kissed his cheek, then his nose, and then— just to mess with him— you whispered, “Still thinking about how big you are, by the way.”
Jisung made a noise so high-pitched it could only be heard by dogs. He flopped face down into the sheets, flailing helplessly while you laughed and straddled his back.
“You have to stop saying things like that,” he muffled into the pillow.
“Why?” You asked sweetly, brushing his hair back. “You’re my pretty boy. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”
He peeked up at you, still pink, still glowing.
“…Promise you’re mine too?”
You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, soft and slow.
w.c: 3.3k (porn with a microscopic amount of plot)
warnings: dom! yunho, sub! reader, venom should have his own warning bc bro is NASTYY (so is yuyu 🤝🏻), partial mind manipulation? on yunho’s part? bc venom is in his head? idk, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, teasing, fingering, hand kink….,, SIZE KINK., manhandling, pussy eating, tongue kink, raw feral sex (doggy + missionary), bro has a monster cock, also monster fucking!! bc venom takes over <3, cum eating, breeding kink, bulge kink, dacryphilia, mind break, record breaking creampie
a/n: listen …….i LOVE venom, the things i would let venom do to me would set humanity back at least fifty years. NOW VENOM YUNHO ON THE OTHER HAND,, oh boy. boyyyy oh boy. i don’t think i have to explain myself when it comes to that combination bc this fic speaks for itself lol. are you curious now? why don’t you give it a peek then, hm? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ and then lemme know what you thought of it pretty please? <3
song rec: new woman - lisa feat. rosalía (get it bc he’s a new man - bc of venom - 😼)
fictober 2024
“And just where have you been, Jeong Yunho?” you asked your boyfriend in a more teasing manner than anything, once he snuck in past the sliding glass door of the balcony, getting up from the couch you were waiting restlessly on. When he stood there silently just looking at you through the white eye shaped sections of his mask, you pouted, nervously wrapping a lock of hair around your finger. “Just be honest with me and I won’t be mad, okay?”
Despite the lack of sleep, you were ready for him this time. He wasn’t about to casually sneak in or out of the house another night that week without you catching him. Usually, you wouldn’t have been concerned because you were used to him being gone when there was crime taking place or a super villain that needed to be brought to justice, but recently…your boyfriend was acting strange. He was starting to become moody and secretive, opting to brush you off when you asked him about it. Yunho had even taken up using substances in his free time, finding him drunk or high off his ass in the apartment when you got home from work. The final straw was when you came home one night to find him in the kitchen with freshly dyed hair and new piercings he had given himself, a few empty boxes of black hair dye and bloody safety pins laying haphazardly on the kitchen counter.
Yunho took off his mask and rubbed at his eyes like he was tired, leaving a bit of smeared eyeliner underneath them, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his frayed jacket, the one that was slightly zipped just enough to cover his iconic red suit.
“She knows about us,” said the annoying parasite that had just recently made a home inside him. “We should eat her.”
“No, I’m not doing that,” Yunho grumbled, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.
You walked up to him, gently putting a hand on his chest. “Yun, I just wanna know where you were at, that’s all. You know I respect your space,” you murmured, your pout growing slightly, your eyebrows upturned with concern.
“She’s looking at us with those big round eyes again, Yunho,” Venom told his host, letting out a disgusting groan only he could hear. “It’s gonna make us hard. If we’re not going to eat her, let’s fuck her, at least.”
“Mingi asked me to take care of some douchebags that had been causing trouble at that new club he works at. That’s all, baby,” Yunho replied softly, reaching down to press the back of his hand against your cheek, before cupping it. He noticed the teary look inside your doe eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”
You nuzzled into his big warm hand, before reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck to hold your boyfriend close. “I’m fine…I’ve just been worried about you, Yun. You’ve been acting a bit…different.”
“Let’s show her just how different we’ve become, Yunho,” Venom egged him on, knowing Yunho could feel just how much he wanted to break through the barrier of his host’s mind and take control. “She’ll love it.”
How could he possibly explain to you that he was always in a never ending battle with a frightening otherworldly parasite that had found its way inside of him? You would be so scared and disgusted, you’d probably never trust him again. He couldn’t risk losing you, not when you were his only anchor to the normal life he desperately craved, and the first person he’s ever felt this strongly about.
“I’m just going through a phase, I think,” Yunho expressed wholeheartedly, resting his hands around your waist, his thumbs slightly pressing into your hip bones through your sleep shirt, feeling just how delicate you truly were. You were so small compared to him, practically swimming in one of his band t-shirts that you regularly wore to bed; you were so tiny and cute, and…”Malleable,” Venom finished. Yunho couldn’t tell if the parasite was influencing all of his thoughts or if he was just that perverted.
“Do you wanna talk about it, Yun?” You pressed yourself closer to Yunho, feeling his large hands enclose around your small waist, making you feel a bit dizzy. When he shook his head, you tilted yours, wondering if what you felt pushing against your middle was exactly what you thought it was. “Or, do you want to take me to bed?”
It had felt like forever since Yunho had touched you, kissed you even. You had almost forgotten what it was like to feel him inside you, filling you up over and over again until his love spilled out. Just the thought alone made your body begin to overheat. Was it wrong of you to take his simple answer at face value rather than push the issue, instead of letting him push you back into the wall of the hallway? You weren’t sure, but you were just grateful that your boyfriend still wanted you like this.
“Did punching those guys at the club make you this horny?” you asked playfully, a sudden shiver of pleasure shooting up your spine when Yunho’s warm hands snaked up underneath your shirt and began groping at your tits.
“So horny,” Yunho joked back, a shaky exhale escaping his bobbing throat as he swallowed.
“Nnngh, I didn’t know fighting crime did it for you, Yun.”
“Knowing I’m already getting your little pussy wet just from this is what’s doing it for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, having to practically lower himself to your height just to do so, able to clearly hear the breathless moan that left your lips. Yunho was already breathing hard, his mind swimming with constant racing thoughts that all pertained to his pretty little girlfriend and what he was going to do to you, squishing your soft flesh in between his slender fingers, using his thumbs to rub your hardening nipples in teasing circles.
It had felt like eternity since Yunho had allowed himself to feel you underneath his touch, to even simply look at you with unbridled lust. He wanted to see all of you, witness the way you completely opened yourself up to him. It was driving him insane. Was it selfish of him to give into temptation when there was something else living inside him? Something that he knew was taking even more pleasure in this than he was? He wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew it was far too late to stop now.
“Let us see her tits, Yunho, they feel so nice inside our hands, we need to see,” Venom demanded, desperately shaking the bars of his figurative cage.
When Yunho tugged your shirt up and over your tits, your gasp became muffled, your eyes widening as he stuffed the hem of the shirt into your mouth. You were going to close your legs to keep your arousal from spilling down your thighs, but your eager boyfriend pushed his larger one in between them.
“You’re so pretty, angel,” Yunho cooed softly, admiring the way you began to grind your cunt against his thigh, despite the sheepish expression you offered him, a bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth from witnessing such a display of pure desperation. “Look at you go…rubbing yourself all over my thigh like a horny little slut.”
“N-not a slut,” you whimpered softly, his insult causing a fresh wave of slick to leak out onto Yunho’s torn jeans. “Just need you, Yuyu.”
“Her breeding hole needs to be trained to handle my size. Do it now,” Venom growled into Yunho’s mind, growing more and more demanding by the second, very aware that his host was starting to lose control of himself.
“Yeah? How about this?” Yunho pulled your panties to the side so that he could watch as your greedy cunt swallowed up one of his long, bony fingers to the knuckle. “Is that enough, baby?”
“I meant with your human sized cock, you insufferable prick,” Venom chided, simply not understanding the pleasurable benefits that prolonged foreplay could offer being the inhibited hothead that he was.
Something about the way Yunho was taking his time with unraveling you, the way he was drinking in the sight of your bare body with pure lust inside his dilated eyes, all while he had one of his digits plunged inside you. It made you pulse and squeeze around it. “F-full.”
“But I barely fit one finger inside you, sweetheart. What’ll happen if I put another?” Yunho suddenly tugged your borrowed t-shirt up and over your head, leaning in close to your face to catch the way your breath hitched as soon as he slipped another finger inside, curling them just enough to hit your sweet spot each time he finger-fucked you, earning a few whiny moans from his beloved girlfriend. “Oh, that’s right. You turn into my little sex toy, don’t you?”
“Y-esss, Yuyu, just for you, fuck,” you cried out, hooking your arms around his neck to keep yourself from completely melting into the floor.
“That’s a good girl,” he groaned into your ear, quickly stuffing his thick digits into you, unable to get Venom’s ungodly thoughts out of his head all the while, unable to keep himself from shoving a third finger into you, your slick walls pulsating around him. “You think you’re feeling full now…just wait till my cock’s inside you.”
Gasping, your nails dug into his back through his clothes. “Oh my god, Yunho, give it to me, please, please, please,” you whined breathlessly into his neck, trembling in his arms as overwhelming pleasure washed over you. “N-need your cock in me.”
“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re already begging to be fucked like that. I almost forgot how much of a needy little slut you are when you need cock. You like the thought of me stretching out your little pussy that much, huh?” He smiled against your heated skin when you whimpered and nodded eagerly, not allowing you to witness the brief moment his eyes turned completely black. “I just might split you open.”
You almost didn’t recognize your boyfriend when he tossed you onto your shared bed like you weighed close to nothing, and you certainly didn’t recognize him when he manipulated your limbs until you were laying with your head down against the mattress and your ass up in the air. Usually, he wanted to do missionary, so that he could kiss and look at you when you both came undone, but now, now he had you in a position that was apparently ‘perfect for breeding’, or at least, that’s what you thought you had heard him mumbling about from behind you.
“Now’s the time, human. We must show her how great we are,” the alien reminded Yunho, delighted that his black parasitic poison was now making its way through his host’s veins, showing up from underneath his milky skin. It was changing him in ways that would most definitely benefit all three of you.
Yunho squeezed his large hands into the sides of your ass and spread it open, hyper focused on your dripping cunt and how it struggled to accommodate his obscene size. “Poor baby’s so tiny, my little princess can barely take me inside her pretty cunt,” he sighed, pulling out just enough to send a few strands of spit onto his own cock, lubing up the base of it and pushing back in, a shiver of pleasure shooting up his spine as soon as he heard the broken cry that left your drooling mouth. “Looks like we’re going to have to break you in.”
You felt like you were losing your mind. Your boyfriend had just barely bottomed out inside of you and you were already about to cream yourself. And, it might’ve been the cock drunk state you were in, but you swore to god that his dick got bigger. It felt like it was kissing your cervix already and he hadn’t even moved yet. Not to mention, it felt so hot inside you, and there was so much pre-cum coating your walls, you almost thought he had came prematurely, but he would’ve been asleep and snoring away already if he did.
Yunho violently interrupted your train of thought by slamming his hips forward, letting out a deep, long groan as though he were experiencing euphoria. He grabbed your wrists and held them behind your back, tucking them together so that he could hold them both with one large hand, and quickly got to work, yanking you back onto his cock, using you like his own personal sex doll. “That’s fucking it, isn’t it, angel? You like that? You fucking like that?”
“Yeah, fuck me,” you moaned back, realizing this ‘phase’ of Yunho’s was one of the best things that could’ve ever happened to the both of you, previously unaware that something this rough, something this animalistic, could feel as good as it did.
“She’s ours, she’s ours, Yunho, fuck, we’re going to cum inside her,” Venom blissfully announced into Yunho’s head, fully taking over his host in that very instant, gracing Yunho with the symbiote’s much more endowed features.
It was then that you let out a sudden gasp, the air that quickly filled your lungs leaving as a wavering moan of pleasure instead. It was almost as if Yunho’s cock had grown twice in size. You didn’t even know how that was possible, but you were too lost in the moment to question it. “So big, it’s so fucking big, Yunho, nnnngh, it’s gonna break me,” you exhaled, quickly pulling at the sheets once he gifted you partial physical autonomy, your eyes beginning to disappear underneath your eyelashes.
“That’s right, pretty girl, and you’re going to keep taking it all, even after I’m done impregnating you,” Yunho agreed huskily, bending over you until his overheated body pressed into your shoulders and back, his long fingers curling around the softness of your hips. Just as his never ending seed spilled into you and made its way into your womb, Yunho dragged his long tongue up in between your straining shoulder blades and along your neck, savoring your flavor. He truly wanted to eat you, unable to stop drooling, but the annoying mortal he shared this body with wouldn’t let him. Venom figured he would have to settle for the next best thing.
You didn’t even have a chance to finish shaking, let alone take a breath, before you were being lifted up and lowered back down onto your boyfriend’s face, your cunt fitting snugly between the curves of Yunho’s lips and nose. Just as he lapped at your extremely sensitive clit and slit, you couldn’t help but jolt away, his forearms suddenly locking tightly around your middle. “O-oh…!”
“Hold still. Need a taste of this pretty cunt,” Yunho growled under his breath, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide enough so that he could explore the entirety of your used cunt, licking and drinking up the mixed arousal that spilled out of you to his heart’s content.
“Y-yunhooo,” you whined pathetically, reaching forward to hold onto the headboard to keep yourself from passing out from the pleasure that was overloading your mind, looking down to watch how he eagerly nosed at your clit. “Fuck, i’ll cum again…”
“Then, do it, princess.” Just as he swallowed down more of your wetness, he realized it wasn’t enough, unable to keep himself from sliding the entirety of his tongue inside you, feeling you clench around the base of it.
“Oh my god, your tongue, it’s so–haaaah,” you reacted breathlessly, digging your nails into the wood of the headboard, the longer his serpent-like tongue slithered in and out of you so seamlessly, unable to fully understand how any of this was possible. When the thickest part of his appendage rubbed at your g-spot, you saw white around your vision, your ears ringing, unable to hear the filthy slurping sounds Yunho was making underneath you as he drank up your squirt.
When you came to, you were back underneath Yunho, in the missionary position he loved so much, yet this time it was profoundly different. His eyes were as dark as his freshly dyed hair, one corner of his mouth split open, inviting a myriad of long, serrated fangs, all while black wispy tendrils clung onto one side of his face like a second skin. You realized too late why Yunho was acting so out of character, and that you were never actually alone with him the past few weeks. You had an uninvited guest, an alien symbiote known as Venom, to be exact — and here you were, face to face with him, his disgustingly oversized cock stretching you wide open.
“Oh god, you’re actually going to split me open, what the fuck,” you gasped sharply, clutching the sides of Yunho’s cheeks, your fingers tugging at the ends of his sweaty hair.
“Silly human, as much as we’d enjoy seeing that, you won’t split apart. You have a prime body for breeding, didn’t you know?” he chuckled darkly in a two-toned voice, pressing his hand down into your abdomen to feel the sheer size of himself protruding through your lower belly each time his hips routinely smacked into yours. “We knew Spider-man’s pretty little girlfriend would make a perfect host for our offspring. Just look at you, you’re taking us so well.”
You didn’t know what was going to break your mind first, the fact that you were essentially being used as a breeding tool for an alien that would take great pleasure in swallowing you whole, or the fact that your cunt was eagerly swallowing up something so absurdly large, its heavy girth and width stretching you so wide, it felt as though you would fall apart at any given time. Despite the insanity of it all, your body and mind welcomed it, creaming yourself on his alien cock.
“Good girlll,” Yunho praised, letting his long slimy tongue slip out to lick up the side of your cheek until he tasted the salt from the tears that fell down your face. He fully sheathed himself inside you one last time, before his large hands cemented around your waist, holding you completely still as his hot load joined the other one he had previously fucked into you, his heavy breaths warming the skin of your neck. “That’s it, princess, take it all, just like that…”
You could hardly breathe, let alone move, simply laying still in your boyfriend’s arms, taking everything he gave you, as wave after wave of cum coated the insides of your aching cunt and flooded womb, some of it spilling down the insides of your legs and dripping onto the stained sheets below. It felt so good to be filled up in such a way that you came again without direct stimulation, letting out a broken cry, before Yunho silenced you with a kiss.
When you opened your teary eyes, your boyfriend’s previously monstrous traits were gone, instead replaced with his usual soft, flushed features that you adored so much. You watched him open and close his mouth, as if he didn’t know what to say. You pressed another kiss to his lips, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Should we go to the drugstore to get Plan B?”
Yunho gave you a goofy, though apologetic smile, leaning his face into your neck to give it a few kisses. He pulled himself back up to face you, his eyebrows upturned. “D-do you think it would work on an alien symbiote?”
You patted his head, knowing what you signed up for when you decided to date the Spider-man, figuring one of his superhero friends would have a solution for the both of you. You gave him a soft smile, happy when he returned it. “If not, let’s get a refund.”
genre: non idol!au, college!au, fluff, kind of a slow burn with a very happy ending, mutual pining!!!!!!!! he falls first and hard, she too falls hard and fast :)))
word count: 25k, deadass.
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warnings: acquaintances to lovers, economics jumpscare, reader is a tutor and mingi is your not so average frat dude that does an athletic scholarship, eventual smut, praise kink!!!!!, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dry humping, lowk breeding kink mingi freaky, switch!mingi & reader, softdom!mingi, spanking (?), possessive!mingi, cockwarming (a lil!) / lmk if i missed any!
author's note: guys i finally locked in!!! this story has been such a bitch to write but i'm finally happy with it lmfaoaoo. the only reason why it took so long its cause i deadass remembered all my econ concepts from my first year at uni and i got flashbacks sooooo. if its inaccurate don't come for me. also ngl mingi ain't even that much of a fratboy, he is but he's a little nerd!! you'll see - i hope you guys enjoy!!
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
You hear him before you see him. The sound is impossible to miss—someone’s torn the universe open and stuffed it with a live wire; the room buzzes, vibrates, orbits around a single axis. Song Mingi is that axis, black hair messy from hands that are never his own, smile bright enough to reflect off the bottles lining the kitchen counter. It’s the kind of house party that exists more as myth than reality until you’re standing in the middle of it, your feet sticky with last weekend’s spilled vodka, your ears ringing from bass and laughter and the high-pitched screeching of people who either want to be him or be with him.
You don’t want either. In fact, you don’t really want to be here, but your roommate insisted—a rare Friday night without any assignments due—and now she’s traded you for a swarm of sweaty college kids in the living room. You’re left clutching a warm can of seltzer, surveying the landscape like a tourist on safari: here, the drunken pack of freshman girls hunched over a phone for a group selfie; there, the duo of varsity rowers relishing about morning practice, each trying to outdo the other’s misery; everywhere, the constant, inescapable gravitational pull of him.
He’s posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. She’s whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. It’s a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingi’s eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that he’s already bored. He’s hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.
You’ve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but he’s never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.
But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.
You don’t realise it at first; you’re half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the university’s new housing policy for the department group chat. There’s a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guard—the pure concentration of it, as if he’s seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.
Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe it’s the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingi’s mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.
Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, “Didn’t think this was your scene.”
You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. “It really isn’t, my roommate dragged me out.”
He grins, all teeth and promise. “I have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someone’s Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if you’re still talking to Mingi. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. He asks what you’re studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.
“If this soccer thing doesn’t work out, I’ll intern at some start-up company,” he explained. “Or I’ll sell feet pics.”
You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you.
By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back again—at your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.
You leave before he does. There’s no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitations—just a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You don’t look back. By the time you’re out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like it’s starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.
Inside, though, Mingi doesn’t. He’s still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesn’t move—drink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.
A shoulder bumps into his.
“What’s with that look on your face?”
Mingi blinks, like he’s just been pulled back into the room. “What look?”
Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. “That look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.”
Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.
══════════════════
Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kim’s Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and you’ve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, you’re already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.
Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.
He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t his class, or at least it hasn’t been for the past six weeks. You’ve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if it’s magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday night’s—smaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until he’s standing right next to you.
“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.
You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. “So, how’d you find the party?”
The question is casual, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than he’s letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway?
“It was... something,” you reply, deliberately vague. “Though I’m surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.”
He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. “What, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?”
“The evidence suggested a statistical probability.”
“Maybe I’m an outlier.” He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—smelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. “Or I just needed the right motivation to show up.”
Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.
“Hey,” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying it’s unstable in the long run?”
The question catches you off guard—not because it’s difficult, but because it’s astute. “Because expectations adjust,” you whisper back. “Workers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.”
He nods, considering this. “So it’s only reliable as a short-term predictor?”
“Yeah, you got it.”
Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questions—thoughtful ones that reveal he’s not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though that’s undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.
“The Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,” he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t that contradict what we’re seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.”
You stare at him for a beat too long. “That’s... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.”
A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if he’s won something. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, you’ve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. He’s taken actual notes. He’s asked intelligent questions. He’s made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. It’s disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what you’re saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.
“So,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?”
The invitation is transparent—he doesn’t need your help understanding the Phillips curve—but there’s something almost endearing about his attempt.
“Is that your go-to line?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. “Pretend to need academic help to get a date?”
“Only with the smart ones.” His grins unapologetically. “Is it working?”
You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. “No. Nice try, though.”
Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.
“You know what this means, right?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Now I have to come up with something better for Wednesday’s class.”
“Wednesday’s class?” You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. “You’re coming back?”
Mingi looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Of course. I paid for this course, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, “I’ve got a new reason to show up now.”
Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, he’s backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.
“See you Wednesday,” he calls. “Maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered that coffee date.”
You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know you’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, you’re already wondering what he’ll come up with on Wednesday.
══════════════════
True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like you’re the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.
At first, you’re suspicious—waiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.
You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. He’ll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformation—how he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.
It’s Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. You’ve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.
“I need to ask you something,” he says, no preamble, no charming smile.
You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. “Okay?”
He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “I need a tutor.”
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesn’t come, you set down your pen. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been getting the material just fine.”
“No, I haven’t.” His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. “I’ve been barely keeping up. The midterm’s in two weeks, and I’m—“ He stops, jaw tightening. “I need to pass this class with at least a B+.”
“You’ve been answering questions in class,” you counter, confused by this sudden admission. “You made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.”
Mingi’s laugh is hollow. “Yeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Look—“ He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.”
You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. “Why are you telling me this now? And why me?”
“You’re the smartest person in this class. I–I don’t know who else to ask…” His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. “I think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.”
Something doesn’t add up. You’ve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. “I don’t understand–”
Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. “I’m on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.” He runs a hand over his face. “My advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I don’t get at least a B+ on this midterm, I’m screwed.”
The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didn’t expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, you’ve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny him— to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask, softer now.
“Because it’s embarrassing?” He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. I’ve been fighting it since high school.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.
“I can’t afford a professional tutor,” he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “Most of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.”
You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But there’s something about seeing him like this—defences down, pride set aside—that makes it difficult.
“If I do this,” you say slowly, “there would be conditions.”
Hope flickers across his face. “Name them.”
“First, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the cost—this is work, not charity.” You hold up a finger. “Second, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.” Another finger joins the first. “And third, no messing around. This isn’t a backdoor way to—I don’t know—whatever it is you might be thinking.”
“You think I’m using this as an excuse to hit on you?” For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. “That would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.”
“I’m serious, Mingi.”
“So am I.” The smile fades. “I need this scholarship. Please.”
You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. “Fine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.”
The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.
As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isn’t just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was real—you’re almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. You’ve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if you’re falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, you’re already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.
Surely, this little arrangement you have going on won’t be a mistake… Right?
══════════════════
You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. You’ve been overthinking this all day—wondering if he’ll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.
At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. He’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “The line at the café was insane.”
You eye the coffee sceptically. “Is this a bribe?”
He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. “No, it’s a thank you. Here, try this.” He slides one cup toward you. “Oh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because I’m starving.”
The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.
“S’alright, I wanted to.” He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. “So, where do we start?”
For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal he’s been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for.
“So if technological progress is exogenous in this model,” he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, “then what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?”
“Exactly.” You can’t help the surprise in your voice. “That’s one of the model’s main limitations. It doesn’t explain where technological progress comes from.”
He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. “Which is why we need endogenous growth theory.”
You stare at him. “You’ve been reading ahead.”
A hint of his usual smirk appears. “Don’t sound so shocked. I told you I’m locked in for our sessions.”
“Reading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,” you point out.
“Maybe I’m trying to impress my tutor.” He winks, but there’s something different about his teasing now—less performative.
You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Focus, Mingi.”
“I am focused,” he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. “See? I’m being a model student.”
“A model student wouldn’t have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,” you counter, but there’s no bite to your words.
“True.” He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.”
You ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Haha. Very funny.”
As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. He’s attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesn’t get frustrated—instead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.
“Like this?” he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.
Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.
“That’s...actually perfect,” you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. “You got it exactly right.”
His smile is different from any you’ve seen before—not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. It’s smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.
“I have a good teacher,” he says simply.
You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. “Let’s try another one.”
Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.
“See? Not just another dumb jock,” he says, but the joke doesn’t land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.
“I never thought you were dumb,” you say carefully. “Unmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.”
He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. “Most people don’t make that distinction.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” he agrees, studying your face. “You’re definitely not.”
The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. You’re the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.
“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “We should probably wrap up.”
Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. “Same time Friday?”
You hesitate. You hadn’t planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress he’s made in just one session is undeniable.
“You don’t have practice on Friday?”
“Not until seven.” He zips up his backpack. “Unless you’re busy.”
“No, I’m not busy.” The admission comes too quickly. “Friday works.”
As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.
“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he says quietly, shouldering his bag. “Most people would have.”
The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. “You didn’t give me a reason to.”
You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.
“I can walk you home,” he offers. “It’s dark.”
“I live in the opposite direction from you,” you point out. “It’s fine, I’ve been walking home alone for two years now.”
He grins. “Just being a gentleman.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Ouch.” He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”
You laugh at his dramatic act. “Goodnight, Mingi.”
“Goodnight, Miss tutor.” He takes a step backward, still facing you. “Dream of fiscal multipliers.”
“That’s your homework, not mine,” you call after him.
His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. It’s only when you’re halfway home that you realize you’re still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.
You tell yourself it’s just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.
As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Friday’s session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if he’ll bring coffee again, if he’ll sit as close, if he’ll look at you with that same focused intensity. It’s purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you don’t quite believe it.
Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. “So? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?”
“It was just tutoring,” you say, setting down your bag. “He’s actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.”
Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. “That’s it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?”
You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.
“Nope, nothing at all,” you deadpanned at your roommate.
As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions you’ve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.
══════════════════
The following Friday, you’re setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.
“Okay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.” He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.
You eye the offerings suspiciously. “Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be a bribe?”
“Hm? For what?” He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.
“I don’t know. Extra help? A better grade?” You push the coffee slightly away. “I can’t accept this, you’ve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.”
Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. “It’s just coffee, don’t sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.”
You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. “Fine.”
His smiles. “If I wanted to bribe you, I’d need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.”
The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingi’s eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. It’s still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldn’t have expected.
“Thank you,” you hummed, setting up your materials. “Don’t think this earns you any leniency on today’s session.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, already pulling out his completed homework—all of it done correctly, you note with surprise.
Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.
“No liquid bribery today?” you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.
His face falls. “The line was insane, and I didn’t want to be late.” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “I can go get some if you—“
“I was joking,” you interject quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll make it up to you next week,” he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.
The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.
“Wha— Mingi, this is…” you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. “That place is twenty minutes from campus.”
He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. “My morning run took me that way.”
“Your morning run took you four kilometres out of your way?”
He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I’m an athlete. You could say that I’ve got excellent... endurance. A little detour doesn’t bother me.”
You roll your eyes, you want to press the issue but are distracted when he pulls out the work you assigned him the previous session. He’s not only completed all the assigned questions but has tackled the bonus problems you included as an afterthought. His work shows an elegant approach to the material that makes you pause.
“This solution,” you point to his work on comparative advantage models, “where did you learn this method?”
“Oh,” he looks almost embarrassed. “I was reading this paper by Stiglitz that mentioned a similar approach, so I adapted it. Is it wrong?”
You blink at him. “You’re reading Joseph Stiglitz for fun?”
“God no, not for fun,” he says, looking uncomfortable with your scrutiny. “I was trying to understand why the models in class weren’t clicking for me. Sometimes I need to see the bigger picture.”
“You know,” you say slowly, “you might actually enjoy Behavioural Economics next semester. It challenges a lot of the classical assumptions.”
His eyes light up. “That’s the unit with Professor Ryu, right? I’ve been wanting to take that.”
“Wait, seriously?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That class is notoriously difficult.”
“So am I, apparently,” he scoffed, but there’s no bite to it. “At least according to my tutor.”
The sessions continue, and with each one, your perception of Mingi shifts. When discussing economic inequality, he brings up points about systemic barriers that show he’s thought deeply about privilege—including his own. During a session on game theory, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of strategic thinking that surpasses most of your other students that you tutor.
“It’s like poker,” he explains when you comment on his grasp of Nash equilibrium. “Everyone thinks it’s about the cards, but it’s really about understanding people’s patterns and incentives.”
“You play?” you ask, imagining loud frat house games with red cups and shouting.
“My grandfather taught me,” he mumbled, something softer in his expression. “He was an economics professor, actually.”
The revelation hangs between you, another piece of the puzzle that is Song Mingi. You want to ask more but sense his reluctance to elaborate. Maybe another day, you hope.
══════════════════
As your midterm approaches, your sessions intensify. You meet three times in the final week, once in the campus coffee shop when the library study rooms are all booked. Mingi still insists on paying for your drinks and snacks.
“Okay hear me out, I’m applying economic concepts for when I order us coffee,” he announced before you can comment. “You’re providing a service, I’m compensating you beyond our agreed terms because the value exceeds the price.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I said two sessions ago,” you point out.
“I told you, I pay attention,” he corrected, and something in his tone makes you look up from your notes.
He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher—something more complex than what he shows the rest of the world. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. The night before the exam, you receive a text from him. Multiple actually.
The night before the exam, you receive a text from him: If monopolistic competition exhibits zero economic profit in the long run, why do firms bother entering the market?
You smile despite yourself and type back: Non-monetary incentives. Brand loyalty, market positioning, the satisfaction of seeing their competitors throw a bitch fit.
His response comes immediately: So spite is an economic motivator? They just like me fr.
You laugh out loud, drawing a curious look from your roommate.
“Is that Mingi?” she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Just a last-minute economics question,” you answered, trying to sound casual.
“Mhmm,” she hums skeptically. “Smiling over econ, right…”
You ignore her, sending Mingi one final message: Get some sleep. Economics rewards the well-rested. His reply makes your heart do something complicated.
I will, doll. Thank you.
On exam day, you spot him across the lecture hall. He catches your eye and gives you a small nod—no flashy smile, no charming wink, just quiet determination. For some reason, this affects you more than any of his rehearsed moves ever did that you observed in the past.
When Professor Kim calls time, you watch him hand in his exam with confidence in his posture that wasn’t there six weeks ago. As students file out, he makes his way to your seat.
“How’d it go?” you asked as you slowly gathered your things.
“I think,” he hums, “that Professor Kim might actually have to give me an A.”
“Don’t get cocky,” you scoff at his delusion, a small feeling of pride swells in your chest.
“Never,” he agrees solemnly, then ruins it with a grin. “I did crush that section on market failures. Turns out my experience with failed relationships was finally useful for something.”
You roll your eyes, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. “And here I thought we’d made progress beyond that frat boy persona of yours.”
“Old habits,” he nudges you with his elbow, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom. “Seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”
You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of how his stride has adjusted to match yours. It’s these small, unconscious accommodations that you find yourself noticing more and more lately.
“So,” he clears his throat, breaking the quiet as you cross the quad, “My frat is hosting our end-of-semester bash this weekend.” His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. “Saturday night, starting around nine.”
You keep your eyes focused ahead. “I’m sure half the campus is already going and planning their outfits.”
“Probably,” he agrees with a light laugh. “But I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come?”
When you don’t immediately respond, he adds quickly, “As a thank you for helping me ace this exam. I mean, I’m pretty sure I aced it.”
You slow your pace, finally turning to look at him properly. “You’re inviting me to your party? Me?” The disbelief in your voice is unmistakable.
“Is that so hard to believe?” His expression is somewhere between amused and offended.
“Mingi, I don’t do parties.” You adjust your bag strap, uncomfortable with how this conversation is veering into territory you’ve carefully avoided. “You of all people should know that.”
He frowns, “Don’t you want to celebrate? You helped me pull off a minor academic miracle here.”
“I think you’re exaggerating your previous academic despair,” you hesitated. “Besides, I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd.”
“My crowd?” He scoffs. “You’ve never even met my friends.”
“I’ve seen enough from a distance, I know enough.” You start walking again, faster now. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll pass.”
His long strides enable him to keep up with your pace. “Come on, just for an hour. You can leave if you hate it.”
“Mingi—”
“One hour, doll” he repeats. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll personally ensure no one spills anything on you and tries to bother you the whole night.”
Despite yourself, you laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I know my crowd.” His smile is softer now, more genuine. “Please? I want you to see that there’s more to us—to me—than the stereotypes.”
You study his face, searching for the manipulation, But all you see is sincerity and hope.
“Fine,” you groaned, not quite believing the words coming out of your mouth. “One hour. That’s it. I’m leaving the second someone tries to get me to play beer pong.”
His face lights up. “Deal. I’ll text you the details.”
As you part ways, you wonder what exactly you’ve just agreed to. You’ve spent nearly three years avoiding exactly this kind of social situation. Loud music, drunk students, the messy intersection of alcohol and attraction. Yet somehow, when Mingi asked, your carefully constructed refusal crumbled.
Your roommate squeals when you tell her your weekend plans.
“You’re going to the end of sem party? With Mingi?” She clutches your arm dramatically. “This is basically getting an invite from the MET gala!”
“It’s just a thank you for the tutoring,” you explain, trying to sound casual as you sort through your closet. “I’m only staying for an hour.”
“Sure,” she drew out the word with obvious disbelief. “That’s why you’re trying on your fourth outfit.”
You drop the dress you’ve been holding up. “I just want to look appropriate.”
“Appropriate for what? Or is it for making mister Song Mingi realise what he’s been missing?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“For not looking like I’m trying too hard,” you correct her, settling on dark jeans and a simple top that manages to be both casual and flattering. “This isn’t a date.”
“Whatever you say.” She flops back on your bed. “By the way, you should know that Mingi doesn’t personally invite just anyone to these things. Especially not someone he’s been staring at across classrooms for months.”
“He hasn’t been—“ you begin, but stop when you remember all those times you felt his gaze on you in the library and the lecture hall.
“Oh honey,” your roommate giggles, “for someone so smart, you are so stupid.”
══════════════════
On the night of the party, you and your closet have declared war. What began as a gentle sifting through hangers two hours ago has devolved into a cyclone of black crop tops, frayed denim, and shoes you forgot you owned. Your roommate’s voice, pitch-perfect for the college musical she never auditioned for, belts a running commentary from the bed: “You look hot in that, but hotter in the other,” and, later, “If you don’t wear that skirt, I will.” For every option you parade, she offers a one-woman panel’s worth of praise, criticism, and lewd suggestions, but when you finally emerge from the pile in a black singlet and the aforementioned denim mini, she sits up so abruptly the bedsprings squeal.
“Yes,” she hollered, pointing both index fingers at you as if firing a pair of pistols, “That’s the one! Fuck you look good.”
You tug at the hem, self-conscious. The skirt is so short your thighs feel like they might spontaneously combust with the friction of walking, and the top is cut low enough to leave no room . The outfit is, by college standards, conservative. By your standards, the edge of a personal revolution. You pace, boots heavy and loud. You layer on a thrifted blazer, then throw it off, then drape it over one arm for insurance. You sit on the edge of the bed, stand again, cross the room to the mirror, assess your reflection from the most punishing angles. You practice smiling in a way that suggests effortless fun rather than “I’m in hell and wish I were home in the comfort of my bed.”
Your roommate paints your lips red, then wipes it off with a tissue, then reapplies in a shade closer to your natural colour.
“There,” she beams, “like you rolled out of bed looking like this.”
You try not to look at the clock, but it’s everywhere—on your phone, on the microwave, in the stomp of boots hitting the tile as you stalk the kitchenette looking for a cup to fill, then abandon. Your hands shake when you pour yourself a glass of water. You spill some on your wrist, wipe it away, then notice your palms are already slicked with sweat.
“Stop fidgeting.” Your roommate’s tone is gentle, but there’s a note of command you recognize from years of friendship.
She takes your hands in hers, holds them steady, and says, “You’re just going to a party. With a boy. Not even a date.” She squeezes your fingers and grins. “You should be more excited! There might be hook-ups, or at least drama. At the very least, there’ll be free food.”
You want to laugh, but your stomach is a tight fist. You’ve spent the last three years avoiding exactly this scenario—rowdy house parties, the unwritten social contract of collegiate fun, the humiliation of standing awkwardly in a crowd of people who all seem to know exactly how to move, talk, flirt. You’re not anti-social, not truly, but your preferred company is to be alone with your trusted circle of friends. The thought of plunging into a frat house, even for an hour, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
And yet. There’s Mingi, the wild card. He’s never made you feel like a project, or an obligation, or a checkmark on a list of collegiate experiences. When he smiles at you, it isn’t the rehearsed, camera-ready grin you see him use on campus tour guides or in group photos. It’s something softer, quieter, reserved for moments when he thinks no one else is watching. You remember the way he said “please” when he invited you, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours even after you tried to look away. He made it sound like this party wasn’t just another party, but an extension of the strange, fragile thing growing between the two of you. You’re not sure you trust it, but you want, for once, to try.
You stall in the doorway, hand poised on the knob, running through possible disasters. Your roommate senses your hesitation, materializing at your side with a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.
“Remember,” she says softly, “you’re not obligated to like it. Just survive the hour, and if you hate it, I’ll be waiting with post-party ramen and a debrief.” She presses the blazer into your hands and shoves you gently toward the elevator.
You take the stairs instead, one flight, then another, legs trembling with anticipation. The campus is alive with spring: the air is thick with the cloying perfume of flowering trees, the distant thump of bass from speakers, the migration of students in clusters, each group moving toward its own temporary destiny. You keep your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary conversation. You find yourself counting steps, then counting heartbeats, and by the time you reach the block of houses that host the Greek life ecosystem, you’ve rehearsed twenty variations of how to say hello without sounding desperate. You pass a group of girls in matching pastel tank tops, their laughter ricocheting like pinballs off the sidewalk. You duck your head, wondering if they recognize you from Intro to Business Law, but they breeze past without a second glance. In the darkness, your reflection glances back at you from every window: a stranger, confident and composed, even as anxiety gnaws at your insides.
You approach the frat house, the lights already blazing, music leaking from every crack in the siding. In the front yard, a couple makes out with the desperation of people who know they’ll regret it in the morning. A boy in a toga sprints past, pursued by a girl wielding a pool noodle. The porch is a wall of bodies, some familiar, most not, and for a moment you consider walking straight past, circling the block, and returning to your dorm in defeat.
You almost do. You’re on the verge of turning around when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mingi: Where are you? I’ll come out front.
Your thumb hovers over the screen. Before you can reply, the front door swings open and there he is—Mingi, framed in the doorway like some ridiculous cologne advertisement. He’s wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your mouth go inexplicably dry. His hair is styled differently tonight, swept back to reveal his forehead in a way that transforms his entire face.
He scans the yard, eyes skipping past you once before snapping back, recognition dawning. When his gaze lands on you properly, something shifts in his expression—his confident smile faltering, eyes widening slightly.
“Oh,” he says, just that one syllable hanging in the air between you. He clears his throat. “I—you—“ He stops again, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.
You feel heat creeping up your neck, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. “Is something wrong?” you ask, tugging self-consciously at your skirt.
The question seems to snap him out of his daze. His trademark smile returns, but there’s something different about it—something genuine that settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite name.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he finally blurts out. “You just look... different.” He takes a step closer. “Good different I mean– Like really good different.”
You duck your head, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just a skirt and top. Nothing special.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your blush deepen. His confidence seems to grow in direct proportion to your bashfulness, and he extends his hand to you. “Come on. Let me introduce you to some people who aren’t total disasters.”
You place your hand in his, telling yourself it’s just to be polite, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends a current up your arm. He guides you through the crowded doorway, his body naturally creating a buffer between you and the jostling partygoers. You’re fully aware of his proximity, the cologne he’s wearing, the way his hand occasionally brushes against the small of your back as he leads you deeper into the house.
The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls to make space. The kitchen beyond is crowded with people mixing drinks and laughing over red cups. Mingi steers you away from both, toward a slightly quieter corner where a group of guys are engaged in animated conversation.
“Hey,” he calls out, and seven heads turn in perfect unison. “This is my econ tutor, the one I’ve been telling you guys about.”
You’re suddenly faced with an assembly of some of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in one place, each with a distinctive style that somehow works in harmony with the others. They regard you with varying expressions of curiosity and amusement.
“So you’re the one who got our Mingi to actually open a textbook,” a guy with sharp features and an even sharper smile walks up to the both of you. “I’m Hongjoong. House president.”
“Co-president,” Mingi corrects, rolling his eyes.
“Pfft whatever dude,” Hongjoong waves dismissively. “This is Seonghwa—“ he gestures to a tall, elegant-looking man who offers you a polite nod, “—Yunho—“ a friendly giant with dark hair raises his cup in greeting, “—Yeosang—“ a guy with delicate features and knowing eyes gives you a small smile, “—San—“ an energetic man with dimples deep enough to drown in waves enthusiastically, “—Wooyoung—“ a mischievous-looking guy with red hair winks at you, “—and Jongho.” The last member, compact but powerful-looking, gives you a respectful bow.
“Nice to finally meet the person who’s been occupying all our friend’s time,” Wooyoung whistles.
“And thoughts,” San adds, earning him a death glare from Mingi.
You shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze, but their smiles are genuine, lacking the judgment you expected from Mingi’s inner circle.
“Don’t believe anything they tell you about me,” Mingi says, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your ear. “Especially Wooyoung. He’s a pathological liar.”
“Nuh uh, that’s just not true!” Wooyoung protests. “I only lie on Tuesdays and public holidays.”
The group erupts in laughter, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing along. There’s an easy camaraderie among them that feels inclusive rather than exclusive, drawing you in despite your reservations.
“Mingi says you’re top of the econ department,” Seonghwa mentioned, his voice calm and measured. “That’s impressive.”
Before you can respond, Yunho chimes in: “He wouldn’t shut up about how you explained game theory using poker analogies. Said it was ‘revolutionary’ or some shit.”
“I did not say revolutionary,” Mingi denies, but the pink tinging his ears tells a different story.
“You did,” Jongho confirms flatly. “Multiple times. Over breakfast.”
You glance at Mingi, oddly touched that he’s spoken about your tutoring sessions to his friends. “It wasn’t anything special. He’s actually really quick to grasp concepts once they’re explained properly.”
Mingi grins at the group. “See? I told you guys I’m not just a pretty face.” He sticks his tongue out at them, more out of habit than real offence.
“No one said you were just a pretty face,” Hongjoong replies, tone even. “We said you’re a pretty face that just so happened to be a little bit stupid.”
Mingi scoffs under his breath, but he’s smiling anyway. “That’s not better.”
“It’s accurate,” Hongjoong snorted.
The banter continues, and you find yourself relaxing into it, surprised by how comfortable you feel among them. They’re not what you expected—not the stereotypical frat boys you’ve spent years avoiding. They’re smart, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful in their questions to you.
After a while, Mingi leans in again. “How are you feeling? Do you want a drink? Or maybe some air?”
You nod gratefully. “Fresh air would be nice.”
He places his hand lightly on your back again, guiding you toward a set of French doors that lead to a back deck. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat of bodies packed inside. The deck is strung with fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden boards, and surprisingly, it’s empty except for a few potted plants.
“The secret balcony,” Mingi explains, seeing your questioning look. “Off-limits to regular party guests. One of the perks of being house leadership.”
“So I’m not a regular party guest?” you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the railing.
“Of course not, you are far from it,” he mutters under his breath that makes your breath falter.
You both fall silent for a moment, the bass from inside creating a muted heartbeat beneath your conversation. You can’t quite decide what’s more surprising—that you’re here like this, or that it’s with Mingi of all people. You settle on not thinking too hard about either.
“Your friends are nice,” you finally break the silence. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He leans next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
“Loud, obnoxious frat bros talking about the typical one night stand and having the collective IQ of a houseplant.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, they can be loud and obnoxious too. But they’re also the best people I know.”
He pauses, looking out over the dimly-lit yard. “We all have our reasons for being here, you know? Hongjoong’s parents expected him to join their firm right after high school, but he wanted to go to college first. Seonghwa supports his younger siblings through school. Jongho’s on a full academic scholarship.”
You turn to look at him, surprised by this glimpse behind the fraternity façade. “And you? What’s your reason?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its usual confident edge. “My grandfather, the one I told you about, He was the first person in our family to go to college. He wanted to see me graduate more than anything.” His fingers tap against the railing, a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “He passed away during my senior year of high school.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but...” He went on. “I promised him I’d make the most of college. Not just academically, but the whole experience. The brotherhood, the leadership opportunities, all of it.”
“Is that why you’re so determined to keep your GPA up? For your scholarship?”
“Partly,” he admits. “Mainly because I don’t want to just be the party guy, you know? I want people to realise I’m capable and somewhat intelligent.”
Without really thinking about it, you close the remaining distance just enough for your hand to brush his. It’s tentative at first, almost accidental. When he doesn’t pull away, your fingers curl lightly around his. Mingi stills. For someone who’s always in motion, always talking, always performing, the sudden quiet in him is striking. His gaze drops to where your hands are joined, like he’s trying to process it, like this—you—is the one thing he never quite learned how to anticipate.
“It’s not a bad thing,” you say softly, your thumb brushing once, unconsciously, over his knuckles. “Wanting people to see more than what meets the eye.”
His hand shifts in yours, not pulling away—settling. Grounding.
“I know what it’s like,” you add, quieter now. “Being reduced to something simple. Convenient. Even if it’s… impressive on paper.”
That earns a small huff of laughter from him, but malice behind it. Just something tired, something honest.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess we’re both victims of stereotyping huh.”
You smile faintly. “I guess we are.”
And then it hits you. The warmth. The contact. The fact that your hand is still wrapped around his. Your fingers twitch slightly, awareness crashing in all at once, and you pull back—just a little too quickly to be entirely casual. The absence of him is immediate, the cool night air slipping into the space where his warmth had been. Mingi notices. Of course he does. Something flickers across his face, it was subtle but you saw it there momentarily. A small dip at the corner of his mouth, a hesitation like he almost reaches for you again before stopping himself. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced by something lighter, easier, like he’s filing the moment away instead of questioning it. He clears his throat, glancing out in the distance.
“Careful,” he teases. “Keep doing that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
You scoff, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Tragic,” he sighs dramatically. “Here I was, planning our future.”
“In your dreams.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re not already there.”
You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway, the tension dissolving into something softer, more familiar. For a moment, you simply stand together in comfortable silence, watching the party unfold below. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the angles you’ve studied during countless tutoring sessions.
“Can I ask you something?” he says finally, turning to face you.
“You just did.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why did you agree to tutor me? I asked some other people in our class and they said you turned them down.”
You consider the question, surprised by his awareness of your other rejections. “Honestly? You seemed desperate. Plus you actually pay me on time.”
“Ouch,” he winces, but his smile remains. “At least you’re honest.”
“Why did you ask me?” you counter. “There are plenty of other tutors on campus.”
He looks down at his hands, suddenly serious. “You were the only one who looked at me and didn’t see what everyone else saw.”
“And what’s that?”
“You know the usual stereotypes,” He shrugs, a gesture that carries more weight than it should. “Everyone thinks they know me because they hear all about my reputation.”
Something in his tone makes you pause, recognizing a sentiment that echoes your own experience. “I get that,” you say quietly. “People are like that with me too. They think what we are at face value is what we truly are.”
“Isn’t it?” His question is gentle, not challenging.
You shake your head. “No more than you’re just a frat boy who happens to look good in a button-down.”
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet yours, “You think I look good?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” you scold as you bite back a smile. “Your ego is big enough already.”
“There you go again, humbling me.” His gaze softens as he steps closer. “I like that about you. You never let me get away with anything.”
You tilt your head, crossing your arms loosely. “Yeah? I know there’s a lot of things you like about me.”
His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you continue, feigning nonchalance. “My intelligence. My work ethic. My incredible patience for difficult students—”
“—woah, woah,” he cuts in, laughing. “When did this turn into a self-evaluation?”
“You asked,” you shoot back. “I’m just being thorough.”
He steps closer, close enough now that the teasing edge softens into something warmer. “You missed a few.”
“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
“The way you pretend not to care,” he responded quietly. “But still show up anyway.”
Your breath catches slightly, but you recover. “That’s not a quality. That’s just… basic decency.”
“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “And the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
You freeze. “I do not—”
“You do,”
You swallow, your voice coming out just above a whisper. “What does that look mean, according to you?”
He studies you for a moment, like he’s debating whether to say it.
“Like you’re trying really hard not to like me.”
Your heart stumbles over itself.
“That’s a bold assumption,” you manage.
“Is it, doll?”
There’s barely any space left between you now. You’re aware of everything. How close he was to you, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Your own breath feels too loud in your chest.
“This feels like you’re fishing for compliments again,” you say, but your voice lacks its usual bite.
“Maybe,” he admits easily. “Only from you, though.”
The honesty of it lands heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your side, like they remember what it felt like to hold his hand. Like they want to again.
“Mingi—” you start, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say.
He leans in slightly. Not rushed. Not cocky. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t. Your eyes flick down to his lips for just a second—long enough for him to notice—and that’s all it takes. The air shifts, something unspoken settling between you as you both lean in, slow and almost hesitant—
“Yo! Mingi!”
The moment shatters. You both jerk back slightly as the deck door swings open. Wooyoung steps out, slightly breathless, eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate recognition—and absolutely zero subtlety.
“Oh shit,” he says, smirking. “Am I interrupting something?”
“What do you think?,” Mingi says flatly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Tragic,” his red haired friend replies, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Hongjoong’s looking for you. Something about the DJ setup dying and you being ‘useless but still required.’”
Mingi closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “Of course he is.”
Wooyoung gaze shifts back to you, smile softening. “Hey, you’re staying, right? It’s just getting good.”
You hesitate. And Mingi notices.
His attention snaps back to you, something apologetic in his expression. “I—give me ten minutes? I’ll come find you.”
You glance toward the house, the noise, the crowd, the overwhelming swirl of everything you’ve been holding at bay all night. Then back at him. At the almost-kiss still lingering in the space between you. By the way your chest feels too full, too tight, like you don’t quite know what to do with everything you’re suddenly feeling.
“I think…” you start, then pause, shaking your head slightly. “I should probably head out.”
His expression drops, just a fraction. “Already?”
“I stayed longer than I planned,” you say, offering a small smile. “I have an early morning.”
It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he nods slowly, stepping back just enough to give you space—even if he doesn’t seem to want t
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming. I can walk you–”
“No need, I can see myself out,” you reply softly. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a really good time.”
There’s a beat. Something unfinished is hanging between you.
“Get home safe,” he adds, quieter now.
“I will.”
You turn before you can overthink it. Before you can look at him again and change your mind and make your way back through the house. The music feels louder now, the lights harsher, the press of bodies more suffocating than before. By the time you step outside into the cool night air, your head is spinning. Not from the party. From him. From the way he looked at you like that. You exhale slowly, starting down the path back to your dorm, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.
Your key turns in the lock with a sharp click that echoes through the empty hallway. The walk back to your dorm passed in a blur. Your mind replaying those moments on the deck over and over, his face so close to yours, the almost-kiss that’s now branded into your memory as a question mark.
Your roommate looks up from her laptop, eyes widening when she sees you. “You’re back early! I thought—“ She pauses, taking in your expression. “What happened?”
You drop your bag and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I just made a huge mistake.”
“What did he do? Babe I swear if he tried anything—” She’s immediately on alert, sitting up straighter.
“No,” you shake your head, pressing your palms against your eyes. “The opposite. He was... perfect. His friends were really nice, funny too. The party wasn’t terrible. And we almost kissed, and then I—I ran away.”
“You what?” She scrambles off her bed and sits next to you. “Back up. You almost kissed him and then you left?”
“We got interrupted, and then I just... panicked.” You sit up, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Your roommate studies your face, her expression softening into something you haven’t seen before—concern mixed with understanding.
“Holy shit,” she mumbled. “You like him.”
“No,” you protest automatically, then trail off. “Maybe. Shit. I don’t know?” Your voice muffles as you bury your face in your hands. “This is so stupid. I’ve spent years avoiding guys exactly like him.”
“Except he’s not exactly like anyone, is he?” She nudges your shoulder gently. “Not if he’s got you this fucked up.”
You groan. “That’s the problem. He’s supposed to be this shallow frat boy who only cares about parties and hookups, but then he goes and talks about his grandfather and his friends and looks at me like—like—“
“Like what?” she prompts.
“Like I matter,” you cried out, wiping away the tears from your face. “Not just as a tutor or someone to boost his grade. Like he actually enjoys my company.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”
“That’s because I’ve never felt like this before,” you admit, the words coming out in a rush. “I’ve probably ruined it by running away like some character in a bad rom-com.”
“You don’t understand.” You get up, pacing the small space between your beds. “I had this whole image of him in my head…this whole narrative about who he was and what he wanted. It was so much easier when I could just dismiss him as just some guy. But he’s not, and now I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Maybe you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to him?” Your roommate suggests, her tone gently teasing you as she hands you a tissue.
“And say what? ‘Sorry I ran away when we were about to kiss, I’m just terrified because I might actually like you’?”
“That sounds like a start.”
You collapse back onto your bed with a groan. “I fucked up so bad.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, “but not irreparably.” She picks up your phone from where you dropped it and holds it out to you. “Text him.”
You stare at the phone like it might bite you. “Like now?”
“Yes, now. Before you overthink it even more than you already have.”
Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitant. “What do I even say?”
“The truth,” she says simply. “Or at least part of it.”
You take a deep breath and start typing, deleting, typing again. After what feels like an eternity, you hit send on a simple message: Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Ty for tonight.
The response comes faster than you expected, your phone buzzing in your hand almost immediately: All good. Did u get home safe?
Something in your chest loosens just slightly. He’s still talking to you, at least. You type back: Yea, made it back like 5 mins ago.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again: Can I call you tomorrow?
Your heart does a strange little flip. “He wants to call me tomorrow,” you tell your roommate, your voice sounding strange even to your own ears.
She grins. “See? Not ruined.”
You type back a quick ‘Sure’ before you can second-guess yourself.
His response is just as quick: Good. Sleep well, doll.
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at the nickname. Your roommate peers over your shoulder, reading the exchange.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she says jokingly. “From the looks of it, so does he.”
“This is such a mess,” you sigh, but there’s less despair in it now. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who doesn’t get caught up in... whatever this is.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you need this,” she suggests, returning to her own bed. “When was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good, not because it was the smart, practical choice?”
You don’t have an answer for that. As you lie in bed, sleep eluding you, you replay the night in your head. The way Mingi looked at you on that deck, the warmth of his hand in yours, the honesty in his voice when he talked about wanting to be seen as more than his reputation. You think about how easily you could have stayed, how different the night might have ended if you had just stayed with him.
══════════════════
Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through half-closed blinds and the persistent buzz of your alarm. The day crawls by in a strange haze. You go through the motions—catch up on any missed lecture notes, meet with your friends, grab lunch at the campus café—but everything feels slightly off-kilter. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket, conspicuously silent.
“He said he’d call,” you mutter to yourself during lunch, checking your notifications for the fifth time in an hour.
By mid-afternoon, anxiety has settled into a knot in your stomach. Was leaving the party abruptly really such a dealbreaker? Or worse—was the almost-kiss just another moment for him, easily forgotten once you walked away?
Your roommate finds you hunched over economics papers in your dorm, highlighter poised but motionless over the same paragraph you’ve been staring at for twenty minutes.
“Still nothing?”
You shake your head, trying to appear more focused on your work than you actually are. “It’s fine. He’s probably busy with frat stuff.”
“He’s nursing a hangover,” she mused, flopping onto her bed. “Those parties don’t exactly end early.”
“Yeah, probably.” You force your attention back to your notes, determined not to care.
The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your desk. You’ve moved on to grading papers for the professor you TA for, a task that usually requires your full concentration. Tonight, however, each essay blurs into the next as your mind wanders back to the deck, to Mingi’s face inches from yours. At 7:38 PM, your phone finally rings. You nearly knock over your coffee reaching for it, heart leaping into your throat when you see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answer with what you hope is casual nonchalance.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice comes through warm and slightly hesitant. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, just grading some papers.” You lean back in your chair, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he admits with a soft laugh. “Had to deal with some post-party clean up that was... not ideal.”
“Sounds rough,” you say, picturing the chaos that must have followed after you left.
There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d want to grab some ice cream? There’s this place near the science building that stays open late.”
You glance at your half-finished work, then at the clock. “Now?”
“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. I just...” He hesitates. “I think we should talk. In person.”
Your stomach drops. Those words never precede anything good.
“Oh,” you manage. “Sure. I could use a break anyway.”
“Great.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “Meet you there in twenty?”
“Make it thirty,” you say, already mentally cataloguing what you’re wearing—sweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, not exactly what you’d choose for whatever conversation is coming.
After hanging up, you change quickly into jeans and a sweater that’s slightly more presentable, running a brush through your hair and dabbing on lip balm before you can question why you’re bothering. Your roommate watches with barely concealed amusement.
“Just ice cream, huh?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, grabbing your keys. “He probably just wants to clear the air so tutoring isn’t awkward.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”
The walk to the ice cream shop takes exactly twelve minutes—not that you’re counting. When you arrive, you spot Mingi immediately, leaning against the wall outside. He straightens when he sees you, his expression brightening in a way that makes your heart stutter.
“Hey,” he greets you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks for coming.”
“For free ice cream? I’d be an idiot if I refused.” You aim for lightness, but your voice comes out slightly strained.
Inside, the shop is nearly empty, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the corner. Mingi insists on paying despite your protests, and soon you’re seated at a small table by the window, a scoop of chocolate chip melting slowly in your cup. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You focus intently on your ice cream, hyperaware of his presence across from you.
“So uh,” he finally breaks the tension, setting down his spoon. “About last night.”
You look up to find him watching you, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. “What about it?” you ask, playing for time.
He leans forward slightly. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t... misread things.”
Heat rises to your cheeks. “You didn’t,” you admit quietly.
Relief flickers across his face. “Then why did you leave?”
The directness of the question catches you off guard. You consider deflecting, making a joke, but something in his eyes—an earnestness you’re not used to seeing—makes you opt for honesty.
“I got scared,” you say simply.
His brow furrows. “Of me?”
“No.” You shake your head. “No this. Whatever is happening between us.” You gesture vaguely, as if that could dissolve it. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“The plan?” he echoes.
“My plan,” you clarify. “Graduate top of my class, get into a top-tier MBA program, no distractions.” You poke at your melting ice cream.
The words come easier than they should, like you’ve said them enough times to believe they’re ironclad. You scoop a fragile curl of choc chip into your mouth, watching it soften instantly, the chill doing nothing to settle the rest of you.
Mingi doesn’t look away. But something shifts in his expression—subtle, unreadable.
“You think this is a distraction,” he says quietly, like he’s testing the shape of the idea. There’s no bitterness in it, just a blunt apprehension that makes you want to fold in on yourself.
The words thud between you, heavier than any textbook you’ve ever carried. You set your spoon down, forced to confront the truth you’ve been working so hard to avoid: it would be much simpler if you could blame him. If the whole thing could be chalked up to a fluke in your otherwise disciplined trajectory: a blip, a party, a night on a deck that would fade with the semester. However, the real distraction is the way your mind keeps circling back to him even when he’s not there, the way your heart does that ridiculous stutter every time you see his name on your screen, the way—sitting here with him now—you feel some distant tectonic plate in your chest begin to shift. You hesitate. Then, because you’ve already started, you let it spill anyway.
“It’s not just that,” you admit. “I never planned on… this happening at all. And I definitely never thought you’d—” You stop yourself, exhaling a short, humourless breath. “Like, someone like me.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Someone like you?”
You gesture faintly, as if the words make sense on their own. “You know. You. Me. I just— I always assumed you wouldn’t go for someone like me. That you wouldn’t even look twice.”
The admission sits between you, heavier than you intended. Mingi leans back slightly, hands folding together, but not in his usual relaxed way. More like he’s trying to steady something. Then he lets out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief.
“I’ve been trying so hard to get you to notice me.” He says, shaking his head once.
You blink. “What?”
He looks at you properly now, like the answer should’ve been obvious all along. “You think I’m out of your league,” he says, almost incredulous. “I thought you were out of mine.”
That makes you go still. Before you can respond, he continues, voice softer now.
“You’re—” He stops, like the word itself isn’t enough. “You’re genuinely one of the most interesting people I’ve met. And you’re not just smart, you’re…” He exhales through his nose, like he hates how obvious it is. “You’re really fucking beautiful. And your brain? That’s honestly the most attractive part of you. I thought people were dramatic when they said intelligence was sexy, man I was so wrong.”
Your breath catches, and you hate that it does.
“I like what we are,” he adds, a little quieter. “The banter, the way you talk back to me, the way you don’t just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fold. It’s fun. It’s different. It’s… real.”
The honesty lands clumsily, unpolished in a way that feels impossible to fake. You look down at your ice cream before it fully melts.
“That’s… not what I expected you to say,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he says, a small, self-aware smile tugging at his mouth. “Join the club.”
“I know it’s unfair to judge you based on campus gossip, but...” You take a deep breath. “I’m scared of being just another story people whisper about in bathroom stalls.”
Mingi reaches across the table, his fingers hovering near yours without quite touching. “Can I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, and his warm hand covers yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and serious. “I won’t pretend I haven’t made mistakes. I have. But I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” His eyes hold yours, unwavering.
“How can I know that?” you whisper, voicing the fear that’s been lodged in your chest since the moment on the deck.
“Let me prove it to you,” he says with such conviction that your throat tightens. “Not with words or promises, but with time. With consistency.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly. “I’m not asking you to trust me completely right away. I’m asking for a chance to earn that trust.”
You study his face, searching for any sign of the practiced charm you’ve seen him deploy across campus. All you find is raw sincerity that makes your heart race.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Let me show you who I really am,” a small, vulnerable smile touches his lips. “I promise I’ll put all those stupid rumours to rest. No pressure, no expectations.”
“If it doesn’t work out?” The practical part of your brain needs to know there’s an exit strategy.
“Then we go back to being tutor and student, friends if you want,” he says, though something flickers in his eyes that suggests it wouldn’t be that simple for him. “I think we at least owe ourselves the chance to find out.”
You look down at your joined hands, feeling yourself wavering on the precipice of something that terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.
“Okay,” you find yourself saying, the word slipping out before you can overthink it. “I’ll give us a chance.”
The smile that breaks across his face is nothing like his usual confident grin. It’s wider, brighter, almost boyish in its genuine delight.
“Yeah?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.
“Yeah,” you confirm, a small smile forming on your own lips. “But I have conditions.”
He laughs softly, squeezing your hand. “Of course you do. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t have any.”
“We take it slow,” you say firmly. “For now, this is just between us. I’m not ready to tell everyone about us just yet.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees immediately. “What else?”
“If at any point I feel like this is becoming too much—“
“We reassess,” he finishes for you. “I understand.”
You nod, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. “One more thing.”
“Name it.”
“No more surprise coffees during tutoring,” you let out a laugh, you hope that he doesn’t take this rule too seriously.
He clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Mind you, those were gifts from the heart.”
“The heart doesn’t need caffeine to function properly,” you counter.
“Debatable,” he grins, then grows serious again. “I promise to uphold all the boundaries that you have. If at any point you want outs, just say the word and we can call it off.”
There’s something in his voice—a quiet determination—that makes you believe him, despite all your carefully constructed defences.
“So,” he wonders, leaning forward slightly, “now that we’ve established the ground rules... Can I walk you home?”
“That would be nice,” you smile, finishing the last of your now-soupy ice cream.
Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. Your campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at the library or locked in their rooms studying. Mingi walks beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brush, sending little sparks of awareness through you each time. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence as you walk side by side through the moonlit campus. Your mind races with everything that’s just happened—the confessions, the promises, the beginning of something neither of you had planned. Mingi’s hand occasionally brushes against yours, each contact sending little jolts through your system, but he doesn’t try to hold it. True to his word, he’s letting you set the pace.
“So,” he says as you approach your dormitory, “I was thinking maybe we could get dinner? Whenever you’re free… O-of course.”
The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. “I’d love to.”
You stop at the entrance to your building, turning to face him. The lamplight catches in his dark eyes, making them shine with something that looks suspiciously like hope.
“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly.
His brow furrows slightly. “For what?”
“For being patient and understanding.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling shy.
A smile curves his lips. “I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. A breath where you both stand looking at each other, the air between you charged with possibility. You make a decision, stepping forward before you can overthink it. Rising slightly on your toes, you press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight, Mingi,” you murmur, pulling back to see his eyes wide with surprise.
“Goodnight,” he coughs out, voice slightly rougher than before.
You turn quickly, swiping your keycard and slipping through the door before you can change your mind. Once inside, you can’t resist glancing back through the glass panel. Mingi stands frozen for a moment, hand raised to the spot where your lips touched his skin. Then, when he thinks you’ve gone, a transformation takes place. The cool, confident frat president dissolves into something entirely different. He pumps his fist in the air, does a little spin, and breaks into what can only be described as a victory dance—all limbs and unbridled joy, like a kid who just got exactly what he wanted for his birthday. He runs his hands through his hair, grinning so wide it must hurt, before composing himself and walking away with an extra bounce in his step. You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. Something warm blooms in your chest at the sight of him—campus heartbreaker, fraternity president, supposed player—celebrating a simple kiss on the cheek like it’s the greatest achievement of his life.
Maybe there’s more to him than you ever allowed yourself to see.
══════════════════
The following weeks unfold in a series of moments that feel stolen from someone else’s life. Mingi keeps his promise about taking things slow, but he finds other ways to show you he’s serious.
It starts with little things. A sticky note on your economics textbook when you leave it unattended for two minutes in the library: “Study Well!.” A cup of tea waiting for you before an early morning class, with honey already added the way you mentioned you like it once in passing.
Your tutoring sessions continue, but there’s a new undercurrent to them now. You maintain professionalism—mostly—but sometimes his fingers brush yours when you’re explaining a concept, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Sometimes you catch him watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way.
“Focus,” you scold during one such session, tapping your pencil against his notebook. “Our midterms are in coming up soon.”
“I am focusing,” he protests, eyes never leaving your face. “Just not on economics.”
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Looking at me isn’t going to help boost your GPA.”
“If it means looking at the prettiest girl in the room, it’s worth it,” he shrugs and the sincerity in his voice makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Walking with him after your brain numbing study sessions become so integral to your guys’ routine. It feels a little strange at first but when Mingi’s hand tentatively finds yours, all the stress melts away at his touch.
“You know,” he says during one such walk, “keeping you secret is killing me. The guys think I’ve gone celibate or something.”
You elbow him gently. “Your reputation could use the hit.”
“True,” he laughs, squeezing your hand. “For the record, this is the longest I’ve gone without posting on social media in ages.”
Mingi has been careful about keeping your relationship private. No Instagram stories featuring your coffee dates, no posts of your study sessions that sometimes devolve into conversations about everything and nothing. Just the two of you, learning each other in private moments stolen between classes and responsibilities.
One rainy Tuesday, he shows up at your dorm with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a stack of economics flash cards he made himself.
“I figured we could multitask,” he beams, setting up the food on your desk.
Your roommate, who’s been watching this unfold with barely concealed delight, grabs her jacket. “And that’s my cue to give you two some privacy,” she announces, winking at you on her way out.
Once she’s gone, Mingi turns to you with a sheepish smile. “Too much?”
You shake your head, oddly touched by the gesture. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just not used to anyone doing this for me.”
His expression softens. “Well that's too bad, doll, start getting used to it.”
The study session is productive—mostly. At first, the two of you really do focus, perched shoulder to shoulder with a blanket across your knees, pencils poised as you quiz each other from the stack of flash cards. For a solid twenty minutes, you run through concepts, definitions, and theoretical graphs, congratulating each other with exaggerated fist bumps for every correct answer. Mingi is sharp, more so than you expected, but he keeps getting tripped up on the same three formulas, and each time he stumbles, you make him recite them from memory until he gets it right. By the fourth round, you’re both dissolving into laughter at his increasingly creative mnemonic devices.
Eventually, the flash cards are abandoned in favor of pad thai and mango sticky rice. You eat cross-legged on the floor, passing the container back and forth, chopsticks clacking as the conversation drifts from academics to childhood memories, to music, to the merits of various ramen brands. Mingi tells you a story about getting locked in a janitor’s closet during a fraternity scavenger hunt, and you laugh so hard you nearly spill sweet chili sauce all over your leggings. He grins, watching you with open affection, and you feel your defenses slipping a little more with each shared story, each easy silence.
You mean to get back to studying, really you do, but by the time your plates are empty, you’re both sprawled out on the rug, heads tipped together, trading lazy jokes and favorite movie quotes. The stack of flash cards lies forgotten somewhere behind you. Mingi stretches his arm behind your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. You’re acutely aware that you said you wanted to take things slow, but now, in the soft glow of your desk lamp, with rain pattering gently against the window, slow feels less like a rule and more like a suggestion.
At some point, you roll onto your side to face him. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. He catches the look in your eyes and grins, that same vulnerable curve of mouth you saw outside your dorm, and you realize you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for anymore. The next hour is a blur of tangled limbs, whispered jokes, and the kind of laughter that leaves your ribs aching. You don’t kiss—at least, not on the lips—but you end up with your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tracing idle, feather-light circles on your back as you drift in and out of half-sleep. The textbooks are forgotten, the only thing that matters is the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath and the way it syncs perfectly with yours.
You don’t let him stay the night but you walk him to the door at midnight, both of you lingering in the hallway far longer than necessary.
“Tomorrow again?” he asks, voice low.
“Tomorrow,” you echo, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
You close the door behind him and press your forehead to the wood, equal parts giddy and terrified at how easy this is starting to feel.
That’s how it goes, week after week. Study sessions that turn into late-night conversations, walks that stretch on for hours, endless cups of tea and takeout and inside jokes that no one else would ever find funny. You find yourself looking for him everywhere: in the crowd of the dining hall, in the hush of the library at midnight, in the flicker of lamplight outside your window when you can’t sleep. Every time he appears, it feels like a secret only the two of you share. You start to notice the little ways he tries to care for you. The umbrella he brings when the forecast calls for rain, the pack of your favourite pens he leaves in your backpack before a big test, the playlist he makes for your morning runs, even though he can’t stand three-quarters of your “motivational” music. You tell yourself not to read into any of it, but you do. You’re hopelessly, helplessly reading into every tiny thing.
The night before your economics midterm, you meet up in the library’s quietest corner, both of you vibrating with nerves. He brings snacks and a fresh stack of flash cards, all hand-written in his messy scrawl, and the two of you settle in for a marathon review. For once, you manage to stay on task, quizzing each other with increasing intensity until you’re both exhausted. When the clock chimes one in the morning, you start to pack up, but Mingi hesitates, his hand hovering over the pile of books.
“You’re going to ace it,” he says, voice unexpectedly earnest.
You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you don’t distract me during the exam.”
“That’s going to be impossible,” he laughs, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “I’ll try my best.”
You snort, shouldering your bag. “I sure hope so.”
As you walk him out into the silent quad, he reaches for your hand—not tentative anymore, not asking permission, just doing it. You let him. The campus is empty, the sky ink-black and starless, and it feels like the entire world has narrowed to just the two of you, hands entwined, hearts beating a little too fast. He stops at the steps of your dorm, pulling you in for a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than normal. You memorize the feeling: the way his arms wrap around you, how he smells like detergent and the faintest hint of aftershave, the way his cheek fits perfectly against your temple. He reminds you to get some sleep, even as he lingers like he has no real intention of leaving just yet. You echo the sentiment back to him, a quiet reminder about his final. There’s a brief pause—something unspoken stretching between you—before you part with a soft, almost reluctant goodbye, the kind that feels less like an ending and more like something paused.
══════════════════
The morning of the midterm arrives with an electric tension in the air. You walk into the lecture hall, scanning the rows of nervous students until you spot Mingi. He’s hunched over his notes, frantically reviewing formulas, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. When he sees you, his face brightens momentarily before anxiety clouds his features again.
“Doll, I can’t remember anything,” he whispers as you slide into the seat beside him. “It’s all just... gone.”
You reach over and gently close his textbook. “Hey, breathe. You know this material better than you think.”
“Easy for you to say.” His voice cracks slightly. “What if I blank? What if everything we worked on just disappears the moment I see the test?”
You take his trembling hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look at me. You’ve put in the work. You understand the concepts. Trust yourself.”
He exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “I just... I can’t mess this up. Not after everything.”
“You won’t,” you say with such conviction that he almost seems to believe you. “Remember what you told me about game theory? It’s not about the cards, it’s about—“
“—understanding the patterns,” he finishes, a small smile forming. “The incentives.”
“Exactly. And you’ve got this. I know you do.”
Professor Kim enters the room, silencing the anxious chatter. As she distributes the exams, Mingi gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go. You mouth “good luck” to him before turning to your own test.
The exam is challenging, even for you. Two hours of intense concentration, complex problems, and theoretical applications that make your brain ache. Occasionally, you glance at Mingi. His brow is furrowed in concentration, pencil moving steadily across the paper. No panic, no hesitation. Just focused determination that fuels your own.
When time is called, you feel drained but satisfied. Mingi looks up from his paper, meeting your eyes across the room with an expression of cautious optimism.
“How’d it go?” you ask as you both file out of the lecture hall.
“I think... I think it went okay,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “That section on monopolistic competition? I nailed it.”
“See? I told you.”
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky just because you were right. Again.”
Three days after the exam, your phone lights up with his name: Grades are posted, lock in.
Your fingers fly across the screen as you log into the portal. There it is: Econ1000 - Final Grade: A+. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. You’re about to text him back when another message comes through: Can we meet? I’m outside your building.
Your heart races as you rush down the stairs. Mingi is pacing outside, face unreadable. When he sees you, he stops, and for a terrible moment, you think he’s failed.
“Mingi? What happened? Are you—“
His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “I got an A, I did it!”
Relief and joy flood through you as he picks you up in a spinning hug that lifts your feet off the ground. “I knew you could do it!” you laugh, arms wrapped around his neck.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist.
“Hey give yourself some credit, you did all the work,” you counter, unable to stop smiling. “I just provided occasional guidance—“
“—And motivation, patience, and belief when I had none.” His expression grows serious despite his smile. “Thank you.”
You feel your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “You’re welcome.”
He takes a deep breath, a flicker of nervousness crossing his features—something you’ve rarely seen from him. “So, I was thinking...” he begins, his hands sliding from your waist but not completely letting go, fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Maybe we could celebrate properly? Tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?” you ask, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.
“Dinner,” he says simply. Then adds, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “At an actual restaurant with fancy ass menus and shit.” His eyes meet yours, surprisingly earnest. “A date. Just you and me.”
The word “date” hangs between you, weighted with meaning. These weren't the standard study sessions or casual hangouts anymore. He wanted to take you out to dinner.
“A date,” you repeat, testing how the words feel.
“Yes.” He nods, watching your face carefully. “I want to take you somewhere nice. To celebrate, but also because...” He pauses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just want to treat you to a good meal, feels like the right thing to do.”
You laugh, the tension in your chest dissolving into something warm and bright. “In that case, yes. I’d love to go to dinner with you tonight.”
The smile that breaks across his face is incandescent. “Great! I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Seven works,” you nod, already mentally cataloguing your closet, wondering what constitutes appropriate attire for an official date with Song Mingi.
As if reading your mind, he adds, “Wear something nice. I made reservations at Stellina.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. Stellina is easily the most upscale restaurant near campus—the kind of place parents take their children when they visit, or where professors celebrate tenure. Definitely not somewhere college students typically go for casual dinners.
“Stellina?” you echo. “That’s... wow.”
“Wait, do you not like Stells?” he asks, suddenly uncertain.
You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just surprised.”
“Good surprised?”
“Very good surprised.”
He beams, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. You text your roommate the news, which results in her immediately abandoning whatever plans she had to help you prepare. By six o’clock, your room looks like a boutique exploded—clothes strewn across both beds, makeup scattered across the desk, and your roommate critically assessing every option.
“This one,” she declares finally, holding up a simple black dress you bought for a cousin’s birthday last year but haven’t worn since. “Classic, elegant, but still says ‘I’m not trying too hard.’” You slip it on, the silky fabric settling against your skin. It’s more fitted than you remembered, hugging your curves before flaring slightly at the hem. Nothing flashy, but undeniably flattering.
“Perfect,” your roommate nods approvingly. “Now, shoes...”
By 6:55, you’re pacing nervously in front of the mirror. The dress looks good, your hair is cooperating for once, and your roommate has worked minor miracles with minimal makeup. Still, anxiety flutters in your stomach like trapped butterflies.
“What if this changes everything?” you ask, chewing your lip. “What if it’s weird or awkward or—“
“Or what if it’s amazing?” your roommate cuts in, adjusting a strand of your hair. “Stop catastrophizing and let yourself enjoy this. The man is taking you to Stellina, for god’s sake. He’s clearly serious about you.”
Before you can respond, your phone buzzes with a text: I’m outside.
Your roommate practically shoves you toward the door. “Go! And I want all the details when you get back!”
You take one last deep breath, grab your small purse, and head downstairs. The moment you step outside, you spot him immediately standing beside his car, looking almost unrecognizable in a tailored navy suit. His hair is styled away from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes widen slightly as they take in your appearance, moving from your face to your dress and back again with an appreciation so obvious it makes your skin warm.
“You look...” he starts, then shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “I had a whole line prepared, but now I can’t remember it. You look incredible.”
“So do you,” you manage, taking in how the suit fits his broad shoulders perfectly. “I didn’t know you owned clothes like this.”
“Special occasions only,” he grins, stepping forward to offer you his arm. “Ready?”
The drive to Stellina is short but charged with a new kind of tension—anticipation mixed with awareness. Mingi keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you catch yourself doing the same. When you arrive, he insists on opening your door, offering his hand to help you out of the car with an old-fashioned gallantry that would seem affected from anyone else.
Inside, the restaurant is everything you expected and more. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the gentle clink of expensive silverware. The hostess greets Mingi by name and leads you to a quiet corner table partially secluded by a decorative screen.
“This is...” you begin, looking around at the elegant surroundings.
“Too much?” he blurted out in a panic, studying your face carefully as he pulls out your chair.
You shake your head, settling into your seat. “No, it’s beautiful. I’m just not used to... all this.”
“Neither am I,” he admits with a small laugh, taking his own seat. “I wanted tonight to be special.”
The waiter appears with menus and a wine list, addressing Mingi with practiced deference. You watch, slightly amused, as he navigates the wine selection with surprising confidence, asking questions about vintages and pairings that you wouldn’t have expected him to know.
“Since when are you a wine expert?” you ask after the waiter leaves to fetch your selection.
He grins, slightly sheepish. “I’m not. I spent an hour yesterday watching YouTube videos about how to order wine without looking like an idiot.”
The admission is so endearingly honest that you can’t help but laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I wanted to impress you,” he shrugs, no trace of his usual bravado. “Is it working?”
“Maybe a little,” you concede, smiling.
The wine arrives—a crisp white that pairs perfectly with the appetizers Mingi suggests. As you sip and sample delicate bites of food you can barely pronounce, the initial awkwardness melts away. Conversation flows as easily as it always has between you, ranging from classes to childhood stories to dreams for the future.
“So,” he says as the waiter clears your appetizer plates, “now that we’ve conquered economics, what’s next on your academic hit list?”
“Advanced Econometrics,” you grimace slightly. “Not exactly light reading.”
“Sounds intense,” he nods. “Do you think you’ll need a tutor for that one? If so, I know a guy…”
The teasing question makes you smile. “I think I can manage. What about you? What are you taking next semester?”
He hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Actually, I registered for that Behavioural Economics class you mentioned. And...” he pauses, “I’m thinking about adding a minor in Business Analytics.”
“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That’s a pretty intensive program.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, trying to look casual but not quite succeeding, “someone made me realize I might actually be good at this stuff. When I’m not being a, what did you call it? ‘Stereotypical frat boy with the collective IQ of a houseplant?’”
You wince, remembering your harsh assessment from months ago. “I was wrong about that.”
“Not entirely,” he laughs. “I can be that guy sometimes. It’s easier, you know? To be what people expect.”
The honesty in his voice touches something deep in your chest. “You don’t have to be that with me.”
His eyes meet yours across the table, warm and sincere, “I know.”
The main courses arrive—seared scallops for you, steak for him—momentarily pausing the conversation. As you eat, you notice how Mingi keeps finding excuses to touch you: his fingers brushing yours when reaching for the wine, his knee pressing gently against yours under the table. Each contact sends little sparks along your skin, building a current that hums just below the surface.
“Can I ask you something?” he says after a comfortable lull in conversation.
“Of course.”
“When did you start liking me?” The question is direct, curious rather than cocky. “I mean, I know you couldn’t stand me at first.”
You consider this, taking a sip of wine. “I think... it was during our third tutoring session. You spent twenty minutes arguing with me about income inequality and its effects on consumer behaviour.”
He looks surprised. “That’s what did it? An economics debate?”
“You were passionate,” you explain. “And knowledgeable. And you didn’t back down just because I disagreed. I was impressed.”
His expression softens. “For me, it was the party. That first night. When you looked at me and didn’t seem impressed at all.”
“Really? That early?”
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “You have no idea how refreshing that was. Everyone else was... I don’t know, wanting something from me. You just looked annoyed that I existed.”
“I wasn’t annoyed,” you correct him. “I was... intrigued.”
“Intrigued,” he repeats, smile widening. “I’ll take it.”
As dinner winds down, the restaurant gradually empties around you. Neither of you seems eager to leave, conversation flowing from topic to topic, punctuated by laughter and moments of surprising vulnerability. When the waiter discreetly brings the check, Mingi insists on paying despite your protests.
“This was my idea,” he says firmly. “My invitation, my treat.”
“At least let me cover the tip,” you argue.
He shakes his head, sliding his card into the leather folder. “Next time. You can plan the whole thing if you want.”
“Next time,” you echo, liking the sound of it more than you expected to.
Outside, the night air is cool and clear, stars visible despite the campus lights. Mingi takes your hand as you walk back to the car, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.
“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “It was perfect.”
He stops walking, turning to face you under the soft glow of a streetlight. “Thank you for saying yes.”
There’s a moment where neither of you moves. Then, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, Mingi leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades away—the restaurant, the streetlight, even the nervous flutter in your chest. His kiss is gentle at first, almost reverent, like he’s been waiting for this moment and doesn’t want to rush it. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
You smile, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. “What took you so long?”
Instead of answering, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re pressed against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. Something shifts in the air between you—the careful restraint you’ve both been maintaining giving way to something more urgent, more honest.
Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, messing up his carefully styled look. He makes a soft sound against your mouth that sends heat rushing through you, his fingers digging slightly into your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss turns hungrier, months of tension finally finding release as his tongue brushes against yours, tentative at first, then with growing confidence when you respond in kind.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils wide as he looks at you with undisguised want.
“I should’ve done this at the party ages ago,” he whispers, voice rough. “That night on the balcony. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
You laugh softly, feeling dizzy and light-headed in the best way. “Better late than never.”
He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips like he can’t help himself. “Do you want to go somewhere more... private?” The question is careful, giving you an out if you need it.
The responsible part of your brain reminds you of early classes tomorrow, of the boundaries you set, of taking things slow. But the part of you that’s been dreaming of this moment for longer than you care to admit is already nodding.
“Your place?” you suggest, surprised by the boldness in your own voice.
His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to agree so readily. “You sure?”
In answer, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your actions speak louder than words. When you pull away, his smile is almost dazed.
“My place it is,” he says, taking your hand and leading you back to his car with renewed purpose.
The drive to his fraternity house is charged with anticipation, the air between you electric with possibilities. His hand finds yours across the center console, thumb stroking over your knuckles in a way that seems both soothing and maddening at once. At a red light, he can’t resist leaning over to kiss you again, quick but deep enough to leave you breathless.
“If you keep doing that, we might not make it to your place,” you warn, only half-joking.
His laugh is low and warm. “Worth it.”
══════════════════
When you arrive, the house is mercifully quiet—most of his frat brothers either out or already asleep. He leads you through the common areas with your hand firmly in his, up the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside, he closes the door softly behind you, and suddenly the reality of where you are—in Mingi’s bedroom, alone, after the most perfect date—hits you all at once.
His room is larger than you expected, and surprisingly neat. A double bed occupies one corner, made with actual matching sheets and pillows. Bookshelves line one wall, filled not just with textbooks but novels, economics journals, and what looks like a collection of vintage records. A desk sits beneath a large window, offering the promised view of campus, lights twinkling in the distance.
“So,” you say, turning to face him, “this is where the golden boy lives.”
He pushes off from the door, crossing to stand before you. “Disappointed that there's no mattress on the floor and it’s not covered in beer pong trophies?”
“A little,” you admit with a teasing smile. “Though I do see at least one trophy.” You nod toward a shelf where a single golden cup sits next to a framed photo of Mingi with an older man, both smiling widely.
“Economics award from freshman year,” he explains, following your gaze. “That’s my grandfather, the day I got my acceptance letter.”
You move closer to examine the photo, aware of Mingi following you, the space between you shrinking with each step. When you turn to face him again, he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Something shifts in his expression—the playful fraternity president giving way to something more raw, more honest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip.
His fingers tremble against your cheek as he exhales shakily. “I’ve never been this terrified of messing something up,” he confesses, voice cracking slightly.
“Every time I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.” His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “I keep pinching myself that you’re actually here, with me. You’re not just another person to me—you’re my person.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, reverent. “I adore everything about you. The way you laugh, how you challenge me, even how you roll your eyes when I’m being ridiculous.” He swallows hard. “I’m serious about us. So serious it scares me.”
The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You see it in his eyes, the battle between desire and fear. Fear that he’ll scare you away, that he’ll move too fast, that you’ll retreat behind those walls he’s spent weeks carefully dismantling. Your hands, almost of their own volition, drift upward to press against his chest. Under your palm, you feel the erratic thrum of his heart, each frantic beat echoing your own.
“Mingi,” you whisper, and the sound of his name—so soft, so certain—shatters the fragile barrier he’s been holding between you. For a suspended moment, your gazes lock, electric and trembling, and then he moves with a sudden, desperate clarity.
Mingi’s restraint snaps like brittle glass. He surges forward, kissing you with an intensity that’s as bright and blinding as a detonated star—no preamble, no hesitance, just pure want. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, arms banding around your waist so tightly you feel like you might dissolve into him. There’s nothing tentative in the way he holds you; he’s all-in, every muscle taut with reverence and longing. The kiss is a reclamation, a promise, and the culmination of every unspoken thing that’s hung between you for weeks.
You can only cling to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the seismic shift in energy. Your breath is stolen, your senses alight, your mind gone white-noise blank. The room could be on fire and you wouldn’t notice. Mingi kisses like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets up for even a second—like you’re the last oxygen left on earth and he’s learning how to breathe. And yet, underneath the urgency, there’s a trembling tenderness, as though every pass of his mouth is asking, Is this okay? Am I too much? Do you want me, too?
You answer with your body, arching into him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, jaw tilting to deepen the kiss. His hands slide up your back, mapping the length of your spine; one finds its way into your hair, cradling your head, the other splayed possessively at your hip. He tastes like citrus and hope and the sharp, metallic shimmer of anticipation. There’s nothing careful about it—your teeth clash, your lips bruise, and when you gasp for air, he only uses the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, the delicate hollow at your throat. This is messy, urgent, but it’s also so fiercely sincere you’re left raw by the force of it. When he draws back, just long enough to search your face, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with wonder and disbelief.
“God, This might be better than the first time we kissed,” he pants, chest heaving as he regains control of his breathing. He brushes your hair away from your face, fingers gentle where his grip had been bruising. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You shake your head, already chasing his mouth again, needing to erase the words and replace them with more—more of him, more of this. He laughs against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones. You feel untethered, weightless, every nerve ending singing. You’re dimly aware of your back pressing up against the closed door, Mingi pinning you there in a cocoon of warmth and want. Every inch of you is alive, hypersensitive to the slide of his hands, the brush of his breath against your skin.
He kisses you again and again, in greedy, overlapping intervals, his self-control disintegrating the longer you let him. But even as the kiss turns molten, there’s nothing careless in the way he touches you—no sense of entitlement, just awe and gratitude, as though he still can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re choosing him. When he finally slows, his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, foreheads and noses pressed together, steadying yourselves against the aftershocks.
His lips find the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then your ear. “Sorry,” he whispers, not sounding sorry at all. “I got carried away for a second.”
You laugh, shaky and breathless. “It's okay, it was kinda cute.”
He smiles, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“I learned from the best.”
He laughs again, quieter this time, and it morphs into something softer, more vulnerable. “The student becomes the master now, huh?”
You step back, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies, and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there’s hesitation there too—a question. You answer by taking his hand and leading him toward the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, you place your palms on his chest and gently push. He sits immediately, looking up at you with such reverence that it steals your breath. For a moment, you simply stand between his parted knees, admiring how beautiful he looks like this—waiting, wanting, completely focused on you.
“Can I?” you ask softly, fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.
He nods, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Of course. Whatever you want, doll.”
You take your time undressing him, savouring each new inch of skin revealed. His breathing grows more ragged with each button you slip free, with each brush of your fingertips against his heated skin. Your hands drift lower, finding the buckle of his belt. His eyes never leave yours as you work it loose, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. There’s something intoxicating about the way he watches you—patient yet desperate, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. When you pop the button of his pants, his hands grip the edge of the mattress, anchoring himself down.
“Lift your hips,” you instruct softly, and he complies immediately, allowing you to slide his pants down his thighs. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he kicks them away, leaving him in just his boxers.
You take a moment to admire him like this—the strong lines of his thighs, the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Mingi has always seemed larger than life, but here, partially undressed and vulnerable before you, he’s beautifully human. When you trace a finger along the waistband of his underwear, he shivers, a small sound escaping his throat. He tries reaching for you, but you catch his wrists.
“Not yet,” you murmur, and he immediately stills.
“‘M Sorry,” he breathes, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I’ll be good.”
Something about the way he says it—like he’s never had to wait before, like he’s never been the one following someone else’s lead—makes the heat pool low in your belly. You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rewarding his patience.
“Lie back, let me take care of you,” you instruct, and he complies without hesitation, shifting up the bed until his head rests on the pillows.
You take your time undressing yourself, hyperaware of his hungry gaze tracking every movement. When you finally stand before him in nothing but your underwear, he lets out the sweetest whimper that’s graced your ears.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “You’re so beautiful. I—“
He cuts himself off, holding back a moan as you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands hover uncertainly at your waist, waiting for permission.
“Go ahead, you can touch me,” you grant, and his hands are on you instantly. Feeling the warmth of his hands as they trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.
You lean down to kiss him properly, deep and slow, savouring the taste of him. His lips part eagerly beneath yours, letting you set the pace, following your lead with a pliancy that’s intoxicating from someone normally so in control. You begin grinding against him for friction and he reciprocates. He groans into your mouth, mumbling curses under his breath. You felt his boner poking your ass while you both humped each other so so desperately. His bedroom is filled with the harmony of your heavy breathing, his whines, and the wet sounds of your lips crashing.
“Please,” he gasps. “I need—I want—“
“What do you want, Mingi?” you ask, pulling back slightly to watch his face.
“Need to feel you,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “Don’t want to—haah—cum in my pants like a fucking virgin.”
You giggle at his admission, you slowly reach behind you to squeeze his bulge, feeling it twitch in the palm of your hand. Mingi’s head tips back in bliss, growling at the sensation. The rawness in his voice makes your chest tight. You press soft kisses down his throat, across his collarbones, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair, but he doesn’t push or pull—just holds on like you’re his anchor in a storm.
When you finally strip away the last barriers between you, his whole body trembles with anticipation. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin slide beneath your touch as you position his flushed tip at your entrance. His eyes lock with yours—dark pools of need and surrender. You lower yourself with deliberate patience, savouring the stretch as his thick length fills you, watching his full lips part and his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks.
Mingi whines the second you ease down on him completely, hips trembling beneath you. His hands fist in the sheets, as if he’s physically restraining himself from thrusting up into you.
“Fuck, baby—“ he gasps, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful as he struggles for control. “Feels so good around my cock, shit—“
You lean down, hushing him gently, both palms cradling his flushed face. You treat him like something precious, something to be cherished as you press your lips to his in a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue curls against his languidly, unhurried, as if you have nowhere else to be but here, joined with him in this perfect moment.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you murmur between kisses, your voice soft and sweet and infinitely patient. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath. “You’re doing so good for me.”
He moans at your praise, his entire body shuddering beneath yours. He’s all muscle and barely contained strength under you, his powerful frame completely at your mercy. You can feel how desperately he wants to move, to take control, but he surrenders to your pace instead, letting you have him exactly how you want him.
You remain still, just sitting there with him buried deep inside you, feeling the way your cunt pulses around his length. The sensation must be overwhelming for him because his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing ragged and uneven.
“Is it too much?” you cooed, reaching to brush damp strands of dark hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing
He shakes his head frantically, his grip on your waist tightening. “N-no,” he whines with a soft, shattered sound. “Just—fuck, just need a s-second—feels too fuckin’ good—can’t think—“
Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes squeezed shut in some primal effort to hold himself together, chest heaving under your hands like he’s afraid his ribs will break apart from the force of it. You melt a little at the sight of him—a six foot force of raw sex appeal—now reduced to a mass of shaking limbs and shattered breath, undone and writhing beneath you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he trusts you to see him like this, about the way he lets himself be taken apart so openly, without armour or artifice. You savour it, every trembling, helpless second, and you want to draw it out forever.
You lean down, brushing your lips to his cheek in a soft, featherlight kiss. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he turns his head, chasing your mouth with a need so naked it nearly undoes you. You let him catch you, let him press his lips to yours—not in a kiss, exactly, but a silent plea, a lifeline. You answer by kissing him deeper, slower, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him open, coaxing him back to the surface. His hands slide up your back, frantic but reverent, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you by touch and touch alone. His heart beats wild under your palm, a frantic semaphore that reads: I want you, I want you, I want you. You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down the delicate line where his pulse hammers beneath thin skin. He shudders, his whole body rigid and shivery. You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his face
“Hey,” you murmur, voice as gentle as you know how to make it, “Relax, I’ve got you. Can you do that for me?”
He nods, so obedient and desperate it makes something deep in your chest ache with tenderness. One breath, then another, and you feel the tightness in his body begin to unravel—incremental, but real. You rock your hips slowly, experimentally, watching his face for every flicker of sensation, every micro-expression. His lips part in a helpless moan, but his eyes finally flutter open, dazed and shining. He tries to say your name but it comes out as a whimper, half-beg, half-blessing.
“That’s it, baby” you praise, kissing him again, softer this time. “You’re doing so well.”
The words seem to go straight to his core—he clings to them, drinking them down like water in the desert. You keep up a steady stream of encouragement, every whisper and touch meant to anchor him, to let him know you want him just like this: open, needy, trembling with the effort of holding back.
You draw the next movement out deliberately. The slow, aching drag of your hips, the way you squeeze around him with every tiny shift. Mingi’s hands grip your thighs like lifelines, fingers biting into your skin, but he doesn’t dare take back control—the restraint is exquisite, painful to watch. He’s at your mercy and loving it, if the way his eyes keep darting to your mouth, your chest, your hands, is any indication.
“Gonna let me do what I want, yeah?” you crooned, savoring how your voice makes him flinch with anticipation. “Keep being good for me.”
He nods, lips trembling as he struggles to keep his composure “Fuck. Yes—pl-please, ‘m yours.”
You build your rhythm, slow and steady, each grind calculated to wring the maximum shudder from him. Sometimes you pause, letting him throb helplessly inside you, watching his jaw flex and his throat work as he swallows the urge to move. Sometimes, you bring yourself up just enough that only the tip of him is inside, and let him feel the loss, the emptiness, right before you sink down again in one slow, molten pulse. Every time you do it, Mingi’s head tips back, a sound escaping his throat that’s closer to a sob than a moan. You let the building friction wind both of you higher, but you don’t let yourself get lost in it; you want to see him come apart, to savour every second of his surrender.
You pick up the pace, just enough to make it impossible for him to stay silent. The bed frame squeaks softly beneath you, his hands finally dragging up your ribs, desperate for anything to ground him in this sinful reality. He reaches up and cups one of your tits, rolling and squeezing your nipple until it hardens against his warm touch. Your eyes shut at the sight, your body starts to falter under his grasp. Every inch of him is trembling too, his body strung tight as wire. His thrusts are growing more desperate, cockhead now slamming into your weakest spot, ripping a pornographic moan from you.
“Please, doll,” he rasps, voice gone rough and wild. “Please, can I—?”
You lean in, your lips at his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. “You want to cum?” you hum, rocking down hard and slow, grinding your hips just the way he likes. “You want to fill me up?”
He makes a strangled sound that could be your name, or a prayer, or both. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he says again, as if the word is being pried out of him, as if he’s never begged for anything in his life.
You decide he’s earned it.
“Do it,” you cooed. “Cum for me, Mingi. Wanna feel you cum inside me.”
The effect is immediate. He bucks up into you, helpless, his face contorting with pure, blissful pleasure. His hands drag you down against him, holding you in place as he comes deep inside you, the force of it making his whole body shudder. Your juices drip down his balls and your gummy walls clamp down hard on his sensitive length, throwing into his orgasm and washing his vision white. You feel his warmth spreading in your insides, creamy ropes of cum making you feel fuller than before. You ride him through it, slow and greedy, squeezing him with your cunt until he’s wrung out and gasping, eyes rolling back as he drowns in sensation. His chest trembles under his shaky breaths as he pulls his half-hard cock out of your sticky heat, looking up at you through dampened lashes. You press your lips to his damp temple, stroking his hair until the aftershocks fade. For a moment, the world goes silent save for the hammering of both your hearts, the heat of your bodies, the sweat cooling on your skin.
All of a sudden, the equilibrium tilts.
Mingi comes back to himself by degrees, eyes still glazed but mouth already curling into a grin that’s all sharp canines and mischief. You’re still trembling, the aftershocks ricocheting through your bones, but the way he’s holding you now—possessive—is different from before. There’s a shift in the air, a gathering of purpose behind the lazy drag of his palm up your spine.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he rasps, voice rough with spent desire, “my turn.”
Suddenly he’s moving, rolling you onto your back in a single, fluid motion. His hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, your thighs, greedy in their hunger. His body covers yours, heat and weight and muscle, and you realise that he’s been biding his time, letting you have your way only so he could give it back to you tenfold.
“Did you really think you had all the control, doll?” he drawls, the words fiery and playful at once, goading you with the memory of your earlier dominance—all while letting you know it was only ever on loan.
His hands bracket your hips, fingers splayed and greedy, and you feel the faintest quiver in his arms as he holds himself over you, like a predator savouring the moment before the pounce. His eyes never leave yours as he takes himself in hand, his cock already hardening again. You feel the blunt head of him brushing against your sensitive folds, teasing at your entrance. He drags it slowly up and down your slit, still slick with his cum and your arousal, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he continues to tease you, tapping his tip against your cunt with feather-light touches. “Look at how eager you are f’me.”
You moan as he continues his torturous teasing, rubbing his hardening length against your swollen lips, gathering your shared wetness along his shaft. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the fullness you crave. Mingi just chuckles, keeping his movements shallow, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside before retreating. The emptiness is maddening.
“Use your words,” he commands softly, continuing the torturous tapping against your entrance. “Tell me what you need.”
“I— ohmygod... I need—,” you try to answer, but the question melts on your tongue.
His smile is triumphant as he finally, finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one smooth thrust. He buries himself deeper, hips rolling with a languid, relentless power. Every inch of him fills you, presses you open, makes you ache. He fucks up into you with a slow, devastating grind that leaves your toes curling and your nails digging into his biceps for purchase.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, nipping at your pulse point, tongue flicking over sweat-salted skin. “So wet for me. You like being stuffed by my cock don't you?”
“Oh fuck.. yes!” You whimper, and he grips your jaw, thumb pressing into your lower lip, enticing you to be louder.
“Let me hear you,” he growls, eyes burning into yours. “Fuck—let the whole dorm hear how good I’m making you feel.”
He fucks you like he has nowhere to go and nothing else to do but ruin you, each punishing thrust deliberate and deep, perfectly tuned to hit every trembling, oversensitive sweet spot inside you, drawing out increasingly desperate sounds that seem to fuel his hunger. The room is a riot of sensation: the slap of skin on skin, the obscene squeeelch of your own arousal, the sweat that drips from his brow onto your collarbone as he leans in to bite at your shoulder.
He laces his fingers through yours, pinning your hands above your head, and the new angle is exquisite—he’s so deep you can barely breathe, so intense you can’t manage a sound. He’s watching your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and pain, cataloguing the way your body arches and clenches around him.
“Look at you,” he pants, fucking you harder now, the headboard rattling with each thrust. “You look so pretty like this—spread out for me, fuck. This is what you wanted, right?”
You feel the weight of him first, that heavy press of Mingi’s body pinning you down against the sheets, his hips grinding slow and deliberate as he sinks deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you wide, the burn mixing with that sweet ache that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the scarred skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just growls low in his throat, pushing harder, stuffing himself in until there’s no space left between you. All you can feel is him, that thick length buried deep, pulsing against your walls as he drives in again and again. a whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy, your body arching up to meet him even as the overload makes you want to pull away. Mingi notices immediately. his hand shoots up, fingers tangling rough in your hair, yanking your head forward with just enough force to make you gasp.
“Look at me,” He rasps, voice strained like he’s fighting through something sharp and brutal.
His grip tightens, holding you steady so your eyes lock onto his. Yours are wide now, pupils blowing out wide and dark, swallowing the colour until there’s just that hazy black stare reflecting back at him. He watches it happen, the way they dilate under the dim light, pulling him in like you’re lost in the haze of it all. His sounds get louder, desperate almost, grunts turning into these deep, guttural moans that vibrate through his body into yours.
“Fuck—I'm gonna lose my mind,” he groans, the word dragging out low and pained, like the pleasure is edging on torture. his free hand digs into your hip, bruising as he pulls you closer, slamming in one last time. “Your perfect cunt was made for me wasn't it?”
You nod, frantic, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. He slows, just enough to let you catch your breath, then leans in, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that’s as much a challenge as comfort. His tongue is rough, demanding, and he swallows every helpless sound you make.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, he pulls out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching at nothing. Before you can beg, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, hands manhandling your hips up until you’re on your knees for him, face pressed into the pillows. He lines himself up behind you, the heat of his cock nudging at your entrance, and you whimper in anticipation.
“You're gonna let me fuck you sooo good, right baby?” he promises, voice gone dark and needy, and then he slams back into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke. The sound you make is sweet, involuntary, a sob torn from deep in your chest. He gives you no quarter, hips pistoning relentlessly, the flat of his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends you clenching around him.
“So beautiful,” he purred, running his palm over the stinging flesh.
With every thrust he drives the point home, each one punctuated by a filthy litany—mine—until you can feel the word burning into your skin. He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerks your head back so you’re forced to arch, to present yourself to him, to let him see how utterly, beautifully ruined you are.
“Say it,” he orders, voice raw. “Tell me who you belong to.”
You gasp, barely able to form words. “You! Mingi. I’m all yours—“
He rewards you with devastating thrusts, so deep your vision starts turning white.
You can feel yourself unraveling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He’s relentless, fucking you through your first orgasm and into a second, not stopping even when you collapse boneless onto the mattress. He kisses your spine, your shoulder blade, every vertebrae, as he keeps you pinned and takes you, over and over, until your vision blurs and you forget your own name.
“M-mingi! M’ so close, gonna cum—“
“Gonna cum inside you again,” he promises, voice shaking with how close he is, hips stuttering. “You gonna take it for me? Gonna let me breed this perfect pussy?”
“Yesyesyes—fuck!”
The words rip something out of you. You nod, desperate, grinding back against him, greedy for his release.
“That’s my girl, c’mon cum with me baby.”
He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and fucks you through his own climax, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up again, so much it slicks out around the edges and paints the inside of your thighs, messy and obscene.
You collapse together, his arms locked around your waist, breath ghosting warm across your neck. He stays inside you, softening only a little, like he can’t bear to let you go yet. You lie there, bodies tangled and sticky, sweat cooling on your skin, and you feel the heat of him still throbbing inside you, a silent claim.
Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, your breathing gradually slowing to match each other’s rhythm. Mingi’s weight on top of you is heavy but comforting, his cock still nestled deep inside you despite having softened slightly. The gentle pulsing of him against your walls sends occasional aftershocks through your system, little reminders of the intensity you just shared.
“Stay like this,” you whisper when he finally stirs, your hand reaching back to keep him in place. “Just a little longer.”
He makes a soft sound of agreement, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. “You like feeling me inside you, don’t you?” His voice is a gentle rumble against your skin.
You nod, feeling strangely vulnerable in your admission. There’s something deeply intimate about this—more so, somehow, than the passionate sex you just had. Mingi seems to understand, adjusting his position slightly so he’s not crushing you but remains connected, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped possessively across your waist.
“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.
“Perfect,” you sigh, melting into the mattress beneath his weight.
The room falls quiet except for your mingled breathing and the distant thrum of music from downstairs. The party continues without you, but at this moment, the world outside this room might as well not exist. Mingi nuzzles against your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to the marks he left earlier.
“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly.
“What, sex?” you tease, knowing full well that’s not what he means.
He laughs softly, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. “No, smartass.” His arm tightens around you. “This,” he clarifies, fingers drawing gentle patterns on your skin. “Having someone stay over.”
You twist your neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? But you’re—you’re you. How—”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah I know…I don’t bring people here. Ever.”
“Ever?” You shift slightly to face him better, wincing as you feel him slip out of you. The loss is immediate, leaving you empty in a way that makes you want to chase the connection again. He reaches for tissues from his nightstand, cleaning you both with surprising tenderness before settling back beside you. His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable.
“Never,” he confirms, voice soft. “This room is... I don’t know. It’s mine. My space. I don’t share it with just anyone.”
The implication hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You’re not just anyone. You’re someone he wants in his private world, someone he’s letting see parts of himself that others don’t.
“But all those stories about you...” you begin, confused.
He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “Not saying I’ve been a saint. But those hookups? They happened elsewhere. Never here. Never in my bed.” His fingers trace your cheekbone with careful precision. “Never like this.”
Something warm blooms in your chest, spreading outward until your whole body feels flushed with it. You’ve been the exception to so many of his rules already—the girl he studied for, the one he took to Stellina, the one he waited patiently for. And now this—being the only person he’s ever brought to his most personal space.
“I didn’t know,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.
“How could you?” His smile is small but genuine. “I’ve spent a lot of time making sure everyone sees exactly what they expect to see.”
You reach up, touching his face with gentle fingers. “And what am I seeing right now?”
“The real me,” he says simply. “The one who’s terrified of messing this up. The one who thinks about you constantly. The one who...” he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, “the one who wants you to be his girlfriend. Officially.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. Despite everything that’s happened between you—the tutoring, the dates, the incredible sex you just had—hearing him say it out loud makes it suddenly, overwhelmingly real.
“Mingi...” you start, uncertain how to respond.
His face falls slightly, but he quickly masks it. “I’m rushing things, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not that,” you say quickly, not wanting him to misunderstand. “It’s just—this is all happening so fast. A few months ago I couldn’t stand you, and now...”
“And now?” he prompts when you trail off, eyes searching yours.
“Now I can’t imagine not having you in my life,” you admit. The truth of it surprises even you. “I just need a little time to process everything. Can I... can I give you an answer tomorrow?”
Relief washes over his features. “It’s not a no?”
You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Definitely not a no.”
He pulls you closer, wrapping you in his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. “Tomorrow it is. I can wait.”
You fall asleep like that, tangled together in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm on your neck. For the first time in years, you don’t worry about your schedule or your plans or what comes next. You just let yourself exist in this moment, with him.
═══════════════════
Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slowly, your body pleasantly sore as consciousness creeps in. For a moment, disorientation clouds your mind—this isn’t your dorm room. All of a sudden, rapid flashbacks enter your mind from the events of last night. Mingi is gone, the sheets cool where he should be. For one terrible moment, panic seizes your chest—did he regret last night? Did he change his mind about wanting you as his girlfriend?
Then you hear footsteps in the hallway, the door handle turning. You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart pounding.
Mingi backs into the room, hands full. He’s balancing a tray of coffee cups, a small box of chocolates tucked under his arm, and—your breath catches—a bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas cradled against his chest. He hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet, too focused on not dropping anything as he nudges the door closed with his foot.
When he turns and sees you watching him, his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Morning,” he says, suddenly looking shy. “I was hoping to be back before you woke up.”
“What’s all this?” you ask, unable to keep the smile from your voice.
He approaches the bed, carefully setting down the coffee cups on the nightstand. “Well, I figured your answer might depend on how convincing my case was.” He hands you the flowers, the stargazer lilies’ pink-speckled petals unfurling beside clusters of blue hydrangeas that catch the morning light. “These reminded me of you.”
You bury your nose in the blooms, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “They’re perfect.”
“There’s more,” he says, offering you the box of chocolates. “Your favourite, right? The ones with the salted caramel centers?”
You blink in surprise. “How did you know?”
“You mentioned it once, when we were studying for the midterm. Said they were your stress food.”
The fact that he remembered such a small detail makes your heart swell. He passes you one of the coffee cups, the rich aroma of your preferred brew wafting up as you take it.
“And this…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. “This is the most important part.”
You set the coffee aside and take the card with trembling fingers. The envelope is simple, your name written on the front in his familiar handwriting. Inside is a handmade card, decorated with what appears to be hand-drawn economic graphs and formulas. You open it, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest as you read the message:
According to my cost-benefit analysis, being with you yields the highest returns on investment. Our relationship has increasing marginal utility—the more time I spend with you, the more valuable each moment becomes. Will you be my girlfriend and help me maximize our happiness and love function?
It’s nerdy and sweet and so perfectly him that tears spring to your eyes. When you look up, he’s watching you nervously, waiting for your response.
“Soooo?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You set the card aside carefully and reach for him, pulling him down until he’s sitting beside you on the bed. “You're so stupid,” you say, cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I'll be your girlfriend”
The relief and joy that wash over his features are almost painful to witness. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both gentle and fierce, like he’s trying to pour every emotion he’s feeling into this one perfect moment.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if he’s committing this to memory.
“You know,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “for someone who was failing economics a few weeks ago, that was a pretty impressive application of the principles.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of you. “What can I say? I had an excellent tutor.”
“Damn right you did,” you tease, pulling him in for another kiss.
Outside, the campus is waking up. Students are heading to class, professors are preparing lectures, life is continuing as it always has. But in this room, wrapped in each other’s arms, you and Mingi have created something new—a world that belongs just to the two of you, built on unexpected connections, shattered assumptions, and the courage to see beyond the surface. As his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, you let yourself sink into the certainty that some economic theories are universal: the most valuable things are often the ones you never saw coming, and the greatest returns come from the investments you make not with your head, but with your heart.
➥ Prompt(s) requested
· 20: Strip. Now.
· 79: You better watch your fucking mouth.
· 80: Did I say you could stop?
⚠ — Semi-public sex, lowkey breeding kink
➥ You and Chris are heavily feuding over the "Best Damn Inker of the South Side" title, but there is at least mutual acknowledgement of talent—you still go to each other for your own tattoos. But when your touch-up job results in an addition you didn't ask for, all hell breaks loose.
“You better watch your fucking mouth!”
Fingers wrapped in black gloves pointing at you in protest, Chris stared daggers into your soul. The offense he took was massive, and he was NOT going to take this slander.
“What? We both know what a tattoo junkie Dr. Woo is, and he came to my studio,” you shrugged as you unbuttoned your pants to get ready. “That’s definitive proof right there that I’m better than you.”
“I was at a convention that day!”
“Yeah, whatever makes you sleep at night, Dimples,” you maximized his annoyance with a shit-eating grin and got comfortable on the chair.
“Whatever makes me sleep at night, huh?” he pulled up the stool next to you and turned on the tattoo gun, pressing his tongue inside his cheek.
And that would be the moment the feisty little lamb has slathered itself in barbecue sauce and walked into the wolf’s den.
As a premium quality insomniac, Chris had tried everything to knock himself out for years, but he seemed to be immune to even the most proven methods. In the past few months, however, one thing in particular had strangely started to work.
It all began the day you came to him for that godforsaken crotch tattoo.
None of that “This has to have tremendous meaning” shit. Something minimal and playful, no coloring, no shading, just linework of a half-bitten donut for whatever reason. He wasn’t about to lie; it did tick him off a bit when you joked that you wanted it to, quote, “Make your pussy more appealing to eat.”
So on top of your constant disses, he was your cunt beautician now?!
As he was working, however, his standard-issue annoyance over you started to morph into something else. He had never been this close to… well, you before, and the more time he spent inches away from your clit, the more thickly he was gulping, unable to control the amount of drool filling his mouth. There was no way you were oblivious to it—the wet trail on your underwear was clearly growing bigger, and he was at war with himself, fighting the intrusive thought to drag your pants down and steal a lick. Were you fucking ovulating or something? What the hell was this sweet scent anyway? And if that didn’t make your pussy the number one item on the midnight snacks list, a donut tattoo was supposed to do it?!
He lost count of how many times he jerked off to the thought of munching on your clit in your sleep. For some reason, it always made him cum so hard that he would pass out as soon as he finished.
“Mm, I love how light your handwork is,” you sighed, eyes closed and contently smiling as if you were getting a deep tissue massage at a spa. “It never hurts.”
His lips were pursed with full focus on the outside, but he was snickering inside like a cartoon villain, very proud of himself for his little scheme. He just didn’t give a fuck. You should have checked yourself if you didn’t want to wreck yourself.
“All done,” he turned off the gun at long last and carefully placed the film over the tattoo.
“Really?” you opened your eyes, a little dazed, looking down to check the end result. “I think I fell asleep a litt— WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”
Your little half-bitten pastry had a friend next to it now. It was also a donut with sprinkles, but in the shape of the letter B, so if anybody saw this, their first question was going to be “What does CB mean?”
CB. On your crotch!
“You said whatever makes me sleep at night,” he removed his gloves, perfectly straight face enraging you to no end. “This will make me sleep soundly.”
“FIX IT!!!”
“Nnnope.”
When you suddenly grabbed his wrist, Chris lost his balance and fell on top of you. You were staring at each other, totally paralyzed. You had never been this close to… well, him before, and the more time you spent inches away from his lips, the more thickly you were gulping, unable to control the intrusive thought to kiss his face off. Did he put on cologne or something? What the hell was this spicy scent anyway?
“If you…” he spoke barely above a whisper. “If you don’t stop me right now, I swear to fucking god—”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
It was as if your rivalry was having a sequel, and this was a race to see who was going to take the other’s breath away first. You had never been kissed that deeply in your life, and every time he swirled his tongue around yours, you were getting one step closer to throwing in the towel.
Fuck the towel, you wanted to forfeit the game entirely so he would win.
“Strip,” he demanded, almost ripping your clothes off of you. “Now.”
In the blink of an eye, you were both naked, not knowing where to devour each other first. Chris was going berserk, biting your neck, pinching your nipples, sucking on your thighs like he wanted to leave his mark all over your body. You propped up on your elbows when he was finally back between your legs again. He was heavily panting, just staring at your folds, as though he was trying to talk himself out of swallowing it whole.
“Do it,” you urged him.
Like it would take any more persuasion…
Licks after frantic licks, he was eating your pussy just like he was inhaling your lips a second ago, obscenely slurping on your slick to force you to go insane. Your back was already arched high, your head thrown back, you were riding his tongue as fast as you could to reach your release. You were moaning so loudly that there was no way people out on the street weren’t suspecting a porn shoot was going on inside. When your cries of pleasure reached their peak, Chris suddenly stopped and looked up at you.
“Did I say you could stop?” you grabbed his ponytail and tugged on it. “Fucking finish me!”
You could cum to that sinister smile alone, but…
He slipped two fingers inside you, beckoning your orgasm to come closer as his tongue lapped at your clit. Steady. Steady. Then faster. A bit faster. A lot faster.
“Feed me.”
Your clit melting into his gentle sucks, he moaned into your pussy so deliciously that it was impossible to survive that crash. If your toes curled any harder, you were going to lose the ability to walk. He didn’t let you properly come down, immediately charging at you and turning you around.
“On fours,” he firmly ordered. “Legs wide. Just like that.”
You were still pulsating hard from your orgasm when he pressed his tip on your entrance, and he almost came from the sheer intensity. He bottomed out with one sharp thrust, pinning you in your place from your hips, and went off at full speed. You felt incredible around him, all swollen and so slippery, begging him to paint you white.
“Whatever makes me sleep at night, my ass. You know what would make me sleep like a baby?” he growled, clenching his jaw so hard that his teeth were about to break. “Breeding your cunt. You know you fucking deserve it.”
His smooth rhythm suddenly turned staccato, each push making him moan louder, and when you clenched your hips to trap him inside, it was over for him. You basked in the warmth of his seed slowly filling you up, the sounds of his pleasure so satisfying to listen to. You waited for him to either pull out or collapse, but he did neither. He carefully climbed onto the chair with you instead and pulled you into a hug from behind, his cock still throbbing inside you.
“This isn’t over, Bang. I’m gonna tie you to this chair for my revenge if that’s what it takes,” you sleepily uttered. “I’ll tattoo bagels on your dick with my initials, you’ll see.”
“I’ll make sure to bring a belt, princess,” he kissed your shoulder and buried his face in the crook of your neck.
✉ Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my chapters from the draft prison.
content warnings: MDNI, smut, power imbalance (idol x fan), dubious consent/coercive dynamics, slight alcohol consumption, breath play/choking, rough sex, overstimulation, breast play, oral (m and f receive), slight degradation if you squint, possessive behavior, public interaction leading to private sexual encounter, emotional distress/panic spirals/anxiety, slight dacryphilia, explicit language, physical restraint/pinning, unprotected sex, pull out.
words: 9.9k
AN: based on this ask. Keep in mind that it’s my first time doing an ask (which I was so grateful for btw!) so I hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations! Yes, I absolutely did get carried away, but somehow the story just wrote itself, what could I do…
*everything is fictional, just for some distracting fun*
Reposts are super appreciated 🤍
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Your ribs press slightly against the barrier, people pushing in from behind you as Hongioong appears on the screen. The camera follows him backstage and you feel yourself swoon a little: that cocky smile of his with the walk of a man who knows no fear, the energy he radiates - it's intoxicating.
This is your second show for the tour. Yesterday, you had stood directly in front of the stage, but you kept noticing Hongjoong going to the left side, so today, you decided to try going there too.
And it worked.
For the last hour and a half, he has been coming to this side of the stage, giving you and the people around you all kinds of interactions. You couldn't be happier that your bias is so close. More than that, it feels like he keeps singing to you, winking and pointing in your direction. Obviously, you're not delusional enough to think it means anything, but it doesn't make the feeling any less incredible.
You even made a fist to ask him to play rock paper scissors with you, out of sheer curiosity, and you about died inside when he played with you. His eyes were locked on yours the whole time, and your face burned at his intimidating presence.
Your eyes are now glued to the screen as the camera follows him up the stairs to the stage. When he appears, your heart falters a little at the sight, the lights making millions of sparkles burst on his custom made jacket.
The crowd erupts in screams and cheers when he starts yet another brand new intro to his song, as he does every night. There's something about his creative genius that gets you going every single time - if only you could have a peek inside that brain of his...
Suddenly, he makes his way down the stairs to the little corridor between the crowd and the stage, and when his foot meets the ground, he turns his head to meet your eyes instantly.
A drop of sweat runs down your back at his disarming gaze, and you can feel every fan in your vicinity staring at you. You don't know if you should look away or hold his stare, but your body takes the decision away from you - you can’t look away. Not when he prances towards you, not when he sings to you, not even when he comes face to face with you.
It feels like a dream.
His orange hair seems somewhat brighter despite the lack of light down here, the shimmers around his eyes put you in a trance, and his perfume - god his perfume - it makes your head spin.
He's right there. And no, you're not dreaming. Your bias, the man you compare every guy you meet to, is standing less than two feet away from you. The one you put on a pedestal for his kindness, his generosity, his cleverness and wit, and let's face it, his stunning visuals.
His eyebrow cocks as the chorus approaches and your breath catches in your throat. You've seen videos of this happening, him passing the mic to an ATINY and having her sing along, but not in a million years did you ever think this would happen to you. You're tragically unprepared, but he doesn’t give you a choice.
It’s like it all happens in slow motion - him singing the words N-O-1 before angling the mic towards you. His demeanour is almost lazy, his free hand holding on to the barrier as he leans his weight against it.
You don't think, you just act.
The lyric comes out of you in an instant. It's not perfect or steady, your nerves manifesting in a shaky breath, but you'll be damned if you don't take this opportunity.
He smiles at you, a kind, warm smile with a slight under layer of smugness and you bite your lip, trying not to scream. He catches the tiny movement with a flicker of his eyes, and withdraws his hand from the barrier - not without brushing his fingers over your waist. Could it be accidental? Most likely. But it doesn't stop your entire body from lighting up.
He turns away, continuing his way around the stage, and you could swear he winks at you as his head whips, but so much just happened in such a short amount of time that you're dizzy, and everything feels blurry.
A girl behind you pats your shoulder.
“Girl, you good?”
The sound suddenly comes back fully and you start breathing again. You look at her and smile weakly, nodding your head yes, unable to produce words.
Your friend couldn't make it today, and you were debating whether to come on your own or not, but you’re so glad you pushed through the nerves and decided to enjoy it anyways. She is absolutely going to regret not having been here for this.
You watch as he continues to walk around the corridor, and you notice, despite trying to stay grounded, that he doesn’t pass the mic to anyone else. It’s so hard not to come to any conclusions, but you also know this is his job - you’re not the first fan he gave the mic to, and you certainly won’t be the last.
You focus on your breathing for a second, trying to calm your racing heart, before you dial back into the performance. You’re here to watch them after all.
Hongjoong is behind the DJ booth again, jumping around and you let yourself enjoy it.
Shutter flashin’ on me
The strobe lights are blinding, making you feel lost in the sea of fans, and you let yourself get carried with their voices.
Fit so clean I’m blessing lenses like a Sunday service
Your eyes are glued to him as his hips move in a hypnotising rhythm. All of a sudden he’s staring at you again.
She screamin' out my name
I got the girls feeling holy
You wish you were making this up in your head. Either you’ve gone crazy, or this is the most fan service that ever fan serviced. This man just winked at you whilst singing this. Is he implying you would scream out his name? That he would make you feel holy?
You shake your head.
This has gone too far. It almost feels like you’re falling into a spiral of delusions and you need to claw your way out now, or you might get stuck in it.
————
The rest of the concert goes off without a hitch, lest for a few pointing glances from a certain orange haired man, and you’re not sure if you should ignore them, or if you’re overthinking it and would come off as rude.
As incredible as this experience was, when the venue lights come back on, you breathe a sigh of relief. The fans emptying around you are giving you some physical and mental room to breathe, and you welcome it. Your friend is definitely never going to believe this.
You grab all your things, packing a handful of confetti in your bag and start making your way out when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around to see security standing there, intimidating.
“Miss, were you standing over there?” He asks as he points to where you just were moments ago.
You nod, swallowing thickly with nerves. “Yeah I was, why? Is it the confetti? ‘Cause I saw everyone doing this, I thought it was allowed…”
“I’m not here about the confetti, you can take as much as you want.” He motions towards the side of the stage. “Could you follow me? This will just take a minute.”
Confusion and intrigue battle inside your mind for a moment, the latter winning the fight.
You follow the broad shouldered man to a small curtain under the stage, where a woman awaits. She smiles at you before handing you a piece of paper.
“He wanted you to have this.” She says, disappearing as soon as you grab the small white rectangle.
You unfold it slowly with trembling hands.
I trusted you with my mic, trust me with one night.
And below, a phone number.
Your eyes dart back to where the woman was but she’s already long gone, and when you look to your side, so is the man who brought you here.
“Is this a joke?” You throw out, your voice much quieter than you wish it was, but with no one to answer you, you decide to give the number a try.
Your fingers shake as you dial the number. It rings a couple of times before the line crackles.
“Hello?”
A beat, and then, “Hello, I’m glad to see you took my number.”
“Is this actually Kim Hongjoong? Is someone pranking me?”
“Meet me at the Hilton by the venue at 11.30pm. Room 613. And please, don’t bother changing into anything else.”
“What? What do you m-“ Your question gets cut off by the beep of the call being ended.
You blink at nothing, as if seeing better could help you make sense of this conversation.
It sure sounded like his voice, but there is no way an idol would actually call you, let alone invite you to his room. No, this is definitely a prank.
But then again, why would security go through all this trouble? Is it something they do every show to entertain themselves in some sadistic way, or were they just following instructions?
You look at the time.
10.47pm
Forty-three minutes until the mentioned meeting time.
Out of curiosity, you check the nearest Hilton location, finding out that it’s only a fifteen minute walk.
The venue is almost empty now, and you have no choice but to leave. As you approach the doors, you stare at the map in front of you. You can either turn right and go to the bus stop, or turn left and find out if this is real or some cruel joke - but neither option seems to be the right one. You look up and see a bar across the street, deciding to settle there for the time being.
————
11.12pm
You haven’t stopped checking the time since you sat down, sighing after every sip of your beer, unsure what to do.
On one hand, you could just go home and pretend this was just a fever dream. On the other hand… on the other hand, you could potentially have the most incredible experience of your life - if only you trusted in fate a little. You take the last swig of your drink, clanking it down on the table. Gathering your belongings, you step outside and look at your options one last time.
If I didn’t want to go, why would I still be thinking about it?
That one thought is what settles it for you - your body pulls you to your right, the neon sign of the Hilton guiding your way as you feel a strange sensation in the pit of your stomach.
————
When you reach the hotel entrance, it feels like the glowing sign is looking down at you, mocking you for believing Hongjoong actually wants you to meet him in his hotel room. You're frozen in place, unable to step foot inside, when your phone rings.
No caller ID
You hesitate but answer after a few rings.
"I can see you at the entrance, why aren't you coming in? It's cold."
You look around, checking for any sign of someone following you, but there is nothing, just the light traffic of hotel occupants coming and going.
"I'm in my room, you won't see me from down there."
Your head automatically tilts upwards, looking for someone in a window, but it's impossible to tell which one is his.
"Just come up before you turn into an icicle."
The call cuts before you can say anything.
Screw it. Maybe it's the beer talking, or maybe it's the exhaustion from having been on your feet all day, but you haven't come this far just to turn around.
You walk into the hotel, your first thought being to go to reception but you abstain - asking where an idol's room is won't exactly look great. Instead, you go to the nearest elevator and punch in the dial for the 6th floor. Logically, that's where he'll be.
The more floors you go past, the faster your heart beats. This is absolutely insane. The craziest, most unhinged thing you've ever done, but you're too close to finding out what's going on to turn back now.
The doors open with a ding and you jump at the sound. Stepping outside, slowly, you scan the doors for where to go.
607, 609, 611
There it is. Room 613.
You bring your fist up to knock when the door opens, and there he is.
In front of your eyes. Kim Hongjoong. You search his face for surprise at you being here, but there is none. Instead, he's smiling at you.
"I'm glad you made it."
No words come to you. It's like you're a toddler who has yet to produce her first words. You should really say something, a greeting, or maybe even smile, not look at him like a fish.
Nothing.
He chuckles and opens the door wider for you.
"Come in!"
The ice around your body slowly thaws and you find the ability to move your legs, one step at a time, until you're standing in the middle of his room, the door locking behind you.
You absolutely did not think this through. Your brain only took you as far as figuring out if this was real or a prank, it never actually put you through the scenarios of what to do should this actually be happening.
"Do you need anything? Have you eaten since the show?" He's already by the room phone, dialling reception.
You shake your head lightly. Now that he mentions it, you haven't really eaten all day.
"No."
He smiles. "She speaks! Alright, I'll order you some… fries? Burger? Salad? What do you want?" Your stomach rumbles as he lists the foods. "Salad’s fine.”
He raises an eyebrow at you when someone answers on the other line. "Hi, yes, I'd like to have some salad, fries and a burger brought up to room 613 please.” He looks at you from the corner of his eyes. “Throw in a brownie too." He turns to you. "You can eat whatever you want."
When he hangs up, he looks at you, scanning you, and you suddenly feel not just out of place, but tiny, insignificant. You're in the presence of this man who has thousands at his feet and has dominated industries, and you can't help but wonder why he asked you to come.
"You should sit down." He says, pulling a chair out for you.
You oblige, mindlessly, as if he was in control of your actions.
"What's your name?"
"Y/n." You whisper, realising that he has no idea who you are.
He smiles, a genuine, happy smile. "I'm Hongjoong, nice to meet you."
He extends his hand and you stare at it for a moment before grabbing it. The contact of his skin sends a current of electricity coursing through your veins and you tense.
"I know." You say, a little snarky. "I kind of just went to your concert." He bursts out in a laugh that surprises you, but it pulls a shy smile out of you.
"I suppose that's fair." He waits for a moment. "I'm sorry for all the theatrics, I feel like I made this whole thing more cryptic than it needed to be."
"Just a tad." You say, scratching your neck. "I didn't know if it was real or a prank. I'm still not sure…” You chuckle.
For the first time since you arrived, you take a quick scan of the room. You've seen their hotel rooms on lives, but being in it feels different. It feels... mundane. Banal. Just another hotel room, much like the ones you've stayed in before - although perhaps bigger. His things are packed neatly in a little corner, his DJ pad sitting on the nightstand, as if he had been practicing until your arrival.
He tracks your eyes to the small machine.
"You want me to show you?"
He's already up and walking to pick it up, making you notice his outfit, which you hadn't paid any mind to when you got here.
He's wearing a loose white t-shirt, his tattoo peaking through the sleeve, and a pair of grey sweats. His makeup is gone and his hair looks freshly washed.
You look down at yourself and can't help but feel a little gross. You've been sweating, standing, amongst thousands of people, and you look completely out of place. Instinctively, your arms cross over your chest, too aware of how revealing your top is - the halter neck corset not doing much to hide certain parts of you.
When he turns around, DJ pad in hand, he notices your posture has changed, and it feels like all of a sudden the air changes too.
He burrows his eyes into yours.
"You don't need to do that. You look nice. Actually, you look beautiful." His voice is soft but commanding.
You want to uncross your arms, but the blush is creeping to the surface of your skin now, and you feel even more aware of the situation. He takes a slow step towards you.
"Why do you think I told you not to change?"
You open your mouth to respond but a knock on the door interrupts you before you can.
Room service might have just saved you from getting yourself into a situation you shouldn't be in with how this was going.
You look towards the door and notice Hongjoong only has it open enough to take the tray from the hotel worker, not enough to let them see you in here. It makes you realise that no one knows where you are, and it brings both a slight fear and an intriguing flash of excitement through you.
The smell of the food hits your nose as soon as the door is closed and your stomach protests at the lack of attention you've given it today.
"Food's here!" He puts the tray down on the table and sits down in front of you, but you don't move. "I was serious earlier. Have what you want. As much or as little as you want."
You look at the array of delicious looking plates before you, your mouth salivating, but you can't quite bring yourself to touch any of it.
"That's so much... I can't."
"Yes, you can. I ordered it for you."
"But.." You're not sure how to phrase it. "You paid for it..."
He scoffs. "So? You think this is what's gonna ruin me? Y/n, eat." He's serious now, and you don't want to make him mad or seem disrespectful, so you tentatively grab a french fry.
When it hits your tongue, the salt makes you instantly close your eyes and hum in contentment.
He observes you, the small sound you just made going straight to his head. He was right to make you come here - there was no other way he could get you out of his system.
When you reopen your eyes, you catch him staring at you, unabashedly, and you fold into yourself a little, embarrassed.
"Sorry..."
"For what? I'm glad you're enjoying the food."
His smile is sincere, but the intensity of his gaze is unsettling. Still, you continue to pick at the fries, taking a bite of the burger here and there. It may not be the most ladylike thing, but your care slowly goes out the window the more you eat.
He watches you for what feels like hours before speaking.
"Is there anything you wanna know?"
The question takes you by surprise and you stop mid chew. Yes, there are so many things you're burning to find out, but you have no idea where to begin.
"Are you not tired?"
He chuckles at your question, probably expecting something completely different. "Aren't you?"
"A little.” You shrug. “The food is helping though."
"I'm the same. I usually go to bed much later anyways, so this is nothing a little food can't fix." He says as he pops a fry in his mouth.
You smile at him, a genuine smile for the first time since you’ve arrived. It makes you feel a little better that he’s eating too and is so relaxed about all of this. You gain a bit of confidence to ask another question.
“What’s it like performing the same songs over and over again, do you ever get bored?”
He grins at your interest in his job. “It depends. It’s repetitive, but I love performing, and every performance is different. The crowds, the venues, the purpose, the energy. It gives the song a new feel every time. So for the most part, I’d say… no.”
You’re completely entranced by his words, drinking in every single thing he says. Your questions keep flowing as you get more comfortable - about his job, his career, his life. You can’t stop finding new questions to ask him, although you’re careful not to tread on ones that would seem too personal. After all, you have to remind yourself you’re in the presence of an idol, and although he invited you here, he still probably doesn’t want to divulge every aspect of his life to you.
He keeps answering everything without hesitating, but one thing is burning at the tip of your tongue.
“I have another question, but… I’m not sure I should.”
Curiosity sparks inside him and he stands straighter, expectant.
You clear your throat. “Do you, umm… do you do this often?”
He knows what you mean but he wants you to say it out loud. “Do what?”
Your cheeks heat up. “Invite women… fans…up. Here. To your room.”
“No.”
The one word answer is simple and clear, and it makes the air feel like it suddenly weighs a half ton more. Your breathing grows a little quicker at the revelation. This somehow feels like an incredible amount of pressure, but would it have made you feel better if he said yes?
“Oh…” The word comes out breathless, almost inaudible.
His eyes drop to your outfit and you feel like shrinking into your seat, but his presence pins you into place.
“I saw you yesterday, you know? You were wearing your hair up, and your top was like our cowboy outfit from last tour.”
The revelation knocks the air out of you. How is it possible that he noticed you when you were multiple rows away from barricade?
“Actually, I had to avoid the front as much as possible. You distracted me, and I almost missed my cue during Lemon Drop. That’s the first time it’s happened. I was pretty flustered after that. Took me a few minutes to lock back in, but I could feel you staring at me the whole time.”
“I had no idea, sorry…”
He laughs a little. “What are you apologising for? You weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Still, I… I don’t know. I didn’t mean to distract you.”
He nods. “I know. It just happened. And I thought I’d be fine today, honestly. Actually, I was relieved when I didn’t see you at first. But then, when I spotted you on my right, it felt like a sign. That’s where I’d been coming yesterday - but you obviously knew that. That’s why you came, isn’t it.”
His last sentence isn’t a question - it’s a statement. If he told you he could read minds you wouldn’t be surprised.
Of course you knew, and of course you weren’t gonna miss that chance.
You hadn’t realised until now, but he’s been inching closer and closer to you, leaning on the edge of his chair.
Your brain manages to form the words you’ve been itching to ask. “Why me?”
He leans back a little, rubbing a hand over his face. “Honestly? I have no idea. I wish I had a clear answer, but I don’t. There’s a lot of beautiful fans every night, and without sounding mean, there’s nothing inherently different about you.” He pauses for a second, leaning his elbows on his knees. You can almost feel his breath fanning your face. “Except that I couldn’t get you out of my head. I needed to be close to you. Talk to you. Hear your voice. Get to know you. Get you out of my system by any means necessary.”
His proximity and his words make your head spin. “The beer was a bad idea.” You mutter as you feel your face flush, your breathing growing erratic.
He stands up suddenly, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to you.
“Hydrate.”
You take it with shaky hands and drink slowly, focusing on calming yourself, instead of his overbearing presence next to you, worry written in the furrow of his brow.
He watches you closely, checking any sign that you aren’t well, his gaze automatically dropping to your chest. His angle gives him the perfect view of it rising and falling, reminding him just why he had to get you up here.
Feeling the cold water flowing down your throat helps calm you a little, and you put the glass down. He's still staring at you, observing you.
You look up at him from under your lashes and his stomach flips at the sight, when he sees a drop of water glide past your lip. Without thinking, he wipes it with his thumb, cupping your face in his warm hand, and you freeze.
He doesn't pull away. He wants to see if you will - if you'll hesitate or feel discomfort. Instead, your fingertips find his wrist, laying on it, as if trying to see if he's real. His perfume hits your nose and your eyelids flutter as the scent flows through you.
You feel the blood coursing through his veins, his slightly elevated pulse, and somehow, that grounds you - you realise you're not the only one affected by this situation.
Slowly, he kneels down, eye level with you. You can't look away. It feels like he's gravity pulling you into him.
Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips, so perfect and pink, and without realising it, you're inching closer to him. He can feel your breath on his face and his heartbeat stutters, jaw ticking from the effort of restraining himself.
When you realise what you're doing, you pull back sharply, looking down, ashamed at your lack of control.
He hates that. He hates that you won't come closer, hates that you won't let yourself do what he knows you want to do.
He can't take the distance anymore, and, using the hand that's cradling your face, pulls you into him.
The moment your lips touch it feels like time stops, your brain short-circuits. It takes you a few seconds to understand what's happening, but when you do, your body melts into his without question, your fingers weaving through his hair.
The feeling is so foreign. This isn’t your first kiss, but it might as well be. Every nerve is firing signals into your brain, not knowing what to focus on.
Your back arches to try and get closer to him, your breath mingling with his, your hands tugging at his roots to try and keep you steady.
Hongjoong isn’t much more controlled, the hand that was on your face is holding on to you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, whilst his other is lingering on the small of your back, trying to pull you even closer to him.
The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sends a shiver through you, a tiny whimper coming out of you that travels straight to the pit of his stomach.
Despite having snacked on fries, you notice his breath smells of peppermint, whilst his skin seems to cast the woody smell of his perfume with every beat of his heart.
He hums quietly into you, and your fingers tighten around his hair and the collar of his shirt, whatever’s in reach. The gesture makes him growl, and his brows draw together as your presence consumes him.
You pull back a little, trying to catch your breath, and he leans his forehead against yours.
The distance helps your brain clear up, the situation becoming unmistakable with every passing heartbeat. When you look at him again, it's like it finally clicks in your head.
You throw yourself back in your seat, hands clasped against your mouth, eyes wide. A thousand thoughts race through your head.
This is wrong.
You stand up, overwhelmed, and start pacing around the room.
“What the fuck did I just do?”
“I shouldn’t have done this!”
“No no no no no…”
“I’ve just fucked my life up forever.”
Everything comes out of your mouth at once as you burn circles on the carpet, gnawing at your thumb. Your eyes are welling up at the importance and gravity of the situation.
He stands up slowly, chest heaving, eyes unable to detach from your curves, his brain stuck on the taste of your lips.
"Y/n?" he calls softly, but you don't hear him amongst the turmoil in your brain.
"Oh god and his reputation."
“People will know!”
"He's an idol y/n, what were you thinking?!"
He approaches you tentatively. "Y/n!"
But you still can't hear him, too lost to let the outside world in. You're spiralling - hard.
Suddenly you're whipped around, his hand firmly holding your elbow, facing him. His palm scorches your skin as every nerve ending reacts to his proximity.
"Just shut up and kiss me." He exhales, breathless, pleading eyes piercing into yours.
His mouth crashes into you again before your brain can register anything.
The kiss is more desperate this time, his need mirrored in the ache building in your chest. Your knees buck slightly at the overwhelming nature of the situation, but his hand quickly grabs your waist, pulling you further into him.
He's not letting you go anytime soon.
Your breathing grows heavier as his hand weaves itself in your hair and he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Every move he does puts you deeper in the trance of his touch.
His tongue swipes across your bottom lip in a silent request to be let in. You hesitate - a beat too long. He tugs at your hair, making you moan, and takes that opportunity to slide into your mouth, exploring it lazily, tasting you.
The rational part of you wants to stop him - this is wrong on so many levels. But that part is losing control with every kiss, relinquishing it over to him, barely putting up a fight.
Without you realising it, he’s walked back into the bed, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress.
He lifts you up a little as he sits you both down, letting you straddle him on both sides. The position is incredibly intimate, sitting on top of him exactly where you can feel what he’s thinking and feeling - and right now, the evidence is… big. You can feel him growing under you second by second.
Both of your hands are holding his face now, like you can’t believe he’s real - which you still can’t -, your hair falling around your faces, as if caging you in from the outside world. His hand on your waist moves up your back, slowly, exploring every inch of exposed skin. Your back arches in the wake of his touch, and you can’t help the string of moans and whimpers flowing out of you.
He loves it - can’t help the way his mouth curves at every tiny, breathy sound you make.
The kisses become sloppier as time passes, desperation and need clawing at both your insides.
When he reaches the top of your back, his hands start exploring your arms, slowly, like he’s memorising every inch of you, and it leaves goosebumps across your skin.
His lips leave yours to trail down to your jaw. You welcome the break, but it’s short lived as he starts nibbling at your pulse, addicted to how frantic it is under his touch. He moves down to your collarbone as his hands trail back up to your shoulders, and you moan.
“Please just let me touch you sweetheart.” He whimpers between wet kisses. He’s desperate, on edge. “Please…”
You nod your head weakly, a barely perceptible “yes” passing your lips.
Tentatively, his hands move down to your breasts, still covered by your corset, squeezing them.
“Fuck” he groans against your skin, trailing his lips back up your neck.
Your breath catches in your throat at the feel of his hands on you, and you throw your head back, bracing your hands on his knees. He wasn’t expecting this, his legs jerking at your touch.
When he jerks, his hips push into your core a little. Not much, but just enough to feel it through your jeans, and you choke.
The feel of his painfully hard cock against you - and the sounds you make - makes him want more. He rolls his hips into you again, and the way you’re feeling him on you everywhere makes you breathe a high pitched cry.
He needs to hear you do that again, rolling his hips just a fraction, over, and over, chasing your sounds more than his own pleasure.
His self control is slipping. Fast.
His fingers find the knot holding your corset together at the front and he starts undoing it, loosening the ribbons inch by inch. The more you feel your skin breathe, the more flushed and out of breath you get. You don’t know how much he can see, and part of you doesn’t want to find out, but you don’t want to stop him either.
Not anymore.
Not when the slightest graze of his skin against yours sends electricity shooting through you. Not when he adorns your neck with another gentle yet needy kiss. Not when you feel him pressing into your cunt like that, the wet patch growing in your underwear.
And even if you told him to stop, he doesn’t know that he could.
He’s been fantasising about this since he first saw you yesterday - the way your sweat glistened as it fell down your cleavage, the way your tits would feel in his hands, how sweet they’d taste in his mouth, even how your body would react when he’d brush his thumbs over your nipples.
He jerked himself off so hard last night, thinking about it all, he almost blacked out.
Finally, he’s loosened the corset enough to pry it open, revealing your already hard peaks. He grunts at the sight, certain he could burst right now.
As he lowers his head slowly, you can feel his hot, humid breath on your skin, clinging to the film of sweat covering you from the anticipation. Your eyes are still closed, your head thrown back - you have no idea what he’s doing, and that excites you so much.
You forget to breathe when his lips wrap around one of your nipples. His teeth graze against it and you whimper his name.
His head is spinning, as if you were his poison and he was tapping straight in the vein.
“Say my name sweetheart, I love hearing you whimper it” he’s almost growling the words out, primal instincts taking over.
You finally look back down at him. Your brain can’t quite comprehend what it’s seeing, but there’s no pretending this isn’t happening anymore. With the way he’s drinking you in, that line is so far behind you it’s invisible - you left it as soon as you entered the room.
He sucks your other peak, a little harder this time, and you wince, gripping his hair as a reflex.
“Stop squirming.” He grunts.
And with that, he grabs your waist and neck and flips you down onto the bed, pinning you down with his legs so you stop wriggling at his touch.
The sudden shift in attitude and position knocks the wind out of you as you land on the mattress - his move wasn’t harsh, his hand on your neck softening the blow, but it takes you completely by surprise.
He’s now towering over you - imposing.
He’s weaved his legs over yours in a way that has you completely pinned, his hands firmly on the mattress beside your head. He looks down at you, orange strands framing his face as he hovers over you, a chain appearing from under his shirt. It dangles between the two of you like a silent promise, one you reach out to grab with no hesitation, pulling him to you.
He smirks.
He knows you’ve completely released your inhibitions - you’re not fighting it anymore, you’ve accepted it. Accepted the fact that this was somehow inevitable, that there was no other possible way to break the tension between the two of you than with this.
His hand brushes over your partially exposed tits, making you shiver, and trails down towards the waistband of your jeans. Your muscles contract at his touch and you bite your lip in anticipation.
He doesn’t stop there though. His hand continues lower, until it reaches that point between your legs.
You whimper. You’ve definitely started soaking through the fabric with how much he rubbed against you earlier, and he can feel it.
“Fuck y/n, you’re so wet already…”
He rubs a little, fascinated by your body’s natural response to him.
“Need… ah…” you stutter.
“I know.”
Simple. Factual. Effortlessly confident.
Still looking into your eyes, he unbuttons your jeans with one hand, sliding the zipper down so agonisingly slow.
You pull on his chain a little harder, signaling him that you need him to be quicker, but he ignores you. He wants to savour this.
When he peels away your jeans, he notices your red lace panties.
“Planning ahead, were we?” He drawls, eyebrow raised.
“A girl’s go-otta hope.”
He chuckles, low. “I’m glad.”
Getting rid of your jeans leaves you with nothing but your underwear and the corset, now hanging on by a literal thread. It’s exhilarating and unfair.
“Your turn.”
You pull at his collar before he knows what’s happening. He finishes it off, pulling it over his head and discarding it somewhere off the bed.
Your eyes are glued to him as you rub your hands over his soft skin. His abs are peaking through his flat stomach, slight definition appearing over each muscle you touch.
He lets you explore, watching your every move as your fingers make their way to his surprisingly toned chest.
“‘s that what you were hoping for?”
You bite your lip, throat dry. “Better.”
He drops his lips to yours again, kissing you feverishly as his hand lightly rubs against the wet spot between your legs. You whimper in his mouth, rolling your hips to get more friction.
You don’t have to tell him twice.
His hand slides into your underwear, coming skin to skin with your clit and you gasp. He starts rubbing a little harder, pulling away from your lips to see the way your eyes roll back and your mouth hangs open.
His own mouth mimics you, completely possessed by you and your body, as he watches your every reaction.
Your chest starts to flush from the sensation and his eyes jump down to watch, fascinated. He drops his head lower, kissing your tits again, and you weave your fingers through his hair to keep him there.
The tugging on his roots sends jolts of pleasure straight to his cock and he slips a finger inside your dripping cunt. Your back arches instantly, offering him an even better angle to relish in your tits, and he couldn’t be happier.
“You’re gonna kill me before I can fuck you y/n…” he mutters into you as he slides his finger in and out, getting off on the sloppy sounds of your arousal.
You grab his chin, tilting it up so his eyes meet yours.
“Not y-yet. Wann’ taste you.”
You can see the way his eyes grow darker as another wave of lust hits him.
He sits up on his knees, pulling you by the wrists.
“I’m all yours sweetheart.”
With that, he leans against the headboard, arms behind his head, so incredibly cocky you want to kiss him.
You go to take off his joggers but he stops you.
“Take that off first.” He says, nodding to your corset. You look down, blushing a little when you see how messy it all looks - half removed threads, and tits completely out.
You stare into his eyes as you continue untying it, slowly, painfully. Normally, you’d just open the zipper in the back and slip it off, but what’s the fun in that when you can do this instead and watch how his jaw ticks from how fucking good you look right now.
When you’ve finally freed yourself from it, tossing it somewhere far from your perfect bubble, you look at him with overly pleading eyes.
“Now can I?”
He bites his lip and nods, a little desperation peaking through.
Your fingertips slip under his waistband but you hesitate for a fraction of a second. This is huge. Like, you’re about to see him fully naked. Your stomach jumps and you smile, licking your lips.
Finally finding the courage to do it, you shimmy his joggers down, carefully, only to find out he’s not wearing any boxers, his cock jumping up as soon as you free it.
You look at him, mouth a little agape, and he snickers.
“You weren’t the only one with your hopes up.”
You weren’t ready for this. Sure, every fan likes to imagine their idol is well equipped, but you didn’t think he’d be this… packed.
You don’t move for a second, taking it all in, wondering how you’re gonna fit him in your salivating mouth. The length isn’t so much the problem, it’s the girth. How in the world will your mouth be wide enough?
“You wanted it sweetheart, now go for it.”
A tiny spark of defiance ignites inside of you.
You brace yourself as you lower your face, not breaking eye contact, and making sure your ass wiggles a little as you adjust your position. He gave you a show tonight, it’s time you return the favour.
You place your hand around the base of his shaft and he twitches. Tentatively, you start sliding it up and down, getting a feel for him and he grunts, keeping his eyes locked onto you.
Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you flatten your tongue to glide up the underside of his length. You never thought you’d say this about anyone, but gosh he tastes so good.
He tenses again and a bead of precum surfaces at his tip, which you lap up excitedly, before finally taking him in. You choke a little at first, but you quickly relax, taking as much enjoyment in this as possible.
You continue bobbing up and down as he watches you, mesmerised.
One of his hands unfolds from behind his head and comes behind yours, guiding you.
“Yeah, just like that.” He pants.
You’re welling up now from the depth his hand is making you take him, but feeling how taut his body is and hearing his tiny noises as he holds himself back makes your confidence and pleasure grow.
You come up for air for a moment, and when you look at him, the sight of your swollen, glossing lips and the single tear streak running down your cheek makes his heart skip a beat, though he tries his best to ignore it.
“C’me here.”
He pulls you to his chest, smashing his lips onto yours. You find it so hot that he doesn’t care about tasting himself on your mouth. You pull away almost instantly, desperate to feel and taste his skin as you trace his neck and torso with your lips and tongue.
Boldness has taken over you, and you welcome the sudden shift in power. His chest is rising and falling quickly now, helpless. You bite him a little on the shoulder, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make him jolt.
“You can’t do that sweetheart…”
You pout a little and he caresses your spine, soothing you.
“I know I’m sorry.”
As an apology, you linger on the spot, kissing it softly, before resuming your path down his chest and stomach. When you get low enough, you grab his cock once more, resuming your previous work, but he unexpectedly flips you over.
You stare at him in shock as he removes the hair from your face and kisses you.
“I told you I didn’t wanna come before fucking you.”
His words send a fresh wave of heat flooding your core and your cunt. You bite your lip hard as he pulls down your panties, removing the final concrete barrier between the two of you.
He kneels down between your legs and buries his face in without hesitation, very differently to how you went about things just minutes ago, and you know well and truly that your moment of dominance is over. Because with the way he’s eating you out right now, you’d stop breathing if he just asked you to.
His tongue laps up your juices, not letting a single drop go, his nose rubbing against your clit with every move.
“Hongjoong, yes, right - ah, right there.” You whimper.
You know he loves hearing you say his name, and it undoes that last bit of restraint as he stands up from the bed and starts rummaging through his bag.
“What are you doing?” You pant, empty from his loss.
“Condom.” He says as he rummages frantically through the contents. “Fuck!” He mutters under his breath.
You sit up. “Pull out.” He looks at you, unsure. “I’m on the pill. I promise.”
You’re desperate now. He can’t leave you high and dry like that.
After a second to consider his options, he crawls back on the bed and grabs your face.
“Fuck it.” He mumbles.
Relief flows through you as his fingers find your cunt again, diving knuckle deep to make sure you’re ready - as if you could be anything but after everything.
When you finally are, he pushes your back down, lifting your hips to place a pillow under you.
“Relax for me sweetheart.”
Your heart is racing as he lines himself up, and when he pushes in, despite being slow and careful, you can’t help your breathing from stopping. The stretch burns, but it burns oh so good.
He places a kiss on your cleavage as he continues pushing in, the act proving challenging for him too. “Breathe, y/n, breathe.”
Just as before, your body obeys him without thinking and your lungs start working again as you gasp for air, just as he finally bottoms out.
“You’re so fucking tight…”
“You’re to-o big.” You whimper, making him chuckle.
Fuck he can’t get enough of you, which is the complete opposite of what he wanted this night to be, but he can’t stop. You feel too good - your smell, your taste, your sounds, your body, your skin, everything. He can’t get enough.
He starts thrusting into you without warning and you shriek.
You don’t know how, but he’s already hitting that perfect spot inside of you from the first go. Your eyes roll back and your jaw slacks as he continues pounding.
He stares at you - no, more like admires you, and with every thrust, he tries to take you farther.
His cock isn’t enough. Seeing your tits bounce like that makes him hungrier still, and he starts nipping at them again with his teeth, whilst one of his hands finds your throat. A chill runs down his back at the change of pitch in your voice from the sudden drop in oxygen, but the smile on your face tells him you’re just as into it as he is.
“You’re slutty aren’t you sweetheart?”
You nod a little, not even sure what you’re nodding to, just automatically responding to him.
“How’s that feel then?” He asks as his other hand finds the space between your two bodies and starts abusing your bundle of nerves once again.
You gasp.
How can he be everywhere all at once? Your brain doesn’t know what to focus on, each thrust knocking the wind out of you whilst his teeth remind you who’s inflicting this on you.
“Hongjoong - can’t, stop, please.” You cry out on the verge of breaking.
He would, he really would, if he wasn’t hearing your every moan and feeling every squeeze of your cunt around him.
“Yes you can sweetheart. C’me on. Take it for me. Just a lil’ more.” He whispers as he increases the friction on your clit, tightening around your throat a little.
You try so hard to do what he says because your body only responds to him now. Your shrieks and whimpers are growing increasingly louder the more he consumes you, but you don’t say anything, just biting your lip and fisting the sheets.
“That’s it, such a good girl f’r me. Look how well you take my cock.” He groans.
It’s all becoming too much.
With one hand on your throat, the other rubbing your clit with painful speed, his mouth sucking and biting your tits, his cock buried so deep inside you from the pillow under your hips, and his intoxicating praises, you start screaming.
His hand flies to your mouth.
“You gotta keep quiet.” A grunt. “Seonghwa and Yunho ‘re next door - don’t want ‘em disturbing us.” He smirks. “Wouldn’t want anyone ‘n live hearing you, would you sweetheart?”
This is the final straw for you. The pleasure is immense but the pressure of keeping quiet when he’s filling you up like that makes you cry. Hot tears stream down your face as you whimper strangled cries with every thrust.
For some weird reason, seeing you cry makes him want you more. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he does want to see how much more your body can take, captivated by every response you give.
His pace increases, the slapping of skin on skin filling the room. You’re trying to keep quiet, but you wonder if the others can just hear the movements as the bed starts rattling against the wall.
You feel the pillow under your head become more humid as your tears make a growing pool. It’s so confusing that you’re reacting this way when you’ve never felt more pleasure.
He grunts more and more against your skin from the effort of his rhythm, biting you a little harder than before - you squeal. He wasn’t even trying to, but he’s now branded your skin with an array of bite marks and fast evolving hickeys. You find the irony of not being able to do the same unfair.
He’s getting close to release, but he’s not ready to stop.
He kisses your lips sloppily, brain foggy as he tries to hold himself. His moans are getting more intense and it’s driving you insane how good he sounds.
“Turn around.”
His order is followed by him pulling out of you momentarily, flipping you on your stomach, adjusting the pillow under your hips, and plunging straight back into you.
You start screaming again, but this time he can just push your head into the soaked pillow. You don’t even fight him. You can’t. He’s hitting that spongy spot inside of you even harder than before and you’re starting to see stars, fingers and toes beginning to tingle as you go numb from pleasure.
His other hand comes under you to continue playing with your tits, his obsession nowhere near satiated. He kisses and bites your shoulders and back as he goes, the pounding becoming too much to handle even for him.
“‘re you gonn’ cum sweetheart? Can you do that f’r me?” He moans against your neck.
You barely have the energy to do it but you whimper a “yes” in the pillow.
“Say my name - y-yes who.”
“Yes Hong - fuck, ngh - Hongjoong.”
“Then cum.”
As if his request gave you permission, you explode around him, the wave of your orgasm consuming you entirely. He tries his best to muffle your screams in the pillow, but it can only do so much when you have no strength left in you to keep quiet.
The way your walls squeeze around him tips him over the edge too and he pulls out quickly, just in time to spurt out on your back, the hot liquid painting your skin with white. He can’t help himself either, his moans and whimpers mingling with yours.
It takes him a few seconds to register the situation again, the high lingering in his body.
When he comes down from it, he stands up from the bed slowly, heading to the bathroom. He comes back with a towel and some water, cleaning your back gently, the complete opposite to the unrelenting man who just wrecked you.
“Have some water.” He says, rubbing your back.
You don’t move though. You can’t. Not yet. The feeling is slowly coming back to your limbs and your heart is fighting to slow down.
“Y/n?” You can hear the worry in his voice at your lack of response. “Hey, are you okay?” He’s shaking your shoulder a little.
“Mmh.” You mumble into the pillow, the only thing you can say.
He breathes a sigh of relief. “God, don’t do this to me, I thought you’d passed out.”
“S’rry.” You babble.
Aware you’re not fully back to yourself, he helps you turn onto your back, sitting you up against the headboard.
He puts his joggers back on and lays a blanket on you as you start to shiver, before coming back with the brownie you never ate. You take it gratefully, splitting it in two and handing him the other half.
“I think I’m exhausted.” You chuckle lightly.
He laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You look at him sheepishly. “It is. A big one.”
He moves a strand of hair stuck to your forehead from sweat, and you take a moment to just look at each other. It’s such a bizarre situation to be in, but the nerves you had earlier are gone. This was by far the singular best experience of your life.
“Don’t worry.” You say. “I won’t tell anyone.”
He blushes and your heart jumps a little at the sight. “Sorry about that…”
“It’s okay, you didn’t force me to do this, I knew what it meant.”
“Well,” he hesitates, “for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you came. Literally and metaphorically.”
You chuckle as your cheeks heat up.
“Maybe it was a horrible idea in the long run,” he continues, “because I don’t know how I’ll be able to get you out of my head now.”
“I thought that was the whole point…”
A part of you wishes he’d say he wants you to stay, that he wants more, but you know that can’t happen.
“It was. The irony, huh?”
He gets up. “You’re gonna be okay if I leave you for a second?” He says, pointing to the bathroom.
You nod. “Of course, do what you have to do.”
As soon as the door shuts, you sigh.
Unknowingly, a small tear rolls down your cheek, the weight of the night finally dawning on you. You’ve never felt more connected to anyone in your life, and the knowledge that it has to end makes your chest pang. Knowing you’ll have to watch him from afar from now on, after what just happened, breaks your heart - but you know that’s how it has to be.
You rummage around the room, finding your scattered clothes, covering yourself back up. Moving is painful, your body protesting, but you push through. You’re hesitating on whether to leave without saying goodbye or not, when he comes out, sooner than you expected.
“What are you doing?” He quizzes as he catches you in the middle of zipping up your jeans.
“Going home?” Your answer is more of a question, like you’re asking him for permission.
“No you’re not.” He says sternly as he pulls out his phone. “It’s past 3am, you’ve had a drink, it’s cold, you’re not exactly dressed safely for public transports, and most importantly you’re exhausted. You said so yourself.”
“But-“
“This isn’t up for debate y/n. You’re staying here tonight.” His tone softens. “You don’t need to worry - I’ll call you a taxi in the morning, on me. And feel free to stay here as long as you’d like, I’ll pay for an extra night if you need, and anything you order will go on my card. Just… please, don’t leave.”
His pleading eyes win you over, and you try not to focus on how your stomach flips at how caring he is.
“Okay but… I don’t have anything…” you say, pointing to your outfit. “Also I have no makeup remover, o-or even a toothbrush!”
He walks towards his suitcase, pulling out a t-shirt and shorts.
“I think this should be comfortable enough to sleep in.” He says as he hands them to you. “As for the toothbrush and makeup remover, sweetheart, I’m an idol. I probably have more skincare than you.” He smirks. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”
—————-
It’s been two weeks, almost to the day, since your wild night with the captain of ATEEZ, and you think about it - about him - every day. You’ve not been able to look at footage of the new shows despite wanting to so badly, because the first time you saw him pass the mic in the crowd, you felt like crying, and you couldn’t explain why to anyone.
You never expected to feel such a pull to him after just one night, but he’s really made his mark on you - you still have the slight remnants of one or two deep hickeys to prove it.
To make matters worse, you still have his number.
You check it, multiple times a day, fingers hovering over the keys. Ultimately, you always end up locking your phone and throwing it away from you, sighing into your hands. You know you can’t, despite how much you want to.
Plus, he’s probably deleted your number by now.
As for him, the shows haven’t felt the same. Every night he checks the crowd, hoping he can spot you, miraculously, but you’re not there. He knows it’s not fair to expect you to come, especially when nothing was implied about following up the night. It’s not realistic, he knows that. His life is too busy, there’s no way it could work.
Still.
He opens his phone, the short conversation staring back at him.
He’s hesitated a few times already, knowing how horrible this idea is. It’s like two forces are pulling at him: his head - the rational part of him who knows this is wrong and would never work -, and his heart - the part of him that’s desperate to see you, just one more time.
You’re brushing your teeth, ignoring the notifications from your friends about tonight’s show highlights, when your phone lights up again. You look at it, sighing at the social media notifications of the concert.
In his room, Hongjoong’s heart sinks as the conversation now reads:
!⃝ Hey
Not delivered
---------
Like what you read and want your own story? Check out my pinned post for a link to my commissions form!
✦ summary: the one where you run into yungi at the hotel bar the night before the concert and they can’t get enough of you.
✦ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), threesome, light spanking, light choking, praise kink if you squint, fingering, cream pie (x2), unprotected sex, mingi is feral, yungi are freaks in the sheets but gentle and tender in the streets, they fall FAST and i know thats unrealistic idc, reader is a big girl (like me!) and a lil self conscious about it (like me!!) and the boys are having NONE of that, they worship her
✦ pairing: idol!yunho x fem!plussize!reader x idol!mingi
✦ author’s note: this is a repost of the first fic i ever wrote over a year ago, edited for minor details and things! the original does still exist on my page but i just wanted to repost and put this one back out there because it is SO near and dear to my heart (and i am ACTUALLY working on a part 2 right now). this fic is ENTIRELY self indulgent and i am so attached to the way yunho and mingi are in this story. i hope you love it ᰔ
“Mom, it’s beautiful. Thank you again for helping me stay here.”
Your mom is on speakerphone as you unpack your suitcase in a hotel room you could never afford to book for yourself. She always asks you to call her when you’ve made it to your destination, whether it’s just up the street or across the continent. You look around at the forest green walls and plush, intricate cream colored carpet. Walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, you pull back the lacy beige curtains to look down at the city below you.
“Of course, sweetie. Those points were just collecting dust, so I figured I should let someone put them to good use.” Your mom chuckles and lets out a soft sigh. She doesn’t travel often, but she’s very savvy with her credit cards to save up points for you to use on occasion.
“I appreciate it, this place just feels way too nice for me to be allowed to stay here,” you laugh as you carry your toiletry bag and bath sheet to the bathroom. Hotel towels tend to be small for you, so you’ve started bringing your own.
If the expensive artwork that adorned the lobby walls wasn’t enough to make you feel out of place, the crystal water glasses on the marble bathroom counter sure were. The whole hotel has a dark elegant aesthetic that you find absolutely breathtaking.
“You’ve been working hard lately, y/n. You deserve a break! I know it’s been a while since you’ve been able to take time off,” your mom reminds you.
You take a deep breath as you head back into the main room, recalling the frustrating conversation with your boss that led to you being able to be here. Work has felt impossible lately given how understaffed the office has been, and you practically had to beg for a few days off. She reluctantly agreed as long as you put in a few hours of overtime when you returned. You complied with zero hesitation— you’d do anything to make it to the concert.
“You’re right, I know. I’ll definitely be making the most of my time out of the office.” You wait for your mom’s reply as you start pulling clothes out of your open suitcase. After another beat of silence, she takes a deep breath.
“Be safe, honey. You know how I feel about you traveling alone.” You can hear her nerves through the phone. She’s such a worrier.
Putting your folded clothes in one of the ornate dresser drawers, you attempt to reassure her. “I know, I know. I’ll be meeting up with some friends tomorrow so I’ll be in good company. I’ll send lots of pictures, and you have my location.”
“Okay, okay. You’re right. You’re a big girl, I know you can take care of yourself.” She chuckles at herself for being so overbearing. “Have fun, honey. I can’t wait to see pictures.”
“I’ll send you so many pictures, you’ll regret asking for some,” you laugh as you zip up your empty suitcase to stash it in the closet.
After finishing up your phone call, you head for the bathroom to wash your face. Feeling tired after the long drive, you need a quick refresh before settling in for the evening. You woke up before sunrise to drive here, so a nap may be in order.
Once you’ve sufficiently dried your face with a towel that probably costs more than your face wash, you waltz over to your king sized bed and flop down belly first. Your eyes feel heavy as you let your body relax for what feels like the first time in weeks. You have a long weekend ahead of you, with two nights in a row of seeing your favorite boys, so you should rest while you can. You let your limbs sink into the plush mattress and allow yourself to drift off. Just a short nap, and then you’ll go get some dinner downstairs.
You wake with a jolt as your subconscious reminds you that you forgot to set an alarm. You frantically reach for your phone to check the time, letting out a deep sigh of relief when you see you’ve only slept an hour. You roll onto your back, dropping your phone next to you and rubbing your face in an attempt to get your body to catch up with your brain. Once your heart rate settles a bit you sit up in your still-made bed.
As you lay atop the fluffy comforter, your groggy mind wanders to the events of tomorrow. You run through your plans for the day, starting with brunch down the street with some friends you’ve made online. You haven’t seen them since the last tour, and you know it’ll be a tearful reunion. Having long distance internet friends is tough, but the time you get to spend together makes up for it, no matter how infrequent.
After brunch, you’ll all be heading to the venue. Following the pre-show excitement outside the venue, it’ll be time to line up for soundcheck. It’ll be your first time experiencing soundcheck for Ateez, and the thought of being so close to the members causes a familiar uneasiness to settle in the pit of your stomach.
Butterflies. Every night before going to a concert, you have uncontrollable butterflies in your stomach. The thrill of seeing your favorite boys onstage never fails to give you a physical reaction. You have been loving Ateez for years now and have seen them in concert a handful of times, but that same feeling creeps up on you the night before without fail.
Amidst the fluttering, you feel a deep rumbling in your stomach. You realize you haven’t eaten since you stopped to use the bathroom at a rest stop. Hopping out of bed, you go to your dresser to grab your go-to black loungewear set and throw it on. High waisted sweatpants that accentuate your waist, and a matching crop top. You head over to the dark wooden vanity and plop down in one of the two plush armchairs accompanying it to tidy up your hair. The massive ornate mirror gives you the perfect spot to get ready.
As you reach up to tame your bedhead, your shirt creeps up a tiny bit, exposing your belly. You eye the way it pokes out over the waistband, but try to brush off the self consciousness creeping up. It’s best to shut those thoughts down now before you let them win and just order room service. Once you’re happy with the way your hair is framing your face, you get away from the mirror before it makes you alter your plans for the evening.
Surely treating yourself to a fancy dinner and a few drinks at the hotel bar will settle your nerves about tomorrow.
Two glasses of white wine and a plate full of pasta later, you find yourself ogling at the crystal chandeliers hanging above the bar. You make a mental note to do something special for your mom as a thank you. You adjust in the velvet barstool, trying to get the bartender's attention to order another glass of wine. A faintly familiar laugh ghosts past your ears, but you brush it off and continue your attempt to make eye contact with the bartender. Who would you possibly see here that you knew anyway? All your friends were staying at a hotel much closer to the concert venue.
Finally, the bartender’s eyes connect with yours, lighting up in recognition that you may need to add another drink to your tab. A heavy pour of pinot grigio later, she’s trotting off to the next guest. Taking a long sip of your wine, you hear another familiar laugh from the other end of the bar. Different from the last one, but still familiar. Letting your curiosity get the best of you, you glance down the bar to find the source of the warm laughter.
By some devastating stroke of fate, he looks at you the moment you look at him. As soon as your eyes meet his, your heart stops in your chest. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, and your hearing gets fuzzy. All the bar patrons chatting around you suddenly sound like they’re talking underwater. Everyone else in the room seems to fade away, and it feels as though it’s only you and him. You feel a thudding pulse in your chest as your heart jumps back to life.
His dark eyes shine with a mischievous glint as they refuse to leave yours. Your breath hitches in your chest when he smiles at you. You turn back to your wine in an attempt to hide the bright red cheeks you’re surely sporting. The sounds of the bar come rushing back into your ears and hit you like a freight train. The music, the chatter, the clinking of glasses are deafening as your rationality claws its way to the forefront of your brain. You down a sizable gulp of your drink, feeling your cheeks heat even more.
Absolutely not. No way. No chance in hell. Your mind is running a mile a minute trying to come up with any excuse as to who you think you just saw. How could you have ended up at the same hotel as them? You thought surely they’d stay somewhere even farther from the venue to avoid running into fans. It must just be some other devilishly handsome man with the warmest smile you’ve ever laid eyes on. Just a coincidence, for sure. You brush away the unruly hair that’s fallen in your face before turning to sneak another look.
Staring right back at you with a knowing grin is none other than Jeong Yunho himself. In your starstruck stupor you failed to notice the equally tall, broad shouldered blond man whom you realize was the owner of the second familiar laugh you heard. Yunho must’ve drawn his attention to you after your little staring contest, inspiring him to start one of his own. Song Mingi’s dark brown eyes burn into yours, sporting the same smirk as his best friend.
They both look devastatingly gorgeous. Barefaced, wearing oversized t-shirts and sweatpants, and they still look ethereal. Mingi has thin, black framed glasses perched on his slender nose. Yunho’s damp, dark hair peeks out from under a baseball cap. Seeing them stripped of anything that identifies them as idols makes your heart lurch. They look so… real.
You suddenly wish you put a little more effort into your solo dining outfit, feeling hyper aware of the way your midriff is showing again. You tug your shirt down a bit, adjusting in your seat to hide as best you can.
You take a sharp inhale as you realize how long your eyes have lingered on your two favorite idols. You turn back to face the bar, frantically searching for the bartender despite your half full glass of wine. After you close your tab, you can retreat back into your oversized hotel bed and pretend this never happened. Feeling their eyes burning into the back of your head and hearing their familiar voices quietly murmuring, you know that they know you recognized them. You’re sure they’re talking about wanting to enjoy their evening without the prying eyes of a fan — not that your eyes were the ones prying.
You let your mind wander after your third failed attempt to flag down the bartender. The way they were looking at you was not out of annoyance… but intrigue. Is it possible that they’re interested in you? Was Yunho’s knowing look not recognition of you as a fan, but something more flirtatious? That would be insane… Right?
Curiosity killed the cat.
You take a deep breath and turn to face them once again, puffing your chest out to feign more confidence than you’re feeling. Before you can even process that they were already walking towards you when you spun your barstool in their direction, Yunho is sitting to your left and Mingi on your right. They both synchronously set their whisky glasses on the bar.
“…Hi.” You manage to squeak out a quiet greeting.
You feel yourself shrinking between them as they look at you in silence. They’re so big.
Despite how fondly they’re looking at you, the back of your mind is screaming at you that you’re encroaching on their evening. You should go back to your room to give them privacy.
You nervously glance between the two men before letting all your thoughts out. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by…looking at you for so long, um, I-I’m sure the last thing you two want the night before a concert is a fan ogling at you from across the bar.” As you look at Yunho, you miss the way Mingi admires how well your round hips fill out your black sweatpants. The way your top rides up exposes a teasing glimpse of your skin, and he wonders if you feel as soft as you look.
Still oblivious, you continue your rambling. “As soon as I can close my tab,” Mingi drags his gaze from your exposed skin to your eyes as you turn to him, “I’ll get out of your hair so you guys can enjoy the rest of your evening.” As you hopelessly attempt for the fourth time to get the bartender's attention, Yunho kicks Mingi in the shin behind your barstool for looking at you like he wants to swallow you whole. He shoots him a glare that screams: Be a gentleman. Mingi chuckles lowly at his friend's silent warning and takes a sip of his whisky.
The bartender finally turns in your direction. Your hand is about to shoot up to flag her down, but you’re stopped dead in your tracks by the low timbre of Yunho’s voice.
“What if we don’t want you to leave?”
You turn to him in disbelief. Before you can stop yourself, the words leave your lips. “You want me to stay?”
All your life, you’ve shied away from attention. Not that attention was often given to you, but when it was, it was hardly positive. You’ve slowly become more and more comfortable in your body, learning to dress in ways that you feel accentuate your curves rather than hide them. It’s easy to momentarily retreat back into the mindset of the little girl who was surrounded by judgment. Now is one of those moments.
As if he could hear your thoughts, Mingi chimes in from behind you, his voice lower than Yunho’s. He feels closer to you than he was a moment ago, his scent of sage and jasmine mixed with the whisky on his breath intoxicating you. “What’s wrong with wanting to spend time with a pretty girl?” His deep voice sends a chill down your spine, and a familiar pool of warmth settles in the pit of your stomach. Get it together y/n, Song Mingi just called you pretty, what’s the big deal?
Noticing the reaction Mingi’s compliment elicited from you, Yunho realizes he needs to ground you so they can get a concrete answer to their proposal. The last thing he wants is a hazy agreement clouded by alcohol and attraction.
“What’s your name, doll?” He asks. Your heart skips at the pet name, but you try to keep your reaction internal.
“Y/n.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. Yunho chuckles at your shyness.
“Cute. Well, y/n, given how desperately you’ve been trying to get away from us, it’s clear that you respect our privacy. We’re not bothered by your presence in the slightest, in fact it’s quite the opposite.” Yunho smiles softly as he expresses his gratitude. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks again at his recognition of your attempted escape. “Can we buy you a drink? If you still want to run away afterwards, we’ll help you lace up your shoes.”
Three rounds of drinks and two hours later, you find yourself laughing in a corner booth listening to Yunho and Mingi poke fun at their leader. The bar has cleared out, leaving you three and one other table.
“I can’t believe he already lost the team ring,” Yunho chokes out between giggles. His cheeks are flushed from his second glass of whisky, eyes shining at the server as he places down a third.
“How many pairs of Airpods has he gone through? I don’t know why he thought he could keep track of an expensive piece of jewelry.” Mingi rolls his eyes and chuckles thinking about Hongjoong’s complicated history with headphones.
“Be nice, he bought you guys those rings didn’t he?” You wipe the tears from your eyes after finally catching your breath. Hearing them so freely joke about their leader’s habit of losing things has left you in stitches. After a quick sip of the whisky that Mingi talked you into trying, you continue. “The least you can do is all pitch in to buy him a replacement.”
Yunho laughs at your suggestion, placing his glass down next to yours. “You don’t have to defend him, y/n.” He takes your hand in his, and you try not to make it obvious how the size difference affects you. “Even if we did get him a new one, who’s to say he won’t lose that one too?”
He absentmindedly rubs his large thumb across the back of your hand. You softly clear your throat in an attempt to silence the fangirl screaming in your head that he’s touching you.
Yunho must’ve mistook your response for discomfort and he pulls his hand away. The last thing he wants is to make you uneasy. If he only knew. You almost let out a whine at the loss of contact, but reel it in before it’s too late. Be cool, y/n.
Mingi picks up on your inner dialogue and wants nothing more than to resolve the tension. Yunho may not notice it, but Mingi sees the way your breath hitches whenever one of them gets close to you. He saw the way heat rushed to your cheeks when Yunho complimented the color of your eyes. He noticed how shy you became when he caught your gaze lingering on his lips. He even picked up on the curious challenge in your eyes when you caught him looking at the strip of skin between your top and the waistband of your sweatpants that he just can’t get enough of.
He sees that glimmer of confidence trying to shine through. He knows you can be bold, but he may need to force it out of you.
“It’s getting awfully late Yuyu, don’t you think?” Yunho looks at Mingi , his gaze laced with confusion. Your heart rate quickens at the thought of your evening coming to an end.
“Mingi, it’s 9:30.” Yunho looks at his friend quizzically, not understanding where he’s going with this. Mingi can tell if you don’t stop the night from ending early, Yunho will. Yunho wants you just as bad as Mingi does.
“Right, but we have a long day tomorrow. Don’t you think we should turn in soon?” Mingi side eyes you, but your nervous gaze lands on Yunho, awaiting his response. When his answer is just another confused look in Mingi’s direction, you decide to take matters into your own hands.
“Actually…” you take a deep breath. You fail to notice the way the corner of Mingi’s mouth quirks up, as if he already knows what’s coming. “I was going to offer up a few bottles of soju I have in my room? I brought them for my friends and I for tomorrow, but I can always grab more at the liquor store down the street. I feel like I owe you guys for the last few rounds anyway.” You swirl your big ice cube around your glass, watching it melt into your drink as you avoid eye contact with the men staring back at you.
There she is. Mingi gleams with pride as he waits for Yunho to catch up. After a beat of silence, Mingi hears a soft sigh of realization from Yunho, followed by a subtle under-the-table high five. They’re going to love playing with you.
“We would love that,” Yunho says with a mischievous smile.
It’s endearing to Yunho and Mingi how palpably nervous you are. You used up all of your courage to ask them up to your room, and you’ve retreated once again into your overthinking mind. You’re perched cautiously on the edge of your large bed, that earlier felt so safe to you. Bouncing your leg and staring at the floor, you’re wondering if the impulsive invitation you extended was the right decision. If you would just look up from the elegant detailing of the carpeting, you’d see how softly they were admiring you. Mingi can’t keep his eyes off of your plump thighs, imagining how they would feel on either side of his —
“Y/n, can I get you a drink?” Yunho asks, interrupting Mingi’s thoughts. Mingi burns a hole in Yunho’s cheek before turning to you, softening his gaze and awaiting your reply. They're sitting in the two lush armchairs accompanying the vanity, having turned them around to face you. Mingi’s legs are crossed, his cheeks are flushed, and his glasses are pushed up into his spiky blond hair. He’s gently gripping the arms of his chair, fiddling with a button fastened to the fabric, resisting the urge to show you how much he wants you right then and there.
Yunho’s legs are spread wide, and he’s perched up on his elbows, resting them on his knees. He’s taken his hat off, leaving it on your vanity. His dark hair loosely hangs over his forehead. “It feels odd to ask you that in your own hotel room,” he chuckles, finally getting you to look him in the eyes. Mingi looks you up and down with an unreadable smirk and bated breath.
“Yes please,” you replied softly, giving him a shy smile.
“You got it, where’s the soju?” Yunho replies, sitting up in his chair to over exaggerate his curious glance around the room.
“In the mini fridge,” you point down the hallway toward the bathroom, “it’s tucked away in the closet by the front door.” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s up and moving down the hallway.
In his absence, you glance at the big mirror propped on the vanity behind Mingi. Unbeknownst to you, you’re both looking where your crop top has shifted up once again and having very different thoughts on your bare stomach. Mingi wants to see more of you, yet you can’t look at it another second, pulling your top down to meet your waistband. It creeps up slowly again, a deep sigh of defeat leaving your lips.
Mingi feels your insecurity radiating off of you, seeing the way your brow furrows at yourself in the mirror. If only you saw what he and Yunho did.
He clears his throat, “y/n,” he says softly,
“Hm?” Your gaze softens as you look to him, immediately taken aback by the sheer adoration in his eyes, and you realize he was just watching you that whole time.
He chuckles at your realization, “you look incredible in that outfit,” he says, looking you up and down with a grin.
You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks “Mingi, I —“
The sound of rustling and clinking from down the hallway grabs both of your attention. Yunho reappears, balancing two bottles of soju and three crystal glasses in his large hands. “I missed my calling as a server,” he laughs, handing you and Mingi each a glass and cracking open the first bottle. In the silence he can sense your nerves and Mingi’s eagerness, wholly unaware of the interaction the two of you just had.
“Y/n, I can feel you thinking. Can I speak freely?” He tilts his head at you like a puppy, a look of genuine concern in his eyes. His sudden change in demeanor takes you by surprise.
“Of course, Yunho,” you reply, trying to put on a brave face.
“You have no reason to be so nervous with us,” Yunho starts, “we wouldn’t have spent the last few hours with you if we didn’t want to. We’ve had a lot of fun with you tonight, and we said yes to coming up here so we could continue to get to know you better, not just to be nice,” he says, as if he had read your mind. He pours a bit of soju into your glass, then Mingi’s, then his. The silence is palpable as you wait to see if he has more to say, Mingi not giving any non verbal clues as to how he’s feeling. He looks like he wants to say something but decides not to, letting his friend take the lead.
Yunho places his soju down on the vanity and walks over to you, squatting down to meet your eyes. The close proximity makes your cheeks warm, only worsening when he plants his hands next to your hips on the mattress, his thumbs grazing you. He smells like citrus and leather. “If you’re uncomfortable and want us to leave, we will. If not, we’d like to,” he glances at Mingi, who gives him a small nod, then back to you, “enjoy our night together.”
His eyes search yours, and you wonder if he can hear your chest thudding at the implications. They like you. You don’t know if it’s Yunho’s intoxicating scent or the way Mingi can’t look away from your exposed belly, but something compels you to finally let go of all the negativity that has been plaguing your brain all evening.
“Yes, please,” you sigh, suddenly breathless. Yunho glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes, inching closer to you. You feel dizzy being this close to him, the sudden onset of lust in his eyes making your head spin. Now that he knows you want him too, he’s not ashamed to let his intentions show.
Mingi stands up from behind Yunho, clearing his throat, effectively shaking you and Yunho out of your desire-fueled gaze. He picks up both of their glasses of soju, passing Yunho’s to him.
“Cheers,” he says, “to our paths crossing tonight.” He looks expectantly to the two of you, spurring both of you to stand up and raise your glasses. “Cheers,” you and Yunho say almost in unison, giddily clinking your glasses with Mingi’s and downing your drinks. You feel your face warming up as the alcohol burns its way down your throat, the tension in your muscles dissipating.
“Do your cheeks always get so flushed when you drink?” Yunho asks, a fond smile dancing across his lips. You laugh, walking to your bedside table to set your glass down. “Unfortunately, yes,” you say as you turn back toward him, your heart swelling at him noticing such a small detail about you.
“Cute,” he comments, stepping toward you and brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. Your breath quickens at the compliment, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as you look eagerly into his warm brown eyes.
“I think she liked that,” you glance over Yunho’s shoulder to see Mingi grinning at your reaction. He takes the glasses off of his head to set them on the vanity. “Give her another compliment,” he says, stepping around Yunho to brush the hair off of your shoulder, exposing the column of your neck.
”Is that right, doll?” Yunho asks, his fingers ghosting down your neck to fiddle with your necklace, the pet name he used with you earlier in the evening sending a rush of arousal straight to your core. You nod, lips parted and breathing heavily. Your body feels like it’s on fire.
“If it’s compliments you want, it’s compliments you’ll get,” Yunho releases the chain around your neck and steps behind you, gently placing one of his large hands on your exposed waist. “You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen,” he teases, softly squeezing your supple skin before sliding his hand around to your belly and pulling you in flush to his chest. You let out a breathless laugh, putting your hand over his and threading your fingers together. You tilt your head to the side to lean into him, desperately wanting his mouth on your neck.
“How’re you feeling?” Mingi approaches you, softly taking your other hand in his, caressing it with his thumb. Yunho’s grip loosens on your belly, but you lean into him so he knows not to let go. You hear a soft chuckle of understanding from behind you.
“We aren’t misreading things, are we?” Mingi looks at you, a hint of cautious concern lingering under his lust blown gaze.
“Absolutely not,” you say, gripping his hand and pulling him closer to you.
After a beat of heavy breathing and searching eyes, you throw caution to the wind and let go of Mingi’s hand to bring yours up to his face, gently threading your fingers into his hair. He leans into your hand, letting his eyes close as he relishes in your touch. He lets out a breathy moan, letting his mouth hang open.
“We’re so glad we found you,” Yunho says, almost in a whisper against the shell of your ear, his hot breath down your neck causing your body to shiver in anticipation. Mingi nods in agreement into your palm, opening his eyes to get a good look at you.
“You are breathtaking,” Mingi gingerly wraps his hand around the back of your neck and you wish for a moment that he would stop being so gentle with you. “Y/n, please,” he asks, his breath heaving, “can I kiss you?” The desperation in his voice almost makes your knees give out.
You let out a giggle mixed with a sigh of relief, “I was thinking I’d have to start begging you,” you lean closer to him waiting for him to make his move. The image of you on your knees for him flashes through Mingi’s mind, pushing him over the edge as he crashes his lips into yours.
The hand on the back of your neck threads up into your hair as he presses further into your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue. You invite him in with a whine, gripping his hair to pull him closer. You feel crowded between the two of them, Mingi pushing you further back into Yunho. Yunho inhales sharply at the feeling of you pressed against him, letting out a low groan into your ear. Mingi coasts his large palm up to your waist as he explores your mouth, finally able to feel the skin of your stomach he had been fixated on all night. His fingers dance along your exposed belly, and he savors how soft you feel.
“Touch me Min, please,” you sigh, pushing your ass further back into Yunho. You feel him getting harder with each pulse of contact, and the thought of him getting hard for you has your mind reeling.
“You sound so pretty when you’re needy,” Mingi whispers, kissing down your jawline and settling on your neck. His hand creeps up underneath the thin fabric of your shirt as he ghosts his fingers along the underside of your bra. “Ask him again, sweetheart,” Yunho sighs behind you, you can feel Mingi smiling as he nips and sucks on your throat.
“Mingi, please —“ your words stop in your throat as Yunho’s hot mouth descends on the other side of your neck. You moan softly, reaching for both of them. They’re driving you insane — you want more, you want them closer, you need to feel their skin on yours.
”Have something to say, doll?” Yunho teases, sucking at the skin just below your ear, releasing with a pop and planting a kiss to your hair.
“I need someone to touch me right now or I’m gonna scream,” you whine, pressing your ass into Yunho and your chest toward Mingi, clinging to them like your life depends on it. You feel them everywhere but still not where you need them most. The deep pulsing in your core gets more and more intense with every kiss, lick, and frantic touch. “Please —“ you groan at a particularly sharp nip at your neck, followed by Mingi’s hot wet tongue to soothe you, “please, fuck, I need you,”
“I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific baby,” Mingi whispers, “need me where?” He pauses his assault on your neck to shift his hand to cup one of your breasts. “Here?” Your head knocks back into the firm plane of Yunho’s chest.
“Or here?” Yunho asks, boldly snaking his hand down to cup your heat, a whine leaving your lips.
“Anywhere, everywhere,” you pant, attempting to spread your legs to give Yunho better access. He pushes the heel of his hand down firmly on your pubic bone, drawing a whine up your throat. Mingi chuckles at your desperate mewls and it suddenly feels impossibly hot in your hotel room. “I want you to take my clothes off,” you sigh, running one hand up Mingi’s chest and the other around the back of Yunho’s neck, “and I want to feel your hands on every inch of my body.”
You turn your head to look up to Yunho, and he finally presses his lips to yours ever so gently. “There she is,” he smirks, sighing into your mouth as his tongue pokes out to swipe across your bottom lip.
“Anything for you, baby,” Mingi resumes his attack on your neck, and in a sea of sloppy kisses, whiny moans, and wandering hands, one of your lovers manages to pull your shirt up and off over your head. Yunho spins you around to face him, never breaking the kiss. You feel Mingi blindly fumbling with the clasp on your bra, finally freeing your breasts from their confines.
Yunho’s lips leave yours, his eyes wandering down to your exposed chest. He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, letting out a low groan. “Look at you, baby,” Mingi coos from behind you, “even prettier than I imagined they’d be,” he reaches around you to palm your plump breast, rolling one of your pebbled nipples between his rough fingers. “You look like a goddess,” he sighs, bringing his mouth to your neck once again.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Yunho ducks his head down to catch your other nipple between his teeth, immediately soothing the bite with his tongue, “so fucking beautiful,” you lean into their touch, suddenly feeling so raw, an exposed nerve.
The praise paired with the both of them working your body like they’ve known it for years is overwhelming, the intimacy of it all tugging at your starved heart. It feels delicious, but you haven’t felt this cared for in a long time. You pinch your eyes closed to stop the tears, but the tightness in your throat causes your breath to tremble before you can stop it. Their movements still at the sound as they both realize the shift in emotion, arms and hands quickly surrounding you for comfort.
“Hey, hey, what is it, doll?” Yunho holds your face in his hands as he brushes a tear from your cheek. You open your eyes to see both of them looking down at you with concerned gazes.
“I-I’m sorry,” you start tapping each finger to your thumb, counting each one to calm your breathing, “I don’t want you to stop, it’s just a little overwhelming, in a good way,” you reach for Yunho’s cheek and Mingi’s hand simultaneously, needing to reassure them both that you just need a minute. They reciprocate your touch without hesitation.
“You’re just making me feel really fucking special and worshipped and I’m not used to it, it’s— a lot,” Yunho turns to kiss your palm, waiting for your breathing to even. You feel Mingi’s other hand rubbing circles into your lower back, the motion helping bring you back down to earth. Slowly but surely, your breathing steadies.
“You are special, y/n,” Mingi says, almost in a whisper, “and we want to worship you, it’s what you deserve,” he dips down, searching your eyes. You nod, signaling for him to continue. He nods right back, placing a tender kiss on your lips that knocks the wind right out of you.
“Let us worship you,” he sighs against your lips, gently kissing the corner of your mouth, your nose, your forehead, settling against your temple. His lips are so soft, peppering gentle kisses along your hairline.
”Do you trust us, sweetheart?” Yunho asks, still leaning into your palm.
“Of course I do,” you brush your thumb across his cheek.
“Let us take care of you,” he looks down at your chest and you see the lust reignite in his dark eyes.
“Take care of me,” you repeat. Yunho’s breath quickens as he meets your eyes again. You’re suddenly aware that your chest is exposed when they’re both still fully clothed, “but can someone else please take their clothes off too?” Yunho and Mingi both laugh at your straightforwardness, but the energy shifts when you run your hand down Yunho’s chest, stopping at the hem of his shirt.
Yunho nods and you pull his shirt off together. You marvel at his firm chest and his lean muscles, letting your eyes wander over every inch of his bare skin. Before you can catch your breath, he shucks off his sweats and is standing before you in just his boxer briefs. “Your turn,” he chuckles, pulling you towards him by the band of your sweatpants. You giggle, catching yourself on his chest and weaving your hands up around the back of his neck.
Mingi watches the two of you affectionately as Yunho dives down the back of your pants to cup your ass in his large hands. Mingi helps you shimmy out of your sweats, watching the way your plush skin molds to the grip of Yunho’s slender fingers. Mingi can’t resist any longer, wrapping his arms around your waist, effectively sandwiching you between the two of them once again. Your scent of lavender fills his nose as he buries his face in your neck again, intoxicating him. He wants you, badly.
”Yun, I wanna taste her,” he shivers with desire, the sudden change in his tone of voice drawing your attention to him. “Baby, can I taste you?” His eyes are dark as he searches yours. You feel a gush of arousal pooling in your panties, nodding before your mouth can get the words out,
“Yes, please, Mingi,” you lean into him. He plants a quick kiss to your temple, letting out a shaky sigh. Is he… nervous?
Yunho lets go of you to climb onto your bed and you watch him intently, trying to figure out how this is going to play out. He leans up against the headboard and makes space for you between his legs. You see his boxers starting to tent, and you know the anticipation of what’s to come is affecting him.
“Come here, doll,” he pats the bedding in front of him. Your belly warms as you realize how they’re about to position you.
Mingi slides his hands from your waist so you can go to Yunho, giving your ass a light smack as he lets you go. You give Mingi a teasing glare, earning a devious smirk in return.
You crawl to Yunho across the mattress on your hands and knees, agonizingly slowly, watching him watch your every move with hunger in his eyes. You make a show of looking him up and down, darting your tongue out to wet your lips.
“You are such a tease,” he lets out a breathy laugh, his comment only fueling your confidence. His chest heaves, glistening with sweat.
Mingi palms himself over his sweats with his eyes glued to the sway of your round ass. Running your hands over Yunho’s knees, up his thighs, and settling on his hips, you lean into him to plant a bruising kiss on his lips. He pushes his hips upward, looking for any kind of friction against your body, but you don’t give it to him, solely focused on his tongue exploring your mouth. He ghosts a hand up over your neck to wrap his slender fingers around your throat, gently squeezing before pulling his mouth from yours. He groans at the string of saliva connecting the two of you.
“I could do this all night, sweetheart, but I don’t think you wanna keep him waiting any longer,” Yunho nods in Mingi’s direction. Before you can turn to look at him, Yunho tightens his grip on your throat, pulling your attention back to him.
“Be a good girl, and turn around and lay down.” The deep, dominant tone of his voice has you nodding immediately, earning you a tender kiss to your forehead before he releases you.
When you turn around, your jaw drops. Mingi stands shirtless at the foot of the bed with his hand down his pants. His strong chest heaves, slick with sweat, and the muscles in his arm flex with each stroke of his cock. His eyes are clouded with lust, his lips slightly parted, letting out jagged breaths. You don’t break eye contact as you settle between Yunho’s legs, leaning back against his chest.
He leans down to whisper in your ear, “buckle up, doll, he’s very passionate about eating pussy,”
“Oh,” you whimper at the way Mingi is looking at you— like he wants to consume you. You realize what you interpreted as nervousness was actually him restraining himself. He is absolutely feral for you, and he’s about to let it out.
Before you can catch your breath, Mingi is on his belly between your legs, kissing and nipping at the insides of your thighs while he weaves your legs over his shoulders. His hands find purchase on your belly and he gently grips your soft skin, running his hot tongue over the marks he’s surely leaving on you. His mouth feels electric on your skin, and you want more.
“Fuck, Mingi,” you pant.
“Tell him what you want, sweetheart,” Yunho breathes against your ear, “he’ll do whatever you want,” he cups your breasts in his hands, massaging them gently with his slender fingers.
”Mmhm,” Mingi groans in agreement against you as he licks a firm stripe along your clothed heat, causing a whine to crawl up your throat.
“I wanna feel your mouth, Min, please,” you run your fingers through his hair, “really feel it,” you grind your hips down onto his mouth, desperate for him.
“Needy baby,” he briefly pulls his mouth from you, taking a moment to admire how beautiful you look in Yunho’s arms, letting his eyes linger on you. Your eyes blown wide with desire, your lips puffy, your chest heaving, your breasts gently cradled in Yunho’s hands.
“Mingi,” you laugh breathlessly, smiling coyly, “why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because, gorgeous,” he pushes himself up onto his knees, running his hands up your thighs and around your hips, “I know I’ve barely had you,” he hooks his fingers under your panties, “but I already can’t get enough of you.” He taps your hips with his thumbs, signaling you to lift them.
You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as he peels the damp cloth from your body, discarding it on the floor. A sudden rush of embarrassment takes over now that you’re fully bare, but Mingi stops you before you can close your legs.
“Don’t get shy on me now, darling,” he runs his hands up your inner thighs as he spreads them wide, “let me see you,” he lowers his gaze to your core, a devious glint in his eyes as the corner of his mouth quirks up.
“What a pretty little cunt you have,” he settles between your legs again, his breath on your wet heat causing your body to shiver.
“Mingi, please stop teasing me,” you squirm under their strong grasps on your body, Yunho rolling your nipples between his fingers and Mingi kneading the soft skin of your thighs.
“If you say so,” he nips at your skin, “I’ve been waiting all night for this.”
Mingi licks you firmly from your entrance to your clit, finding the sensitive bud with ease and circling it with the tip of his tongue. You let out a cry at the sudden sensation, bucking your hips toward his mouth. He pulls you closer to him, dragging your thighs up onto his shoulders once again. His hands wrap around your hips and he squeezes your supple skin as he closes his mouth around your clit, sucking gently.
“Oh my—“ you gasp at the sensation, and heat rushes to your center, the pressure building.
“How does it feel, sweetheart?” Yunho asks from behind you, brushing your hair back to plant a kiss on the pulse point of your neck. “Does his mouth feel good on you?”
You nod fervently, threading your fingers through Mingi’s blond hair again to pull him closer. He feels your signal and sucks your clit a little harder, a moan leaving your mouth as you let your head fall back into the crook of Yunho’s neck. You feel the warm bubble in your core growing, until Mingi’s mouth pops off of you briefly.
You almost protest but are cut off when he quickly reconnects, licking you down to your entrance, his nose bumping your clit as he pushes his tongue inside of you. He looks up at you through his lashes, his eyes rolling back in his head as you clench around his tongue.
“Feels so good, fuck,” your grind down onto his mouth, needing more inside than he’s granting you. “Mingi please, I need more,” you pant, looking down at him.
He chuckles against you, swiftly running his tongue up through your heat and pulling away to rest his head on your thigh. “What do you need, angel?” He smiles softly up at you, the evidence of your arousal glistening on his chin. He massages your hips while he waits for your response, leaning into your palm as you run it down his cheek.
”I want your f-fingers,” you whine, wiggling your hips underneath his hands.
”Ask nicely, baby,” his voice drips with amusement. He nips at your thigh, dragging a groan up your throat.
“Mingi, please,” you sound absolutely shameless in the way that you’re begging him, “I’ll do anything,”
”Mingi, stop teasing,” Yunho coos over your shoulder, his voice low and husky, “she’s been so good for us, don’t you think she deserves a reward?”
“Hmm,” Mingi’s hand disappears from your hip, “I suppose so,” you feel his fingers graze your inner thigh, slowly moving where you need them most. “Do you think you deserve it, y/n?” He softly runs his fingers through your cunt, gathering arousal from your core.
“I do, please, baby,” you beg. He grins at you, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you. He watches your eyes roll back and flutter closed, a satisfied sigh leaving your mouth.
Yunho marvels at the way your face twists in pleasure as Mingi stretches you on his fingers, your moans music to their ears. He drags them out and pushes back in the tiniest bit faster and deeper, increasing his pace with each thrust. The heavenly stretch ignites something deep in your core.
“So tight,” his breath is hot on your center, “still need more, angel?”
You nod, biting your bottom lip as your words get stuck in your throat. Mingi clicks his tongue at you, “needy,” he chuckles, curling his fingers inside of you, your back arching in pleasure.
Yunho’s hand coasts up to your neck, gently wrapping his long fingers around your throat and squeezing firmly. “Tell us what you need sweetheart,” he taunts, “use your words.” He puts more pressure on either side of your airway, the lack of oxygen making you feel deliciously dizzy.
“I need you to touch me Yun, please,” you struggle to get the words out through his strong grip on your throat, getting distracted by Mingi splitting you open. You let your legs fall from Mingi’s shoulders, spreading your thighs as wide as you can manage, presenting yourself to Yunho.
A satisfied groan leaves Yunho’s mouth as he releases you to run his hand up your jaw and brush his fingers across your bottom lip. You gasp to catch your breath, leaving your mouth open to invite him in, and he pushes two of his fingers past your lips. Mingi slows down, watching the two of you in a daze while he lazily pumps his fingers in and out of you. Without hesitation you close your lips around Yunho’s fingers, sucking lightly and bobbing your head, your glazed over eyes not leaving his.
“Good girl,” Yunho pants, “you’re so pretty when you beg.” You clench around Mingi’s fingers at Yunho’s words, and you hear him chuckle from between your legs. He loves being able to feel your body reacting to the praise you’re receiving. You swirl your tongue around Yunho’s fingers, then release them with a pop.
Yunho inches closer to you, his eyes wide with hunger. You let out a soft whine when the tip of his nose brushes yours, his hot breath thickening the air between you. He’s almost challenging you by not kissing you right away, allowing his bottom lip to brush yours, but pulling back when you try to lean closer.
“Yunnie,” you whimper, pushing yourself down onto Mingi’s fingers as much as you could muster, “please,”
“Hm?” Yunho teases, drawing your bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it gently. Your breathing turns unsteady and he chuckles. “Look at you,” he nips at your lip, a growl crawling up his throat, “if you’re begging like this for my fingers, I can’t wait to watch you beg for my cock.”
You whimper as he finally kisses you, and it’s catalytic. The moment his lips touch yours, the tension that had been building between the three of you all night long finally comes to a peak, and all control is lost.
Mingi bites down hard on your thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue and fucking you faster with his fingers, twisting his wrist slightly with each thrust. Yunho swallows your moans as he runs his wet fingers down your body, easily finding your clit and circling it firmly. The contact makes your head spin, a bolt of heat shooting to your center as you let out a shameless whine into his mouth.
You feel the pressure building with each rub and thrust, the feeling of both of them touching you almost too much to take. You weave your fingers through Yunho’s hair, pulling him closer to you. He bites down on your bottom lip, rubbing you faster with pointed precision. Sinful sounds fill the air around you; Mingi’s heavy breathing, your desperate whining, Yunho’s deep groaning, the sound of their fingers moving through your arousal.
“Fuck, I’m s-so close,” you cry, closing your eyes to focus on their ministrations.
“Help me out, Min,” Yunho pulls away from you briefly and you whine, your growing orgasm fading away. You look down at Mingi as he pulls his fingers out of you. You’re about to cry out in protest when he pops his fingers into his mouth, making a show of licking your arousal from them.
“Oh,” you marvel at the way his eyes roll back at the taste of you, your chest heaving, “Mingi, please,”
“I got you, baby,” he coos, pulling his fingers from his mouth and returning them to your entrance. He nods to Yunho as he pushes his soaked fingers back inside of you. Responding to his friend’s signal, Yunho spreads you open as Mingi spits directly on your clit.
“Jesus Christ,” you sob, throwing your head back.
“Not quite,” Mingi chuckles, resuming his relentless pace.
Yunho finds your clit again, gathering Mingi’s saliva on his fingers. The added lubrication has Yunho’s fingers gliding over and around your swollen bud. The two men quickly match their pace to one another and you feel your impending climax building in your core again.
“Oh my —“ Yunho cuts you off with a firm kiss, groaning into your mouth. His tongue tangles with yours, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
“You’ve been so good for us baby,” Mingi says from between your legs, watching his fingers disappear inside of you. “Let go, I wanna feel you come around my fingers.”
“Come on, sweetheart,” Yunho grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your head to the side for better access. “Show us how good we’re making you feel,” he buries his face in your neck, licking and sucking on your skin.
“Mhm,” Mingi hums in agreement, pushing up onto his knees to pop one of your nipples into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it as he pistons his fingers even faster, hitting that sweet spot inside of you.
“God, right there,” your eyes screw shut as the pressure builds and builds, but a firm nip to your chest makes you open them again to look down at him.
”Look at me,” Mingi growls, “I want to watch you fall apart, baby.” You nod wordlessly as his mouth reconnects with your nipple. A familiar heat settles in your belly at his words, and the determination in his dark eyes only fuels the fire. He feels your walls tighten around his fingers, and he knows that you’re almost there.
“I’m s-so close,” you cry, your legs starting to tremble. Mingi splays his free hand across one of your thighs to hold you open.
“That’s our good girl,” Yunho breathes against your skin, “come for us, beautiful,”
The praise is what pushes you over the edge, your head spinning at Yunho’s words. He rubs you just right as Mingi curls his fingers inside of you again, and the tightly wound cord in your core finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through your body.
“Oh my god,” you sob, your body squirming beneath them while they light your body on fire.
“There she is,” Mingi coos, his pace slowing ever so slightly to coax you through your climax. Yunho presses the heel of his hand down firmly on your mound, effectively holding you in place. He lazily swirls the pad of his middle finger over your clit, overstimulating you in a way that you’ve never felt. It should feel like too much, but it’s just enough to draw out your high just the way you need. You let your eyes flutter closed as you feel your body melting into their tender touches.
Your hearing goes fuzzy and you feel like you’re floating in their arms as they slow their motions to a stop, holding you gently. You feel Mingi pull his fingers from your center, peppering your inner thighs with soft kisses. He brings both his hands up to your hips, massaging your skin. You revel in his touch, each stroke of his fingers drawing you back down to earth.
Yunho carefully slips out from behind you, laying you down on the fluffy pillows. You snuggle into the satin pillowcase, letting him and Mingi manipulate your pliant body, feeling fully sated coming down from your high. Mingi gently closes your legs and drapes a sheet over you. Their hands never leave your body as Yunho settles in next to you, snuggling up to you with an arm thrown over your waist.
“Sweetheart, are you with us?” Yunho brushes your stray hairs from your forehead, planting a gentle kiss on your cheek.
“I think so,” you giggle, nuzzling into his touch, “that was incredible.” You slowly open your eyes, your heart skipping a beat seeing Yunho looking back at you. His hair is mussed, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are shining just for you.
“You’re so pretty,” you whisper before you can stop yourself,
“Me?” He rubs his thumb across your cheek, “look who’s talking,” despite redirecting the compliment to you, you notice his ears turning red. He nuzzles his nose into yours, planting a quick kiss to your lips.
“You’re cute when you come,” Mingi interrupts, crawling up the bed to lay next to you. He props himself up on his elbow, resting his other hand on your belly and rubbing soft circles into your skin.
“Mingi,” you laugh, “haven’t you teased me enough for one night?” Yunho chuckles from your other side and you nudge your elbow into his ribs.
“Definitely not, but that’s not the point,” he leans over you to kiss your forehead, “I just like complimenting you,” he kisses your cheek, “and I want you to see yourself,” he kisses your other cheek, “how we see you,” he finally kisses your lips, effectively silencing any witty reply you were trying to conjure up. Tasting yourself on his mouth reignites the flame in your core.
“And how do you see me, exactly?” you question him, your voice coming out much hoarser than you meant it to.
Instead of responding, Mingi thinks for a brief moment before his eyes light up, and he jumps up out of bed. You shoot a questioning look in Yunho's direction, but he just shrugs, equally as confused as you are. Mingi walks to the end of the bed, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. You catch a glimpse of the outline of his half-hard cock when he turns back to face you, making your mouth water.
“Come here,” he holds his hand out to you, waiting expectantly.
You couldn’t say no to him if you tried, so you wrap your sheet around your body from the chest down and scoot down to the end of the bed, reaching out to meet his outstretched hand. He grabs your hand and swiftly pulls you up from the mattress, helping to steady you on your feet.
“Look,” he says, nodding toward the massive mirror hanging above the vanity.
“Oh, Mingi, don’t,” your cheeks warm immediately, and you absentmindedly bring a hand to cover your eyes. Your mind goes back to him watching you glare at yourself in that same mirror earlier in your evening. You felt so embarrassed in the moment, wishing he hadn’t caught you displaying your insecurity so openly. You’d been avoiding the mirror since then, trying not to think too hard about what you look like for your own peace of mind.
“Baby please, just look,” Mingi gently takes your hand in his, bringing it down from your face, “let us show you,” he kisses your knuckles when you look at him, his warm brown eyes full of admiration.
You take a deep breath before turning to face the mirror, almost gasping when you see yourself. The white sheet draped over your body falls gracefully, the soft fabric hugging your curves. The way it hangs on your body accentuates your full figure, outlining your plump breasts, your rounded hips, and the natural swell of your thighs. The pristine white sheet makes your skin glow, emphasizing your softness.
Maybe it’s the post-orgasm glow, but for the first time in a long time, you truly think you look beautiful. You feel beautiful. Without looking away from yourself you squeeze Mingi’s hand, and he squeezes yours right back.
Yunho scoots down the bed to sit right behind you, opening his legs and pulling you to stand between them. He runs his wide hands up your waist, eyeing the way his fingers glide over your sheet clad curves. His fingers tighten as his hands settle on the swell of your hips.
“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a thousand times more,” Mingi leans down, brushing his lips over your ear, “you look like a goddess,” he murmurs. His hot breath raises goosebumps on your skin, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the way Yunho’s hands fit perfectly around you.
“I wouldn’t say that,” you sigh, trying to hide that your body is already so reactive to them again. “I do like how I look right now though,” you tilt your head at your reflection in the mirror, trying to admire yourself.
“I would,” Yunho wraps his arms around your hips pulling you into his lap, “say you look like a goddess, that is,” he sets a steady kiss to the middle of your back, holding you tight.
“You don’t have to say that,” you look between the two of them, “really,”
“Hm, you still don’t believe us, do you, angel?” Mingi tuts, shaking his head slightly as he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.
”It’s not that I don’t believe you,” you look down at your hand in Mingi’s, watching his thumb glide across your skin. “I just have a lot of trouble seeing myself… positively.” Yunho tightens his arms around you, nuzzling into you.
Mingi nods wordlessly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He lets go of your hand to run his own through his hair, assessing what his next move should be. Before you can question him about what’s running through his mind, he drops to his knees in front of you, his hands landing on your sheet wrapped thighs. A jolt of heat strikes in your core as you wonder what’s coming. His eyes meet yours, a searing heat lingering in his gaze.
“Mingi…” you hope that the suspicious tone in your voice will prompt him to share whatever plan he’s conjured up in his head, but he just keeps looking at you with fire in his eyes.
“Min, where are you going with this,” Yunho laughs from behind you. “Already need more?”
“Of course I do, but I can wait,” he smirks, turning his attention back to you. “I could spend all night between your legs baby, but right now, we need to help you see how beautiful you are.”
You can suddenly hear your heartbeat thudding, anticipation bubbling inside you.
“Oh, I’m in,” Yunho says, pulling you closer to him, “what about you, sweetheart?”
You don’t know what they could possibly mean by that, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care.
“I’m too horny and malleable to protest, especially with Mingi looking at me like that” you giggle, leaning back into Yunho, “do what you must.” You sigh into his touch, reaching back to pull him closer to you as he nudges at your neck with his nose.
“Atta girl,” Mingi beams, trying to commit your blushing, fucked out smile to memory.
“If there's anything we do that you’re not comfortable with,” Yunho shifts to softly kiss the curve of your shoulder, “just say the word.”
Mingi nods in agreement, “okay?”
”Okay,” you reply in confirmation, giving a small nod. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you wonder where your night is about to go. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit.
“We’ll take good care of you, sweetheart,” Yunho unwraps his arms from around you to massage your lower back, the tension immediately falling away.
“Really good care of you,” Mingi kneads the soft skin of your thighs through your sheet. You feel so safe with their hands on you.
Yunho’s hands travel up to where your sheet is tucked under your arm, tugging on it gently. You lift your arm slightly to help loosen its wrapping around you, and with Yunho’s help, it starts to fall. Cascading down your form, it pools around your hips into Yunho’s lap, your breasts fully on display again.
“God, baby,” Mingi groans, “you are unreal,” he can’t stop himself from reaching up to palm both of your breasts in his hands, coasting his thumbs over your pebbling nipples. You gasp at the sudden contact, reveling in the feeling of his hands on your bare skin again.
Yunho’s fingers ghost up your back, each fingertip blazing a trail of goosebumps up your spine until he reaches the nape of your neck. He gently wraps his fingers around your throat, running two fingers up your exposed neck and resting them on the underside of your chin.
“Look,” Yunho nudges at your chin, and you steady your breath before allowing him to lift your gaze to the mirror. You watch him brush your hair back before softly brushing his lips over your neck.
Mingi’s broad shoulders flex with each movement of his hands on your breasts, each caress more sensual and purposeful than the last. Yunho’s mouth molds perfectly to your neck, his hand snaking up into your hair to keep you steady.
With two of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid eyes on worshiping you like you built the earth they walk on, you feel powerful. You look powerful. You dared to think you even looked… sexy. With Mingi on his knees in front of you and Yunho mapping your neck with his tongue for the umpteenth time this evening, you realize how wrapped around your finger they are.
Before you could fully feel the emotion of your revelation, Mingi’s hands leave your chest as he rises in front of you. “Come here, baby,” he sits next to you, opening his legs to make space for you. You slide out of Yunho’s lap, and Mingi guides your body to rest against his chest, turning you to face Yunho. You realize they’ve put you in the same position as earlier, only now it’s Yunho’s mercy you’re left at instead of Mingi’s. Your breathing quickens at the way Yunho looks at you with hunger in his dark eyes.
“Can I take this off of you?” Yunho asks, tugging at the sheet still wrapped around your waist. Mingi sweeps your hair from your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he trails featherlight kisses up your neck. You nod to Yunho, leaning into Mingi’s mouth.
Yunho gently unwraps the sheet from around you, letting it fall to either side of your hips, putting you on full display for them again. He taps on your leg, signaling for you to lift it up onto the mattress. You bend your knee, letting your leg fall down to present yourself to him. You push your hips toward him, resting your other foot on the floor. A groan rumbles in Yunho’s throat, your cunt glistening and wanting under the dim lighting of your hotel room.
“So perfect,” he admires your heat, letting his hands rest on your thighs to open you up even more for him. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?”
“Please, Yun,” you lean further back into Mingi’s chest, his lips traveling up to the sensitive spot right below your ear, pulling a whine from your throat.
Yunho holds you open with one hand while the other runs up your thigh, closer and closer to where you need him. He runs his slender fingers through your cunt, gathering your arousal before slowly pushing a finger inside you. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and he immediately finds that tender spot inside of you. “Need more, beautiful?” He withdraws slightly waiting for your response, and you nod ardently, needing anything and everything he’s willing to give you.
He adds a second finger, stretching you deliciously, pushing both fingers as deep inside as he can go. He hits that spot inside you again, smirking as you arch your back against his best friend’s chest.
“Feeling good, baby?” Mingi murmurs into your ear, earning a whimper and a nod in response. “Good girl,” the deep growl in his voice sucks the air from your lungs.
Yunho’s thumb finds your clit, circling it perfectly in sync with his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You feel him scissoring his fingers inside of you, getting you ready to take him. His fingers feel incredible, but you need more.
”Yunho, baby,” you whine, grinding down on his hand.
“Yes, beautiful?” He cocks his head at you, a teasing lilt to his voice. He knows what you’re going to say, but he wants to hear it.
“I need you,” you know he’s gonna make you beg, you can see it in his eyes, and feel it in the way he slows his pace a bit.
“Need me?” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you, his free hand tightening its grip on your leg.
“Mmh, I need you inside of me Yun,” you reach behind you, wrapping your fingers around the back of Mingi’s neck to keep his mouth where it is on your neck.
“Uh-uh,” he scolds you, pulling his fingers from you, lazily running his fingers through your heat. Your cheeks heat with frustration, and you feel Mingi chuckle against your skin at your cute, needy little whines. “Ask nicely, sweetheart,” Yunho positions your clit between his knuckles, squeezing the swollen bud gently.
”Oh my god, Yunho please,”
“Please what? Use your words,” he teases your entrance with the tips of his fingers.
Another desperate whine falls from your mouth. “F-fuck me, please, I need your cock Yunnie please, god,” you wiggle your hips beneath his strong grip, trying to catch any bit of friction.
“Good girl,” he shoves his fingers deep inside you again, and you nearly scream before he swallows your voice, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, doll?” He teases, nibbling on your bottom lip.
You kiss him back hard, grabbing for the waistband of his boxers blindly, swiping your fingers down his stomach before reaching the elastic.
“Eager, are we?” Yunho breaks the kiss, hooking his hands under your knees to pull you closer to him, making sure to move you onto the bed more so you’re not so close to the edge. Even when he’s teasing you, he’s being so thoughtful and careful with you. He stands up briefly, and you can’t do anything but watch him silently as he slowly pulls his boxers down, his cock springing free.
Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, long and velvety, and you feel your cunt clench around nothing. He pumps himself once, twice, as he kneels on the mattress between your legs.
“Still feeling good?” Yunho spreads your thighs even wider, nodding to Mingi behind you, who reaches over you to hook a hand under your knee to hold you open. He’s stopped kissing you, seemingly settling in for the show.
“So good,” you breathe, “please Yunho,”
“Mhm,” he nods, giving you a quick kiss, running his cock through your arousal. You gasp as he bumps your clit, pushing your hips toward him. He nudges his tip at your entrance, resting his forehead against yours. He pushes in slightly, easing into you little by little, the stretch making you gasp. He pauses for a moment, waiting for a signal to keep going. A shuddering breath leaves your lips as you nod, and he pushes deeper.
“I can take all of it, please,” you whine, and with a roll of his hips, he fills you all the way up, finally fully seated inside of you. You both sigh, soaking up the feeling.
“Fuck,” he hisses, “you feel incredible y/n, god,” he kisses your forehead, giving you a moment to adjust. He is so deep inside of you, you’ve never felt so full.
“Yuyu,” you sigh,
”Hm?”
“Move.”
He chuckles, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back into you. You cry out, arching your back against Mingi, pleasure shooting to your center. Yunho sets a slow and steady pace, fucking into you deeply with each stroke.
“Do you realize how fucking good you look right now?” Mingi’s fingers tangle in your hair, gripping tightly, turning your head towards the mirror. “Look at how well you’re taking him baby,” he coos.
“So good for me,” Yunho has your legs spread at an angle so that you can see every bit of what’s happening. His wide hands splayed across your thighs, his cock disappearing inside of you, plunging in and out, shining with your arousal. Mingi’s cock presses into your back, making your mouth water.
“Oh my,” you stammer, “Mingi, let me touch you, please,”
He slips out from behind you immediately, laying you down on the mattress. Yunho slows his thrusts to let you adjust, while Mingi stands next to you at the foot of the bed, his sweatpants tented over his hard length. You roll onto your side, with Yunho still inside of you, propping yourself up on one arm and reaching your other to slip your fingers under the waistband of Mingi’s sweatpants. He helps you push them down, along with his boxers, hissing as the cool air hits his cock.
You reach for him, beckoning him to come closer. You wrap your fingers around him, his head falling back as you pump him slowly. A quick glance in the mirror has your head spinning, in awe of how both of these men are crumbling for you. You wiggle your hips, trying to scoot closer to Yunho. He shifts deeper between your legs, picking up the pace slightly, and the new angle has his cock hitting that tender spot inside of you. You whimper, squeezing Mingi’s length in your hand, stroking him faster. Mingi looks down at you, his mouth hanging open, his brow furrowing, watching you work him. Looking up at him through your lashes, you lick your lips before opening your mouth for him, inviting him in. He moans, leaning forward so his tip brushes your lips.
“Baby,” Mingi murmurs, his chest heaving as you flick your tongue over the sensitive underside of his tip. You wrap your lips around him, sucking him further into your mouth with each bob of your head. A sharp thrust of Yunho’s hips has you moaning around Mingi’s cock, the vibrations almost too much for him to handle. You keep pushing forward until Mingi is bumping the back of your throat, and you relax around him, giving him a quick nod to push further inside. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you wonder if you look as messy as you feel.
“You look so pretty with his cock down your throat, sweetheart,” Yunho matches his pace to how Mingi is fucking your mouth, rolling their hips in unison, stuffing you full. You feel the pad of Yunho’s thumb grazing over your clit, the gentle pressure making you tighten around him. “If you keep squeezing me like that, I’m not gonna last very long,” he adds more pressure on your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. You feel the throbbing in your core intensifying with Yunho’s ministrations.
You moan around Mingi again, making him slow his pace. He buries himself down your throat, and you keep him there as long as you can, tapping his thigh when your vision starts to blur. He pulls back from your mouth, your throat burning as you try to catch your breath. You replace your mouth with your hand, spitting onto his cock, rolling your wrist as you stroke him.
”You’re doing so well,” Mingi coos, bending over you briefly to kiss your forehead, brushing your sweaty stray hairs out of your face, “so, so well.” Mingi grabs a pillow and props it under your head, laying you back down to relax into the feeling of Yunho inside of you. Yunho picks up the pace now that he has more of your attention, snapping his hips relentlessly, rubbing your clit just right.
“Yunho, f-fuck,” you whine, squeezing around him once again, the weight of your arousal settling in your belly. Your hand around Mingi’s cock falters, your strokes becoming erratic as you get closer to your climax.
“What did I say, sweetheart?” He emphasizes his words with a firm swirl of his thumb around your sensitive bud. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna fucking come,”
“I am too, shit,” you cry, tears running down your temples into the pillowcase.
“Are you on the pill?” Yunho slows down just enough to make you whimper,
“Mhm,” you nod, hoping he’s asking you for the same reason you’re thinking,
“I need to come inside of you, beautiful,” he groans as you tighten around him again at his words, “fuck, please y/n,” he pumps into you deep, your back arching into the bed.
“Yeah, ngh, please, come inside of me Yun,” you whine.
Mingi pulls your hand from him, kneeling beside you to talk you through it. “You close, baby?” He licks up your chest, kissing every inch of exposed skin he can reach. You nod fervently, reaching for Yunho’s free hand, and grabbing Mingi’s shoulder with your other. “You’re taking him so well,” Mingi praises you, “I knew when we saw you that you’d be so good for us, our good girl.”
You flutter around Yunho’s cock, and he smirks down at you, his cheeks flushed and hair sticking to his forehead, “you really love being talked to like that, don’t you?” His pace falters slightly, and you know you’re both almost there. “I’m gonna fuck you so full, then Mingi’s gonna do the same, until you’re dripping with both of us, okay?” Jesus fucking Christ.
“Please, yes please, I need it,” the flame in your core is growing with each thrust of Yunho’s hips.
“So pretty when you beg,” Mingi whispers into your neck,
“Come around my cock, beautiful, I wanna feel you,”
Mingi kisses your temple while you fall apart for the second time tonight, Yunho’s name falling from your lips as your body trembles between your lovers. Yunho’s hips start to stutter, his thrusts getting more and more irregular.
”Yunho,” you whine, your climax still rippling through your body, “fill me up baby, please, come,” you squeeze his hand and he laces his fingers between yours.
“Oh, f-fuck,” he pushes in deep, his hips stilling as he spills inside of you. He exhales deeply before leaning over you to kiss you, slowly fucking his release deeper and deeper into you as you thread your fingers into his hair. “You are incredible,” he murmurs against your lips.
“So are you,” you giggle, trying to catch your breath. Mingi rubs a gentle hand down your cheek as you and Yunho remain fused, foreheads pressed together. The three of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, both of them peppering you with kisses, before Mingi breaks it.
“I know I said this already,” he starts, “but you are so cute when you come.” You roll your eyes at him and Yunho laughs at your bickering.
Yunho slowly pulls out of you, massaging your hips and easing your legs closed. “He’s right,” he smiles at you, kissing your nose. You stick your tongue out at him, earning a wink in return as he flops onto his back.
“Let’s see how you look when you come,” you taunt, turning your attention to Mingi. You flip over onto your stomach, arching your back and pushing up onto your knees to display your ass up in the air, like you’re a cat stretching after a nap. You turn to face Mingi, still on his knees at the foot of the bed. You point to the mirror behind him, “put on a good show for me, would you?”
“Ooh Min, someone’s had enough of your teasing for one night,” Yunho laughs. He rolls onto his side next to you, whispering into your ear, “I like you when you’re feisty.”
Mingi just looks at you, his mouth hanging open slightly as amusement plays across his gaze.
“Cat got your tongue, baby?” You know you’re instigating, and he’s surely going to make you pay for it… but part of you is hoping for that. “Hurry, before Yunnie’s cum starts to drip out of me,” you pout, faking disappointment in your voice.
“Oh, you are such a brat,” Mingi beams at you, loving what your newfound confidence is bringing out of you. He stands, climbing up onto the bed behind you, running his hands over your ass. You glance at the mirror, admiring the soft swell of your ass, Mingi’s hands gripping your soft skin. “Look at you, running your mouth asking to get fucked when you’re already full of cum,” he smacks your ass, the crack ringing through the quiet room. You moan at the sensation, the throbbing in your cunt coming back full force. “You like that?” He soothes the angry red spot with his fingers, massaging your stinging skin.
“Yeah, I do,” you breathe, “do it again,” you wiggle your hips, pushing back toward him. A drop of cum slips from your entrance, landing on the bed beneath you. Mingi groans at the sight, his cock jumping in response. He spanks you again, harder than the last, and you jerk forward, whimpering into the bedding.
“Dirty girl,” the low growl in his voice makes you shiver. You watch Mingi in the mirror as he strokes himself, lining up with your entrance. “Ready, gorgeous?”
“Mm, yes please,” you push back into him and he reciprocates, slipping inside of you. The combination of yours and Yunho’s arousal has Mingi sliding all the way in with ease, both of you shuddering when he bottoms out.
“I’d love to take this slow, baby, but I need you,”
“Please don’t,” you pull forward off of him slightly before pushing back again. “Fuck me like you mean it.” Mingi laughs, rolling his hips, pumping in and out faster and faster until the bed is rocking with your bodies.
“You feel so fucking good, y/n.” He has a vice grip on your hips, pulling you back into him to meet each thrust. “You look so good taking me like this,”
“So perfect,” Yunho chimes in from next to you. You turn your head to face him, and he wraps a hand around the nape of your neck, his lips molding with yours. You moan into his mouth as Mingi fucks into you, harder, faster.
“Want me to fill you up, baby? Have any room for more?”
“Please, yes,” you murmur against Yunho’s lips, fucking back into Mingi. Each bump of his cock inside of you has you inching closer and closer to your third orgasm of the night, your knuckles turning white from gripping the sheets. Yunho must sense it, moving his hand to slide under you, down your belly and between your legs. The second he makes contact with your clit, you feel pleasure spreading through you, getting more intense as they work you.
“I can feel you,” Mingi leans over you to bite down on your shoulder, “you gonna come with me, angel?”
“Yeah, ngh,” you turn back to face the mirror, remembering the taunting that got you in this position in the first place. Mingi is glowing, every muscle in his body flexing under his sweat-slicked skin as he pounds into you. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and he draws his bottom lip between his teeth, smirking at you, before bringing his palm down hard on your ass again.
You cry out, your whole body shaking as your orgasm washes over you, rocking you in waves. You use all your remaining strength to keep your ass in the air as Mingi follows right behind you, letting out an animalistic growl as he fills you. You feel him twitch inside of you, finally stilling after he’s pumped every last drop into you. His chest heaves, easing his grip on your hips to lean over your spent form, trailing kisses up and down your spine.
“You’re cute when you come too,” you sigh, suddenly feeling sleepy.
“I’m glad you think so,” Mingi laughs breathlessly, easing out of you, groaning at the mess that drips from your center.
“Sorry for the mess, sweetheart,” Yunho reaches around you, pulling you down to the mattress, flush against his body. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up before you fall asleep?”
You agree, already feeling yourself drift off. They help you to the bathroom, Yunho helping you work all the tangles out of your hair as Mingi gets the shower going. The three of you lazily wash each other, teasing as you do. With Yunho’s lips on your neck and Mingi’s fingers between your legs, both your hands on their cocks, the three of you come again together. You wash all over again, finally agreeing to get out when the water runs cold. They help you dry off, and Yunho grabs you a pajama set from the dresser, letting you get dressed before leading you to the bathroom mirror. He brushes your hair for you while you do your skincare.
Your heart aches in your chest thinking about your time with them coming to an end. Yunho looks so content, standing in your bathroom with a towel around his hips helping you get ready for bed. Mingi returns from remaking the bed, wearing just his sweatpants and his glasses, sipping his long abandoned soju. You’d been moving around your room in a comfortable silence since getting out of the shower, and your eyes burn at the thought of them leaving you soon.
“Y/n, you okay?” Yunho sets your brush down on the counter next to your skincare products. He gently grabs your shoulders, turning you around to face the both of them.
A silent tear falls down your cheek. “I don’t want you to go,” you sniffle, suddenly feeling so small.
“Hey, woah,” Mingi is at your side, “we are not going anywhere, y/n,” he takes your hand in his.
“You have a show tomorrow, you guys need to rest,”
“And we can rest here, with you,” Yunho assures you. “We already know that bed is big enough for the three of us,” you laugh at his effort to ease your nerves.
“You really want to spend the night with me?”
“Of course, baby,” Mingi says, “we would never leave you after all of that. Plus Yunho is a clingy baby the night before a show and I’m not gonna be his little spoon all night.”
“He’s right,” Yunho shrugs, “I do need a little spoon. You interested?”
A short while later and the three of you are dressed and in bed, and you’re wedged in between your two lovers. Your backside is pressed against Yunho, whose arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, now snuggled up to you, lightly snoring in your ear. You lay nose-to-nose with Mingi, fiddling with each others’ fingers.
“Not to keep repeating myself, but I am really glad that we met you tonight, y/n.” In the darkness you can feel him looking at you. “I think I can speak for both of us when I say we really like you.”
“I like you both too,” you whisper. “A lot.”
Mingi kisses your nose, then your lips, resting his forehead against yours. “Were you scared we were gonna leave you earlier?” You can hear the hesitation in his voice.
“Yes,” you reply honestly.
“Why?” Silence hangs in the air for a moment.
“It’s not because of you. Or how you both had been treating me all night, you’ve been so good to me, it’s just—“ You hesitate, trying to find the right words. “Typially when guys want me… that way… they never want to stick around afterwards.”
“I don’t know how anyone could ever walk away from you like that,” he squeezes your hand in his. “And I could never in a million years regret you. Maybe Yunho and I are just suckers for aftercare, you’ll actually never get rid of us,” he chuckles quietly.
“Or maybe you’re just obsessed with me,” you tease him.
“That, too.” He gives you a soft, quick kiss. “We should sleep,” he whispers.
”Fine,” you sigh,
”We’ll both still be here in the morning,” he assures you.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
You fall asleep tangled between them, your heart feeling so full.
The next morning Mingi orders the three of you room service, charging the order to their room. Yunho’s clinginess seems to have carried over to the morning, as he’s made you sit between his legs while the three of you eat in bed together. You all run through your plans for the day, the boys talking about what time they need to be at the venue to run through their private soundcheck, then getting hair and makeup done for the VIP soundcheck. You tell them all about the friends you’re meeting up with, and they joke about setting one of them up with Yeosang.
Saying goodbye felt impossible, none of you wanting to let go. Both boys put their numbers in your phone, Mingi immediately starting a group chat for the three of you. They promised they’d see you again, and you hope they mean sooner rather than later. They sandwich you between them, hugging you tight.
“You guys need to get ready to head to the venue,” you murmur between them, not wanting to make them late.
“Fine,” Mingi says, kissing the top of your head, rummaging through his sweatpants pocket for their room key. “See you at the show,” he winks.
Your heart flutters thinking about seeing them on stage after the night you’d just spent together. “It’s too early for you to be making me blush, Song Mingi,”
“Sorry!” He kisses you quickly before slipping out the door, leaving you and Yunho alone.
“Sorry I fell asleep so early last night,” he holds you tenderly, running a wide hand up and down your back.
“Don’t apologize, your snoring was kind of soothing,” you poke his stomach, “plus, I liked being your little spoon. We’ll have to do that again sometime.”
“I’d love to,” he looks at you with such a wholesome admiration in his eyes. “I’m glad we met, y/n.”
“Me too, Yunho.” He dips down to kiss you, capturing your lips with his.
“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,”
”Promise?”
”Promise.” He kisses you once more before slipping out of your room.
You stare at the closed door for a few moments until you hear the distant ding of the elevator. You miss them so much already. You wonder how you’re gonna keep it together in front of your friends all day, laughing as you imagine each of their reactions to the events of last night.
Turning to walk back toward your bed, you start running through all the things you need to do in the next hour to get ready to leave. Shower, hair, makeup— you stop dead in your tracks as your eyes land on your vanity. Right next to your makeup bag is Yunho’s hat. Your heart races as you see the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from under it. Moving the hat over, you laugh at his message, written in his scrawling script on hotel stationary.
