▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||||||• 4:53 ── now playing ; don't matter by akon
synopsis ; coming back from studying abroad for two years you had two goals in mind: win the annual end-of-summer fashion design contest and jung wooyoung... your brothers best friend. only issue? your brother had forbidden you from his friends and likewise has forbidden his friends from you. yet when yeosang gets the opportunity to study abroad you start to see an opportunity to finally make your move, so you take it. I mean.... what's the worst that could happen?
pairing(s) ; wooyoung x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 28k
☆ ── genre ; older brother's bsf!au, friends to lovers, college!au, forbidden romance(ish), smut w/ a shit ton of plot, fluff, a sprinkle of angst, slight age gap (a few years), crack, fashion design major!reader, culinary major!wooyoung, baseball player!wooyoung
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, hidden relationships, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking/weed (not aimed at reader), reader may or may not give you second hand embarrassment at some point (whoops), mutual pining, quite a bit of contradiction, petnames (pipsqueak, baby, sweetheart, love, beautiful, babydoll...), bullying/teasing, crying, mental breakdown, a teeny tiny bit of arguing, secret keeping, kissing, they're both just goofs, deception, NSFW ; unprotected sex, messy make out, virgin!reader (not explicitly shown but hinted at), dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, fingering, biting/marking, some manhandling, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, teasing, clit play, slight dacryphila, it gets a lil messy, creampie, praising, a tinge of edging (if you squint), sweet aftercare, lmk if I missed anything!!
☆ ── notes ; hello everyone ^^ first and foremost, this is my instalment for @sungbeam live alive collab!! this fic has been extremely fun to make even though this was never my original idea 🤓☝ but I am very happy with how it came out and was NAWT expecting it to be 28k words in the end (I need to stop underestimating myself...). second, thank you to @klllerwaifu and @xtrashxbunnyx for once again being my beta readers 😻 then lastly, everyone who has shown interest in this fic and is taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoy, and don't be afraid to give some feedback!!
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The early-spring sun shone brightly through Professor Yang's office window as you sat in the seat across from her desk. A warm smile spread on your lips as she went over all of the paperwork for the end-of-summer fashion design competition.
"Are you sure you want to join y/n? You'll only have a few months to prepare and turn in your design." Professor Yang asked, her eyebrows knitted in concern as she looked up at you, setting the papers back down on the ever-growing pile.
"I'll be okay, I've actually been working on a design well before I left Italy." You tell her, your smile only spreading wider as she nods her head, reaching over to pull an ink pen from the overflowing cup of writing utensils.
"You're an amazing designer, y/n, I'm just worried that you won't have the appropriate time you need." The older woman spoke about her worries, and you reassured her that everything would be fine, causing her to sigh, but she signed the papers nonetheless.
"Thank you, Mrs. Yang."
"You're welcome, y/n. I'll see you in class on Monday." Professor Yang offered you a smile of her own as she watched you stand from your seat, slinging your bag strap over your shoulder.
With one last farewell, you make your way towards her office door, pulling the heavy wood open. You barely took a step past the threshold when you noticed someone sitting on the bench that was on the other side of the hall. The sight of her purple sundress was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the pair of sunglasses that sat upon her head.
"Dayhun?" You nearly exclaimed as you pulled the door shut behind you, eyes growing wide as you took in the sight of your best friend.
Upon hearing your voice, Dayhun lifts her head, a bright smile spreading on her lips as she hops up. In the next moment, she was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, squeezing all of the air from your lungs, and it took you patting her back before she finally released you, hands still firmly on your shoulders.
"What are you doing here?" You asked, eyebrows pinching in confusion, and a pout formed on Dayhun's glossed lips.
"I'm here to see my best friend, of course, but also tell me why I had to find out about your return through your brother and not you?" She complains, causing you to laugh softly, patting her arm as she lets them drop back down to her sides.
"I was going to call you on the way to Yeosang's." You tell her with a shake of your head, hiking your bag further up your shoulder before glancing down the hall, catching sight of the time.
"Well, it's too late now, but c'mon, I'll walk with you to your car." Dayhun hooks her arm around yours before pulling you down the hall, chatting about anything you've missed in the past few days that you haven't been able to talk to her—or anyone, really. Between packing and traveling, you hardly had any time to communicate.
The cool evening breeze washed over the two of you as soon as you took a step out of the building, goosebumps rising on your bare arms, seeing as you left your jacket sitting in your car. Dayhun scolded you as she ran her warmer hands over your chilled skin, trying to help alleviate some of the cold.
"So, what's your plan now that you're officially back?" She asked, brushing a few stray strands out of her face, and you glance at her for a split second before focusing back on the ground before you, not wanting to trip over your own feet.
"For starters, I'm gonna work my ass off to win the fashion design competition," You tell her just as the two of you walk up to your car, the sleek black paint reflecting the setting sun behind you, "but I'm also going to finally win over Jung Wooyoung."
Dayhun couldn't help but giggle at your overly confident statement and the look of determination that was plastered all over your face.
"Still hung up on Wooyoung, huh? Are you actually going to tell him this time or chicken out again?" She teases you, and you could only roll your eyes, a hint of a smile threatening to tug on the corners of your lips as you unlocked your car, pulling the door open.
"Har har," You pursed your lips, tossing your bag over into the passenger seat before turning to give Dayhun a playful glare, "I'm actually going to tell him this time, watch."
"Okay…" Dayhun laughs as she watches you step into the driver's seat, "What about Yeosang?"
A small scoff escapes your mouth as you shake your head, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
Hearing those words fall from your lips made Dayhun laugh, not believing you would actually be ballsy enough to go behind your brother's back. Yet she still found your determination endearing and would try her best to get Project Mrs. Jung to home base. The sound of her laughter has your face flushing, the heat burning the tips of your ears, and you glare at her before starting your vehicle, grumbling softly.
"Well, my dear best friend, I wish you the best of luck." She winks at you as her freshly manicured fingers wrap around the door.
"Thank you, Day, we all know I'm gonna need it." You sigh, letting your hands fall to your lap as your engine rumbles and you make a mental note to see if San ever changed the oil while you were gone. "But I'm gonna get to the house before it gets too late, I'll call you later."
"You'd better, or I'll show up at your front door in the middle of the night." She threatens, causing you to look at her with an expression that was somewhere between concern and horror before breaking out into a fit of giggles.
"You're so weird."
"You love me," She sticks her tongue out at you, and you just roll your eyes before letting her shut your door. Dayhun watched as you pulled out of the parking lot before she pulled her phone out, a smile spreading on her lips as she saw one new message.
The car was filled with the soft sound of the radio playing and the heat blowing on the lowest setting, just enough to keep the chill out. Your eyes were glued to the road ahead of you as thoughts of Wooyoung and your brother crossed your mind, and you felt a sudden surge of annoyance shoot through you.
"'You can't date my friends y/n, it's weird'" You mock your brother's words as well as the stupid rule he's had set ever since you became a freshman in high school. At first, it was something that you could just ignore and go on about your day, but the more your feelings grew for his fox-eyed best friend, the more you became annoyed with it.
"Stupid rule, how about he just shoved it up his ass?" You grumble, fingers tightening around your steering wheel, but that annoyance slowly melted into guilt as you caught sight of the photograph that was hanging around your rear-view mirror. A picture of you and Yeosang from the last time you visited the local fair before he left for college, with bright smiles adorning both your faces.
Swallowing thickly, you turn your attention back to the road ahead of you, trying to ignore the war of conflicting feelings that was happening in the back of your mind and heart.
The rest of the drive was silent, save for your occasional humming along to a song that piqued your attention and the harsh gust of winds outside as the sky clouded over, telling you it was going to rain soon. Glancing up at the dark clouds, you prayed that you would be able to make it to the house before it started pouring.
Thankfully, it was just light sprinkles when you pulled into the driveway, parking right behind your brother's silver Acura. That's when you noticed the other two cars in the driveway, and you started to wonder if the other three were home as well. Making quick work of grabbing your bags, you quickly shuffle inside, trying to stay as dry as physically possible.
You were met with the sounds of shouting as soon as you walked through the threshold, a smile instantly spreading on your lips. Setting your bags off to the side, you slip out of your shoes before stepping into the living room, where you find San and Wooyoung sitting on the couch, their fingers smashing the buttons on the PlayStation controllers that sat in their hands, Mortal Kombat playing on the screen.
"Fuck off, Wooyoung, God dammit!" San shouted as Wooyoung pulled his finishing move on San's character, giving him the leeway to KO him and ultimately win the game.
As you step further into the room, you notice that your brother and Hongjoong are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear the sound of clinking from the kitchen.
You watch them for a few more moments before the duffel bag you were carrying starts to strain your shoulder. Dropping the bag to the ground with a loud thump, you cleared your throat, catching the attention of the feline-eyed male first. San's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning when he sees you standing there. He drops the controller onto the coffee table, not caring that he is giving Wooyoung the chance to win for the fourth time in a row. He was then jumping over the back of the couch, causing Wooyoung to exclaim as he nearly kicked him in the face.
"Y/n!" He exclaimed as he stumbled to catch his footing once he landed, causing you to have a mini heart attack. San wraps his arms tightly around your smaller frame, squeezing you as Dayhun had back on campus.
"Hey, Sannie." You let out a choked laugh, seeing as he was practically squeezing all of the air from your lungs, hand coming up to pat his back softly, "San, you can let go now. I can't breathe."
At the sound of the commotion, Yeosang and Hongjoong walk out of the kitchen, a smile of their own spreading on both of their faces as they catch sight of you just as San pulls away. As San steps to the side, your brother and Hongjoong come into view, their eyes already locked on you.
"Well, if it isn't my big brother." You tease as Yeosang walks up to you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. Though he may never say it, he'd missed you over the past two years. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you missed me." You wrap your arms around his torso after pinching his side playfully, giggling when he jumps.
"For now, there's no telling how much I'll wanna send you back after a few days." Yeosang jokes, causing your jaw to drop in astonishment as he pulls away from you.
"Rude." You scoff, reaching over to pinch his arm, causing him to yelp, swatting your hand away and taking a few steps away from your reach.
Hongjoong was next in line, starting to reach out to pat the top of your head, but you just grabbed his arm, pulling him into a hug and ignoring his protests. Once he realized that he wasn't going to get out of this, he let out a huff of air before bringing his hand up to back your back softly.
Once he deemed that was enough physical contact, he was pulling away from you, a smile on his lips, one that looked a little awkward, but happy nonetheless. "You've sure grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw you."
"Joong, it's been what? Two years? I really haven't changed that much." You laugh with a shake of your head as the older male continues to give you shit about being that much younger than him.
Then he was moving to the side, and as soon as your eyes landed on the long-haired male, your breath caught in your throat. These past two years have only made him all the more breathtaking; his once short red hair, which you last saw, is now long and dark onyx.
"Welcome back, pipsqueak." He greets you, walking between San and Yeosang, before standing right in front of you. You barely got a word out before he was pulling you into a tight hug, heat rushed all throughout your body at his touch, skin tingling and mind going ninety to nothing as his cologne invaded your senses.
"H-Hey Woo," You mentally curse yourself for stuttering as you bring your hands up to his back, the fabric of his t-shirt balling into your fists.
"Alright, that's enough," Yeosang grumbles as he grabs a hold of Wooyoung's collar, pulling the younger male away from you, which in turn causes you to roll your eyes, hands falling back to your sides. Your eyes narrowed into slits as you looked at your brother, who was glaring at Wooyoung.
Noticing the tension, Hongjoong claps his hands, causing you and San to jump while Yeosang and Wooyoung look over at him, "Dinner is almost finished, y/n you can put your stuff in Yeosang's room."
"Huh? I thought I was crashing on the couch…" Your voice trailed off as you looked over at your brother, who had already made his way towards the front door to grab your suitcase.
"Come on." Yeosang nodded towards the hall before walking away, not giving you a chance to question anything further. Blinking a few times, you shoot the other three males a confused look before scrambling to grab your duffel bag, following the dark-haired male who disappeared down the hall.
"Yeosang." You call out to your brother as you walk into his bedroom, looking at the older male with nothing short of confusion. Walking further into the room, you watch as Yeosang sets your suitcase down on the floor at the end of his bed, but as you move to set your duffel bag on top, you notice two other suitcases sitting on his dark comforter. "Yeosang, what's going on?"
Yeosang stops trying to tidy up things on his bed to turn towards you, seeing the panic begin to bloom in your eyes. He swallows thickly before letting out a huff of air, which only causes your anxiety to skyrocket, believing something bad has happened.
"Okay, I need to tell you something, but I also need you not to freak out when I tell you." The dark-haired male points at you, and annoyance bubbles up to join your anxiety.
You give him a deadpan expression as you drop your hands to your side, "Well, now I am going to freak out, dumbass."
"Drama queen." Yeosang rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and you copy his movements in almost a mocking manner, easily getting under the male's skin, and he glares at you, "Stop that."
"Stop that." You mock him, bringing your hand up to mimic a hand puppet, and Yeosang's lips pull into a straight line as he watches you. Meeting his gaze, you drop your hand back to your sides, "Tell me what's going on, Yeosang."
"You can stay in my room until I get back, we thought it'd be easier," Yeosang explains; however, his words only serve to confuse you further.
'Until he got back? Where was he even going?'
"What are you talking about, dude? Get back from where?" You asked, slowly starting to get fed up with the way he was beating around the bush like you were a child. The same thing he did whenever he got accepted into college and didn't know how to tell you that he was leaving. That thought had a whole new wave of anxiety shoot through you. Was he moving back home? Did he transfer? Was he movi—
"I'm going abroad." His words slice through your thoughts, and they somehow alleviate the anxiety before shock overtook your entire system.
"What?" You exclaim, eyes growing wide as your jaw drops slightly, "I mean, congratulations, but what?"
"I found out last week. I was going to tell you before, but you were so busy with packing and traveling that I didn't want to bother you." Yeosang starts to ramble, telling you about going to a third-world country to help some of the kids there learn. His hands moving in borderline wild gestures told you that he was on the verge of panicking himself, "I'm sorry, I know you just got back and now it seems like I'm just running as soon as you get back, but I'm not, I promise—"
"Yeo, stop, my god." You laugh softly, moving over to grab your brother's forearms and forcing his attention back on you, "This is exciting. Why are you apologizing?"
"Because you just got back after being gone for two years," He starts, but you just shook your head with a wide smile, all of the earlier anxiety and annoyance melting away as you saw the opportunity that was placed in front of your older brother.
"Okay, and? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Yeosang, plus it's something that you've dreamed of doing." You shake his arms, rambles of your own starting to fall from your lips as you recall all the times he talked about being able to help children in other countries.
As the dark-haired male watched you ramble on about the stories and dreams he's shared with you, he felt his shoulder relax, the weight finally starting to lift. Then the two of you talk a little more about where he was and how long he would be gone. You weren't even sure how much time had passed until Wooyoung was peeking his head into the room, telling you that dinner was ready. The smile he flashes you makes your heart skip a beat, heat rushing up your neck and warming your cheeks.
Yeosang thanks the younger male before standing from the bed and following you as you make your way towards the bedroom door. However, before your fingers could grab the doorknob, Yeosang's fingers wrap around your bicep, pulling your attention back to him, and you start to complain about being hungry.
"The rule still stands, regardless of whether I'm here or not." He reminds you, and all the memories of previous times he warned you about dating his friends flood your mind.
With a roll of your eyes, you tug your arm out of his grasp and grab the bedroom door, throwing it open, "Yeah, yeah, I know."
However, as you walk out of the bedroom, with your brother right on your heels, you couldn't help but think that this might be the chance you've been looking for. With Yeosang out of the way, you were sure that you could finally confess to Wooyoung.
—
That night, during dinner, it was like you had never been gone. The room filled with laughter that bounced off the walls, stories falling from anyone's lips while the others listened; of course, the occasional commentary was to be expected. Then the food—food Wooyoung cooked, and the one thing that you missed the most while being gone, besides the man himself.
It was nice being back home after so long.
"God, that was amazing," You groan, leaning back in your seat as you finish off your second plate, having not realized just how hungry you were. The action pulled a mixture of teasing and laughter from the four males around you, but you paid them no mind. Letting out a contented sigh, you sat back up straight before pushing your chair back and standing, "I'll wash the dishes."
As you started making a grab for everyone's plate, you missed the way that Wooyoung's face lit up like a Christmas tree. A smile spread on his lips, and he clambered out of his seat as well, causing you to look at him. Your heart began racing the moment you met his eyes, the wide smile on his face making your stomach flutter, and you quickly averted your gaze.
"I'll help," He offered, grabbing his and San's plates before you could, and you looked at him with wide eyes, telling him that he didn't have to since he was the one who did the cooking.
"Yeah, what happened to your whole 'I cook, you clean' rule?" San asked, raising an eyebrow.
Wooyoung looks over at the short-haired male before shrugging his shoulders, eyes following your form as you round the table before disappearing into the kitchen. However, he quickly moved his gaze back down to San, "I'm feeling generous."
He then gathered the rest of the dishes before following after you, ignoring the questioning stares he was getting from the three males.
When he walked into the kitchen, Wooyoung's steps faltered just a bit, eyes widening a hair as he watched you pull your hair back, completely oblivious to his presence. Sensing a pair of eyes on you, you turn your head, a smile spreading on your lips as you take in the fox-eyed male.
"I'll wash them, you can dry and put them away." You tell him, breaking Wooyoung from his trance, and he swallows thickly, tongue jutting out to wet his lips with a nod. The action has your cheeks flushing, and you quickly turn back towards the sink, missing the hint of a teasing smirk on his lips.
The room fell into a comfortable silence as you both worked together to wash the dishes, easily falling into tandem with each other. Wooyoung's soft hums and occasional chatter were the only sounds heard in the room, and for the first time since you've landed, you feel your body relaxing, the tension finally uncoiling and allowing your muscles to rest.
"So, how was Italy?" Wooyoung asked as he took a glass from your gloved hand, his eyes trained on your face. Your eyes flicker to his for a moment before they shift back to the sink, and you hum softly.
"It was nice, a huge learning experience, and I'm glad I was able to go, but I'm more glad being home again after so long." You tell him, reaching for another plate to wash as you tell him a story or two about your time in the foreign country.
"Did you meet anyone fancy?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of your chest.
"You're a dork," You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the dishes before you, "but I did get to meet this designer I've always admired."
"Oh really?" Wooyoung looked at you with wide eyes, his lips parted just slightly, and his hands slowing on the plate he was drying.
"Mhmm, he even said that he liked my designs, that they have potential to be something great." You explain, a silly smile spreading on your lips as you recall the memory, and Wooyoung chuckles.
"Your designs have been and always will be amazing, pipsqueak." He complements you and heat races up your neck, the tips of your ears burning as you start to feel slightly lightheaded.
"I don't know about amazing, but thank you, Woo." You flash him a quick smile before letting your gaze fall back onto the sponge in your gloved hand.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, y/n." Wooyoung put the plate in his hand into the cabinet before placing his hand upon your head, ruffling your hair just a bit. You swat his hand away with grumbles before handing him another plate, stomach fluttering when he chuckles. He teases you as he takes the dish, "You're starting to look like a cherry." His words have you getting him a world-class side eye, and his laugh echoes in the room, "Okay, okay, but tell me more. How was the food there?"
"They have some really good food, but nothing will beat your cooking." You tell him, missing the way the tips of his ears started to turn a deep shade of red. You then started spouting all kinds of stories from your time in Italy, some of which made no sense to the male, but he listened regardless.
"Alright, enough about me," You shake your head after realizing how much you had been rambling, "do you still play baseball?"
Your question has an almost instant reaction, a scoff falls from Wooyoung's lips as he looks at you, almost offended by your question. His eyebrows knitted together, lips parted just a bit, and you could see the 'are you for real' gleaming in his chocolate orbs.
"Yes, I still play baseball, what kind of question is that?" He asked, putting away the cup you had handed him just moments before. You laugh, the sound flowing around the dark-haired male like a warm summer breeze, and his heart begins thumping against his ribs. "We actually have a game on Friday, you should come."
"I don't know, not sure I wanna watch you sit on a bench all game." You tease, stifling a laugh when his jaw drops. Then, before you could even move, he scooped up a handful of bubbles before flinging them at you. "Oh, Jung Wooyoung, I know you did not just do that."
"You're right, I didn't." He sticks his tongue out at you as you scrape the bubble off your shirt before throwing it back at him.
Before long, the room was filled with laughter and squeals as the two of you continued to fling water and bubbles at each other. Each of your clothes was equally soaked by the time you both called truce, the group slick with soap and water. Your cheeks began to hurt from laughing and smiling so hard, eyes gleaming under the yellow lights as you watched Wooyoung wipe bubbles from his face, a smile of his own adorning his lips.
"Alright, you go change and get around for bed," Wooyoung told you, wiping his hands on his jeans before moving towards the sink where you were still standing.
"Are you sure? There's not much left."
"Exactly, there's not, and you've had a long day, so off you go, pipsqueak." He pulled the gloves from your hands before shooing you out of the room, causing you to giggle. You thanked him before walking out of the kitchen, holding your soaked shirt away from your body as the chill of the AC started to spread goosebumps all over your wet skin.
As you walked past the other three men who were sitting on the couch watching TV, you couldn't help but think about how nice it was to finally be home. To be back with the people that you love so dearly, and a swirl of emotions welled up in your chest as you walked to Yeosang's room, a smile still painted beautifully on your face. That same smile never faltering, even long after you've fallen asleep for the night, the jet lag finally getting to you.
“You’ve got to try their croissants, they added them to their menu last year, and I’ve been obsessed.” Dayhun rambles on about the cafe’s latest addition as you open the door for her, following close behind after she walks in. She greets the workers with a wide grin before pulling you towards the counter. “C’mon, y/n.”
The cafe has definitely changed a lot since you were last here. The interior was a lot more cozy compared to the bland decorations and tables they had two years ago. Even though the menu was updated, most of the drinks you had been familiar with were either moved, renamed, or just gone. You hadn’t even noticed that Dayhun had finished ordering until she was bumping her arm against yours.
After ordering, you go to pay, but Dayhun knocks your hand out of the way with an almost offended expression, eyebrows scrunched in the middle, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you were reminded of Wooyoung’s face from last night. You shook your head as you watched her pay, small grumbles of you just getting back so this was her treat falling from her lips. Then she was pulling you towards the small table that sat off to the far corner of the building, the early morning sunlight shining right onto the smooth wooden top.
“So how was your first night home?” The ravenette barely let you sit down before the questions came flooding out, “Oh my god, did Yeosang cry? If he did, please tell me you got it on camera.”
“Day, one question at a time.” You tease, situating yourself in your chair after scooting closer to the table, and Dayhun plopped down in the other chair, an expectant look on her face as she looked at you. You let out a sigh, resting your arms on top of the table and leaning slightly forward as if you were about to tell a secret, “Last night was good, everyone was stoked, and no, my brother did not cry, though I would’ve loved to have that blackmail material. Oh, and Wooyoung made dinner; he even helped me with the dishes afterward.”
Dayhun’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she blinked a few times, “You mean the same guy with the stupid ‘I cook, you clean’ rule, helped you with the dishes after he cooked?”
“Yeah, crazy, right?”
“Oh, girl, that man definitely has the hots for you,” Dayhun stated in a matter-of-fact voice, causing you to roll your eyes despite the heat that bloomed in your chest at the possibility that Wooyoung might actually like you.
“I don’t know about that,” you started just as one of the cafe workers came over with your order, setting the two cups down with the croissants. “Thank you.”
The worker nodded with a smile before leaving after making sure there wasn’t anything else that either of you needed. You took a sip of your vanilla latte, eyes gazing out the window, watching as people walked by to continue their normal Saturday activities. However, your thoughts drifted back to a certain fox-eyed male, wondering what he was doing after baseball practice. Then you suddenly remembered that you hadn’t told Dayhun the news you had learned the night before.
“My brother is going abroad,” The words fell from your lips quicker than Dayhun’s brain could process, and she looked at you, confused, a simple ‘huh’ escaping her lips as she set her cup down, “Yeosang, he’s going abroad for like a year starting Friday.”
“Ohhh…” A look of realization crosses her face as your words finally click in her mind, but then a glimmer of sadness flickers in her eyes that you don’t catch as she glances over at her phone, which was sitting face down on the table. However, it was gone as soon as it appeared, a smile replacing it as she snapped her fingers and pointed at you, “Oh my god, do you know what this means?”
“Hmm?” You hum softly, bringing your cup up to your lips, letting the warm liquid chase away the chill that was threatening to close in due to the AC in the cafe.
“It means you can finally confess to Wooyoung!” Dayhun exclaims, nearly loud enough for the entirety of the cafe to hear, and your eyes grow watery as you fight off a cough after your coffee went down the wrong pipe.
“Day— you can’t… just blurt that— fuck… blurt that so loud.” You scold her between coughs, patting your chest to try and ease the burn.
“I mean, am I wrong?” She shrugs, taking a sip of her own coffee as you glare at her through teary eyes, finally getting over the coughing fit.
“No, you’re not wrong. It’s just…” Your voice trails off as you look back out the window, fingers wrapping tightly around your warm cup, “What if he just sees me as his little sister and I ruin our entire friendship?”
“Please, y/n, I think the last thing you have to worry about is him not returning your feelings.” Dayhun tried to reassure you, a soft smile on her lips when you turned to give her a look that she was all too familiar with. The ravenette lets out a laugh, “Girl, you read way too many books.” Her words have you rolling your eyes. A part of you wanted to believe her, but the other part told you that you were aiming way too high. Noticing that your mind was drifting, Dayhun reached over the table, poking the back of your hand and catching your attention, “Are you gonna go to his game Friday?”
“I want to,” You tell her as you let out a sad sigh, a pout forming on your lips, “but I have to take Yeosang to the airport that day.”
“Want me to tag along?” Dayhun asks, a playful smirk spreading on her lips, “I’ll make sure that we make it back in time.”
That was enough to pull a laugh from you, the sound bouncing softly off the walls of the cafe, “I’m not even sure Yeo would get in the car if he knew you were inside.”
“Hey!” Dayhun exclaims before a laugh of her own bubbles out of her chest, the combined sound of your laughter making your stomach flutter, having not realized just how much you missed this. Sure, both of you would call and FaceTime any chance you could, but it just never seemed to be the same as laughing together in person.
“Oh, right, there’s also a celebratory party Friday night after the game,” Dayhun tells you, wiping away the tears that had collected in the corner of her eyes.
“Isn’t it a little early to be celebrating?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, bringing your cup to your lips once more and taking a long sip as Dayhun shakes her head.
“Well, if you’d been paying attention to the campus news, you’d know that your boy has been the lucky star of the team for the past few years.” She explains, and a small sense of pride swells in your chest knowing that Wooyoung was doing so well. Dayhun then nudges your foot, “That’s besides the point, though, you could finally secure the bag that night too, if you catch my drift.”
Your heart begins to race as your face flushes, and Dayhun starts wiggling her eyebrows with a teasing grin on her lips. Grumbling at her, you finish off your coffee, and the dark-haired girl just starts laughing. But as you stood to toss your trash, you couldn’t help but think about the possibility that Dayhun was right and Wooyoung did, in fact, like you back.
Inhaling deeply you mustered up as much courage as you could, you waited years for this moment you weren’t about to let anything get in your way. Not when you had such a golden moment.
—
The first half of the week seemed to go by agonizingly slow; classes seemed to drag on, homework piled up, and teachers all seemed to want to catch up with you. Though you could only blame it on coming back in the middle of the year, but the only thing that was really on your mind was Wooyoung and how you were going to confess to him.
Thursday had started off just the same; lectures seemed to drag on when all you wanted was to go home, knowing that Wooyoung only had a half day, just like you. Knowing you’d be able to hang out with him was the only thing that really kept you pushing through the day. Then he found you in the hall before your next class, a wide grin on his face, and the sight had your stomach fluttering.
“Hey, pipsqueak.” He greeted you, stopping just a few feet in front of you, and you fixed the strap of your messenger bag, returning his smile.
“What’s up, Woo?”
“You’re coming home after this class, right?” He asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocking on his heels slightly. You hum with a nod, eyes tracing the curve of his lips as his tongue jutted out just a hair, “Did you want anything particular for lunch? I was gonna cook.”
At the mention of his cooking, your whole face lit up, the sparkle in your eyes causing the dark-haired male to laugh softly, his heart racing underneath his ribs.
“Anything you cook, I’ll eat. Woo, you should know this.” You tell him, mouth already watering at the thought of his food, and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink due to the compliment.
“Shouldn’t have expected anything less from my number one beta taster.” He teases, and you roll your eyes, but the smile on your lips never leaves. If anything, it grows wider as memories of you trying his cooking flash in your mind. Wooyoung then reaches forward, ruffling your hair, causing you to gasp, swatting his hand away, “Okay, well, I’ll see you at home here in a bit, pipsqueak.”
You bid him a farewell before watching him walk away, not noticing the lurking presence until she spoke up.
“You poor thing,” Her voice causes you to jump, head whipping around to find none other than Kyoto Yuki. The very girl who had been a thorn in your side for the past three years, always trying to find some way of one-upping you.
“What do you want, Yuki?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, moving towards the door of the classroom that she was standing in front of.
“Come on, y/n, there’s no need to be so hateful. I just wanted to give you a bit of advice, Wooyoung would never stoop as low as to date someone like you, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.” She told you with a condescending smile, her tone sickly sweet, and to any outsider, it would look like a friendly exchange of words. But you knew better; her words were anything but friendly, and you wished you could wipe that stupid, smug smirk from her face, but she had already disappeared into the classroom.
As much as you didn’t want to let her words get to you, they did, and your earlier anxiety of confessing came barreling back. You then decided that you wouldn’t risk the relationship you had now for some stupid feelings. So you swallowed down the lump in your throat as well as pocketing the thought of confessing.
You tried to go about your day like normal, but as soon as you walked into the house after your class and found Wooyoung standing over the stove, you felt your chest tighten. Then he gave you his signature smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes, and you knew then, and there you weren't going to risk this for some dumb feelings. So you laid your bag on the couch before offering to help him, enjoying the connection you had, even if it may kill you inside.
The next day, you went about your day as normal—as normal as you could at least—the lectures seemed to drag on, and your mind kept wandering to the party tonight. You weren't even sure how you had made it back to the house in one piece to pick Yeosang up, or the fact that Dayhun was already there, sitting next to him on the couch.
"You guys ready to go?" You asked, a smile pulling on your lips as you're reminded of Wooyoung's game that was waiting for you when you got back.
"Yeah, let's go." Yeosang nods, pushing himself up off the couch and walking to the door where his luggage was sitting, and a heavy feeling starts to weigh on your chest. Your older brother was gonna be gone for a whole year; the fleeting moments of seeing him after two years were something you'd hold onto until he comes back.
The drive to the airport was filled with music and Dayhun's chatter, along with your input here and there. Yeosang was sitting in the passenger seat, one hand wrapped around his phone while the other was stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. He would let out occasional comments or groans with a roll of his eyes.
"I should've just had Hongjoong take me." He mumbles as you start to talk about boys and other girl stuff that he may be used to but would rather not hear it.
Getting to the airport, you help Yeosang pull his suitcases out of your trunk and walk him inside while Dayhun sits in the car, playing on her phone. Walking up to baggage claim, you watch as the brunette checks his stuff in before he turns towards you, a faint smile on his lips. Catching his eye, you didn't say a word before wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest.
"I'm gonna miss you, but you better have a lot of fun." You murmur into his shirt, his chest rumbling as he laughs, placing his hand on top of your head.
"I'll be back before you know it, with souvenirs if you behave." He teases, and you give him a deadpan look as you pull away, arms crossing over your chest. "Don't forget the rules y/n."
"Oh my god, Yeo." You roll your eyes as you push him away after he received his tags, a grin spreading on your lips.
"I'm serious."
"Yeah, yeah. Just go and text me each time you land." You tell him pointedly before sharing one last goodbye and watching him walk away towards his terminal. Your smile falters just slightly, but it was gone as soon as it appeared before you were walking out of the airport and hopping into the passenger seat, seeing as Dayhun moved to the driver's seat.
Your heart nearly seized as she peeled out of the parking lot before you could finish fastening your seatbelt. Scrambling to buckle up, you grabbed the handle above the door as soon as you heard it latch, wide eyes flickering from your best friend, who was definitely going more than ten over the speed limit, to the road ahead.
"Dayhun, you're gonna get us pulled over!" You exclaim as you clutch the handle, wide eyes glued to the roads ahead. The dark-haired girl just flashes you a smile before she takes a turn, maybe a little too sharp, and you gasp, heart racing a million miles an hour.
You weren't even sure how she didn't get pulled over as she practically drifted into the parking lot of the stadium, only slowing down when she found a parking spot. As she puts the vehicle in park, you start to feel your spirit float back into your body, and you look over just as Dayhun looks at you with a triumphant grin.
"I told you we'd get here on time." She beams at you, her arm looped through yours after you shut the car door, knees wobbling under your weight. Dayhun giggles as she pulls you into the stadium as if she hadn't just tried out for a NASCAR driver.
"You're actually insane, oh god, my heart is gonna burst." You swallow, trying to stabilize your erratic breathing, but Dayhun rolls her eyes before spotting San in the bleachers.
"Hey guys, you got here just before the second inning." He tells you with a dimpled smile, and you bow your head in thanks before glancing over at the field, easily catching sight of the fox-eyed male.
You feel your heart stop all over again when he turns his head, catching your eyes, and a wide grin tugs on his lips. He quickly waves at you, and you smile with a wave, mouthing 'good luck' just before he is called away.
As you all watched the game, you felt excitement coursing through you, your throat almost raw from all of the cheering. You hadn't realized how much you missed being able to watch his games until now, watching as he pitched effortlessly, and even when he was up next to bat, you nearly blew Dayhun's eardrums when he managed to hit the ball far enough to gain two bases.
Then, when they win, you jump out of your seat with a wide smile, cheering with all your might until you feel lightheaded. A blush crept up your neck when you caught Wooyoung's eyes, a faint smirk playing on his plump lips, and all the air was knocked from your lungs when he winked at you.
Once the game was over and Wooyoung disappeared with his teammates, you were dragged off the bleachers by Dayhun. You try to protest, saying that you wanted to talk to Wooyoung and congratulate him on the win, but she just hushed you, saying you'd see him at the party. So you followed her reluctantly after bidding San and Hongjoong goodbye.
"Come on, you're going so slow!" Dayhun exclaims as she waits outside the bathroom door for you to finish changing.
"Well, it's not my fault you picked such a complicated top. Oh my god, how do you even wear this thing?" You groan in frustration as you try for the nth time to get the top on correctly without your boobs popping out.
The sound of Dayhun's laughter only seemed to further annoy you. "Would you like my help?"
"Please."
That's all that was said before the bathroom door was opening slowly, and the ravenette was peeking her head inside. Stifling a giggle seeing the way you have the top on, she steps inside, shutting the door behind her.
With her help, you are able to get the top on correctly before tying the string around your neck and looking at yourself in the mirror. A smile spreads on your lips, and Dayhun mirrors your expression as she lays her hands on your shoulders.
"All set?" She asked, and you nodded before following her out of the bathroom, flipping the lights off on the way out.
By the time Dayhun pulled up to the large house, the party was in full swing. People were hanging out on the lawn, red solo cups in their hands, while others were smoking what you could only guess was a cigarette or marijuana.
"Whose house is this anyway?" You asked, tugging Dayhun closer to your body as a drunk guy stumbles by.
"The baseball captain's, I can't ever remember his name." She shrugs, reaching to grab the open door when another girl pulls it open. You step inside, and you're instantly met with a wave of heat and booming music that shakes the ground beneath your feet.
"I'm gonna go find Wooyoung." You leaned closer to Dayhun to make sure she heard you, and she smirked before nodding.
"Go find your lover boy, I'm gonna grab us some drinks." She told you, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, leading you to believe this wasn't her first time in this place.
Deciding not to question it, you maneuver through the thick crowd of people, head on a swivel as you search for a certain fox-eyed male. It didn't take too long to find him; he was standing with a few of his teammates, as well as San. A smile spread on your lips, and you stepped further into the room, ready to greet the older male, but the sound of your name had you stopping dead in your tracks.
"So, Wooyoung, who was that girl who was screaming her head off during the game?" A taller male asks with a chuckle, nudging Wooyoung, who brought his cup to his lips, taking a drink.
"Yeah, she seemed really enthusiastic about the win." Another chimes in with a playful smirk, causing the dark-haired male to roll his eyes.
"That's y/n, Yeosang's sister," Wooyoung explains, dropping his hands to his sides.
"Wait, the one that's been abroad?" The first guy asks, suddenly intrigued, and Wooyoung could feel annoyance bubble in his chest, but he kept his cool.
"Yeah, she just got back earlier this week."
"She your girlfriend?" The shorter guy asked, wiggling his eyebrows, and Wooyoung chuckled awkwardly, eyes flickering over to the cat-eyed male who was immersed in his phone.
"Nah, she's like a little sister to me." Wooyoung lies through his teeth, flinching slightly as if the words physically hurt him, and your smile faltered as you heard his words.
You knew better than to get your hopes up, knowing that this was very likely gonna be the outcome, but it still hurts. A lot. Your stomach twisted into knots, bile crept up the lining of your throat, and you decided that you'd just congratulate him tomorrow and tuck tail.
Snaking back through the crowd, you find Dayhun talking to a guy who was in her major; however, as soon as she caught sight of you, she excused herself. Walking up to her, you take the cup she hands to you, taking a large swig, gritting your teeth as the alcohol burns your throat.
Dayhun looked at you with wide eyes, her smile falling and replaced by worry. She knew that something was wrong and was quick to ask, but you just shook your head with a dazed smile, the alcohol already hitting your system.
"I'm fineee, c'mon let's party!" You cheer with a wide grin, grabbing the ravenette's wrist and pulling her towards the dance floor. Figuring that you just chickened out of confessing to Wooyoung and needed to distract yourself, she danced along with you.
As the night goes on, you've downed at least three cups of liquor, finishing your fourth when Dayhun starts to worry that it was more than losing confidence in confessing. You smile brightly at a guy who walks up to you, holding out a cup filled nearly to the brim with alcohol, a gleam in his eyes that Dayhun did not quite like. You, however, were too far gone to care.
"You are a sweetheart, thank you." You thank the male with a giggle, taking the cup from him and bringing it to your lips.
However, Dayhun was quick to intervene, plucking the cup from your grasp before the rim touched your gloss-smeared lips, "Yeah, no, she's good, thanks."
The guy rolled his eyes but didn't argue before walking away, and you look at your best friend with a pout, whining that she was ruining the fun. Shaking her head, Dayhun dumps the cup into a flower pot, not caring if it was real or fake, before setting the cup on the table as she drags you away from the dance floor.
"Okay, what is going on?" She asks, grabbing your biceps and forcing your dazed eyes onto her. You giggle drunkenly, grabbing her arms just below the crease of her elbows.
"You won't be... believe it." You slur with a frown, "Wooyoung said I was just a little sister to him, and here I am just an idiot who thought she had a chance."
"Y/n..."
"No, I love him and his stupidly attractive face so much, like how can I not when he flashes that damn smile at me?" You begin to ramble about Wooyoung and Dayhun, who couldn't help but pity you; however, that pity was quickly replaced by panic when she saw the man himself walking towards the two of you.
"Y/n—"
"I can't believe I got my hopes up for no-nothing... maybe I should've just listened to Yeo." You cut the ravenette off, and she laughs nervously when Wooyoung walks up.
"Hello, ladies." He greets the two of you, and Dayhun wondered if he had heard anything, and if he was just playing dumb if he had.
"Hey Woo—"
"Oh my g-god... you're... you're so pre-pretty." You slur over your words as you turn to look at the older male, whose eyes grow wide, before they flicker over to Dayhun. "It's such a shame that... that I can't kiss you." You point at him with a pout, and Wooyoung's face turns red while Dayhun stifles a laugh.
"How much has she drunk?" Wooyoung asked, turning his attention to your best friend while you reach over, taking a cup from another girl who winks at you.
Dayhun's eyes flicker to you before letting out a sigh when you start to drink from the new glass, "a lot."
"Jeez." Wooyoung mumbles before reaching over, taking the cup from your hands, and you let out a loud whine, stomping your foot as a child would. Shaking his head, Wooyoung hands Dayhun the cup before gently grabbing your bicep. "I'm gonna take her home before she gets herself into trouble."
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." Dayhun nods as she watches the fox-eyed male drag you away, and you turn to wave at her with a lopsided smile.
"Bye bye, Day! I'm gonna go kiss a pretty boy!" You exclaim in a sing-song voice, definitely loud enough for the small crowd around you to hear, causing Dayhun to snort while Wooyoung's ears burn bright red.
You hum along to the song that was blaring through the speakers as Wooyoung drags you towards the front door, your feet stumbling. It wasn't until the cool night air hit your sweaty skin that you realized that he was pulling you away from the party, and a whine reverberated from the back of your throat.
"Noo, you're being a party pooper, I wanna stay." You pout, dragging your feet, but Wooyoung just glanced at you from over his shoulder with a soft chuckle. He has known you for well over half of your life, and not once did he think he'd ever see you this drunk out of your mind, but he also worried that you may have drunk too much.
"No can do, sweetheart, we're going home." He told you, continuing his trek to his car that was parked on the side of the street, your whines and protests falling on deaf ears. Unlocking the vehicle, he opened the passenger door and looked at you expectantly, but you stood there with your arms crossed over your chest, staying rooted in place.
"I don't wanna." You turned your head defiantly, and Wooyoung couldn't help but look at you endearingly, knowing that you wouldn't remember any of this the next morning, and he could tease you for being so cute.
"What would your brother say about that, though?" Wooyoung asked, sniffling a laugh when your shoulders went rigid, and you looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, your mouth falling agape.
"You know my brother?" You asked in disbelief, squinting your eyes as if you were trying to see through him.
Deciding to play along, Wooyoung leaned against the open vehicle door, subconsciously closer to you, "I do, I know him really well."
"I don't believe you." You squinted your eyes further until your vision was nearly obscured, and Wooyoung just chuckled, hands reaching for the phone that sat in his jeans pocket. Watching him unlock the device, you felt a wave of panic wash over you, and you quickly grabbed his wrist, "Wait, no, please don't tell Yeo, because then he'll tell Woo."
You mumbled the last part, averting your gaze, and Wooyoung couldn't help the shit-eating grin that spread on his lips. You had drunk so much that you didn't even recognize the person who was standing right before you. But he wasn't gonna ruin the fun; instead, he just shook his head and pocketed his phone before looking back at you.
"I won't tell him if…" He started, raising his hand to point a finger at you, and you turned your head, looking at him with hopeful eyes. "If you get in the car and let me take you home."
You blink a few times, cheeks starting to warm, and the fox-eyed male could see the cogs turning in your head and flicked your forehead, "not like that, take you home home."
"Oh…" You nodded your head slowly before a wide smile spread on your lips, "Okay!" Then you were hopping into the passenger seat, leaving the older male there laughing.
Once Wooyoung made sure that you were all set and buckled up, he shut the door and walked around the vehicle to climb into the driver's seat. Putting the keys into the ignition, he starts the vehicle, but doesn't move to shift the gear; instead, he turns in his seat and grabs the water bottle that he knew was still lying on the floorboards in the back. Finding it, he sits back down and hands it to you, urging you to drink the clear liquid. Thankfully, you didn't protest but drank it without a word. However, his eyes lingered on where your lips were wrapped around the rim, and heat crept up his neck, painting his face a deep shade of red, and he was thankful that it was dark out.
Without another word, he shifts the car into drive and pulls out onto the main road, reaching over to turn the radio on to help drown out the silence that was threatening to eat him alive. The two of you sat in silence for what felt like lifetimes, your eyes locked on the blurring scenery while Wooyoung's was on the road ahead.
Turning down a side road, Wooyoung's eyes flicker over to your still form, the question he had been chewing on finally slipping out, "Why'd you drink so much pipsqueak?"
"My crush broke my heart," You pouted, pulling your attention away from the window to look over at the dark-haired male whose eyebrows creased in the center. Not once had he ever heard you mention a crush, far too occupied by your uni coursework, but hearing it now, he couldn't help the dull pain in his chest.
"Who's…" Wooyoung's breath hitched for a split second before he swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat, "Who's your crush?"
"Jung Wooyoung!" You shout without missing a beat, followed by a huff as you slump back into the passenger seat; however, Wooyoung's foot came down on the brakes faster than he could react, stopping the vehicle. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look out at the night sky, "Can you believe that? I'm in love with my brother's stupidly attractive best friend."
Wooyoung looked over at you with a mixture of shock and confusion, not fully believing what you were saying. When a honk was heard behind him, Wooyoung had to remind himself that you were just drunk babbling and let off the brakes before moving further down the road, witless, you hummed along to the radio as if you hadn't just blurted the craziest thing aloud.
The rest of the car ride was filled with the soft sound of your humming along to whatever was playing through the radio and the gust of wind through the cracked windows. Wooyoung's mind was racing a million miles an hour, still stuck on what you had just drunkenly confessed. Though he wanted to say that it was just you mindlessly babbling, he knew that alcohol wasn't called the top truth serum for no reason. However, as he pulled into the driveway of the house, he decided not to dwell on it and just get you inside and to bed.
Turning the car off, he pulls the keys out before opening the door and stepping out, before helping you out of the vehicle. You murmur random nonsense as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open, though before he can stop you, you rush out of his arms and make a beeline down the hallway.
"Whoa!" Wooyoung rushed over to steady you as you nearly ran right into San's shut bedroom door. You let out a fit of giggles as he grabs your arm gently and tries to lead you towards Yeosang's bedroom, but you protest and pull him towards his bedroom.
Not finding it in himself to stop you, he just decides he'll sleep on the couch and helps you into his bedroom, a ghost of a smile on his lips when you cheer triumphantly. Walking over to his bed, he starts to let go of your arm, but you stumble over your own feet, losing balance and falling onto the mattress, pulling Wooyoung down with you.
He quickly catches himself with a huff, heart beating erratically as he realizes just how close your bodies were. Swallowing thickly his eyes flicker to your parted, gloss-smeared lips and a war waged in his mind. He reprimanded himself for even thinking about it and started to pull away, ears burning hot, but he didn't get far before your hands were grabbing his face, squishing his cheeks slightly.
"Wooyoung…" You murmur his name for the first time in the past hour and a half, and his eyes lock on your dazed ones. Your thumb brushes over the skin of his cheekbone, right over his beauty mark, and your lips are moving faster than your mind, "I love you. Even if I forget in the morning, I mean it right now."
Your confession has the male's eyes growing wide, his skin growing warmer under your palms, and his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He tried to think of something—anything to say, but all the words he really wanted to say died on his tongue, and he grabbed one of your wrists with his hand that wasn't supporting his weight.
"You're drunk, y/n, you have no idea what you're talking about." Wooyoung sighs, pulling your hand away from his face as a pout forms on your lips.
"I am not drunk." You quip, but Wooyoung just gives you a deadpan stare with a raised eyebrow, and you sigh, "Fine, maybe I am, but my feelings? Those are real, not just drunk words."
The room then falls into a tense silence as Wooyoung stares down at you, a flurry of emotions swimming in his chocolate orbs. Your dilated eyes traced every curve of his face, your fingertips brushing the skin underneath his tight jaw. Wooyoung's mind raced. On one hand, he wanted to believe that the words you blurted were true, but on the other hand, he could hear Yeosang's voice ringing in the back of his mind, and he quickly came to his senses.
Shaking his head, he pulls away from your body fully, leaving you to sit up on your elbows to look at the dark-haired male with scrunched eyebrows.
Averting his gaze, Wooyoung makes a grab for the small throw blanket at the end of his bed, "Get some rest, pipsqueak."
Then he was taking a step towards his bedroom door; however, before he got too far, there was a pull on his arm. Swallowing thickly, he looks down where your smaller hand was wrapped around his wrist before letting them travel to your face, meeting your eyes.
"Can you stay, please?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, and Wooyoung's breath hitches, ready to tell you that it wasn't a good idea, but you beat him to it, "no funny business, it's just… I feel safer when you're with me." You omit, and the boy's heart seizes in his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of the blanket.
Seeing the vulnerability mixed with tears in your eyes, Wooyoung could feel his resolve crumbling, and in a short moment, he was nodding with a sigh. Tossing the blanket back onto the foot of the bed, he climbs into his bed next to you, not bothering to change.
"Get some slee—" Wooyoung chokes on his words when you shift around until you are lying on his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
"You smell like safety. That's weird, right?" You mumble into his shirt, cheek smooshed against his t-shirt, and Wooyoung's heart hammered against his ribs. He was sure that you could hear it, but you never said a word, and within seconds the room filled with the sound of your soft snores.
Wooyoung laughs in disbelief as he finally lets his body relax, wrapping his arm around your body. He brushed some of your hair out of your face, admiring your sleeping form. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tried to fight back the feeling he was trying to keep buried under the surface.
Letting out a long sigh, he reaches over and turns the bedside lamp off before wrapping his arms around you once more, lips ghosting over the top of your head, "You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart."
—
The bright sunlight shining through the thinly covered window stirred you from your sleep, and small grumbles fell from your lips as you moved your hand to cover your eyes. Your head was throbbing, and you so desperately wished you could throw punches at yourself for drinking so much. You moved your hand to your temple, rubbing the skin, hoping to ease some of the throbbing, but to no avail. That's when you notice that your normal fluffy, soft pillow had become hard and firm, and you pouted, ready to make a grab for another pillow, but your heart all but seized in your chest when you realized that whatever—whoever you were lying on was moving.
The horrific realization woke you with a start, body shooting up, and eyes darting all over the room. Your heart began pounding in your chest; the room you were in wasn't your brother's. Dread began to fill your veins, and you squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the worst as you tilted your head down, but when you opened them again, you saw that you were still fully clothed, wearing the outfit you had worn to the party the night before.
A wave of relief washed over you, but it was quickly curbed when you realized you still had no idea who you were lying on. Gritting your teeth nervously, you slowly turn your head, expecting to see some rando from campus, but as the sight of his long hair messily strewn across his pillows, your throat threatened to close up.
Lying there next to you was none other than Jung Wooyoung, your childhood crush and your older brother's best friend. Your body jerks, and you shoot to your knees, your sudden movement waking the fox-eyed male.
Wooyoung blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes to the harsh rays of sunlight, before he looked over at you, taking in your panicked expression. With a groan, he sat up, combing a hand through his messy locks before he spoke.
"What's wrong with you, pipsqueak?" He asked, voice heavily laced with sleep, and the sound causes your stomach to flutter, heat rushing up your neck, and makes you lightheaded.
"I— you— why am I..." Your voice trails off as memories from the previous night begin to flash across your mind, and a whole new wave of heat encases your body. Embarrassment enveloped your entire being, and you brought your hands up to cover your face, "I am so sorry! I was drinking and wasn't thinking straight. Please just forget everything I said. It was an illusion, yeah, just an illusion..."
Wooyoung watched with a sleepy smile as you continued to ramble, hands shaking as you tried your best to keep your cherry-red face from his view. However, when you started to ramble on about how he was completely out of your league, his smile dropped, and he reached towards you.
"Y/n, hey, stop that. Look at me." His voice was gentle but stern as he grabbed your wrists, peeling your hands away from your face, revealing your tear-filled eyes, "First of all, I should be the one saying you're out of my league; second, I don't want to forget what you said."
"Y-You..." You breathed out, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion as even more panic surged through you. Was he going to tease you for liking him? Would he go and tell your brother? Can you save this friend—
"Y/n." Wooyoung's stern voice, followed by his warm hands cupping your face, pulled you from your thoughts, your wide, teary eyes flicking up to meet his. You braced yourself for the rejection, holding your breath tightly in your chest, but it never came; instead, the words that left his lips nearly had you toppling over, "I like you too, it's just..."
"Yeosang." You finished his sentence, and he nodded. Wooyoung had harbored feelings for you since the two of you were still in high school. Yet he never acted on them because he knew that Yeosang could very easily whoop his ass, so he kept them to himself. Then, when he heard that confession fall from your lips last night, all of the feelings he tried so hard to suppress came rushing back, and all he wanted was to make you his.
"He's in a different country, we..." Your breath caught in your throat when you realized that you were about to throw all caution to the wind and betray your brother. "We can keep it on the down-low until we figure out how to tell him."
"Pipsqueak..." Wooyoung started, and your heart dropped, the one chance you had slowly slipping between the cracks of your fingers.
"Please, Woo. Don't let Yeosang get between us." You pleaded with the fox-eyed male in front of you, fingers tightening around his wrists, and Wooyoung could feel his resolve crumbling.
He bit his bottom lip, thoughts racing a million miles an hour in his head. On the one hand, he would be taking the safe route and risking losing the girl he's loved for years, or betraying his best friend. As he weighed the pros and cons, he began to realize that he could mend his relationship with Yeosang further down the road, but if he were to lose you now, there was no telling whether he'd be able to get you back.
So he let out a long sigh, bringing his face closer to yours and resting his forehead against yours. Neither of you said a word, breaths mingling together in the space between you, then finally Wooyoung was speaking.
"You know what? To hell with the rules." He grumbled, and your heart leaped at the sound, a smile adorning your features that was quickly sealed with Wooyoung's plush lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle, portraying all the years of longing and yearning.
Neither of you pulled away until your lungs were begging for oxygen; only then did you part, heavy pants falling from your kiss-swollen lips. A soft laugh escapes your lips before you rest your forehead against his again, hand cradling the back of his head.
"To hell with the rules." You repeat his words, a goofy smile spreading on your lips, before your eyes were fluttering when he leaned forward to kiss you again, his hand falling to your waist.
"Hey, Wooyoung." At the sound of Hongjoong's voice, both of you freeze, panic shooting through your systems, having completely forgotten that neither of you were alone in the house right now.
You quickly pull away from Wooyoung, scrambling to find a place to hide. Trying to climb off the bed, your foot gets caught in the sheets, and you tumble to the ground. Wooyoung's body shot forward to try to catch you, but it was too late. You fell to the ground with a muffled squeak and a thump, heart pounding in your chest.
You slap a hand over your mouth, body freezing when you hear the bedroom door open, thanking the heavens above that Hongjoong wouldn't be able to see you from the doorway.
"Oh, you're awake. Figured you'd still be sleeping." Hongjoong looks at the fox-eyed male who had just sat back down in bed, his hair once again a mess due to the panic. Wooyoung offered the older male a sleepy smile, telling him that he had forgotten to turn his alarm off. "Oh well, have you seen y/n? She's not in Yeosang's room?"
Wooyoung swallows thickly, jaw clenched tightly as he tries to will his heart to slow down, sure that Hongjoong could hear it from where he was standing. He then shook his head, maybe a little too fast, "No, I haven't seen her since last night, maybe try checking in with Dayhun?"
"Alright," Hongjoong taps the doorframe with a nod, either still far too tired to notice the awkwardness in the younger male's smile or just couldn't be bothered with it at the moment. Whichever it was, both you and Wooyoung were grateful for it. A yawn escapes Hongjoong's lips, and he covers it before speaking once more, "San ordered breakfast before he left for work."
"Thanks, Joong." Wooyoung thanked the tired male who just hummed before turning and walking back out of the room, the door latching quietly behind him, leaving the room in a still silence.
You let the silence linger in the air for a few long moments, making sure that Hongjoong wouldn't come back, before you slowly lifted yourself off the ground and peeked over the edge of the bed. Seeing you, Wooyoung, couldn't help but smile, then when you met his eyes, you both stifled laughs, the tension melting away.
"Stay here, I'll bring breakfast," Wooyoung tells you after catching his breath and helping you back onto the bed. You nod, situating yourself on the mattress and waiting patiently for the older male to bring back food.
After he got back, the two of you spent the majority of the day in Wooyoung's bedroom, just hanging out, seeing as the other two weren't home. San was gone, working at the car shop, while Hongjoong was probably off at the studio working on another one of his projects.
While the two of you talked or watched whatever you could find on the TV, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and happiness bubble in your chest. Grateful that you had confessed to Wooyoung—albeit not under the best circumstances, but you did nonetheless. You also thought about the bit of excitement that you would feel trying to sneak around to keep the others from finding out.
It was going to be fun, but you also hoped it wouldn't have to be like that forever.
The first week of sneaking around proved to be a lot more difficult than you had originally thought. You lost count of the times San or Hongjoong had almost caught the two of you together, leaving you to believe that you would have a heart attack before the end of the month.
Thankfully, as the weeks went on, you and Wooyoung managed to get into a rhythm that made it easier to go unnoticed. Sneaking into each other's rooms after everyone went to bed or early in the morning before classes. Even leaving with one another with the excuse that you wanted to 'save gas' or that your classes were in the same vicinity, when in reality they really weren't.
After the first month, things were easier, your lies were perfecting, and sneaking around felt like a piece of cake. All the initial stress about either of the guys or Dayhun finding out started to wash away with each passing day.
"This is so easy, I should change my career path to being a spy." Wooyoung jokes while you swat his arm as he pulls into the parking lot of your building.
"You're going to jinx us,"
"I am not, it's okay." He chuckles, turning to look at you after parking the vehicle, and you roll your eyes.
"If we get caught, I'm gonna blame you," You tell him, resulting in another chuckle, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers together before bringing them to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.
"I'll gladly take that blame if it means I get to stay with you." He tells you the truth in his words, leaving you flustered, heat rising up your neck and warming your cheeks far too fast for you to catch.
"You're such a dork, but I've gotta go." You shake your head, a ghost of a smile tugging on the corners of your lips while Wooyoung looks at you with a love-sick grin.
"I'll be here after class to pick you up," He tells you, reluctantly releasing your hand and watching as you clamber out of the vehicle, bag in hand. You shut the door before walking over to his side as he rolls the window down, "I have practice tonight, but I'll be home afterward."
"Why don't we get pizza tonight? You're always exhausted after practice." You ask, a small pout forming on your lips, and Wooyoung smiles softly.
"You're so cute when you look after me," He teases, reaching out the window to pinch your cheek, and you swat his hand away with a quiet grumble, "but coach has us doing more drills tonight before the game, so I don't mind pizza."
"Good, because I wasn't gonna take a no for an answer." You tell him in a matter-of-fact tone, causing him to laugh, which in turn makes you smile. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you were sure it was Dayhun so you sighed, "I've gotta go, but I see you after class."
"Mhmm, see you then, beautiful." Wooyoung smiles, which only grows wider when you lean forward pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his lips before turning to walk away.
This became the new norm for the two of you, Wooyoung dropping you off at class, and the two of you relishing in the short, intimate moments you could share without prying eyes. You couldn't be happier where you were, and the weeks that followed seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, it had been three months since the confession that changed your life—for the better, of course.
You were sitting in the home ec. classroom, a small smile on your lips as you sent Wooyoung another text saying you'd see him at home after he got back from practice. Today was one of the rare days that you drove yourself to class because Wooyoung had an early practice, and you had planned on staying back to work on your design a bit more.
Setting your phone down, you wave goodbye to Professor Yang just before she walks out of the room, leaving you to do your own thing. Pulling out your tablet and stylus, you begin to work on your design, humming softly to yourself. You were so lost in your element that you hadn't even realized the pair of prying eyes that stood before you until she spoke.
"I don't know how you plan on finishing that before the contest; it'd be a shame to show up with an unfinished project." Yuki's voice sent a surge of annoyance through you, and you couldn't stop the sigh that left your lips before you looked up at her. "Oh come on y/n, don't be like that, I'd just hate to see you embarrass yourself in front of so many people."
Her words only make you scoff because you knew that's exactly what she wanted, but you weren't going to give her that satisfaction. However, you weren't able to say anything before the sound of footsteps was heard, and you saw your best friend glaring at the brunette who stood before you.
"Please, we all know that even a half-finished design from y/n would beat any completed design of yours any day." Dayhun scoffed with a roll of her eyes as she handed you one of the iced coffees in her hands before looking at Yuki with a raised eyebrow, daring her to go on.
Yuki looked at the ravenette in disbelief, her lips parting to say something, but nothing came out, so she stomped her foot like a child before turning and leaving the room. Watching her retreating figure, you couldn't help but giggle, sipping on your coffee before looking over at Dayhun, who had made herself comfy in the chair next to you.
"She's like a damn fly, I swear to god. I need to start carrying around a fly swatter at this point." Dayhun grumbles, causing you to burst out laughing as you go back to your design.
"Would that make me the honey?" You asked, casting a short glance at Dayhun with a smirk, and she nearly snorted, coughing on her own coffee.
The room then filled with Dayhun's rambling while you continued to work on your design, listening mindlessly to your best friend. You weren't even sure how much time had passed or when the conversation came around to a certain fox-eyed male.
"Did you hear, the guys on the baseball team are making bets that Wooyoung got into a relationship?" She smirks, eyes watching you attentively as your body goes stiff, panic crossing your features, but you quickly cover it. However, it wasn't fast enough, and Dayhun caught it, a wide smile spreading on her lips, "I knew it!"
She jumps out of her seat with a little happy dance, cheering that her plan had succeeded, causing you to look at her with wide, panic-filled eyes. You quickly set your stylus down before grabbing her arm and pulling her back down into her seat, shushing her.
"Please don't tell anyone," You pleaded with her, a blush settling over your features, and Dayhun smirks knowingly, patting your hand.
"I'm not gonna tell anyone, scouts honor." She holds three of her fingers up, straightening her back, causing you to laugh softly, relief flooding your system, and you release her arm with a thankful glance.
Then the room slowly fills with her chatter once more as you turn back to your design, a soft smile on your lips as a small weight is lifted off your shoulder. Dayhun began to ramble about the colors that you were using for your design, praising you for your perfect blending, causing you to laugh.
"Speaking of designs, how far out is the competition again?" She asks, and you sit back in your seat, twirling the stylus between your fingers as you hum.
You let her grab your tablet to look over your design, a look of awe crossing her features, causing you to smile, "The competition is in about a month and a half."
"That's so soon." Dayhun gasps, wide eyes flickering up to meet yours, and you nod your head, telling her that you were almost ready to start making the dress. Your smile falters a little as you realize just how soon it was and start to wonder if you'd actually be able to accomplish everything in time. Noticing the shift in your expression, Dayhun sets your tablet back down before grabbing your biceps and shaking you softly. "You're gonna do amazing, I just know it, babes. Plus, who's the one that's won like a gazillion awards in the past?"
"I've only won four awards, Day." You laugh softly, your stomach slowly starting to unravel itself as you watch Dayhun roll her eyes.
"That's four more than some people around here." She states, and you knew that she was aiming that at someone in particular, even if she wasn't saying it outright. "Oh yeah, are you going to the charity that the school is hosting next Friday?"
A smile spreads across your face as you recall the announcement of the annual charity event that the university always holds at the end of spring. It was something that you had missed since you had been abroad, and you weren't going to miss it.
"Yeah, I'm going with the guys." You tell her, hitting the power button on your tablet, deciding that now was a good stopping point, and a smirk spreads on Dayhun's lips once more, causing you to let out a knowing sigh.
"You mean going with Wooyoung?" She teases while you roll your eyes, packing up your stuff before the two of you walk out of the room, deciding to grab dinner together while she rambles on about picking an outfit for the event and you listen just as you always have.
The day of the charity event, you went over to Dayhun's apartment to get around with the ravenette. You both laughed while eating snacks as you touched up your makeup. Then you were helping the girl fix her dress when she couldn't get it to zip up.
"There." You nod your head as you fixed the zipper and pulled it closed before Dayhun turned to look at you with a wide smile, "Ready to go?"
"Yes, ma'am, let's go before we're fashionably late." Dayhun hooks her arm with yours before pulling you out of the apartment and towards your car.
When the two of you got to the hotel that was hosting the event, you found San and Hongjoong standing outside, waiting. San had his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks while Hongjoong was looking at his phone, probably talking to his boyfriend.
"Hey." You greeted them with a wide smile, eyes flickering around to search for the missing male, while Dayhun greeted the older males, "Where's Wooyoung?"
"His coach wanted to talk to him, so he went ahead," Hongjoong explains, hitting the power button on his phone and pocketing it to look up at you. A smile spreads on the dark-haired male's lips as he looks at your outfit, "You look good, another one of your designs?"
"Thank you, Joong, and yes, it is." You return his smile, doing a small twirl in your gown, and San lets out a low whistle, causing you to giggle, "c'mon, let's get inside before we miss the whole thing."
You link your arm with Dayhun's before walking into the hotel lobby with a wide smile, Dayhun giggling as she makes a comment on the unique decor that is strung around the interior. Hongjoong and San followed closely behind the two of you, smiles of their own adorning their features, as you lightened up the closer you got to the conference room that was holding the event inside.
Inside, you and Dayhun make a beeline for the food table, stomach grumbling at the sight of expensive food. The ravenette grabs just about everything on the table, causing you to laugh while grabbing a few pastries. You both walk off talking to one another, ignoring the few disapproving glances you were receiving from some of the older guests.
"So, where's your lover boy?" Dayhun asks, stuffing another bun into her mouth while you took a drink of the juice you had grabbed, cheeks growing warm due to her choice of words.
"I'm not sure, but there's Yunho. I'm gonna go ask him." You send her a quick smile, and she nods while chewing, taking your half-filled glass and watching you walk away.
You walk over to the tall brunette who was talking to another guy, someone you've seen passing the halls, Mingi, you believe his name was. Greeting both of them, Yunho sends you a smile while Mingi nods, taking a sip of his own drink.
"Have you seen Wooyoung by chance?" You asked, intertwining your hands in front of your body, and Yunho nods towards the doors.
"Yeah, he was just out in the hall with some of the other guys."
"Thanks, Yunho." You bow your head quickly with a smile, and he nods before you walk towards the doors. Your heart began to race slightly at the thought of seeing Wooyoung all dressed up, having only seen it a handful of times, and your smile grew wider.
However, your smile quickly vanished when you rounded the corner only to find Wooyoung with Yuki, her hand caressing his arm. You didn't want to believe it, thinking that Wooyoung wouldn't do anything like that, but when Yuki leaned even closer, you felt that hope start to crumble. Your heart dropped as you took a small, shaky step towards them to try and hear what she was saying, but as you came within earshot, you wished you hadn't.
"Don't be like that, y/n will never know." Yuki's voice was sickly sweet as she looked up at Wooyoung with hooded eyes, and she started to lean in for a kiss.
Bile crept up your throat along with anger and embarrassment as you quickly spun on your heel, walking away before you had a chance to watch your boyfriend kiss another girl. Tears well up in your eyes as questions start to swirl in your mind, wondering if your whole relationship was just a joke to him.
Making your way back into the room, you find Dayhun still standing near the food table, talking with a few girls that you didn't know, your drink still clutched in her hand. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you inhale deeply and walk towards her, tapping her shoulder.
"Hey, did you find Wooyoung?" She asked, handing you the juice that was sitting in her hands, and you shook your head, eyes looking around the room with a tight jaw. It didn't take a genius to figure out that something was wrong, and Dayhun was quick to ask.
"I'm fine." You tell her blandly, taking a drink while Dayhun looks at you with a deadpan look, saying she knew that you were in fact not fine, but didn't push when you didn't talk.
Dayhun brushed your strange behavior off and walked around with you as you mingled with the guests and answered any of your old professors' questions about your time abroad. It wasn't until she watched Wooyoung make his way towards you with a smile, only for you to take one glance and walk away, that she knew that it wasn't something small. She met Wooyoung's confused gaze with one of her own before she trailed after you.
This happened a few more times: Wooyoung would try to talk to you or just walk towards you, and you would walk away, actively avoiding him. Dayhun stood in place after the fourth time, blinking a few times, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on, but came up blank. She walked over to Wooyoung, turning to watch as you walk over to San, talking to him.
"What happened?" Dayhun asked, glancing over at Wooyoung, who watched you with furrowed eyebrows, just as confused as Dayhun, if not more.
"I have no idea, do you?" He looked over at the ravenette that shifted her gaze back towards you as you nodded at one of San's friends.
"Nope, but I'm sure I can figure it out. Hold on." She pats the older male's arm before grabbing the skirt of her dress and making her way towards you, determined to figure out what in the world was going on. Walking up to the small group that you had joined, she grabbed your bicep, offering the rest a sweet smile, "Sorry to interrupt, fellas, but I've gotta steal her real quick."
"Day— Hey!" You exclaim in shock when she forcefully pulls you away from the group and towards the doors, her grip strong, keeping you from breaking free despite your attempts. She didn't let go until you both were out in the hallway and the door latched shut behind you, moving so she was standing right in front of you.
"What the hell is going on?" She asked, eyebrows scrunched in worry and confusion, while you just rolled your eyes.
"Nothing."
"It's not nothing, y/n. You don't just actively avoid Wooyoung like that. Like ever. So what's going on?" Dayhun stated, causing you to huff, obviously annoyed as you crossed your arms over your chest.
"Fine, I saw him and Yuki in the hallway together, alone." You start, bile starts to rise up the back of your throat as you recall what you saw. Dayhun started to say that it was nothing that she was probably just bugging him, but you held your hand up, "If you consider her kissing him 'just bugging him' then yeah, sure."
Dayhun's eyes grow wide in shock, not even sure if she had heard you correctly. The Wooyoung that had been head over heels for you since high school, the same one that pestered her for your new preferences since he found out she knew they were together. She couldn't believe that he would actually do something like that, much less anything that would hurt you.
"Babes… are you sure that's what happened?"
"I have eyes, Dayhun, I know what I saw." You were seething at this point, tears brimming in your eyes, and Dayhun felt horrible for even asking. She reached out to grab your arm, reassuring you that it might just be a misunderstanding, which only annoyed you further, and you pulled away from her.
"Y/n—" Dayhun starts, but the sound of the heavy doors closing caught both of your attention, and when you looked over only to find Wooyoung standing there, you could feel your anger build even more.
"Oh, this is just great." You curse under your breath, ready to leave the event entirely, whether Dayhun was ready or not. However, Wooyoung moved closer, blocking your only exit, and you glared at him.
"What's going on?" He asked, eyes trained on you, and confusion swam in his chocolate orbs.
"Nothing, why don't you go back and find Yuki?" You sneered, eyes narrowing further, but your comment only confused the male further, and he looked over at Dayhun, who let out a short laugh, taking a step back.
"Well, I'm gonna go… You two can figure this out." She excuses herself with a small bow of her head before turning and shuffling back towards the conference room, while you watched her, eyes growing wide before a groan fell from your lips.
"Hey…" Wooyoung's voice was soft as he gently grabbed your forearm, pulling your attention back to him, "What are you talking about? Why would I go find Yuki?"
You scoff, your hurt and anger finally bubbling over and causing you to snap, "Why wouldn't you? You two seemed pretty damn comfortable together earlier."
"We weren't—"
"Oh please Wooyoung, I have eyes I know what I fucking saw okay?" You hissed, trying hard to keep the tears in your eyes at bay while you glared at the long-haired male.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Wooyoung snaps himself, growing annoyed the longer he was left in the dark as to what you were trying to insinuate.
"What am I talking about? Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I saw you and Yuki in the hallway, alone, and watched her kiss you." You nearly yelled, voice slowly rising in pitch as you yanked your arms out of his grasp when he tried to grab you once more.
"Kiss me? No, I pushed her away, I wouldn't do—"
"Yeah, right," You scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest, which only proved to further annoy Wooyoung, who was seconds away from losing his mind. He tried to explain it to you, but you barely let him get two words out without cutting him off, and eventually, he had had enough.
"Alright." He growled, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hotel doors.
"Let me go, Wooyoung!" You hissed, trying to get out of his hold, but it was futile, seeing as his grip was far too strong, and you had no other choice but to let him drag you towards the parking lot.
The two of you made it to his car when you let out another snide comment about him and Yuki, and Wooyoung's jaw clenched tightly. Walking up to his car, he pushed you against the door, trapping you with his body as he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you roughly, silencing your pointless grumbles. Your hands flew to the lapels of his suit jacket, balling the fabric into your fists, and he nipped at your bottom lip when he pulled away.
"I would never do that to you; you are and always will be the only one I love." He growled against your gloss-smeared lips, resting his forehead against yours as your eyes fluttered open, staring at him, "and I would do anything to prove that to you, got it?"
You didn't say a word as you stared at him, searching his eyes for any signs that he was lying, but all you found was sincerity. Guilt started to tug at your heart as you began to believe that it really was all just some miscommunication. Swallowing thickly, you move one hand to his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he grabs your wrist. You didn't give him a chance to say anything else before you were pulling him back down into another kiss, this one quickly growing more heated as he pressed his body against yours.
When it started getting too heated, Wooyoung pulled away reluctantly, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he looked at you, "We should probably go back to the house."
You looked up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and it took all of Wooyoung's willpower not to just pull you into the car and call it good enough, but he wasn't about to let your first time be in the back of his car. So he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you away from the car, opening the passenger door and helping you inside before buckling the seatbelt for you.
The drive back to the house was filled with tense silence, the only sounds being the soft sounds of the AC and the radio playing a random station. The dark-haired male's hand rested on your thigh, just below the hem of your dress, and squeezed the soft flesh every time you shifted in your seat. Heat started to pool in the pit of your stomach, thighs clenching together and trapping his hand when his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh.
You weren't even sure how long it took to get back to the house, mind far too occupied by the way his hand kept creeping further up your thigh and the way you were sure that your underwear was soaked. But when you did make it back, Wooyoung pulled his hand from your thigh to shut the car off and climbed out of the vehicle.
Not a word was spoken as he pulled you from the car and dragged you into the house, only stopping long enough to throw his keys into the bowl and kick his shoes off, helping you undo your heels. Then he was leading you back to his bedroom, your back hitting his door as soon as it closed behind the two of you.
His lips were on yours in record time, stealing the air from your lungs and making you lightheaded. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head while his knee pressed between your thighs. A sharp gasp fell from your lips when he latched onto your neck, nipping lightly at the skin but careful not to leave any visible marks.
"Woo…" You breathed out, hips rolling subconsciously against his thigh, and a shiver ran down your spine, settling in your heated core.
"Shh, baby, I've got you, I promise." He cooed against your skin before moving back until he could see your face, his heart seizing as he took in your hooded gaze, kiss-swollen lips parted just slightly as you tried so hard to gain that friction you desperately craved.
Without another word, Wooyoung was releasing your wrists and grabbing your thighs, hoisting you onto his hips. Your heart leaped at the sudden movement, arms wrapping around his neck while your legs locked around his waist. In seconds, Wooyoung's lips were back on yours as he walked towards the bed, laying you down on the soft mattress. Small whines fell from your lips as his hands wandered from your inner thigh to your core, pressing down enough to elicit an actual moan from your lungs.
Wooyoung pulled away from you so he could take in the way your face twisted in pleasure with every touch and how your chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. It was a sight he had only believed he'd see in his dreams, but seeing it now, he knew the real thing was so much better than any dream his brain conjured up.
Your hands then moved, one to his shoulder while the other gripped the back of his neck to pull him back down to you. His lips met yours in a sweet, gentle kiss that made your whole body feel warm. Then, when he pulled away, Wooyoung watched in amusement as you tried to chase after him with a quiet whine, but he quickly pressed his lips back against yours. This kiss was far hungrier than the last, leaving you lying there breathless as his tongue prodded at your lips.
"Wooyoung," You breathed out as his hands moved to your hips, hiking your dress higher until your black lace panties were on full display. Wooyoung's eyes darkened with need as he took in the sight, locking one hand around your hip while the other moved back to your clothed slit. A choked moan caught in your throat when he pressed down against you, feeling your arousal soak through the fabric.
"You're soaked, babydoll," He teased, bringing his lips back down to your jaw, nipping at the heated skin while your hips fought against his hold to chase that friction. "This all for me?" He cooed against your skin, and you let out a shaky sigh as your fingers threaded through his once styled hair.
"Obviously."
"Ah, watch the attitude, love," He chuckled as he pulled away to look at you, but you could hear the stern undertones in his voice, causing your stomach to flutter, "I'd hate for our first time to turn into a punishment."
Your breath hitched as he looked up at you through his lashes, his pupils dilated in a way that told you he was far from joking. Swallowing thickly, you bobble your head, begging him for more, but your mind was quickly sent to orbit when his thumb found your clit with a click of his tongue.
"Let's use our words baby." He cooed, pressing further on your clit, causing your hips to jump, but he was quick to pin them back down to the mattress.
"P-Please, more Woo." You whined, back arching into his hand as he moved back down to your covered slit. The wet fabric of your panties stuck to your folds and let you whither underneath him, desperate for the barrier to disappear.
His pace was slow as he switched between teasing your leaking slit and pressing against your aching clit, watching as your jaw went slack with each movement. A series of whines and pleas fell from your lips as he slowly brought your body close to the precipice of your high.
"Wooy— nngghhh!" You choked out his name, eyes rolling back as the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens.
"Yes, o-oh my god." You hiccuped, hand moving to wrap around the back of his neck as you leaned up to press your lips against his. The kiss was anything but neat, a messy mixture of teeth and saliva, some dribbling past your lips and down your cheeks.
"Want more?" He murmurs against your lips and gasps when he teases the hem of your underwear, dazed eyes moving to meet his.
"Please, I need you, Woo, so bad." You tell him breathlessly, hips still fighting against his hold, and a foxy smirk spreads across his lips. Hearing you plead with him for his cock was like a wet dream he never wanted to wake from, his slacks growing even tighter. However, he knew better than to move too quickly; the last thing he wanted was to hurt you.
"I have to prep you first, beautiful," He coos, pressing a gentler kiss on the corner of your lips before he pulls away, hands moving to your biceps to help you sit up. Without another word, he leaned forward, reaching for the zipper of your dress, kissing your forehead in the process.
The next few moments were spent tugging and pulling each other's clothes off, both of you desperate to feel bare skin. Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of your bare body before him. While your eyes traveled down the firm planes of his torso, fingers reaching out to brush over the all too familiar tattoo on his ribs. His eyes flickered down to your hand before grabbing your wrist gently and pressing your palm against his chest, right over his heart, as he leaned over you once more, pressing his lips against yours in another messy kiss.
Wooyoung's hand then found your pussy once more, the feeling of his bare skin against your sensitive fold left you gasping into his mouth before he moved to your neck. A choked moan fell from your lips as he started to circle your sensitive bud, his lips pressing wet kisses along your jugular. He soaked in all of the noises you made as your fingers pressed into his shoulders and biceps.
“Woo—” You were cut off when he slipped a finger into your tight cunt, brushing over spots that you’ve never been able to reach. Tears pricked at your eyes as he kept a steady pace, watching you closely and studying all of the expressions you made.
"You're so tight, babydoll, squeezing my fingers so tight." Wooyoung teased with a faux pout as he added a second finger, stretching you further and leaving your eyes rolling. "Just imagine how good you'll feel wrapped around my cock." He chuckled, curling his fingers right against a spot deep in your walls, he pulls a loud, nearly pornographic moan from your kiss-swollen lips.
"Wooyoung!" You cried out, thighs beginning to tremble around his waist as he added a third digit into your fluttering walls.
You've never known you could stretch this much, not even any of your toys provided this kind of sensation, but god did you want more already. A shiver raced down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach, and you could feel your high creeping up on you, only needing a little push. Noticing Wooyoung pressed his thumb against your twitching clit, circling the nub in tight circles, and that became your breaking point.
"Wooy— baby, fuck!" You cried out as he worked you through your orgasm, his lips pressing soft kisses from your jaw to your temple, whispering sweet praises against your skin. Once the high faded, it was quickly replaced by oversensitivity, making you whine and grab at Wooyoung's wrist.
You wanted to scream from the overwhelming pleasure, and Wooyoung watched with a cocky smirk, relishing in the way your eyes began to brim with tears. Your nails bit at his skin, unabashed moans falling from your lips as he worked you towards another orgasm.
"You look so cute like this, sweetheart, falling apart on just my fingers." Wooyoung's tone was mocking with a contradicting smile, but you couldn't hang on to it before your eyes were rolling back. Your high was right on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill over.
Then he pulled his fingers out of your pussy, his lips ghosting your jaw as he pulled away, and you let out a pathetic whine.
"N-No. Woo, why?" You nearly cried as your high ebbed away, the tears that once sat on your waterline finally breaking free, and Wooyoung felt his cock twitch at the sight. Leaning forward, he kissed away the falling tears before finding your lips and sealing them in another searing kiss.
"I need to feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl," He cooed, kissing you again, and you cupped his face, thumb brushing over the skin underneath his eye. He had you so drowned in the taste of his lips against yours that you hadn't even realized he shoved his boxers down until his cock sprang free.
He began to pull away from you, but you were quick to grab his neck, pulling him back towards you, and he looked at you with widened eyes, "I'm on the pill, don't you dare pull away from me."
"Oh, you're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart." Wooyoung bit back a groan, kissing you deeply as he pressed your thighs further apart.
Grabbing himself at the base, he split your fold with his tip, dragging it across your drenched cunt. Your body jolted when he bumped against your clit, a soft gasp falling from your lips, only to be swallowed by his. Then he lined himself up with your entrance, but stopped, pulling away from your lips.
"You ready?" He asked, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitancy as you nodded, but then they fixed you with a knowing look, and you inhaled sharply.
"Y-Yes, please." You nod once more, fingers tugging at his skin, desperate to feel him fully against you.
The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fill you. “Ah, focus on me, love,” Wooyoung whispered softly, coaxing your eyes open, and you looked at him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. “Good girl.”
You moan at the praise, his length still pushing you until he finally buried himself to the hilt. Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape from the feeling of being stuffed full. Wooyoung groaned as his face fell to the crook of your neck; you were squeezing him so tightly that if he were to move right now, he’d cum.
“W-Woo…” You gasped as he unintentionally rolled his hips against yours. He quickly apologized before stilling his hips, his hand finding yours to interlock his fingers with yours.
Your body felt like it had been transported to cloud nine, every nerve ending firing with pleasure as Wooyoung's heavy cock sat snug in your walls. This was something that you could never achieve on your own, and that alone was making your need grow tenfold. After a few moments, the lack of movement was starting to drive you mad, and you tugged at Wooyoung's hair, pulling his eyes back to yours.
"Baby, move, please." You breathed out, eyes fluttering when his warm breath washed over your damp skin.
A choked moan tore from your lips when he rolled his hips into yours, pleasure washing over you in waves as he hit all the right spots in one single stroke. Wooyoung released your wrist and hand to grab your hips when you gave him the green light to move.
Stars danced across your vision as he pulled out before snapping his hips right back into yours. Your fingers dug into the sheets from the overwhelming pleasure.
The mixture of your moans and Wooyoung's groans bounced off the walls as he fucked you, his fingers digging into the plush fat of your hips. He leaned down, pulling you into a kiss that was more of a mixture of clashing teeth and spit, but neither of you cared. Your nails dug into his biceps, sure to leave marks and maybe even break the skin.
It didn't take long before that familiar knot began to coil in the pit of your tummy once more, leaving you whining into the dark-haired male's mouth. Wooyoung peppered your cheek and jaw in kisses before moving to your neck and collarbones, nipping at the skin, no longer caring if he left marks or not.
"You feel so fucking good, baby," He growled, eyes fluttering as you tightened around him, and he knew that he wasn't going to last very long at this rate. However, he sure as hell wasn't going to cum until he felt you come undone around him.
"Woo— fuck! Baby, I'm so close, please." You cried out, clinging to him as your high crept up your spine, threatening to wash over you at any moment.
"Then cum, sweetheart, make a mess on my cock," He murmured, lips coming down to meet yours in a messy, spit-filled kiss, and that was your tipping point.
You came with nearly a scream of his name, back arching against his chest, and mouth falling open as Wooyoung swallowed all your sounds. He continued to fuck you through your high, a high-pitched whine pulling from his throat when you squeezed around him like a vice, nearly pushing him over the edge.
"That's it, babydoll…" Wooyoung bit back another groan, watching as your whole body started to tremble, and a small cry of his name fell from your lips. "Just a little bit more, pretty, I promise."
You let out a gasp when he leaned over you, latching his lips onto yours, and your eyes rolled again. The sudden change in positions was enough to make your brain blank out; any coherent thought that may have been left was now gone. Shockwaves were shot through your whole nervous system as he continued to roughly fuck into you.
Wooyoung bit down on your collarbone when he felt himself getting close, relishing in the way your body responded to the pain. He just couldn't get enough of your sweet cunt or the pretty sounds that fell from your kiss-swollen lips.
"Gonna fill you up, baby," He cooed, lips brushing against your ear as your hand wrapped around his neck, another weak whine escaping your lips. You knew he was getting close by the way his hips faltered and his groans turned into whines.
With a few more thrusts, you came undone underneath him once more, and he followed quickly behind you. His cock twitched as he spilled his cum deep into your womb, a loud whine, almost a whimper, falling from his lips as he continued to fuck into you slowly. His hips rocked against yours, riding out both of your highs until he came to a stop.
His body collapsed on top of yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, combing your fingers through his hair soothingly as you caught your breath. Wooyoung pressed soft kisses along the expanse of your chest and neck before leaning over you once more.
"I love you so much." He murmurs against your skin, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, and you sigh contentedly.
The two of you stayed like that for a long moment before he pulled away, latching his lips on yours. This kiss was sweet and soft, nothing like the hungry ones from just mere moments ago, and your heart skipped. You melted into his touch, never wanting to lose the taste of him on your lips, and a whine fell from your lips when you did.
"Stay here, I'm gonna go grab a washcloth." He tells you, his soft chocolate eyes staring down at you, and you nod with dazed eyes, not fully trusting your own voice at the moment.
Then he was pulling out of you, biting his tongue to keep the whine that bubbled in his throat at bay while you gasped softly. Once he was out, he leaned over to press a gentle kiss on your forehead before grabbing his boxers, pulling them on, and making his way out of the bedroom.
After he came back and got you cleaned up and grabbed you a new pair of underwear before you both climbed into bed, pulling the covers over your near-naked bodies. You lie next to Wooyoung, your body pressed against his as you draw shapes on his chest with the tip of your finger. A small pout forms on your lips when his hand rests comfortably on your waist, relishing in your bare skin against his.
"Hey Woo," Your voice was soft as you turned your head to look at him, chin resting on his chest while he looked down at you, "I'm sorry for snapping earlier and for jumping to conclusions. I was just scared that you thought what we had was some joke."
"I'm sorry too, love, but I promise that what we have is nowhere near a joke." He reassured you, squeezing your waist softly as he spoke, "I pushed Yuki away the moment she tried to kiss me and went to find you."
"Promise?" You asked as your bottom lip jutted out slightly, causing a smile to tug at the corner of Wooyoung's lips.
He chuckles softly when your pouts deepen and grabs your hand that was still resting on his chest, bringing it to his face, pressing his lips gently against your wrist.
"I promise." He murmurs against your skin, eyes flickering to yours, "cross my heart and hope to die."
His words cause you to giggle, and you move the hand that was in his hold to pinch his cheek, "You're so cheesy."
"You love me, though." Wooyoung quips with a smirk, and you roll your eyes, letting your hand fall back down to his shoulder.
"I do… I really do." You omit as you lay your head back down on his chest, not missing the way his heartbeat quickens under your ear, and a smile forms on your lips.
"I love you too, pipsqueak." He whispered against the top of your head before pressing a kiss against your hair and shutting the bedside lamp off, letting the two of you fall into a peaceful slumber.
—
The next morning, you and Wooyoung woke up shortly after ten, spending another hour tangled in the sheets with one another. Then, finally, when you both get up, you decide you need a shower after last night's activities. So you began gathering your stuff from your bag that you had moved discreetly to the fox-eyed male's room.
Wooyoung, being well himself, declares that you could take a shower together, saying that it could 'save water,' but you knew better. However, you couldn't find it in yourself to tell him no when he flashed you his wide boba eyes, so you agreed, and before long, you both were huddled in the shower.
You weren't sure how long the two of you messed around in the shower, wasting perfectly good hot water, before you finally finished up and stepped out.
"Come on, babe, don't leave me alone," Wooyoung whined, but you just rolled your eyes before telling him that you'd be in the room before opening the bathroom door.
You barely got the door shut before a surprised yelp fell from your lips when you almost ran right into Hongjoong. The older male looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you began to panic. Neither he nor San was supposed to be home until later in the afternoon.
"H-Hey Joong." You greet the male and mentally facepalm as you stumble over your words. Your fingers tightened around the bathroom door handle, hoping that Wooyoung wouldn't come out yet.
Yet just as the universe would have it, your grip slipped when Wooyoung turned the handle, and the door flew open.
"Pipsqueak, why are you just..." Wooyoung's voice trails off as he meets Hongjoong's eyes, and both males' eyes grow wide while you're left grimacing.
"You!" Hongjoong lifted a hand, pointed between the two of you, and you could feel heat flushing your face, nearly making you lightheaded.
The noise seemed to have caught more attention, and before you knew it, you heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Squeezing your eyes shut, eyebrows scrunching together, you could only hope they wouldn't turn this into a huge thing.
"What's going on— oh my god!" San exclaims as he catches sight of you and Wooyoung huddled in the doorway of the bathroom. "Yunho owes me twenty bucks." He mumbled to himself, earning an unamused look from you before your attention was brought back to Hongjoong.
"How long?"
"Since the morning after the party," Wooyoung tells him, followed by a nervous chuckle, and Hongjoong's eyes grew wider if possible as he began to put all the puzzle pieces together.
"Please don't tell Yeosang." You plead, pressing your hands tightly together and rubbing your palms against one another.
The older male's eyes flickered between the two of you, an obvious conflict raging behind his eyes. However, after a few long beats of silence, his face relaxed, and he let out an almost defeated sigh.
"Fine, I won't say anything, but you'd better figure out how to tell him yourselves." He looked between you and Wooyoung expectantly, leaving you feeling nearly relieved. Yet the pair of eyes that were burning into your skull had you looking over to find San looking at you with a cheeky smile. Turning his head, Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking again, "Neither will he, but don't expect us to cover for you either."
You quickly nod, tears threatening to well up in your eyes, "Thank you, Hongjoong."
Then you darted towards Wooyoung's bedroom, leaving the male to stand there in nothing but a pair of sweats and a towel hanging from his neck. Hongjoong then began lecturing him, but those words were left unheard by you as you walked into the room, deciding to distract yourself with your design. However, as you went to grab your bag, you realized that it was not where you normally leave it.
You begin to panic once more for a completely different reason, looking around the room. Soon, your search turned into frantic rummaging, trying to rack your brain for where you could've possibly left it.
"Hey, beautiful, did you want— whoa, what's going on?" Wooyoung cut himself off as he walked into the room, seeing the panic on your face. You didn't hear him walk in, much less talk, until he was grabbing your shoulders, forcing your attention on him, something he's done countless times. "What are you looking for?"
"My bag. It's gone, and my tablet with all my designs is in it. I could've sworn I sat it down here..." You began to ramble as you broke from your boyfriend's grip to search once more.
"Hey, hey, hey." Wooyoung was quick to grab your attention once more when you began to spiral, his warm hands cupping your face so you couldn't pull away easily. "I'm sure if it's not here, you probably just left it at the venue last night in the heat of the moment."
"What if it's not? Everything is on there, I can't lose it. Not when the compet—" Your breath catches in your throat when you feel Wooyoung's plush lips against yours, silencing your rambling and quieting the noise in your head. Your body finally starts to relax, and you bring one hand up to grab his wrist, melting into his touch.
After a few moments, Wooyoung breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, breaths still mingling together as he speaks, "Let's get dressed, and we can go look for it, okay?"
"Thank you, Woo." You whisper, eyes fluttering as he pulls you into another kiss before you both part to quickly get around before leaving the house, promising coffee to the other two when you get back.
During the ride to the hotel where the charity event was held, Wooyoung's hand never left your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh reassuringly. You tried not to let the nerves eat you alive as you watched the building blur by, but there was this nagging voice in the back of your mind that had your stomach twisting violently.
However, when you got to the hotel, you walked through the revolving doors, Wooyoung following close behind. Your eyes scanned the lobby, looking for a worker, since there wasn't anyone at the reception desk. Then you saw an older woman in cleaning attire walking by, and you quickly made your way towards her, catching her attention in the process.
"Hello," You greet her, bowing your head quickly before meeting her surprised gaze, "do you guys have a lost and found? I left something here during the charity event last night." You explain to her, and she shakes her head softly, and your heart drops.
"We don't have a lost and found, but I did find a messenger bag last night while cleaning up after the event." She explains, wrapping her hands around the handle of the mop she had been holding, and your shoulders visibly relaxed.
Wooyoung rests his hand on the small of your back as you offer her a smile, "Can I see it, please?"
The older woman looks between you and the long-haired male behind you for a moment before returning your smile and nodding her head. She picked up the mop before leading you towards the back of the hotel, holding the staff room door open for you and Wooyoung. Stepping inside, she walks over to a locker, opens it, and a wave of relief washes over you when you see your bag sitting inside.
"We're typically supposed to turn these in to the office, but the guard inside has a habit of stealing things, so I kept it back here just in case someone came looking." She explained, stepping away from the locker, and you looked at her in appreciation.
"Thank you so much, my wallet is inside with my ID to confirm." You tell her, but she just shakes her head with a soft smile, grabbing the back to hand it to you.
"No need, dear, you seem genuinely shaken about losing it. Make sure not to leave it anywhere else; it'd be a shame if something were stolen." She gives you this motherly look, and you nod your head, thanking her one last time after promising that you wouldn't leave it anywhere else.
She then leads you back out of the room before parting ways to continue her work while you and Wooyoung make your way back towards the entrance. You open the bag, making sure that your tablet is still inside with everything else, and your shoulders relaxed when you find that everything is accounted for. Wooyoung chuckles before he wraps his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him with a wide grin on his face.
"See, I told you that everything would be okay." He quips in that smart ass tone you've come to love, even if it annoyed you to your wits' end.
You roll your eyes while throwing the strap of your bag over your shoulder just as you make it outside the building. Coming to a stop, you turn to face the fox-eyed male, grabbing his hand in yours before leaning up to kiss him softly, leaving the male standing there with a shit-eating grin.
"Thank you, Wooyo." You thanked him, and Wooyoung squeezed your hand before sealing his lips over yours once more, not getting enough of your taste.
After a few long moments, you both break apart, and he smiles at you, "Come on, let's go grab lunch."
"What about the coffee we promised the guys?"
"They can wait," Wooyoung shrugs, flashing you a cocky smirk, knowing very well he'd get another earful the moment the two of you walked back into the house hours after you had promised to be back.
You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of your chest before you were nodding your head, letting him pull you back towards his car.
After classes on Monday, you made your way to Professor Yang’s office, a smile spread on your face at the thought of your design being almost finished. The older woman had wanted to talk to you about the competition to make sure that you would be ready.
“There’s only about a month and a half left, y/n. I don’t want you to run into any issues if you aren’t ready.” Professor Yang looked at you from her spot next to her bookshelves. “Is your design finished?”
You offer her a smile as you walk mindlessly around her room, just as you have many times since the first year you started college, “it’s almost done, I’m just adding some finishing touches…”
Your voice trails off, eyebrows scrunching together as your eyes spot a design sitting on the wooden desk, partially hidden under a folder. The room seems to close in around you as you take in the all too familiar design, colors, and patterns. The very ones that had been in your design.
Your heart starts to race in your chest as your shaky hand moves to grab the paper. A sudden wave of nausea crashes over you, the design—your design—was signed with someone else's name that you couldn’t quite make out.
“Oh, another student who’s competing turned that in this morning,” Professor Yang explains, setting down the water bottle she had been using to water her plants when she noticed where your attention was, “beautiful, isn’t it?”
However, you couldn’t respond to her; hell, you doubt you even heard the last half of her sentence. Your ears were ringing so loud you were sure that you’d go deaf, and the sickening feeling in your stomach only grew the longer you stared at the dress design that was sitting in your hands.
‘Who had taken it and how? When would they have even gotten the chance to take it?’
So many questions started to flood your mind, but then your heart nearly stops in your chest as the realization crashes into you like a freight train. You had forgotten your bag at the venue Saturday night after leaving with Wooyoung. The paper in your hand flutters down to the desk as your fingers go slack, tears brimming in your eyes, and panic starts to settle deep in your bones.
Your tablet had been in your bag.
“E-Excuse me,” You quickly excuse yourself, snatching your bag off the couch and making a beeline for the door. Professor Yang’s calls for you fell on deaf ears as you raced down the hallways; the sounds of your shoes hitting the linoleum echoed all around you.
You weren't even sure when you had made it to your car or how you even made it back to the house without being pulled over, though you were sure that you had ran a few red lights along the way. None of that mattered to you at the moment, what mattered to you was finding your tablet. You didn't even bother pulling the keys from the car ignition when you raced towards the house, burst through the front door.
"Holy!" Hongjoong, who had been sitting on the recliner with his guitar, exclaimed, wide eyes turning to face you. The words he had started to say died on his tongue the moment he caught sight of your teary eyes when you walked toward the couch. "Hey, y/n, are you okay?"
However, his question falls on deaf ears as your eyes scan the room before landing on the device that was still lying on the coffee table. Untouched.
Your ears began to ring as you rushed over, dropping to your knees, you scrambled to grab the tablet with shaky hands. You furiously wipe tears from your face as you turn the device on and unlock it, choking back a sob, you open your design app.
The room started to spin around you, threatening to close in as you only found an empty folder. Sobs racked your lungs as you tried to reload the screen or even check the trash, but it was all futile.
"T-They're gone." You choked out between sobs, fingers tightening around the device as your tears splashed on the screen. "All of them are gone."
"What? What's gone?" Hongjoong asked, worry laced in his words as he sat his guitar to the side before standing to move towards you. His heart lurches into his throat when you turn to face him, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.
"I was in P-Professor Yang's office and…" You inhale deeply trying to keep the sobs at bay, "and I saw my design on her desk." You continue as Hongjoong crouches down, laying his hand on your trembling shoulder, his eyebrows scrunching confusion.
"Isn't that a good thing?" He asked, squeezing your shoulder gently but you hiccuped with a shake of your head.
"It wasn't my submission."
The room falls into silence, your soft cries filling the space as you desperately tried to find your deleted designs. Hongjoong's eyes went wide as he realized what you were insinuating and his eyes flickered to the tablet.
"Have you told your professor? I'm sure she wouldn't let it slide if you show her your design—"
"What design, Joong?" You asked, turning to look at him with furrowed eyebrows, "everything I had was on this tablet and now it's all gone, I have no proof."
Your chest felt so tight as if it were trying to collapse in on itself, and all you wanted to do was scream; a mixture of despair and rage bubbled in your chest. Hongjoong was quick to grab the device when you tried to throw it, setting it off to the side as you cried, the sound breaking the older male's heart. You couldn't hold it in anymore and leaned forward, resting your forehead on the cool surface of the coffee table, tears dripping from the tip of your nose onto the ground beneath you.
"It's over, all of it. What am I supposed to do now?" You choke out, heart shattering in your chest as you saw your one chance to make it big into the design world crumble right before your very eyes. Fingers curling into fists you softly bang your head on the table, the pain seeming to be the only thing to drown out the nagging voices in your mind.
"Y/n, stop that, you're going to hurt yourself." Hongjoong scolds you, placing his hand on the table under your head to soften the blow as more sobs racked your body. Then before you could even process it he was pulling your body into his, holding you to his chest and your breath caught in your throat for a moment.
His warmth seemed to chase away to chill that was threatening to close in and you felt a new wave of emotions wash over you, more sobs racked your burning lungs. Hongjoong didn't say a word as he let you cry, his hand caressing your arms as he tried to comfort you to the best of his ability. Once your sobs died down into sniffles he smoothed down that hair on the back of your head before speaking.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, you're extremely gifted, and I know that we can figure something out, okay?" He reassured you, watching as you slowly pull away from him to wipe your face with the back of your hand, tired eyes meeting his.
You were exhausted, mind running a million miles knowing that your chance had already been blown away with the wind, but you nodded nonetheless. However, as Hongjoong looked at you, he could see the defeat in your eyes, and he could only let out a soft sigh.
"C'mon, sit on the couch I'll go make tea." He gently grabs your arms and helps you sit on the sofa and you just sank into the cushions, a distant look in your eyes. Chewing on his bottom lip softly he moves around the couch towards the kitchen while pulling his phone out of his pocket, messaging the only person he could think of.
Maybe forty minutes later, the front door opened and Wooyoung walked in, worry swimming in his chocolate orbs. He sat his baseball gear off to the side and slipping out of his shoes before walking toward Hongjoong who was standing in the doorway of the dining room. Wooyoung's eyes flicker over to your still form that was still sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the table in front of you.
"How is she?" Wooyoung asked softly and Hongjoong sighed, eyes moving to look at the younger male.
"I managed to get her to calm down a bit, but she's still pretty upset," Hongjoong explains, and Wooyoung glances at him with a nod before he moves towards you.
Wooyoung rounds the couch, his heart breaking at the sight of dried tear stains on your puffy cheeks. Taking another step towards you, he crouches down next to you, eyes flickering to the now-cold mug of tea in your hands that had been long forgotten about. Letting out a soft breath of air the fox-eyed male reaches forward to grab the forgotten mug, which in turn pulled your attention to him.
He sets the mug down on the coffee table before turning and taking your hands into his and your breath hitches, tears pooling in your eyes once more. Your heart flutters when he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, his lips lingering for just a moment.
"It's gonna be okay, love," he whispers against your skin, eyes flicking up to meet yours just as the first tear falls. "You can come up with another design, I know you can."
"W-With what Woo? I have nothing and there's only a month left." Your voice shook, fingers wrapping around his thumb that was pressed against your palm.
Wooyoung's jaw tightened slightly before he reached up with his free hand, cupping your cheek and wiping away your tears, "how about this, I'll do everything in my power to help, but I need you to eat dinner."
"I'm not hungry." You mumble, dropping your hand to your lap and Wooyoung pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he watched you avert your gaze.
"Not even if I make your favorite?" He asked and as if your body was trying to betray you, your stomach let out a low grumble causing heat to flush your face while the dark-haired male chuckled, squeezing your hand, "thought so, come on you can keep me company."
He didn't give you a chance to protest before he was standing and pulling you up from the couch. You wanted to tell him that you were just fine on the couch, but as he flashed you his signature smile, you swallowed those words and followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled a chair in for you to sit.
You felt a small weight lift off your chest as you watched Wooyoung fall into his element, cooking the dish that you had come to love since childhood. He told you about his end-of-term culinary exam and that he planned on making this dish, which had your stomach fluttering.
"Here, taste test." He turned to look at you, holding out and spoon, waiting as you slowly stood and walked over. You gently grab his wrist before taking the spoon into your mouth, letting the taste flood your taste buds. Despite the gloom you had been feeling your eyes light up slightly at the all too familiar taste and Wooyoung chuckles before putting the spoon in his mouth, eating the rest of it. "Good right?"
Your ears burned as you realized what he had just done and he smirked before leaning towards you, lips merely inches from yours. He teases you, relishing in the way your eyes went wide and your face flushes before you were swatting at his chest with low grumbles. Then he was pulling you into a gentle kiss, one that had you melting in his embrace in seconds and when you pulled apart a small smile tugged on your lips which in turn had Wooyoung smiling.
"There it is." He whispered softly before pressing another, quick kiss on your lips and you shook your head after stepping back so he could finish cooking.
Once Wooyoung was finished cooking dinner, you tried to help him set the table, but both he and San were quick to stop you. Dayhun, who had shown up after San called her, had you sit down with her while the boys finished setting things up. She tried her best to reassure you, her hand squeezing yours after you told her the full extent of what happened.
Then after dinner you all filed into the living room to watch a movie in hopes that it would lift your spirits. You were curled up into Wooyoung's side with San sat on your other side and Dayhun was sprawled out on the loveseat, leaving the recliner to Hongjoong.
Your fingers mindlessly played with the fabric of Wooyoung's shirt, eyes scanning the TV as the movie played. None of it was sticking in your head, mind far too occupied by your stolen design to focus on much else. Despite all your friends' reassurance, you couldn't help but feel defeated knowing that not only were you losing out on this competition, you had also lost one of your most precious deigns to someone you didn't even know the name of.
"I got it!" Wooyoung suddenly exclaims, his loud voice pulling you from your thoughts abruptly and making you jump. You didn't even get a chance to question him before he was standing and darting down the hallway, leaving the rest of you to watch in confusion.
After a few long moments his footsteps echoed down the hall once more and he rounded the corner with a wide grin on his face, holding a piece of paper up.
"You could use this as the base for your new design." He tells you, his voice hopeful as he walked towards you, holding the paper out to you while San reached over to turn on the table lamp.
"This…" Your eyes went wide as you took in the design that was being held out to you. Reaching out with shaky hands you took the paper from Wooyoung's hands, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. "This is from high school, how did you even…"
Wooyoung nodded, moving to sit back down next to you and wrapping his arm around your waist before pointing at the half-finished rough sketch, "you never stopped talking about it back then and I could see how much you loved it even when you didn't finish it so I kept it."
"But I threw it away." You told him, wide eyes moving to meet his, and he smiles sheepishly, hand moving to rub the back of his neck.
"I saw it and took it out, but good thing I did. You can finally finish it!" He tells you brightly and you couldn't help the way that your heart swelled in your chest.
"It's perfect." You murmur almost too quietly but the wide smile on your face was enough and Wooyoung squeezes your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head while the rest cheer in victory. However, the victory was short lived as your smile quickly faded, "but I won't have enough time."
"Don't worry about that, I'll help you," Hongjoong reassured you, and you looked at him with wide, teary eyes. He had always been the one you looked up to when it came to designing, and you should've known that he'd help, but it didn't keep you from feeling surprised.
"And you know I'll help, babes, I am your model after all," Dayhun tells you, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically, causing you to laugh softly, the sound causing the three males to smile.
You let your gaze fall back on to the half-finished design in your hands and you finally, finally felt that pressure lift from your chest, replaced with a newfound hope that maybe everything will work out in the end.
The weeks that followed were filled with you tirelessly working on your new design, all of the feelings that you had once felt for the piece came flooding back you carefully added new layers. With each passing day you could feel that hope growing and both Hongjoong and Dayhun helped however they could.
"This piece is cut and set, just needs to be sewn," Hongjoong told you as he brought over pieces of fabric that needed sewing, which you quickly thanked him before doing exactly that.
"Knock knock." The sound of your boyfriend's voice cut through the air and you quickly glanced up with a bright smile, greeting the fox-eyed male before focusing back on the task at hand. Hongjoong walks over to Wooyoung, blocking his view of the gown that you had spent weeks tirelessly working on.
"What brings you here?" Hongjoong asked, watching as Dayhun walks over to you to grab the piece you just finished and Wooyoung shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"I'm here to drag my girlfriend away for an intervention." He informed the older male who quickly flashed him a smile and Dayhun perked up at the mention of a break while you just tuned the conversation out.
"Yes a break is a good idea, though you may have to carry her away." Dayhun jokes as she nudges you, but you just grumble at her, saying you were too busy for a break. However, in the blink of an eye an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you away from the machine.
"Wooyoung, put me down I need to finish!" You protest, tugging at his arm but to no avail and he carried you towards the door as Hongjoong and Dayhun waved with wide smiles.
"We'll finish prepping everything you go enjoy your date." Dayhun winks at you and your face flushes as you stop fighting to get out of your boyfriends grip.
Knowing that you weren't getting out of taking a break you sighed, pinching his side resulting in a pitched yelp.
"What was that for?" He exclaimed, releasing you to rub his now-sore side while you giggle softly and wrap your arms around his. "I come to take you on a nice date and this is what I get in return?"
"Oh you big baby, want me to kiss it better?" You roll your eyes playfully, walking down the hall with Wooyoung and he looks over at you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Already knowing your answer you lean up, pressing your lips to his cheek before pulling away, "there, better?"
"Not quite, it still hurts." He pout, his bottom lip jutting out and you knew exactly what he was wanting. Laughing you shake your head before pulling the both of you to a stop to you could grab his face, pulling him down for a kiss which he melted into in an instant.
"Now is it better?"
"Hmm, I could go for another one." He teases with a smirk and you roll your eyes, pushing his face away resulting in him laughing. The sound bounced off the walls and made your stomach flutter, cheeks warming as you adored the smile on his face.
"Come on, let me see what you dragged me away for." You slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers and allowing him to whisk you away to the picnic date he had worked on for the better half of the day, ending the night with you stargazing and you couldn't be happier where you were.
The following days repeated just the same, you'd work with Hongjoong and Dayhun on your gown, making adjustments as needed, then Wooyoung would whisk you away at the end of the week for a much needed break. He knew how much this competition meant to you, but he also wasn't going to let you overwork yourself or even let you go without eating so he made sure to pack you lunch. He even left little notes in your lunch box that brought a smile to your face whenever you saw them and you knew that you would forever be grateful for him.
For him and all of your friends.
Then the day of the competition came around and your nerves were on an all-time high as you stood with Dayhun in the dressing room, making final adjustment to the gown. Dayhun's chatter filled the room and brought you a sense of comfort knowing that you weren't in this alone and you pulled away with a soft smile.
"So have you figured out who the guest judge is?" Dayhun asked, lowering her arms when you took a step back.
You shook your head, setting your needle on the vanity before turning back to your best friend, "no, all I've heard is they're a foreigner."
"Oh, must be a pretty big deal for them to bring a foreigner." Dayhun hummed as she gently grabbed the skirt of the gown, doing a slow twirl, and the lights reflected off the red and white fabric beautifully. "However, you have nothing to worry about because this dress is absolutely beautiful, y/n."
Warmth climbed up yours neck and settled over your face in one rush as you recalled why you had initially designed this dress. Not a word would be spoken about it, but you knew that you had started designing this dress as your dream wedding dress. Looking back on it now made you beyond embarrassed, but also a little giddy thinking about that little girl once more.
"Contestants, please begin to gather for the runway show." You heard a woman's voice cackle over the intercom, and you felt that same anxiety creeping back up your spine.
"Don't worry, y/n, you've got this in the bag." Dayhun stepped down from the stand and walked over to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
Inhaling deeply, you let your eyes flutter close for a moment before letting that same breath and turning to look at Dayhun with the very confident smile she was so used to, "you're right, let's go kick ass."
You and Dayhun walk out of the dressing room, arm in arm with wide smiles as you laughed over something she had said. Once you got backstage you released Dayhun's arm as they called for the models and wished her a good luck then stepping back to watch from the screens.
You crossed your arms over your chest loosely as you watched everyone's models walk down the runway, a smile spread on your lips at all the beautiful designs. However, when one model walked out, your smile faltered, and your stomach twisted into knots. There was your original design, the colors and gems glimmering just as you had imagined them and your body broke out into a cold sweat.
"It's a pretty design don't you think?" Yuki's voice crept down your spine, leaving goosebumps to rise in its wake and your head snapped in her direction. "It's a shame you stand no chance at winning now." She gave you a faux sympathetic smile and your eyebrows scrunched together. She hadn't even been in this competition, saying it was below her, but as she stood before you the pieces started to connect.
"You stole my design." The words came out as more of a statement rather than a question, because you knew that she had taken it. She had always been trying to one up you, even during high school, so it shouldn't be a surprise that she would try it again when she saw you had such a huge opportunity. But you never expected her to stoop as low as to steal your design.
A smug smile spread across Yuki's face as she stepped towards you and you instinctively took one back, "You really put a lot of thought into those notes, thanks for that by the way."
"You—"
"Please welcome our designers to the stage!" The announcers voice interjected and you just glared at Yuki, letting your hands fall to your side.
Trying to shake away the anger you, let your shoulders relax before looking Yuki up and down, "karma is a bitch and you can't hide from her." You told her calmly before shoving past her and towards the curtains to the main stage, leaving her to glare at your back.
Stepping onto the stage you smiled at the crowd, walking with confidence as you made a beeline for Dayhun who was already smiling at you. Moving to stand next to her, she could tell that something was wrong and leaned over, whispering quietly, "what's wrong?"
"Yuki was the one who stole my original design." You gritted the words out of your teeth and you could feel Dayhun's shoulders stiffen next to you, her eyes instantly finding the brunette that was standing next to her model that was wearing your dress. However, she couldn't say a word before the announcer gathered everyone's attention.
"Hello everyone and welcome to the annual end of summer fashion contest." The woman's voice carried throughout the large room and you found yourself searching the crowd for the rest of your group. "Next lets welcome our guest judge, Matteo Russo!"
Upon hearing his name, your head snapped over to the announcer before following the light beams and seeing the man who had taught you so much during your time in Italy. He was wearing one of the suits that he had designed and you only knew that because he had you help him finish it. Turning his head Matteo caught your eye, he offered you a smile with a nod of his head before he took his seat at the judges table.
You felt bile creep up your throat as well as anxiety clawing up your spine, but you weren't given a chance to dwell on it when the judges started asking each contestant questions about their work. Intertwining your fingers in front of your body you drowned out most of them, focusing on your own, at least until you heard Yuki's name and your head perked up.
"Tell me Ms Kyoto, what inspired your work?" Matteo asked, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs as he looked at the brunette and she offered him a smile, one you had so desperately wanted to wipe away since she spoke to you earlier.
"The setting sun was my biggest inspiration for this piece. I have always loved the colors of the sunset and wanted to capture those colors in my design." She began explaining, and you couldn't help but scoff quietly with a roll of your eyes. Dayhun grabbed your arm and squeezed gently.
You looked over at her with a smile that didn't quite meet your eyes, though you have come to terms that someone had stolen your design it didn't mean that it hurt any less when you watched someone try to claim it as their own.
Matteo nodded with a thoughtful look before uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, pointing a finger at her and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. You knew that something was about to happen and anxiety started to prick at your skin.
"Miss Kyoto, if you're going to plagiarize someone else work don't you think you should at least know the original source of inspiration?" Matteo asked, gesturing towards the dress the model next to Yuki was wearing and your eyes went wide while Yuki's shoulder's stiffen. The audience behind the man broke out into hushed whispers and you looked at Matteo who was looking at Yuki with a raised eyebrow. Yuki on the other hand looked like she was about to blow a fuse, her hands balling into fists at her sides.
"Are you insinuating that I stole my design Mr Russo?" Yuki asked, her voice taunt, and Matteo chuckled with a slight shake of his head.
"I know you stole that design, and the rightful owner is right there." He pointed over at you with the end of his pen and you felt your heart leap in your chest.
"I'm sorry, but without any proof you're just slandering me." Yuki tried to fight back her fury filled gaze shifting over to you and you just pursed your lips with a shrug. You had warned her that karma was a bitch after all.
"Who said I have no proof?" Matteo asked, leaning back in his chair once more before motioning towards the screen that were behind you. Turning around you couldn't help the wide grin that spread on your lips as you watched the footage of Yuki stealing your tablet at the charity event before showing at picture of her 'design' submission, then finally a recent clip from backstage started playing.
"You really put a lot of thought into those notes, thanks for that by the way."
Yuki's voice echoed from the speakers and the crowd broke out into an uproar, however, your gaze fell on the fox-eyed male that was sitting among the crowd. Catching your eyes Wooyoung sends you a wink and you couldn't help the way your chest swelled, knowing that he had something to do with all of this.
The judges spoke among themselves while Yuki watched the screen in absolute horror, her scheme spoiled. Then the announcer spoke into her earpiece before quieting the crowd with her hands before speaking.
"With the newfound evidence of plagiarizing Kyoto Yuki will be disqualified." She announced and you let out a breath you hadn't even realized that you were holding and Dayhun's hand on your arm tightened, a triumphant smile spreading on her lips.
Yuki sent a glare your way as she was escorted off the stage, but you paid her no mind as you looked at Dayhun in absolute astonishment. Once she was off the stage the crowd fell into silence once more and you glanced over finding the eyes of all five judges on you and heat rushed up your neck, burning the tips of your ears.
"Now, Miss Kang, would you please tell us what really inspired this design?" Matteo asked, gesturing to the girl that was still wearing your stolen design and you couldn't help the smile that tugged on the corner of your lips.
"This is a design that I began working on during my last year abroad in Italy." You began, taking a step forward and motioning over to the multicolored dress, "however, the inspiration itself came from the sunset I got to see while watching the very last baseball game before I left to study abroad." The words flowed naturally from your lips as you explained mixture of red and oranges with the purples and pinks. By the time you had finished your cheeks hurt from the wide grin on your face, memories of that day flashing in your mind.
"Thank you Miss Kang," Matteo nodded his head, a knowing smile on his lips and your stomach fluttered at the impressed expression on his face. You had mentioned this design to him on multiple occasions, but you never showed him the final design until towards the end when you emailed it to him and that's when realization washed over you.
Wooyoung had probably seen him in your emails when he borrowed your laptop and decided to get him involved in seeking justice. Your heart squeezed in your chest as you looked at the dark-haired male who was clapping, a smile of his own on his lips as he watched you.
"And what about your newest design Miss Kang?" One of the other judges, Nakamura Sakura, asked as she pushed her glasses further up her nose after jotting down some notes.
Glancing back at Dayhun you felt another wave of heat wash over your already flushed cheeks, but that didn't stop you as you motioned your best friend forward. Dayhun gave you a reassuring nod and you swallowed thickly before facing the judges one more time.
"My latest design is something that I had created back when I was a freshmen in high school, but never finished until now." Your gaze flickered over to Wooyoung and he was already looking at you with an intrigue look, "It began as hope for love, hence the white at the top of the gown, but I wanted to showcase how that hope not only expanded into love, but also happiness, because in that love I have become the happiest I have ever been in my life." You spoke truthful despite how your hands were shaking as you held the microphone, your face warming so much that you began to feel lightheaded.
"Amazing," You heard one of the judges complement your work as he wrote something down and your heart jumped, lodging itself in your throat.
Not another word was spoken as the announcer took the mic back from you and moving on to the next contestant. You took a step back, grabbing Dayhun's awaiting hand and squeezing it as your nerves began to gnaw at you.
"All right, the judges will now discuss among themselves, and we will announce the winner of the annual end-of-summer fashion design contest once they've returned." The announcer explained and your ears began to ring as your clutched Dayhun's hand.
You weren't sure how much time had passed since the judges left the stand, or what Dayhun had said to you. Your mind was still trying to wrap itself around all of the events of today, but most of all, who the winner was going to be.
"Now it's the moment you've all been waiting for." The woman's voice broke you from your thoughts and your eyes went wide when you noticed that the judges had all returned to their seat. Dayhun's thumb rubbed the back of your hand reassuringly as you watched the announcer unfold the paper that she had been given.
"The winner of the Annual End of Summer Fashion Design Contest is…" She paused for a moment to let the suspension build and you could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage the longer she waited. Just when you were about to lose your mind and tell her to hurry up she spoke, "Kang Y/n!"
Everything around you seemed to slow down as you heard your name leave her lips. All the sounds seemed to grow distant, your body frozen to the spot, and you could feel eyes burning into your skin. Dayhun felt your hand shaking in hers as she called out your name, but you couldn't hear her, still too busy trying to comprehend what you had just heard.
"Congrats kid, you did good work." Matteo's voice snapped you from your daze as he walks over with the trophy. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you took it from his hands and turning to face the cameras, smiling for the pictures while Dayhun stood proudly next to you.
"Thank you Mr Russo," You bowed deeply in appreciation causing the older man to chuckle before praising you one last time then he told you that the two of you could catch up over coffee one day while he was in the country and you agreed.
"C'mon, y/n, let's get these dresses put away before something happens." Dayhun tugged on your arm after Matteo walked away, and the girl who had been modeling for Yuki followed close behind. At first, you didn't want the dress, seeing as it wasn't your own work anymore, but the girl told you that Yuki hadn't even been the one to sew everything; it was herself, and you felt bad.
"It's your hard work y/n, take it please, it's the least I can do for being involved in Yuki's schemes." She apologized once more after getting to the dressing room and changing out of the gown. She didn't give you a chance to protest before she was shoving the fabric into your arms and darting out of the room.
"At least she knows what's good for her," Dayhun grumbled and you gave her a look causing her to shrug, "just sayin'."
"Yuki was probably blackmailing her for all we know Day," You tried to sympathize with the girl but Dayhun just let out a short laugh, slipping out of her own gown so you could put it in the dress bag.
"Well, this is your special day so don't let others ruin it." Dayhun grabs your shoulders, after redressing and shaking you softly until you were giggling trying to push her away. "Now, I believe there's someone here for you."
Your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and you were about to ask her what she meant but then the door opened and Wooyoung walked into the room holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He gave you a bright smile as he walked further into the room and you felt your heart begin to race in your chest.
"Hey beautiful," He greets you, the petname making you weak in the knees and your cheeks warmed fast, color rising before you could stop it. "These are for you,"
"Thank you Woo." You beamed up at him, taking the large bouquet into your arms as he stood but a few inches away from you.
"Well lovebirds this is where I'll be taking my leave." Dayhun teases as pokes her head around Wooyoung's taller frame and you shook your head with a smile, "congrats again babes, you deserve this win."
You give the ravenette one last wave before she walks out of the room, humming a tune that had been stuck in her head since this morning. Then once the door clicked shut and you and Wooyoung were left alone you moved your gaze back to his.
"So… the sunset from my last game huh?" Wooyoung began to tease as you turn to set the flowers on the vanity and you rolled your eyes despite the heat that flushed your cheeks and turned the tips of your ears red.
"I don't even know what I see in you sometimes," You joke, turned to look back at him with your arms crossed loosely over your chest, trying your best to fight off the shit-eating grin that threatened to spread on your lips.
"Ouch sweetheart," He gives you a faux pout before stepping towards you and caging you against the vanity, his pout morphing into a smile, "congratulations on the win pipsqueak,"
That was what finally had the grin spreading on your face as you looked up at him, "you and that damn nickname."
"Mhmm, it's not going anywhere, babydoll." His voice drops an octave and heat pools in your lower stomach. He then grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leans down, sealing his lips over yours in a gentle kiss.
Your hands moved to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he quickly deepened the kiss, tongue lapping at your bottom lip. You let out a soft gasp when he grabs the backs of your thighs, hoisting you onto the vanity before quickly kissing you again, this one far hungrier than the last.
The both of you had become so lost in each other that you hadn't even heard the commotion outside of the dressing room before the door slammed open, the wood hitting the wall roughly causing you and Wooyoung to jump.
"Yeosang, wait!" Dayhun's voice echoed around the room and you felt your blood run cold at the mention of your brother's name, fear clinging to your spine as Wooyoung slowly pulled away from your body to look behind him.
Both of your hearts seized in your chests when you found none other than you brother standing in the doorway of the dressing room. Nothing but pure anger painted his features as he looked between you and his best friend. Then he was finally speaking, the tone enough to make you flinch slightly.
Summary — You have every intention of coasting through the summer internship your dearest father handed to you (or rather, forced you into) with as little effort as possible. Luckily, no one in the office has the nerve to call out the CEO’s daughter for her poor attitude and terrible work-ethic. That is, until your usually polite, level-headed boss, Mr. Park, finally snaps. Suddenly, it’s a lot harder to ignore how good he looks when he’s pissed off— and how much you enjoy being on the receiving end of it.
CW & Tags — 18+ MDNI, Smut, Humour, Office AU, bratty!reader, mean dom!Sunghoon, Age Difference, Power Imbalance, boss!Sunghoon x intern!Reader, mildly implied daddy issues, morally grey characters, infidelity, humiliation kink, heavy degradation kink, mild praise, slut-shaming, abuse of authority, power play, brat-taming, mutual masturbation, edging, spanking, choking, slight overstimulation, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, office sex, slowburn-ish, lots of sexual tension, sexting, slight corruption kink?, mild infantilization of reader, casual misogyny from male coworkers, Sunghoon genuinely trying to be a good boss/mentor/role-model and failing miserably, reader genuinely not giving a fuck, FEAT. bf!Jay, coworker!Jungwon NICKNAMES/PETNAMES USED: missy, young lady, Miss, baby, sweetheart
WC — 19.1k
A/N — so yeah um… I don’t know what kind of freak disease I’ve contracted recently. this is inspired by all the memes of Sunghoon being unc. love him down even if he acts like he’s 23 going on 32. shout out to my lovely moot @enchive who is riding the same office!enha wavelength as me
For someone who was handed a summer internship at your father's company on a silver platter, you don't act as grateful as you should be.
That’s because you aren’t— and with each passing day, you find it more and more difficult to even pretend like you are as the office hums its same old, familiar tune; a dull, monotonous symphony of keyboard clicking, phones ringing, and men arguing over numbers and deadlines and everything else you couldn’t give two shits about.
"It will give you real-world experience." Was your father's first proclamation.
Yeah, right. Three weeks in, and the only 'experience' you've gained is learning to optimize the speed at which you swap tabs from online shopping to whatever financial model you're supposed to be working on when your ‘boss’ walks by.
"Other people dream of working here!" Came the next.
It's technically true for anyone else— the role is competitive. People claw their way into divisions like these, just to sit in rooms and argue over numbers tied to companies they don't even care for. You, however, are not anyone else. Getting this job was as simple as a conversation over dinner, followed by a forwarded email. And why exactly would you be dreaming of something so easy to obtain?
"If you don't do it, I'll deactivate your credit card."
Now, that was the only statement that made you quiver, and some whining and back and forth later, you realized you wouldn't have it your way— not this time.
Which is how you ended up here.
In theory, it's easy enough. All you had to do was show up. Sit at a desk. Try. In practice? It's painfully, mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly boring. God, how you wish you could be doing literally anything else other than staring at your desktop screen, eyes straining from the blue light as rows of numbers blur together—valuations, projections and companies reduced to columns.
You switch to another tab, deciding you're done pretending to work for now, and scroll through your Instagram feed, seeing your friends' posts about their vacations abroad, shopping sprees, and summer adventures, soaking in the rays of the afternoon sun. It only solidifies for you what you already know: You don't care about this job. You just don't care at all. So much that it hurts.
It's why you had decided early on you wouldn't even pretend to care. You come in late and leave early. You do your work hastily— finished, but half-assed. You do enough to where nobody can comfortably call you out on it, but never enough to actually waste any of your precious energy on trying, because really, who's going to stop you? It's not like you need this job. It's not like anyone's going to fire the CEO's spoiled little princess of a daughter.
Nobody says it outright, but you felt it the first day you'd set foot in the building, designer stilettos clicking with every step. The air shifted. People smiled at you too quickly, their tone of voice too polite. It was all too easy, all too uninteresting, the way nobody dared to push back. And the ones that vaguely try to are met with a sharp glare— not because you're actually trying to threaten them, but because it was amusing to see how easily they doubled back, scrambling over their words in fear.
Call it cruel. Whatever. It's one of the few things that brought you joy in the midst of suffocating beneath fluorescent lighting and beige walls.
You lean back in your chair, a sigh falling from your lips as your eyes meet the ceiling. Only an hour left of the workday, and yet it felt like an eternity remained. You're not sure how you plan on making it through the rest of the summer.
Your gaze drifts a little to the side, where you catch sight of your boss in his office, the door wide open, eyes glued to his computer screen.
Mr. Park is the kind of boss who doesn't seem to have a flaw— at least in the corporate sense. Always composed. Always focused. Always just... there. Like he came with the office. Like he belongs to it more than anyone else does— like he's been built into the spreadsheets and decisions that run the place. Of course, he's the fucking Chief Investment Officer. He can probably reduce an entire company to numbers in his sleep.
He's also, apparently, the kind of boss who doesn't seem to know when to let anything go, given how it's three weeks into your internship and he continues to gently bring up the topic of your "lack of enthusiasm". He fills your inbox with "friendly reminders" to show to work on time, addressed to the whole team as if everyone didn't already know it was about you, he walks by your desk more than you wished he would, leaning over your shoulder and offering useless "pointers" that he should know by now you didn't plan on using, always careful with his words.
You suppress a snort at the thought of someone like him— with a title like his, and all the authority that came with it— having to tiptoe around you, too afraid to call you out on your bullshit. Your eyes drag down the features on his face, lingering maybe just a moment too long to watch as his glasses drift down the bridge of his nose, until his hand moves to adjust them. At least he's easy on the eyes, you think, snapping back to reality when his eyes tear away from his screen, looking directly back into yours.
Your back goes straight, and the backrest of your desk chair snaps back, hitting you in the back of the head. Looking back, you see his eyes had already returned to his screen, and you frown. You'd almost prefer it if he were to laugh at you. At least then, you'd believe he's human and not a lab-made corporate slave. Boring.
Your hand twitches at your side, feeling your phone buzz. Beneath the desk, you open it, smiling at your boyfriend's name atop the message notification.
Jay: hey baby hows work?
You: awful
You: i literally hate it here
You: i might actually jump out the window
Jay: dramatic as always
You: are you making fun of my suffering?
Jay: relax. just teasing baby
You: what you up to right now?
Jay: waiting for jake to finish in the shower
Jay: and thinking about you
Jay: you?
You: thinking about you too
You sigh as you click send. Your boyfriend, unlike you, got to go on vacation with his best friend. And while they get to lounge on beaches and eat at expensive restaurants, you're stuck here, trapped in this boorish hellhole surrounded by tired, boring, old people. It's not fair.
Jay: yeah?
Jay: ill be back soon
Jay: flight home sunday
Jay: come over monday?
Jay: wanna see you
You grin, picturing the suggestive smile on his face. You do a quick look around you, before replying.
You: sure you wont be too tired?
You: i dont wanna keep you up...
Jay: you can keep me up anytime
Jay: you know i dont mind
Face growing hot, you bite your lip, too immersed in the thought of all the things you'd do when you finally get your hands on your boyfriend again to hear the footsteps behind you. You're mid-way through typing your reply when suddenly your phone is snatched from your hands.
Your expression quickly going cold, you snap your head around, meeting eyes with none other than Mr. Park.
"What the fuck?" You scoff, loud enough that you hear a few conversations die, and the sound of keyboard typing slows down. You look around, feeling your coworkers' eyes on you and, lowering your voice, you return your attention to your boss. "What do you think you're doing?"
"No texting during work hours," his tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s explaining a foreign concept to you. His eyes flick to your desktop screen, where your Instagram is open. "None of that either."
You feel your face burn, closing the tab immediately.
"It was literally just for a second, Mr. Park," you roll your eyes. But seeing him look at you like that, stern like your father, you realize having an attitude won't get you what you want. With a sigh, you wipe your expression clean, looking up at him with the best sorry-eyed look you could manage. You hold out the palm of your hand, "Give it back to me. Please? I need to respond. My boyfriend—"
"Your boyfriend can wait. And so can you."
The sound of two more message pings is heard, and his eyes drop to the screen. The corners of his mouth twitch into the faintest hint of a smile before he swiftly tucks the device into his pocket. Meanwhile, your stomach twists with a mix of humiliation, annoyance, and disbelief at his sheer audacity to find any of this amusing. Since when did Mr. Park, of all people, find anything amusing, anyway?
"You can get it from my office later. In the meantime, how about you finally get to that acquisition brief you've been avoiding?"
An hour of angry typing later— summarizing some company into neat little bulletin points just so that Mr. Park can skim it and decide whether any of it is worth moving forward with at all— you're sending him the document, marching towards his office as the rest of the floor filters into the elevator. You don’t bother knocking; the same way he hadn’t bothered to warn you before snatching your personal property from your hands.
He doesn't even flinch as the door bursts open, heels clicking with each stride. He doesn't look up until you stand just before his desk.
"It's done," you gesture with your hand, open-palmed. "Now give it back."
"Impatient, are we?"
He moves slowly, without urgency, adjusting his glasses as he clicks around. After what feels like an eternity of watching him read, he finally tears his eyes away from the screen.
"I'm impressed."
"Are you, now?" You reply dryly.
He hums in approval, as if you care to hear it.
"This is the first time since onboarding that you've properly followed through on a given task— and not only did you follow through, you did a good job," he continues, scrolling down the page. "Well-written, well-researched, not a single typo... could use a little bit of refining, but—"
"Okay?" You shift uncomfortably, restlessly tapping your foot. "...Phone?"
His eyes drag from the screen, back to yours, looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, but all you know is that it's far removed from the veil of politeness he carried himself with day-to-day.
He nods to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
"Sit with me. Won't you?"
Reluctantly, you lower yourself to the leather cushion, smoothing the length of your skirt. You stare at him like it's a competition you refuse to lose, though you're starting to suspect it's entirely one-sided, seeing how he eases.
That's the kind of boss Mr. Park is, isn't he? Stern, but gentle. So well-mannered. So god damn clean-cut, calm, collected and controlled.
You suppose that must be why your father speaks so highly of him— why he assigned you to his team, under his supervision. You would've walked all over someone too soft and caused a whole lot of problems for someone too harsh. Mr. Park is harder to pin down, striking a balance somewhere in the middle, firm enough to make you hesitate before pushing your luck, but never enough to actually stop you from doing it.
"What do you want?"
"I want to discuss your work ethic. Or, lack thereof." His hands clasp together on the table, posture upright. "Frankly, your laziness is a liability to my team, and I would've fired you a long time ago if I could."
You blink, slightly taken aback. So he does have the balls to call you out directly, rather than beating around the bush. You’re the one feeling impressed, now.
"Me? Lazy?" You feign innocence, jaw dropping as if he hadn’t literally caught you red-handed scrolling Instagram and borderline about to sext your boyfriend. "Mr. Park. I swear to you, I am trying my absolute best. If that's not enough for you... Well, what can I do? I can't help being young and inexperienced. I'm still learning."
He inhales deeply, eyes scanning your face once again. A small, polite smile breaks as his tone softens— acutely controlled, steady.
You already know how this will go. It's the same thing every time. He calls you in. Calls you out politely. You deflect, avoid the consequences, and he sends you off when he gives up trying.
Except, he doesn’t this time.
"I think it is more than reasonable to expect a grown adult like yourself to show up to work on time. Don't you agree?"
You glare for a few moments, waiting for him to cower in fear as everyone else in this building does. But he doesn't falter. He doesn't bend to your will as he should. He only stares back, just waiting. Patiently. Calmly. Without intention to intimidate. Without the intention of grovelling in submission.
Decidedly done with pretending, you slump back in his chair, like you're at home, lounging in your living room and not currently sitting in your boss's office, being scolded.
"I can't control traffic, Mr. Park," you roll your eyes.
"Neither can I. Nor can anyone else in this office. And yet, you're the only one who's walking in ten... sometimes twenty minutes late?"
You don't even bother to respond, pretending like you hadn't heard a single word he said. You look down at your manicured nails, briefly wondering if you remembered to book your regular appointment. Maybe you could ask Jay what colour to get next time—
"Hey," his voice drops, leaning across the desk. Your eyes lock with his as he snaps his fingers. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
You look from his fingers, then back to him, a blatant scowl on your lips. Your hands curl into fists, tension coiling in your chest as your irritation slowly morphs into something overwhelmingly worse, given how he just snapped his fingers at you like some kind of dog.
You don't wish to question why the sudden change in his tone seems to command your attention. All you know is that you're sick and tired of sitting in his suffocatingly sterile, drab-looking office while you could be literally anywhere else.
"Mr. Park." You drag out his name. You're beyond annoyed now, and you don't care one bit that you're practically whining like an overgrown toddler, "Does it even matter if I'm, like, a little bit late?"
"...A little bit?" He repeats, almost in disbelief, as he glares at you. His hands tighten together, "I am trying to be gracious here. I really am. I don't think I am asking for much—"
"I show up, and I get my work done." his jaw tightens as you interrupt, eyes landing on your index finger, pressing firmly against the desk as if to make some kind of valid point. "I don't get what the big deal is. So just give me back the phone, and let it go."
With that, he stands, hands slamming down against the desk. There's a fire in his eyes, one you'd never noticed before, and suddenly your eyes drift to his hands. You note how large and strong they look, sprawled out against the wood, and shamefully, it makes you wonder what his arms must look like, hidden beneath the layers of his perfectly tailored suit, which hug his broad frame and— fuck, seriously? Is this what a few weeks without your boyfriend does to you?
"Your work is sloppy, lazy and barely meets the deadlines. Please use your common sense." He nearly growls, "You are not a child. I shouldn't have to scold you like one just for you to do your job."
"Well, sorry it doesn't meet your standards," you scoff carelessly, dismissively, "And sorry that I'm not an old, miserable, workaholic asshole like you."
Your hand slams back down on the desk, mirroring his rage. And just like that, his empty, ceramic coffee mug at the edge of the desk topples over and shatters into pieces. You wince at the sound, and in the dead silence, you both stand, staring at one another. Unmoving.
"Clean it up."
"...Me?"
"Yes, you. That's what people do when they cause problems," he circles the desk, until he's standing right in front of you, looking down. "They fix it themselves. Or did your daddy never teach you that?"
Sometime later, you return from the closet holding a broom and dustpan in a shaky, rage-fuelled grasp, huffing and puffing because it's just so stupid. Him, bossing you around like he has the right. Like your dad doesn't own him. But you think the stupidest part is the part of you that feels inexplicably inclined to listen.
You try to crouch down to keep the dustpan steady as you sweep up the broken ceramic pieces, but you quickly realize your tall heels and tight pencil skirt won't allow you to do that. He watches your every move, seeing how you huff as you slip off your ridiculously expensive footwear, seeing how you don't dare to look at him as you lower yourself to your knees.
"Look at you," he speaks, slow and cruel, making sure you hear every word loud and clear, "Bet you've never cleaned up your own mess before, have you?"
His footsteps approach, his shoes coming into view. You look up, meeting his gaze. And holy shit. There is no good reason for the strange, sudden flare of something hot and unwelcome you feel at the sight of your boss looking down at you like that— like you're a speck of dust, tainting his otherwise spotless existence.
"Useless fucking intern."
His words don't make you want to slap him, as you should. They make you feel something traitorous. They make you think of things you quickly shove deep, deep down, hoping to god they never resurface and see the light of day ever again, and you're too struck by the shock of your own body's reaction to even process what he'd just called you.
"Apologize."
"Why?" You carefully challenge, your glare sharpening, "I didn't do it on purpose—"
"Apologize."
You click your tongue, a defiant huff escaping you as your eyes return to the ground.
"I'm sorry, m'kay?"
"Look at me," he repeats, crouching down. His thumb and index finger hold your phone, dangling it in view, and you try to reach for it, but he pulls away. "Speak up, and say it nicely."
You crane your neck, sweaty hands curling into the fabric of your skirt despite the overly air-conditioned room. His glasses are gone now, giving you a better look at his hardened expression. He's not disappointed. Not just frustrated. He's completely, utterly floored by the audacity of you.
You find yourself staring a little too long, captivated by just how gorgeous he looks when he's no longer hiding behind a veil of professionalism. You just can't stop looking at the twitching of his strong brows, the fury behind those beautiful brown eyes, the way that sharp jawline of his clenches, and that frown on his pretty lips— stop.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Park."
You surprise even yourself with how easily the words seem to escape you— how there is no defiance or strain to be heard at all as they fall from your lips all too pathetically.
It haunts you long after you've left the building.
[Monday]
Friday night, you tossed and turned, trying to erase the image of your boss from your mind.
Saturday, you went out with your friends, hoping that drinking until you passed out would somehow reset your brain back to its normal functions.
Sunday morning brunch, you silently suffered through your hangover as you sat across from your father, not a hair out of place as you sat pretty on the rooftop terrace, pretending like the late morning sun wasn't worsening the terrible throb in your head. But your headache was long gone the moment your father's words gave you something far worse to worry about.
"I spoke to Park yesterday," he said.
Your stomach dropped, knowing the conversation could have only gone one way. If what you’d assumed was true—if he told your father about all the half-hearted reports, all the times you’d shown up late, about your attitude, about how you text during the workday—all the things a father trying to maintain a perfect image and groom you to take over his empire wouldn’t want to hear—then it would be over for you and your precious credit card. You could kiss your shopping sprees and fancy restaurants goodbye.
Instantly, you debated the possibility of biting back. You could tell your dad that Mr. Park had verbally berated you, humiliated you— but contrary to popular belief, your father isn't as doting as people would assume. He might get you a good job, but he would never fire one of his best employees just because you decided to whine about it.
"Whatever it is he said, I swear, daddy, it's—"
"I was very shocked," he continued, "To hear that you've been nothing but wonderful."
Wonderful. Of all the things he could've said about you, he chose to lie.
Needless to say, you arrive Monday morning— late, as usual— expecting something, though you’re not sure what, only to find everything completely normal. As if Friday never happened.
There are no hushed whispers among coworkers. No requests from Mr. Park. Nor does he avoid your gaze when he enters the office, shooting you a typical, polite smile. You find yourself watching him throughout the day, trying to catch a glimpse of the man you’d encountered Friday evening, but he wears his mask well.
He does, however, summon you to his office again at the end of the workday. Because, of course, he would on the day your boyfriend is finally back.
"This better be quick," you snap almost immediately. Impatiently.
"I believe I owe you an apology," he starts, back to his usual polite smile. "I lost my temper, and I spoke to you in an insulting and highly unprofessional manner."
You stare, flatly, looking him up and down. Too fake. Too eager to please.
"You know, my dad told me all the nice things you had to say about me, Mr. Park," you hum, almost bored, "Guess I'm just a bit confused as to why you would do that for me, since I'm just a useless fucking intern."
"I think we both know how much weight your words carry around here, young lady."
"Oh?" You raise your brow, the gears turn in your head. “You think I'm gonna get you fired?"
"...I wouldn't put it past you." He manages, which earns a laugh from you.
"Yeah. I wouldn't put it past me either," you look him up and down, allowing him to believe that you somehow hold that kind of power. "You can unclench your butthole, Mr. Park. I'm a bitch, but I'm not evil."
He sighs, appearing more unimpressed than relieved.
Realistically, the most your father would do, if he even bothered to listen, would be to move you to another department, which would be just another pain in the ass. But you're not about to tell him that.
"You are unbelievably difficult."
"Yeah, I get that a lot," you deadpan. "Can I go now?"
"Not yet," he gestures to the chair, "Sit."
You frown, opening your mouth to protest, but he quickly continues.
"You didn't think I was done with trying to correct your behaviour around here, did you?" He says, "I promise, it won't be long."
Foolishly, you believe him.
Dramatically, you plop yourself down.
"Is it because I was late again?"
"I just want to talk."
"About?"
"I was thinking, after our conversation on Friday. You are the only employee I haven’t interviewed. I know your face. I know your last name and the power it holds. I know your father and the things he says about you. But I don't know you," he starts, "So tell me about yourself."
"Seriously?" You snort.
"Yes, seriously."
You sigh. Deeply, deeply annoyed.
"What do you wanna know?"
"Anything," he shrugs, relaxing back into his chair. He watches you pensively. "What do you like to do? Any hobbies?”
"I dunno. Shopping. Going out with my friends or my boyfriend..." You're not sure why you hesitate to mention that last part. You shrug. "I don't do much, I guess."
"What do you do when you go out? Anything fun?"
"What do you think college students do when we go out, Mr. Park?" You grin.
He returns your teasing with an easy smile.
"Fair enough. You like to party. Then—"
"Did you like to party when you were my age, Mr. Park?"
"I believe I'm the one asking the questions."
"Come on. Now I'm curious," you look him up and down, picturing a twenty-something-year-old version of your boss.
Briefly, you wonder if he’s the kind of person who grew into his looks, or if he’s always looked that good. Hell, you could only begin to imagine what kind of heartthrob he must’ve been if he’s always looked like this— probably could’ve fucked a different girl every night. Probably still could, if he wanted to. Is this what college fuckboys grow into? Boring, business men who bask in their own self-importance?
"Bet you got a lot of attention from the ladies, huh?"
You don't really think about what you're saying until it slips out, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks at the fact that you'd just indirectly called him attractive.
Thankfully, he changes the topic, seemingly unfazed by your comment entirely. The same way he redirects the conversation in meetings when they get too side-tracked. Professional, as always. You decide to let yourself believe that he didn't hear it.
"According to your application, you're a Business major."
"Mhm."
"And if my memory serves me right, your grades are excellent."
"Guess so."
"You like studying business?"
"Sometimes."
"So you do have aspirations." He says, and you flash him a glare. "What, did you expect me to assume that you do? I have to practically breathe down your neck to get you to do your job properly."
"My 'aspirations' can wait. I have time."
"Young people always think they have time. But one day, you'll wake up and realize you're thirty-something, and—"
"You're only in your thirties, Mr. Park?" You dramatically gasp, "Sorry. Just. You're so boring and serious, I thought you were way older. Like, forties, at least."
Your teasing falls flat, as does your attempt to derail the conversation.
"What I'm trying to say," he says firmly, swiftly easing his tone of voice, "is that you're not wrong for wanting to live your life. However, you have been handed an opportunity that most people your age can only dream of, and it would be unwise to continue acting like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to you."
You roll your eyes.
"Do tell me— What are your aspirations?"
"I don't know."
"You must have some idea."
You don't respond, and he studies you for a moment, dissatisfied.
"You spend a lot of time researching luxury brands on your work computer. Not just shopping— reading. Articles, reports, brand strategy, market positioning."
"You sure spend a lot of time watching what I do."
"I only watch to confirm that you are not doing your work, as always," he says flatly, "Those companies you're reading about— they're businesses. Structured, valued, acquired. The same way anything else is. If you're looking to work in that industry, then the things you're learning here can be valuable."
"I'm not," you say a little too defensively, scrambling for your words, "It's just brands and clothes. Who cares?"
"You care, clearly."
"I don't."
"I have a hard time believing that," he comments, then persists, "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"
"Will you even be alive in ten—"
"Yes, I get it. I'm old. Very funny. Though if you're planning on becoming a comedian, I'd advise expanding your portfolio of jokes." He deadpans, "I'm asking you a simple question. What do you want?"
"Does it even matter what I want?" You scoff, muttering, "Everyone knows my future is here.”
He leans back in his chair, "You plan to take over your father's position one day?"
"That would be real fun, wouldn't it?" You avoid the question with a grin, "Me, bossing you around."
"You realize the sooner you give me proper answers, the sooner you can leave."
You huff, and after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you look down at your lap.
"You know how these things work. Needing to continue the family business, or whatever." You gesture aimlessly, shifting uncomfortably. "It's stupid. Honestly. I don't give a single crap about this company, and I'm obviously not even good enough for it either, so I don't know why he insists that..."
You trail off, shaking your head at the amount of information you just volunteered.
"You think you're not good enough?" Mr. Park furrows his brows.
"My work is shit. You said it yourself."
"That brief you gave me last Friday wasn't shit."
"That's one time."
He pauses. Suddenly, he’s leaning forward.
"You want to know what I think?"
"No."
"I think you'd rather be dismissed as lazy than to actually try and risk falling short of perfection."
The silence weighs on you.
"You must feel there's a lot of pressure to succeed, whether that be through on your own path, or following the one that's set out for you, don't you?"
"You pry around in all your employees' personal lives like this?"
"As your boss, it's my job to make sure that you do your job," he states. "Confronting you last time didn't work, and I can't exactly fire you. So I'm trying a different approach— to understand you."
You shift uncomfortably in your seat, irked by his gentle tone and how his eyes seem to look right through you. You'd rather he raise his voice. You'd almost prefer he insult you like the last time. Useless is easy. Spoiled is easy. This... is invasive, getting under your skin in ways his anger hadn't.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do with your life. But maybe I can convince you to take advantage of the opportunity you've been given. I'm not just saying that as your boss. I'm saying it as a mentor— and as someone who was once just as stubborn as you are." he smiles, "I don't want to see you wasting your potential."
Your mouth twitches.
"Yeah? Well, I don't want you to keep wasting my time," you cross your arms defensively, "You said this wouldn't take long, Mr. Park."
"How can I support you? How can I help you succeed at this job?" He presses further, "Is it more guidance? More positive reinforcement?"
"I don't want support. I don't want to succeed. I want to leave."
"You can leave when I say you can."
"Technically," you correct, "I can leave whenever I want."
That’s when you notice it—the look in his eye, barely containing that temper he seemed so intent on hiding beneath his clean-cut appearance and deceptively steady composure, as if you hadn't already come to know that side of him only yesterday.
Voice strained, he continues.
"I'm offering understanding and support. I'm letting you know that, despite our conversation last week, I don't expect you to be perfect; I just expect effort. Can you please try to meet me halfway?"
You suppose you could make this easier for both of you and just say whatever he wants to hear. But you don't want to give him that satisfaction. Not after he made you sit there, making assumptions about your inner thoughts, acting as if he knew you. Not after whatever the hell happened on Friday, which had left you hot and frustrated in ways that made you resent him even more than you previously did.
Seeing the telltale signs of his anger, through the clenching of his fist, and the narrowing of his gaze into something sharp, a flicker of excitement stirs within you. What better payback would there be than to make your ever-so-perfect superior snap again?
"What is this, Mr. Park?" You mock, "Performance coaching? Amateur therapy?"
"Don't talk back to me, young lady."
"Oh, Mr. Park," you laugh, hardly suppressing your smile. "I think you're well aware that I can talk to you however I like."
Your fingernails tap against the desk, and you allow yourself a moment to capture the image of his deeply frustrated, beautiful face in your mind.
"And you know what?" You continue, leaning forward, "There's absolutely nothing you can do about it."
There's a silence, a calm before the storm.
"That mouth of yours... do you even hear yourself when you speak?" He growls. A beat passes, and he leans in too. "Or is that dumb little head of yours so empty that you don't even realize how fucking irritating you sound?"
Oh.
Your nails dig into the desk. His voice, low and unrestrained, ignites something deep within you.
"Speak to me however you like. Be as blatantly disrespectful and bitchy as you please. It won't make you any less pathetic. It will never change the fact that you're just a useless, whiny, spoiled, little girl who's never had to try a day in her life."
One leg crosses over the other, feeling how his insults seem to burn in ways they definitely shouldn't. What you should be doing is searching for the words to talk back like you'd intended. Instead, your mouth presses firmly shut, trying not to think about the heat that rises between your legs, and how it throbs without justification. Making him surrender to his anger was supposed to feel satisfying, not the opposite— Not this.
"What's this? Now you don't have anything to say?"
"No,” you quip, rather weakly.
You curse yourself for that being all you can manage. If you were in the right state of mind— if his voice weren't so low and effortlessly commanding— if his face weren't so damn attractive when he's pissed the fuck off— maybe then you could bite back. But right now, there was something deeply wrong with you, and you needed to get the fuck out of there and deal with it immediately.
"So be it." He mutters, "Get the fuck out of my office."
Your legs carry you out, feeling unsteady in your heels as if you didn't know how to walk in them, all thanks to the distracting, near-unbearable arousal which seems to linger. Your phone rings in the elevator, Jay's profile picture on your screen.
"Hey, baby. Just wondering if you're on your way? Been waiting a while," he says, "Everything okay?"
"No," you swallow, fingers curling around your handbag. "Everything is not okay."
"He is such an asshole, Jay," you groan.
He only hums in response, as his lips roam your neck.
You had arrived at his place only minutes ago, and you were already beneath him, sprawled out on his couch, eyes fluttering, and lips parted as he took his time worshipping you.
It's uncharacteristic of him. Jay isn't usually the type of boyfriend to be placing his hands on you the moment you walk through the door— he'd usually offer a drink, sit with you, talk to you like there's all the time in the world, before deciding to make his move. A real gentleman, unlike the flings you’d wasted time with before him. But you both knew how desperate you were to get your hands on one another, so all the talking vacation photos and complaining about Jake could wait.
The summer evening sun seeps through the windows of his downtown condo, his tanned skin illuminated by a warm, golden glow, and while you should feel relieved to finally be back here— in his living room, in his arms, with his playlist humming low in the background as he shows you just how much he's missed you— you instead find yourself tangled up and knotted in your frustrations from the past few days.
"You know what he said to me?" You continue, brows furrowed.
"What'd he say, hm?" He mutters against your skin.
"He called me lazy."
He chuckles when you let out a whimper, kissing a particularly sensitive part of your neck, and a shiver runs through you at the feeling of his breath.
You're more reactive than usual, given your... frustrations. And your boyfriend seems to be loving it, given how he's choosing to tease you instead of just taking you right there, like you need him to.
"Well..." You can feel his smirk on you, "Are you?"
"Hey," you pout, fingers gently threading through his hair. "Whose side are you on?"
You tug just enough to look at him. He wears the same playful, easygoing smile he always does. The one you've grown comfortable and familiar with.
"Yours. Always. My girl is always right," he says, leaning down to ghost your lips, before capturing them with his.
You smile into the kiss, a gasp escaping you when you feel his tongue slip into your mouth, and his hands roam the curve of your waist, down to your ass.
"So worked up," he comments, "Must've been exhausting, sitting there and looking pretty all day, hm?"
You feel his hands work away at your blouse, button by button, until his lips are at your exposed chest, peppering kisses down the valley of your breasts.
"You have no idea," you breathe, trying to focus on how good he's making you feel, trying to focus on him, but— "He said I'm wasting my potential."
"That's such a corporate thing to say," he snorts.
You should be snorting too. You normally would, brushing it off like it's nothing. So it's strange, really, that you feel your chest heave in frustration, dissatisfied with... well, you're not exactly sure.
"So you think he's wrong?"
You hear him sigh, and he props himself up, blinking down at you. His smile is kind, partially amused, partially only tolerating your antics with far more patience than anyone would expect from a man who hasn't seen his girlfriend in weeks. A moment passes, watching, waiting— deciding, finally.
"I didn't say that," he says gently, a hand moving to your cheek. His thumb moves in slow circles, and his tired, jet-lagged eyes scan your expression, trying to read you.
"What do you think, then?"
"I think..." he begins, carefully, "...that I'm a bit confused. Do you want me to take your side or not?"
"That's not an answer, Jay."
"Then I think you need to relax," he replies, his voice a little lower now, and you feel a hand dragging up the length of your thigh. "It's just some summer thing. You're taking it too seriously."
"I'm not, trust me."
"Then don't think about it."
He kisses you again, and you squeal when he pushes past your skirt. He thumbs the top of your sheer-black stockings, which hug the plush of your upper thigh, before moving to the heat between your legs.
"Shit," he breathes, palming you, feeling just how absolutely soaked you are through one layer of fabric, "Missed me that much?"
A pang of guilt runs through you, knowing part of your arousal is due to something else entirely. But you remind yourself that it's only because you missed your boyfriend, and your mind was only wandering because you were bored.
"Don't worry about anything else, sweet girl, m'kay?" He whispers, "Let me take care of you."
You pull him closer by the collar of his shirt, kissing him harder, and his response is immediate. His hands, familiar, practiced, safe and... easy. Against your will, your mind wanders to echoes of a voice that doesn't soften when you push back— of words that shoot to kill when provoked.
[Tuesday]
"You weren't lying when you said the morning traffic is a bitch," Jay says, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He peeks his head out the window briefly, noting the long line of cars that won't budge.
Meanwhile, you hit your knee against the dashboard as you squirm around in the passenger seat, trying to peel your stockings from your legs. His head whips around at the sudden thud.
"You okay?"
"I can't wear these. I think you ripped them last night," you hiss, as you finally slip them off.
You inspect the torn nylon in your hands, then discard the fabric over your shoulder, landing somewhere in the backseat.
"Did I?" He teases, as if he doesn't fully remember how he had you sit on his face while wearing them, needy hands digging into the flimsy fabric as he'd held your thighs steady. "My bad, baby."
You scoff, knowing damn well he doesn't feel bad about it. You're not exactly mad about it either, though you are a little self-conscious as you check yourself in the sun-visor mirror, your hair neat enough but not exactly as flawless as you usually wore it, your makeup light and hastily applied.
You look down at your skirt, wondering if anyone would notice it's the same one as yesterday, or the faint wrinkles that remained as a result of last night's activities. You kept some clothes at Jay's, but nothing exactly up to the dress code of your current job, so outfit repetition it would have to be— save for an acceptable blouse you'd swapped out with yesterday's, the other long forgotten on his bedroom floor.
"I look like shit—"
"You look perfect."
"Fuck, I'm going to be so late!"
"Aren't you always?" He laughs.
"By, like, ten minutes. Not an hour," you groan, rummaging in your makeup bag. You fumble for your usual lipstick, looking in the mirror to apply. "Mr. Park is going to flip."
You don't want to admit that part of the reason you're stressed, though, is not because you fear him. Rather, you’ve become increasingly worried by the way your body seems to react to his temper.
"Just tell your dad to deal with it."
"You tell him. He listens to you more than me," you swipe the corners of your mouth, making sure your application is as neat as it can be for being applied in the car.
"I just know how to talk to him, that's all."
"Smooth talker."
"You mean charismatic," he winks, and you roll your eyes. He turns his attention away. "If it makes you feel better, I'm gonna be in deep shit, too. First day back, and I'm already late."
You watch how his eyes fixate ahead of him as the vehicle inches forward, one hand on the wheel, while the other reaches for your knee, mindlessly.
He looks like a wealthy man’s son in his tailored suit and neatly combed back hair. It's the reason you two just made sense— why your fathers got along, and why your mothers asked "so when's the wedding?" as if you were even close to the age where you should be settling down.
But, well, if not Jay, then who? He’s handsome, privileged, and laughs off your attitude with an easy smile. He walks through life like he’s weightless, talks like he’s worriless, and shakes hands with powerful men as naturally as he breathes air— and you suppose that's because it is. It’s what he was born to do.
He’d probably do a better job running your father’s company than you ever would, wouldn’t he? A part of you always assumed that’s why your parents love him so much. A union with Jay would mean the family fortune would be in good, responsible hands, unlike yours. You can’t really blame them for thinking that.
Jay drops you off with a quick kiss, both of you smiling into it as you say your goodbyes. And when you step into the elevator, tugging at your skirt and smoothing your hair, you can’t help but wish you could float through life as easily as your boyfriend seems to.
You're expecting the worst as you step out of the elevator, though you keep your chin held high despite the nerves coursing through your veins.
Sinking into your chair, your hands dig into your knees, and you prepare yourself for that look from him, only for you to take a quick, cautious glance behind you and find… nothing.
Mr. Park doesn't look up. He doesn't toss a glare or call you over to his office like you'd expect him to, given that you just walked in almost an hour late. He hadn't even left a passive-aggressive comment in your inbox, or a reminder to start your tasks or anything.
Okay, you think. So it's like that?
You turn your head back around, head craning just a bit more. And though you're certainly not about to complain about it, had he really given up just like that? One interrogation, and he decided your "wasted potential" was better off wasted? That would just be too... easy. Too simple.
No, you frown. Mr. Park isn't like that. He's a pest, an ever-present pain in the ass. You tear your eyes away with certainty this time. He's probably just scared like last time, right? Or worried you'll run off and badmouth him to father dearest?
You click through a few tabs for the next hour, pretending to work, pretending not to be so goddamn bothered, and pretending not to think about why that is. When, suddenly, you're watching others stand from their desk, filing into the conference room down the hall.
"Hey," you tug at your right-hand coworker's sleeve. Mr. Yang, you think, though you never bothered to learn his name, seeing how he never bothered to look you in the eye. "What's happening?"
"Ah, we have a meeting, remember?" He gulps, managing a polite smile, "An email was sent out last week—"
Rolling your eyes, you let go of his sleeve, and he mutters something before scrambling away. Then, you gather your things, trailing in with the rest of them only moments later.
You’re only half-listening, your eyes practically glazing over as Mr. Park speaks. He hadn't even bothered to acknowledge you today, so you might as well do the same to him, right? Though unlike everyone else in the room who listens like their life depends on it, you don't find it so difficult to ignore his dull droning. In fact, it's a little bit too easy to drown out the sound of him as your eyes drag over his tall, broad frame.
Suddenly, your name is called. Your eyes snap to him, as the room's eyes snap to you.
"Since you worked on the brief," he says, "Walk us through it."
Your stomach drops, and before you can think to glare, you're blinking, stunned.
"...What?"
You try to read him, to look for some kind of cruel intent behind his steady gaze. Instead, you find he almost appears wholly uninterested. That, you think, is far more infuriating than the former.
There's an uncomfortable pause in the room. The sound of pens scribbling and laptops being typed comes to a slow halt.
"You wrote it," his voice is steady. "So explain it."
You swallow dryly, unmoving, until it fully processes in your mind that he is being serious.
Managing a slow nod, you ask for a moment as you search for the file on your laptop, and after some fumbling, you finally pull it up. But as you nervously glance over the document, you’re reminded that you barely remember what you wrote, or what half of it even means, given that you completed it in a blind fury, with the sole purpose of getting Mr. Park off your ass.
"Well, it's basically..." you start, eyes flickering from the screen, back to him, pretending like you aren't trying to read off the document, "about the company's... growth projections."
"Which projections?" His response is immediate.
From the corner of your eye, you notice a few nameless faces exchange glances. Embarrassment tries to fight its way onto your face, and you counter it with your best fake, corporate smile.
"...The revenue ones."
"What about them?"
"They're... increasing?”
There's another pause, and you hear something that sounds like a chuckle disguised as a cough a few seats down.
Mr. Park allows the moment to linger, and to anyone else in the room, it might appear like he's giving you the chance to explain further, but you know what his true intentions are. You see it in the look in his eyes— that small, barely noticeable hint of satisfaction you'd come to know all too well. The same one he looked down at you with when he'd made you apologize to him on your knees. The same one he had when he'd rendered you speechless and flustered, and quite honestly, still threatens to.
"...Increasing?" he echoes, perfectly timed. He tilts his head, like it's a genuine question. "Increasing based on what?"
You don't even bother to open your mouth to say anything this time. Trying to explain yourself further would only dig you a deeper hole, and he’s already made his point. So instead, you sit there, jaw clenched, unmoving.
He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses.
"That's enough," he states, redirecting his attention away from you. "We'll revisit it later. Moving on..."
The rest of the meeting is anything but boring. It's torturous, sitting there with your face hot, as you look around the room, finding eyes that turn to look away as soon as you catch them.
And the worst part? He doesn't even call you in to speak after the meeting. That bastard.
Pacing across the tiled floor of the restroom, you simmer. You'd gone to try and cool yourself down, running your hands under cold water, taking deep breaths.
It's fine. It's just one meeting, and it's not like it matters. It's not like you care about being viewed as competent when you don't even have to be. But did he have to go as far as publicly humiliating you?
For a man who presents himself as pragmatic, he sure has a lot of nerve calling you out in a meeting to talk about something he knows you don't know shit about. Acting so unbothered. So professional. So bored. Seeing him sit there, pretending like he isn't savouring the sight of your misery is... fuck.
You sigh, a heat starting to pool between your thighs again, and you are not about to stand there and try to unpack why the hell you keep getting hot from the way he treats you, because frankly, the only thing you can do is just accept it at this point.
You're about to push past the door to the restroom when, just outside the door, you hear your name uttered. Leaning on it until you peer just a crack, you catch sight of two male coworkers— again, names of which you didn't bother to learn— who work a few desks down from yours.
They linger by the fountain, one of them holding their plastic water bottle up to the pathetic stream of water that leaks from the old machine.
"...don't even know why he bothers to give her real work when she's clearly a nepo hire."
"Right? Might as well just pay her to stand around."
The other male laughs in response, a sly smirk rising as he nudges the other.
"I mean... I wouldn't blame him for it."
The two snicker, and you narrow your eyes.
"Oh, please. Mr. Park?" the other scoffs, raising a brow, "The guy is practically married to his balance sheets. Probably gets off on them."
"Maybe he's got his eye on some new assets."
The other snorts, clamping a hand over his mouth before erupting into laughter, provoking the other to do the same. Meanwhile, your stomach twists in disgust.
Deciding you've heard enough, you push past the door, and one resists the urge to laugh even harder, while the other tries to shush him. You don’t bother to spare them a second glance, your eyes set on one thing only.
In deliberate strides, your feet carry you to his office, shutting the door behind you as you slam your hands on his desk.
"Is there a reason you decided to do that?"
He doesn't look up right away. He types for a few more seconds before looking to you. Calm. Measured. With a goddamn smile on his face.
"Do what?" he asks, "Ask you to explain the brief that you wrote?"
"You put me on the spot and made me look stupid on purpose," you seethe. "If you heard what others are saying—"
"Are you saying you feel embarrassed?" He raises his brows, acting shocked, before letting his expression fall flat. "Then, maybe you should've come prepared."
"I told you I don't care about this job." Your hands curl into fists.
"And I don't care that you feel humiliated by the consequence of your own actions. Did you really expect me to coddle you?"
"You are such an ass." You growl, "Is that why you give me real work? So you can torture me?"
"I'm helping you," He sighs, shaking his head, "And I know you don't understand that yet, but you'll thank me one day."
You scoff at him in disbelief.
"I'll thank you? Are you serious right now?"
"I am."
He says simply. Nothing more.
A beat passes, and you stare— You stare until you snap.
"Bet you'd love for me to thank you, wouldn't you? So fucking full of yourself. 'Oh, thank you, Mr. Park!' Is that what you want to hear? 'Thank you so much—'"
"Stop that."
"'Thank you so much for calling me a spoiled little bitch—'"
"I said stop." He repeats, sharper this time, like a warning.
"'Thank you sooo much for humiliating me—'"
With that, he stands to full height, glaring down at you. You try to straighten yourself out, lifting your chin, determined not to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you.
"If you don't have anything else to say, then get out of my office."
You stare a moment longer, deciding if you want to push your luck. Ultimately, you decide against it. You were done with him today, and you'd have plenty of other opportunities to make him pissed.
"Fine."
The door shuts with a rather loud thud, and you don't see how Mr. Park brings his hand to drag down his face, breathing in deeply as he suppresses the thought of what you just did from his mind. Though it does not work, and the image of his attractive, much younger intern thanking him for the humiliation lingers, unsettling and persistent, following him long after he’s left the office and returned home.
[Wednesday]
Subject: Brief Revision
From: Park Sunghoon
Hello,
Please revise your most recent submission as it is not up to the expected standard of quality.
Thanks,
Park Sunghoon
Chief Investment Officer
Re: Brief Revision
To: Park Sunghoon
make me
You only just hit the 'send' button when you hear a ping from your cellphone. Looking down at the notifications, you grin.
Jay: miss you
Jay: cant stop thinking about you
You: yeah?
You: what are you thinking about?
You're biting your lip, watching the three dots on your screen as you wait for your boyfriend's response, thankful for some kind of distraction— anything to take your mind off of yesterday. But of course, your moment of peace doesn't last long. It never does in this damn office.
Jay: you have no idea
Jay: im so hard right now
Jay: wanna fuck you so bad
You don't feel your boss's presence until he's right behind you, and you freeze when you realize he's right there, leaning down next to you. You nearly jump out of your seat, clutching your phone to your chest. And the expression on his face is... pure horror and disgust. In a less humiliating circumstance, you would find it amusing. But right now, you are in no place to be laughing.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I wanted to see what my intern does on her phone instead of working," he cringes, "Now I honestly wish I hadn't."
"Consequence of your own actions, Mr. Park," you quote him, "Does this mean you'll leave me alone, now?"
"Quite the contrary. If you don't want me looking over your shoulder, reading about... that, then get to work," he folds his arms, and you scowl in annoyance, "You are the one who asked me to 'make you' do your work."
"Pervert," you mouth, so that neither Mr. Yang nor your surrounding coworkers can hear.
He takes a glance around before leaning down right at your ear, breath tickling your skin.
"Says the one sexting at the office," he whispers, and you fight the shiver that threatens to run up your spine as he continues. "Really, do you have any shame?"
He lingers, waiting, and you open the document, reading it over. He waits a few minutes, watching you make a few edits here and there, and after a bit, he leaves.
As soon as he's gone, you delete the edits you've made out of spite, and for the next hour, you waste your time pretending to work, and send back the document with the only thing changed being the font from Times New Roman to Comic Sans.
Re: Brief Revision
To: Park Sunghoon
[attachment fuckoff.docx]
Re: Brief Revision
From: Park Sunghoon
Hello,
Please revise again, as it is still not up to company standards.
Thanks,
Park Sunghoon
Chief Investment Officer
You waste another hour, this time instead making it wordier, longer, and impossible to parse through. The document is now double the length of the original, riddled with unnecessary paragraphs, and you know he'll still waste his time reading because that's the kind of annoying little asshole he is. And once you're satisfied, you hit 'send' again.
Re: Brief Revision
From: Park Sunghoon
Hello,
Yet again, I am asking you to revise.
Please be reminded that you will need to speak about it at next week’s meeting.
Thanks,
Park Sunghoon
Chief Investment Officer
With a sigh, you glance back, seeing him hard at work as usual. And decidedly done with wasting his time, seeing as you aren't getting the kind of amusement out of it you'd hoped for, you open up a new document.
You do it right this time. Not with the intention of putting your whole heart into it, but admittedly, you grow more immersed in writing it than you should. You don't even hear your phone when it pings, and as you near the end of the workday, you don't realize when people slowly start packing up, leaving the building. When you finally click 'send', that's when you notice you've stayed overtime.
There's another ping on your phone, and you curse under your breath, scrambling to pick it up.
Jay: baby?
Jay: guess work is busy today :(
Jay: ill pick you up later
Sent 1:27 PM
Jay: see you soon beautiful
Sent 4:48 PM
Jay: almost done?
Sent now
You gather your things, texting out your reply as you make your way to leave. But, unfortunately, so does Mr. Park. You exchange a stiff glance as you wait for the elevator, which takes its sweet time like always.
"Better."
"Hm?" You raise your brow.
"The brief is better."
The elevator dings, and he gestures for you to step inside first, like he's some kind of gentleman. You'd roll your eyes at him for it if you weren't busy narrowing them in response to his choice of words.
"What do you mean, 'better'?" You ask.
"It means it's better," he repeats, stepping inside after you, "but you can still do better."
He presses the main floor button, and you watch in annoyance. You grip your handbag tight, wondering why 'better' feels worse than 'sloppy' or 'lazy' ever did. Whatever, you think.
"It's good enough."
"It is."
"Then why are you complaining?" You snap.
"I'm not." He replies simply. The elevator doors open to the main floor, and he gestures for you again. Just when you think he’s done, he continues, "I'm just saying you're capable of more."
"Well, I don't want to do more."
You step out, and you fully intend on walking far, far away from the conversation so that you no longer have to simmer in irritation.
"Alright. Sure."
Your steps halt, and for a moment, you watch him as he walks past you. With a frown, you take a few hurried steps forward, intending to catch up with his long-legged strides.
"What the hell do you mean by—"
You lose your balance, as one does when they try to jog in stilettos, and you feel yourself starting to fall face-forward. Then, he catches you by the arm. Blinking up at him a few times, you feel your pulse racing. You try to convince yourself it's from the panic of nearly tripping and nothing more.
"Careful," he utters as he steadies you.
His hand doesn't linger longer than it needs to. His distance is professional, his tone polite. There is absolutely nothing about the moment that should be making your heart race the way that it does.
You notice he moves a bit slower with his next step, allowing you the time to catch up.
"I meant that, for someone who claims they don't care about this job," he begins, pushing the door open and holding it for you, "You seem quite bothered by my feedback."
"You are what bothers me," you quip rather defensively, walking through the door.
"Believe me, the feeling is mutual."
A few cars away, your name is called, and you both turn. Jay is there, waving to you from where he leans against his car.
A faint smile spreads across Mr. Park's face. It's different from the one he wears around the office, more amused than it is polite, though you vaguely wonder if there is something else to it you can't quite place. He doesn't seem to be trying to hide it, regardless, as it lingers on his lips.
"Better not keep him waiting, hm?" He teases, and you feel a flush rush to your cheeks.
He begins to walk away, half-glancing back over his shoulder.
"Enjoy your evening."
[Thursday]
You're ready this time. On time. A coffee cup, half finished, as you type away.
You decided sometime last night— as Jay snored at your side, and you lay awake in frustration after having to fake an orgasm for the first time in years— that 'better' wasn't enough.
You do real research this time, instead of glazing over lines from Wikipedia and paraphrasing them. You organize it all, formatted to the expected standard format, in neat little sections, revise it until you can’t find a single flaw, over and over. You do everything you can until finally, you send it, checking your phone for the time. Barely past noon, and you were already finished.
You lean back in your chair with a satisfied smile and turn to the side to see Mr. Yang looking straight at you.
"What?"
"Oh. Nothing, just," he shakes his head, "I've never seen you that focused before."
His eyes go wide at the realization of what he'd just said, and he begins to scramble. He smiles, a look that screams 'please don't get me fired'.
"I mean, don't get me wrong! I'm not saying you're not focused or anything, or..."
His words fade to white noise in your mind as you spare a glance towards Mr. Park's office, smiling at the thought of when you'd be called in— you wonder what he might be thinking. If he's reading it right now. If he's shocked or maybe even proud.
Except he never calls you in. You refresh your inbox the rest of your shift, thinking he might've at least said something. Anything. He doesn't even stop by your desk or return your glances from across the office, and you decide to finally do what you always seem to do anyway, which is barge straight in.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
He doesn't look up, immersed in something else as he types faster than you think any human should be capable of typing. He’s probably busy. You sometimes forget that he actually has work he has to do, unlike you. But still, you find yourself frowning, shifting your weight where you stand, a good distance away from his desk.
"My work."
"What about it?" He responds quick.
So he did read it, you think, which does nothing to soothe your growing discomfort as you process his lukewarm reaction.
"...Your thoughts?"
He stops typing for a moment, sparing you a glance. Just one single glance, and a small smile.
"It's good."
He immediately returns to working, and you stand there. You just stand there.
"That's all you have to say?"
"Your work is good. You did a good job. What else can I say?"
"I did a good job," you repeat, trying not to seethe.
That's when he stops typing. And somewhat amused, he looks at you.
"What, are you expecting a gold star?" He teases, shaking his head. It's not meant to be cruel. You've seen how he speaks when he's trying to be. And yet, it cuts deeper than his cruelty ever has. "You finally did what I expect from everyone here, and what I already knew you were capable of doing. So good job for proving me right."
Your jaw tightens, and his eyes seem to drop, noticing how your hands tremble.
"Alright. Don't be like that," he starts, his tone softer this time. It does not make you feel any better. "I am pleased to see that you're finally making a real effort."
You exhale sharply through your nose as you watch him get up, circling the desk. And soon, a hand is at your back, gently guiding you to the door.
"But you know what would please me even more? Consistency."
You wince when he pats your back, like that's supposed to be supportive.
"So why don't you get back to it and—"
"You think I care about pleasing you?" You manage, swallowing the lump at the back of your throat, pretending like your heart isn't sinking in your chest because the hours of work you spent perfecting that stupid brief only earned you a good job and a pat on the back. Your hands curl into fists, and you're not sure why. You've gotten a bad grade or two before— disappointed a teacher here and there, felt the shame of failure. But this, right now? You'd never felt so pathetic. “ ‘cause I don't. I just did it so you don't embarrass me in front of everyone again. That's all."
He observes you, seeing how you avert his gaze, how you shift your weight from one leg to the other. You begin to blink, your eyes glossy.
"Maybe I should rephrase myself," He goes on carefully, "You're taking it the wrong way."
"Like I said. I don't care. So don't—" you inhale, "So whatever. Fuck you."
He lets out a deep, heavy sigh.
"Let's not take it there," he warns, sternly, "Good isn't an insult—“
"Then what part of it isn't good enough? What could've possibly fallen short of your standards, Mr. Park?"
Annoyed, but still patient, he observes. Finally, he moves towards the desk, and you watch with your fists still clenched at your sides.
"You want feedback. Is that it?” He asks, pulling out his desk chair, “You could've simply asked."
You watch as he beckons you.
"Come. Sit."
You do. And he hovers behind you, right hand on the mouse, his left on the desk, caging you in. You’re hyper aware of how close he is, with how his cologne invades your senses, and how you can hear him muttering low to himself as he pulls up the document you’d sent. You lay your palms flat against your lap.
"This, right here? It's too much. Same thing here. Here. And here. You're overcompensating,” he cuts straight to the point.
"Thought you wanted me to try harder?" You mutter.
"And I think it's sweet that you're trying, missy, but the goal is not to impress me." A low chuckle escapes him, going straight through you. "The goal is to be as clear and concise as possible."
Your jaw tightens, unsure if it’s in response to his annoyingly condescending criticism, or because you’re trying to fight the dirty thoughts of him that you just can’t quite push away, no matter how hard you’ve tried to over the past week. He continues, clicking to another section.
"This, here? Correct, but completely disorganized—"
"Still correct."
"Still disorganized," he affirms. You take a few deep breaths, and he's humming to himself as he highlights all the problem areas on his screen, "You have a tendency to be messy, don't you? Messy, messy, messy..."
You close your eyes as he trails off, acutely aware of how his voice, low and just inches from your ear, is driving you insane. He scrolls down and stops at the final section.
"Ah, and this rambling nonsense. This is the worst part." Your hands curl into fists at your lap, pretending like you don't feel his eyes shift to you, directly, "What was the point of this?"
"I don't know."
"You wrote it. You must know."
"Like...” you fumble, reeling in your thoughts as you continue, “to give my opinion, I guess? Or... something."
He allows you to scramble over your words for longer than necessary, and you wonder at this point if he just enjoys watching you suffer. Then, you wonder why you enjoy the thought of him enjoying watching you suffer. You take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to calm the fuck down.
"My job is to make the opinions. Yours is to give the information."
You wince when you watch him click 'delete' on the entire last section, and something inside you snaps. You spent hours on that. For him to just— You inhale, slow, controlled, desperate not to show that any of this bothers you at all, because why should it?
"Like I said. It's good." He says.
"Is it now?" You scoff.
He stares. Unmoving. You try to get up, but a hand on your shoulder keeps you planted in the chair, without much force at all. His gravitational pull is enough to keep you there, regardless, you suppose. He spins you around to face him.
"You asked for honesty. That's what I gave you." He replies, "You don't get to be sensitive about my response."
"Never said I was."
"You look like you want to kill me."
You have to fight the urge not to let your eyes drop from his, down to his pretty, full, frowning lips. God, how you wish killing was the only thing you wanted to do to him right now.
"I always look like that, Mr. Park," you scoff, "Hard not to."
"You know, I'm really getting tired of this."
"What's this?"
"Your attitude." He sighs, shaking his head. Exhausted from this. From you. From every exchange turning into something difficult. "Do you always have to throw a hissy fit when things don't go your way? I have real responsibilities here that I need to tend to. I can't spend every hour of the work day lecturing you."
"Says the one who turns everything I do into a lecture," You retort. "Seriously. Sometimes it's like you're finding an excuse to talk down to me, or something."
For some reason, this makes him freeze, like he'd only just noticed how close he was to you. You supposed you hadn't fully realized it either. He's close enough that you can see the moles on his face, the texture on his clear skin, and each individual one of his pretty lashes as he looks at you through them.
His tone is pissed, but his expression is... something else entirely. Wide-eyed, jaw clenched tight. His hand twitches, where it rests on your shoulder.
"You think I like talking down to you?"
"Don't you? Why else would you be doing it so much?" You tease, telling yourself it's just to get under his skin. But, you feel yourself start to grin just a little, your voice a little slow, the hint of something that shouldn't be there beneath the surface. "You do this with all your interns? Get all up in their face and insult them and call them names?"
He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn't appear amused either. He’s still. Uneasy.
"Just the ones who don't know their place.”
You wait for him to tell you to get out. To call you a stupid, immature intern or something along those lines, as he can never quite help himself from reminding you. To your surprise, he doesn't.
"Oh?" You tilt your head, and your grin spreads wider. Your hands curl in your lap, heart pounding in your chest as you continue, unthinking, "You're gonna put me in my place, Mr. Park?"
"Don't tempt me to,” his response is quicker this time, and you catch a glimmer of something dangerous in that calculated gaze of his.
"I'd like to see you try."
His mouth twitches, like he’s suppressing a smile as he looks you up and down. Then he laughs, hand tightening at your shoulder ever so slightly as he leans to your ear.
"You don't know what you're asking for, Miss—"
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, and the two of you jump apart as if you'd just been shocked. Immediately, you stand up from your seat, and Mr. Park turns around to face the window, a hand running through his hair, neither one of you daring to comment.
"I should go."
"Yes,” he clears his throat, “Keep up the good work."
"I won't,” you return with a weak laugh, wincing as you leave.
There, at the door, you find Mr. Yang, eyes nervously glancing past you to try and meet Mr. Park’s, hands gripping the file folder in his hands like they’ll fly away. He offers you a polite nod, before trying to brush by you.
"Mr. Park, I wanted to ask about tomorrow—“
"If you have a question, you can send it to my inbox,” he snaps back, looking over his shoulder, “Leave. both of you.”
"But—"
Thankfully, you're shooing Mr. Yang out of the way, shutting the door behind both of you, reading the room for once in your life.
Finally alone, Mr. Park sinks into his chair, looking down at himself, half-hard in his pants. He brings a hand to his face, groaning to himself.
Surely, it's just the result of it being a long ass time since the last time he'd gotten any kind of action— not since he'd signed his divorce papers two years ago, parting ways with a flame that had long since burned out and refused to reignite.
No. Even he's not sure he can convince himself that's the real reason. Truthfully, the only thing he can blame is the one thing that he doesn't want to admit to himself; that despite all the sighs of frustration and headaches you've caused him, you're not exactly the worst distraction to have at his desk. Pretty, quick-witted at times, short-tempered and, well... very entertaining.
Truth be told, he'd encountered many interns over the years whose work ethics were similar if not worse. You're just more annoying and worse at hiding your phone beneath your desk. And, more intriguingly, you’re the first employee he’s never had to pretend to tolerate.
It was refreshing, to say the least, to be able to say exactly how he feels to your face instead of letting the resentment fester and build, with no way to let it out, like it seems to with everyone else. And yet, no matter how many times he loses his temper, or lets his mask slip, you only return with the same whiny, bitchy little attitude you always do— like you’re begging to be put in your place.
He wants to bury himself at his own train of thought, guilty for even thinking any of it in the first place. He’s your superior. He’s supposed to be guiding you, and he’s put in a great deal of effort to establish some kind of trust with you. Today it finally paid off, seeing as you came to him in search of his approval— and yet here he was getting turned on by it like some kind of creep.
Annoyed and deciding there is no point in dwelling on the thought any longer, he looks to his screen, quickly closing the document.
Fine. You’re attractive. He can admit that to himself. It’s not a crime to think it. But he’s not in college anymore, and though the thought of having his way with you may crawl its way to the forefront of his mind on occasion, it would always remain a thought and nothing more.
[Friday]
You stare at him all morning. Obviously.
How could you not, when the way you jumped apart from one another lingers heavily on your mind? You can still feel his casual touch on your shoulder, his voice at your ear, the scent of him. It’s all-consuming.
Shamefully, a part of your mind wants to search for an excuse to bother him again. You could act out. Go back to avoiding your work and texting instead, hoping he'd come by and talk down to you in that low, stern voice of his. The thought was all too tempting, though it had no business being— you know, given you have a whole ass caring, kind and tender boyfriend.
You mentally scold yourself. There is something extremely wrong with you for even entertaining the thought of ruining your Friday night plans with Jay, just so you can get held behind and berated in your boss's office, isn't there?
"He seems stressed, doesn't he?" Mr. Yang— or rather, Jungwon, as you'd recently learned— comments. "He always gets like this before client presentations. We always say it's the only time he seems human."
You try not to seem too surprised by the fact that there is a presentation today, praying there is enough time to review the client's portfolio.
Everyone begins to file towards the conference room later, and you clutch your laptop in your hands, repeating information in your head as you follow suit, but a firm grasp at your arm halts your steps.
"You won't be expected to speak. In fact, it's better you don't," He mutters, "Understood?"
You nod. Because what else can you even manage to say when he’s speaking like that to you?
You think you finally understand just why he's so tense when you sit down in the room, eyes landing on the various faces around the room. A Senior Executive, whose name escapes you, but whom you've shaken hands with more than once over the years, given his working relationship with your father. Senior Clients and their teams, ready to ask probing, technical questions.
Mr. Park leads like he always does—clean, controlled, efficient, with enough friendliness in his demeanour to appease the obscenely wealthy men he is trying to close a deal with. Every slide transitions exactly when it should, every point lands, and you follow instead of drifting like you used to.
You suppose you could say it's just because you're ogling him, but even in the midst of that, you find yourself nodding along to the presentation, comparing it with the overview document open on your laptop as he speaks.
"We're taking a conservative position going into the next quarter," he says, clicking forward. "Stability over aggressive expansion."
There's a pause as he clicks to the next slide, but your brows furrow at his words.
What he’s saying is not at all what you’re reading… and normally, you would chalk it up to your own ignorance but a direct contradiction of his own words cannot be a misinterpretation.
"Didn't we model a more aggressive expansion for Q3?" You mutter beneath your breath, only intended for yourself.
It’s barely audible, but the room, still and tense, picks up on it. Jungwon, sitting at your side, nudges you, shooting a worried glance.
A few eyes turn— not many, but Mr. Park’s do. His lock onto you, something flickering behind them. He doesn’t seem to realize how dangerous that look is, does he? He has no idea how a single glare has you crossing your legs in the middle of a conference room full of people.
"That was one of several scenarios," he replies evenly.
You nod, instinctively, and look back at your screen like you should. Just as you should keep your mouth shut. And you really were planning to behave today, you swear it, but...
"But it showed stronger returns," you add, just a little bit louder than before— Just enough to appear unintentional to everyone else again, but not enough to convince him. This time, Jungwon looks like he’s about to die on your behalf.
You relish the way he freezes, reeling himself back in to keep himself from glaring at you. That's all you really intended— to shake him, just a little, like you always do. So, it surprises you when a few heads begin to lift.
"I also thought the aggressive model was still under consideration," one of the senior analysts hesitates before nodding to you, then looking back to Mr. Park, "Was it scrapped?"
"Surely, it must be incorporated into the final recommendation?" another adds.
The room starts to buzz, a few murmurs are exchanged, papers shifting as a few flip back through their notes, and you sit there, frozen, because you weren't actually expecting anyone to take anything you say seriously.
"Because if the returns are—"
"The aggressive model was one of several evaluated scenarios," Mr. Park states finally, smoothing out the sharpness of his tone with an easy smile. He continues as the room settles, "The final recommendation reflects the conservative projection. Now, moving forward..."
The room follows, and you keep your mouth firmly shut the rest of the time. Because you know you've done more than enough.
When it ends, chairs scrape softly against the floor. Conversations resume—low, professional, and you gather your things slowly, not daring to look at him. You overhear it as the Senior Executive you'd recognized from before moves to shake hands with him.
"That was a bit messy, Park. I'd expect tighter control from someone in your position," He says, and though you don't turn, you can feel his eyes drift towards you, "And you might want to be more deliberate with how your team contributes in these settings."
"Of course, Mr. Lee."
Subject: Revision
From: Park Sunghoon
Revise and reformat the attached document.
I expect a clean version tonight.
Thanks,
Park Sunghoon
Chief Investment Officer
You were in the midst of getting ready to leave for the evening, packing up your belongings and fantasizing about all the ways Jay would hopefully relieve the ache between your legs tonight, when suddenly that bullshit appears in your inbox.
If he wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier, he could've called you into his office earlier. But no. He chose to assign you a meaningless task at the last minute.
You stare at it, and before you know it, you’re storming down the hall, pushing past his door to find him packing up his own things. He’s slipping his laptop into his work bag, completely unsurprised as you come right up to the desk.
"I know I fucked up, but is that really necessary?" You begin, fuming, "I didn't even mean to cause a scene. I was just reading the notes you provided."
He sets his work bag down, looking to you. His expression is rigid.
"You disrupted the flow of a client presentation," he says, voice tight now, controlled but slipping, "and introduced confusion where there shouldn't have been any."
"I clarified—"
"You contradicted me,” he cuts you off, practically hissing as he continues, “That wasn't your place, intern."
"You contradicted yourself and giving me bullshit to do on a Friday night as punishment won't change that," You retort too quickly, knowing you are right this time, "I have plans!"
"I don't care," he scoffs, voice slowly rising, "the same way you don't seem to care about undermining my authority, so far as having the audacity to do so in front of everyone."
"I asked a harmless question!"
"Harmless?" he laughs, "you humiliated me—"
"Oh, did I?" You snap, "how does it feel?"
He pauses for a moment, and you watch him circle the desk, standing right in front of you, a respectable distance away but… still.
"You think this is some sort of game?"
"I just think you're being unfair,” you swallow.
Now that really seems to make him want to laugh, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. He approaches you, slow and steady, until you’re backed against the desk, hands curling around the edge of it.
"The only thing that's unfair is how you seem to think you can do whatever you like, say whatever you want, and get away with it, like a spoiled, selfish little brat." You gape at his words, trying to find the words to retort, but pathetically, a heat pools in your lower stomach like it always does when he has you cornered like this. "So go on. Do your job. And while you're at it, better let that boyfriend of yours know that you're busy."
Your face burns, and your hands curl tighter around the desk. How dare he piss you off like this, then expect you to get your work done, all hot and bothered?
"With how much you like to call me in here and berate me,” you begin, venom dripping with every last word, “I'm starting to think you like it when I act like a brat."
His hand lands on the desk behind you, and he glares, inches away from you.
"I dare you to say that again."
"You like it when I—"
He grabs your chin, firm in his grasp as he forces you to look at him in those wild, untamed eyes of his.
"How many times do I have to remind you to look at me when you speak?" He says. "Go on."
You stare, and you breathe. Unmoving, hesitant.
"You like it when I act like a brat. When I give you an excuse to tell me off. Makes you feel real important, doesn't it? Like you're the big bad boss, with all this control."
He smiles, cruelly.
"Aren’t you the one who likes it when I'm in control?”
His eyes drop to your quivering lips, then the way you squeeze your thighs together.
"You know how I know? Because you just don't seem to listen when I'm nice. But when I'm mean, when I don't give you exactly what you want, suddenly... you're kicking down my office door, begging for my attention,” his lips are inches from yours now, and you can feel him breathing. “You don't realize how obvious you are, do you? You fall in line so easily."
He finishes, and you wait. Your whole body buzzes with anticipation, Jay being the furthest thing from your mind. But, looking at him, you watch as his hardened expression softens— pained, almost. He doesn't lean away just yet, hand still firmly planted into the desk, until he releases a regretful sigh.
"Get to work. I mean it this time."
You furrow your brows, watching him start to turn his head away, but he’s one big idiot if he thinks for a single second he can just corner you like that, expose that he can read your deepest desires like an open book, and walk away right after, like it never happened— like he isn’t clearly flushed in the face and pitching a tent in his pants right now— like he doesn’t want this as much as you do. As if you’d ever let him get away with that.
In one swift movement, your hand wraps around his tie, and you tug his lips to yours. And as relieved as you are to finally be tasting him, to have your mouth on his, you don't let yourself relax into it just yet— not when you have something to prove. You trace your tongue along his lower lip, gently coaxing his mouth open, and he fucking groans when you do, kissing you back with equal desperation, but much more restraint.
You’re heaving when he pulls away, like you’d forgotten how to breathe, and he stares down at you. Conflicted. Guilty. Annoyed. Speechless.
"Oh no, Mr. Park... did I just misbehave?" You flash him a not-so-innocent smile, fingers curling around his tie, "Guess you'll have to punish me for that, right?"
You're barely able to catch the flicker of annoyance in his expression before he’s grinning wickedly, one hand at your waist while the other moves to your face. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your squeal of surprise, and every other stupidly pathetic sound you seem to make against your will. Every part of you is burning hot, sensitive to the touch, and he seems to enjoy the way you squirm at the simple feeling of his thumb rubbing circles into your waist. Your mouth parts as it slips beneath your blouse, just grazing the bare skin beneath it.
"Is this what you wanted?" He asks, teasingly, “Just wanted me to touch you? Is that why you’re always bothering me?”
You nod fervently, feeling his hand dip between your thighs. You swear your brain begins to short-circuit as he drags his hand painfully slow across your skin, torturing you right up until the moment he’s found your clothed cunt, soaked in your arousal. As if that wasn't evidence enough of how badly you were craving him, you helplessly move your hips against his hand, where he palms you.
"So fucking desperate,” he’s still grinning as he pulls away from your lips, just so he can watch you try to suppress your pretty sounds as he slips past the fabric just to tease you, letting your slick coat his fingers, sliding up and down your folds.
“Oh, now you want to shut up?” He teases.
The hand on your face cups your chin, his thumb sliding to your mouth to keep it parted, just so he can hear exactly what he’s doing to you as he sinks two fingers inside you. His dick twitches in his pants as you moan, breathless and needy, just begging to be filled.
"So fucking pathetic."
You clench around him at his words, fingers curling into you and hitting you right where you desperately needed them to for so long. You gasp when he offers another slow, torturous thrust, before fucking his fingers into you.
Your lashes flutter shut, trying to form a cohesive thought.
"Says you,” you say, eyeing his painfully hard and large erection in his pants. But your eyes fall shut again when his fingers angle into you just right.
"Says me," he echoes, satisfied as your words catch in your throat, "me, who's barely touched you, yet you clench around me like you're about to fucking cum."
Uselessly, you try shaking your head, but then he's fucking his fingers into you like his life depends on it, and you're crying out, grasping onto him. You can feel that familiar feeling start to unravel in you all too soon, too worked up to fight him, too fucking attracted to him to resist it, either. He's so tall, and broad, and freakishly handsome that it almost scares you. You wish you had the strength to peel those layers of clothes right off of him, to see all of him for yourself, and worship every inch of him.
"Who knew that all I had to do to get you to stop being a bitch, was to treat you like one?" He says cruelly, before slowing the pace of his fingers conveniently when you've almost reached your high. "But acting like a bitch doesn't get you what you want."
You whine pathetically when his fingers pull away from you, but he ignores your desperate pleas.
"Mr. Park..."
"I'm guessing you were never taught any manners. Looks like I will have to teach you."
He moves to sit on his chair, and you watch, eyeing the obscene bulge in his pants, only tearing your eyes away when he gestures for you to follow. You follow suit, assuming he means for you to climb into his lap, but before you can mount him, he's grabbing you, folding you over his lap.
With your skirt pushed up, revealing your ass and those little panties which barely cover anything, he's stroking your bare skin. Feeling, groping, never touching you where you need him to most. You can feel just how hard he is now, pressed against you, and it fucking kills you that his grip on your hips won't allow you to grind down against him.
"You wanna be punished?" His voice is soft, but there is nothing kind or good-intentioned about it. You nod, letting out a weak yes. "I'll show you punishment."
There's a pause in the air, heavy breathing as he traces the edges of your underwear, watching it snap back against your skin when he lets go.
"But I'm not gonna be generous, like your daddy." his hand cracks down on your ass, and you yelp, squirming as his large, strong hands keep you in place. "And I'm not gonna be sweet like your little boyfriend who clearly doesn't know how to fuck you right."
He spanks you again, this time with a little more force, and your back arches, crying out. Your pussy clenches around nothing.
"I'm gonna do things my way. And fucking hopefully, when I'm done, my dumb little intern will learn to treat her superior with respect. Got that?"
"Yes, Mr. P—"
You nod, crying out when his hand makes impact with your ass again, and your hips try to rock against nothing.
"Eager to please, are you?" He chuckles, hand rubbing up and down, while the other threads through your hair, lifting your head just enough to whisper in your ear. He pinches your clit, smiling at your little noises. "You're a lot cuter when you're playing nice."
Releasing his grasp on you, he allows you to crawl into his lap. Your lips meet his instantly, your mouth hot and desperate as you grind your hips into his lap. You swear, you're seeing stars at the feeling of his cock against you, and all you want to do is release it from its confines, when suddenly, you're being lowered to the floor.
You blink up at him, on your knees, as his hand meets your chin.
"Touch yourself."
"...huh?"
"Don't make me ask again," he states, stroking your cheek, "You remember what I said about fixing your own problems, don't you? So play with yourself while you tell me how sorry you are for earlier. Then, maybe I'll think about fucking you."
It's humiliating, to say the least, as you peel your panties down and spread your legs for him. But that's exactly why he asked you to do it, didn't he? His eyes are on you, carefully observing as your hand moves down, rubbing yourself in slow circles.
You can't even remember the last time you'd done this on your own, with your hand. Even before Jay, you'd become accustomed to your trusty vibrator to get the job done quickly, dismissively, like it was some chore you were too bothered to take care of. Your face burns as you roll your hips into your hand, while the other works at the buttons of your blouse, enough to palm your chest through your bra.
"M'sorry."
"For?" He questions, "There are a lot of things you need to apologize for, my pretty little intern."
Your eyes drag down to where his hand palms himself through his pants, a whimper catching in your throat as you look back up, "Sorry for embarrassing you today."
"And?"
"For being a brat," you sigh, your finger poking at the entrance of your cunt. He watches it sink in, adoring how frustrated you are with that simply not being enough. His hand moves over his crotch, palming himself absent-mindedly. "For having an attitude. For showing up late. For n-not doing my job right... for— ah"
Honestly, he loses his train of thought watching you slip another finger into yourself, watching your eyes flutter, and your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you ride your hand pitifully. It doesn't take long for him to get his cock out, stroking himself as he watches you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers, your wetness seeping past your fingers and staining the carpet under his desk. You mutter incoherent apologies between whines and gasps until you look to him, licking your lips as you eye his erection.
"Mr. Park," you're whining as your movements become more erratic, "Please... s'not enough, need more..."
Hand still at his cock, he moves forward to place the tip of his cock at his mouth.
"You forgot one last thing," he says as he sinks into your mouth. He doesn't care about how you gag around his length, sliding in until he reaches the back of your throat. "To apologize for starting this. But I don't think you feel sorry about that part, do you?"
He laughs, watching you shake your head, trying to reply with your mouth full. He pulls back for a moment, allowing you a moment to breathe, adoring how you cough and pant, eyes slightly tear-stained.
“Well?”
“M’not sorry,” you finally say, careful not to smile too widely, but it’s hard to hide your look of satisfaction when you’re exactly where you want to be, “Not sorry at all.”
"Dirty girl,” he breathes, “You'll just have to make it up to me."
He sinks back into your throat as you touch yourself, just adoring the way you moan around him every time he tugs your scalp, and how you drool all over him. Enthusiastic and eager to please, he thinks he's obsessed with how you look up at him all wide-eyed, saliva and precum escaping the corners of your mouth from how he's stuffing it full.
He finds himself approaching his orgasm quicker than he would expect at his grown age, having thought he'd left that hormonal, insatiable version of himself he was in his twenties behind. He doesn't mind, though. He's sure you don't either, given how he's working your poor little throat to death.
"Gonna cum, and you're gonna swallow. And you're gonna fucking thank me for it afterwards."
You try to whine in approval, weakly, and he groans, burying himself to the hilt as he spills down your throat, and when he pulls back, he grabs your mouth, humming in approval at the sight cum in your mouth, on your tongue, opened wide for him. You make a show of swallowing it, moaning like it's the best thing you've ever tasted, smiling up at him after like you're searching for a hint of pride in his expression. And fuck, is he proud of you.
"Fuck," he breathes, "You're such a fucking slut."
You barely have time to process what's happening before he's sprawling you over the desk, pens and whatever the fuck else falling to the floor as your back collides with the hard surface. He's hovering above you, tie above your face as two of his fingers sink into your cunt, and god, you're just thankful to finally have something more than the shallow thrust of your own fingers inside of you.
His long, thick fingers curl right into that spot inside of you, and your eyes roll back, not taking much to build you up again. Soon, he's lowering himself, and when you feel his mouth on your clit, you're thrashing around.
"Now, remember what I said?" He coos, "Let me hear it. Say it nicely for me."
"Thank you— ah!" You cry out, fingers curling into his hair.
He's grimacing to himself as your legs fall over his shoulders, pulling his face closer. Hands threading through his hair, tugging harshly, you begin to fall apart. And after being on the edge for so long, you lose yourself around his fingers, his tongue lapping up every last drop.
A string of thank yous leaves your mouth, trailing off into whimpers, but his mouth doesn't leave between your legs until you're practically kicking and shoving his face away, overly stimulated. Still trying to wrap your head around whatever the fuck he just did to you, he's above you now.
As you come down, he hovers above you, and as he gazes over you, taking in how absolutely gorgeous you look spread out on his desk, more than ready to fuck the ever living shit out of you... He then sighs, a hand dragging down his face at the sheer realization of what he's done, and just what he's about to do.
He's supposed to be your mentor, a role model. That's the dynamic he had tried to establish with you, anyway, when he realized how much guidance you lacked and how severely insecure you are behind all the designer handbags, diamonds, and whatnot.
In a moment of weakness, he leans down, kissing you, hands moving to cup your face. He swallows your whines, lost in the kiss when—
"Mr. Park," you whine, dragging out his name in that annoying, breathy tone you always did. Now, he thinks he'll never hear it the same. "You gonna fuck me, or what?"
With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he pulls away from your lips— and of course, you're there, smiling up at him. Because you're exactly where you want to be, getting exactly what you want from him.
He flips you around, bent over the desk, and bottoms you out, quite literally knocking the wind out of you at the sheer force and size of him inside you. He's fucking huge, stretching you open, fucking you so deep you swear you feel him in your guts.
Your nails curl around the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as you take him, back arching, and a cry rips from your throat as his hand smacks your ass. You clench around him in response.
"Greedy whore. So fucking impatient," he groans. "Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you. Fill your tight little cunt."
You're gushing around him when he slaps your ass again, kneading the flesh, gasping with every deep thrust of him. There's not a thought behind your eyes as he takes his frustration out on you, head completely empty, your pussy completely full.
He can't say that his head is all that clear, either, though. Completely gone at the sight of you, a pretty, young thing wrapped tight around his cock like you'd never been fucked properly before. You probably hadn't, he's sure. Guys your age probably make it to three pumps before finishing from the sight of you all spread out alone— hell, he knows he would've if he were still the dumbass he was back then.
God, wasn't it just incredible to see you all wide-eyed and precious, knowing he'd just fundamentally changed the trajectory of your sex life forever. You'd never be able to go back to whatever bullshit you did with that trust-fund boyfriend of yours. Selfishly, he grins at the thought, and he's pulled out of them when he hears your cries get louder.
"I'm close, I'm—"
He grabs a fistful of your hair, dragging you enough so he can see your face.
"Yeah? You think you deserve it?" He slows down, letting his cock drag deliciously and torturously along your fluttering walls. "Think you deserve to cum around my cock?"
You whine, pleas falling from your lips, begging. Grinning to himself, he pulls out, just to flip you around again, because he doesn't want to miss a single second of seeing your dumbstruck, fucked-out face as you finish on his cock.
He throws your legs over his shoulders and places his cock between your legs, dragging the tip over your needy, soaked cunt. It would be a real sweet revenge to jerk himself, coating your poor, desperate cunt in his release, watching it twitch and throb as you beg for completion, wouldn't it?
He shouldn't give you what you want. But...
"You always have it your way," He scoffs, half at himself as he presses into you again, hand braced around your neck. "Spoiled little brat."
Your eyes roll back, and he fucks you through your high, the desk shaking with every thrust, your cries spilling from your pretty lips. He finishes sometime after, spilling deep into your cunt as you flutter around him.
He watches you breathe, his head clearing, the reality of what had just happened and what he'd just done weighing on him. He's already planning how he's going to clean up this mess, when he's going to buy you plan B, how the fuck he's going to go back to work next week and even function properly when—
"Holy shit, Mr. Park," you let out a breathy laugh, "You're such a freak. Where the fuck did you learn any of that?"
He blinks down at you, a second passing before a wolfish grin spreads across his face.
"Let's just say I got around in my younger years.”
[...]
"...GENE Group is currently positioned as a mid-market fashion brand," you begin, voice steady, "but over the past two quarters, there's been a measurable shift toward premium positioning."
You look around the conference room, noting how a few heads lift as you stand before the presentation slides behind you. But there's only one pair of eyes that carries any real weight, and not just because he's evaluating you.
"Retail partnerships have been reduced by thirty percent. The average unit price is up twelve. And their latest collection was distributed exclusively through flagship locations and direct online channels. They're not scaling anymore," you state, hand tightening around the clicker before moving to the next slide. "They're narrowing."
"Speculation."
Your mouth twitches, narrowing your eyes in his direction, careful not to let it linger for too long.
"The data supports a directional shift—"
"It supports a possibility," Mr. Park cuts in, sharper this time, in a tone that he knows you fall apart for. "You're assigning intent."
All eyes are on you now, and you nod once, taking in a slow, steady breath as you cool down your thoughts.
"Then I'll rephrase," you say, smooth, controlled. "The company's recent decisions suggest a move toward premium positioning, supported by reduced distribution and higher price anchoring."
"Better."
Your face is hot now, as is the rest of you, but you ignore it. You click to the next slide. Focus.
"If this transition is intentional, short-term performance will continue to decline," you continue, clearing your throat. "Which explains the current undervaluation—“
"But long-term, a successful repositioning increases brand equity and margin." Someone at the table leans forward, talking down to you like you're some kind of dumbass— which is something you tolerate from one man and one man only.
You scan the room, eyes finding the person in question, recognizing him as one of the sleazeballs who joked about you sleeping with the boss outside the bathroom a few weeks ago. And, well, you are fucking your boss now, you suppose, but at least you're getting laid. You doubt he can say the same.
"This creates a timing opportunity," you reply with a steady smile, "The market is pricing GENE as a declining mid-tier brand. But if the repositioning holds, it becomes a premium asset at a discount. This is where we enter—"
"This section," Mr. Park gestures, "is unnecessary."
You swallow, eyes returning to him.
"It contextualizes the valuation gap—"
"It buries your argument."
"Finish this faster" is what he's really trying to say, seeing how he glares at you like he's trying to look through your clothes. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead nodding.
"Then I'll summarize. In short," you click to the final slide, pulse racing as you continue, "we're not investing in what the company is today. We're investing in what it's trying to become—before the market fully recognizes it. And if they fail, the downside is already priced in."
"So based on current data," you finish, "GENE is a moderate-risk, high-upside opportunity contingent on execution."
You hear a few mutters of approval around the room, smiling to yourself both in relief and anticipation as you wait for him to speak. A second passes as he types a few notes into his laptop.
"Next time, lead with that. There's no need to make people wait for your point. It's a waste of everyone's time," Mr. Park sighs.
He's already closing his laptop shut and tucking it under his arm. And with a polite hand grazing your shoulder, he brushes past you.
"Meet me in my office after."
You have to bite down on your lip to suppress a grin.
"Yes, Mr. Park."
"Everyone is dismissed," he calls out as he exits.
The room gets up, and you collect your things, quietly buzzing with excitement. A few coworkers offer a nod of approval in passing, and some offer a word of encouragement, and you nod wordlessly, thoughtlessly, because all you can really think about is getting into his office before you go insane.
"Hey, don't look so down. You did a great job."
"Hm?" You look up, and Jungwon is there, offering a kind, pitiful smile.
"I've never seen him that harsh... but he's probably just upset over what happened at the client presentation a few weeks ago," He says. You bite your tongue, pretending to hide a frown. "I'm sure he'll warm up again soon. Especially if you keep working hard."
"Yeah." You smile, "I'm sure he will."
You're propped up on his desk, your legs wrapped around his waist as his lips press against yours, groaning into you.
His hands are all over you, at your hips, then at the collar of your blouse, slowly working at the buttons so that he can move his lips down your chest instead, marking you up where your clothes will at least be able to cover you. Though you're gasping when you feel his hand start to climb up your skirt already, before the work day is even over.
"You dragged out that presentation on purpose, didn't you?" He scoffs into your neck, "Made me sit there, thinking about spreading you out on that conference table."
"Sunghoon..." You breathe.
"Not at work," He says sternly.
"Mr. Park," You then continue, whimpering as his lips worship your skin, "Don't you think you were too harsh earlier?"
"Was I? Thought I was just giving feedback, the way you like to hear it," he replies, his fingers now brushing over your arousal. You shiver from the touch, "Think we both know you don't get this wet for praise."
"But was it..." you blink, collecting your thoughts for a moment, breathing hitching, "Was it good?"
He pauses, pulling away just enough to look at you. Taking in your unsure expression, he then cups your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
"You didn't need to drag it out, but apart from that, it was great," He smiles sweetly, hesitantly as he quirks a brow, "You want me to be nice today?"
"Not at all," you shake your head, grinning to yourself, "Just wanted to make sure you're still giving honest feedback.”
"I told you I would. No special treatment... apart from this," He kisses down your face, and you giggle, beaming as he drops his face between your legs, "So let me reward my slutty intern properly, hm?"
You're nodding enthusiastically, but before he can get his face between your thighs, his phone is ringing. You whine as he pulls away, pouting as he tosses you a stern look, and without checking, he answers, a hand still stroking your knee.
"Yes?"
You recognize the voice immediately, fighting back a loud snort.
"...of course. She's been improving."
Your dad’s voice drones on the other end, and you’re just about dead seeing Sunghoon reply in that professional tone of his. Desperately trying not to laugh, you clasp a hand over your mouth, ignoring his glares until his expression then shifts.
"Oh?"
He raises a brow at you, and you tilt your head in confusion, hand mindlessly reaching out to play with the end of his tie. His hand continues to slide up and down your thigh.
"I see. That's... unfortunate."
Though for some supposedly ‘unfortunate’ news, he sure is beginning to smile widely, and you can't help but wonder what the hell your dad could've possibly told him. A few more yesses and hums later, he's hanging up the phone. And he looks at you, brow still quirked.
"Your father seems upset," he says, almost casually, amused as he watches your face drop.
"What?" You scramble, “Over what? Does he know about—?”
"He’s upset about you breaking up with that guy."
Ah. Right. Jay.
You tore off the band-aid pretty soon after you slept with Sunghoon, telling him you’d fallen out of love. Though if you're both being honest, you were never in love with him to begin with, and neither was he. He didn't understand. Didn't see it coming. But you figured leaving him confused would be better than continuing to pretend like your heart was in it at all.
Your father was the one who was taking it the hardest, though. Kept calling you and pleading with you to give Jay another chance. Hell, it seems he even took it upon himself to even try calling your boss. It’s moments like these where you want to tell him to just adopt Jay if he loves him so damn much.
"Is he?" You act surprised, "How tragic."
"You really broke up with him?" Sunghoon asks, definitely not disappointed, but a little unsure about how to react, given the complicated nature of your relationship with one another.
"Yeah," you shrug, "Got bored of him, I guess."
With that, he’s grinning.
"Is that what you're calling it?"
"What would you call it?" You return, brow raised as you pull him in by the tie again. His lips ghost yours for a moment, humming to himself thoughtfully.
"...Inevitable?”
Your laugh is cut short by his mouth on yours, a little too pleased to know he hasn’t had to share you these past few weeks. Still, there’s something else in the way he kisses you. Something that feels like a quiet approval that runs deeper than plain jealousy.
"I'm going to miss this job,” you manage as his lips travel down again, nipping at your collarbone.
"Thought you hated it?”
"I like making your job hard..." You smirk, and he glances up at you, while your eyes travel down, "And you, harder."
thinkin about the time i was chatting with an irl friend and she started talking about fanfic and she was describing one and i was like… wait… girl i wrote that😭😭😭
⪼ quarterback!mingi x fem!reader | PART ONE ~28k
⪼ you can’t fucking stand jung wooyoung, mingi really really wants kim minjeong. when wooyoung and winter end up together, you and mingi have no choice but to figure out how to win winter’s favor, to stab wooyoung in the back. mingi needs a favor, and you want revenge... do you dare?
⪼ fake dating au, college au, slow burn, lowk enemies to lovers, this is my very huge and massive installment for @sungbeam ‘s live alive collab ⋆˙⟡ thank you beamie duckie for putting this together! so happy to be in a collab beside so many other talented writers, be sure to check out the masterlist for other banger college fics :)
⪼ eventual smut minors dni 18+ | LOTS of cursing, insults, toxic til it's not. i don't want to spoil too much but they're in college so they drink and do college kid shit. i hope u enjoy this is my pride and joy in a fic i would eat this mingi as my last meal
“Fuck you.”
Jung Wooyoung has never promised you anything. In your four months of doing whatever the fuck this was, he’s never once lead you believe you’d be anything more than his bed warmer. At least not verbally, and honestly, you had to hand it to him, he’d repeat the same monologue over and over like it was his personal gospel: We’re too young to be in a serious relationship, don’t you think? We should be enjoying our youth, our freedom, doing whatever we want…
If you ever hear the words serious relationship, youth, or freedom ever again, you might actually fucking vomit. In the beginning, it was easy to believe him; you rarely spoke to him outside of the bedroom, yours, his, that one supply closet on campus, the bathroom of that stupid fucking dive bar he loves so much. When he began sleeping over, kissing you awake, leaving with promises of later just to do it all over again, you started feeling blasphemous. Questioning gospel, his words of wisdom, you started to think there was more than just sweat and saliva to your relationship– maybe he enjoyed spending time with you. Maybe he even likes you.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” leaning against the wall of his foyer, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other, you didn’t even make it inside his apartment. The bare, beige walls seemed to laugh at you even if there were no pictures on them, no paintings, no decor.
Too good to be true, of course, since you caught him hand-in-hand with her, Kim Minjeong, Winter, that pretty little thing you’re positive you shared a class with at some point in your three years at ATZU. Your immediate reaction was defense, denial, naturally, because why on Earth would he need anyone but you? He’s told you plenty of times you’re not like anyone he’s met before, that your personality was unique, that you’re the best he’s ever had.
“You’re sorry?!” Your arms were flying around the space, you voice loud, harsh, angry. You didn’t care if his roommate was home, maybe you’d apologize to San if you saw him on campus somewhere. Maybe. Right now, your anger was behind the wheel, driving you to insanity, “Who’s next, Summer? Spring? Fall? You gonna fuck all four seasons, you asshole?”
He shakes his head, black hair falling around his face, the poster board for nonchalance. You wonder how many times he’s had this conversation, how many girls he’s done this to. Maybe you were the problem for thinking you were different, that he’d alter his Ten Commandments for you. He uncurls his arms, straightens out his legs, and motions for the door, voice frustratingly monotonous, “I think you should go.”
“Yeah, I should,” you bite, already turning towards the dark brown, wooden door, “I hope I never fucking see you again.”
“Should be easy,” he says through a much too casual breath, reaching around you to grab the worn, brassy knob, forcing you to step sideways so he can open it. You take a step through the threshold and he leans his lanky body into the frame, “Make sure you return the Chrome Hearts hoodie I left at your place, though, doll. Paid good money for it.”
Face morphing into sheer disbelief, the audacity, only your head turns to look at him, eye legitimately twitching, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t fucking burn it.”
A corner of his lips tug upward in a smile, “Now that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”
“Just like the last four months?” Your brows raise, a faux smile creeping onto your lips, “Don’t text me ever again. Hope she fucks you like I do.”
He doesn’t answer– just stares as you stand there, waiting for an argument, for a rebuttal. Your jaw clenches when you realize you aren’t getting one. Turning on your heel, you stomp down his hallway, down the three fucking flights of steps you’ve climbed every other day for the past four months.
Fuck him. Fuck him.
Humiliation sinks in as you leave his building, anger crumbling into something small, something sad, pathetic. You should have seen this coming, you aren’t stupid, you’re definitely not naïve. You could blame his pretty smile, his cheekbones so sharp they could be considered blades, his beautiful bronzy skin you’d miss tasting, the way he filled you up so perfectly you wondered how you fucked anyone else. You could blame his touch, the grace he used with your body, how he cared for you after he split you open.
The only person to blame here is you. And you know it, deep in your gut, in the ache in your back from carrying the entire relationship you made up in your head, you know it’s your fucking fault you’re hurt. Your friends would tell you soon, too, that they knew this was coming, that they told you he’d do this, they advised you to not get involved with him.
Sighing, looking up at the sky, you squint at the overcast, the blue sky that was now a deep, sad grey. Great, even the fucking sun didn’t want you.
Song Mingi didn’t care about much outside of football. He didn’t have time to.
Almost every day, his schedule was the same: wake up at six, eat his breakfast that was the same every single morning: egg white omelet, two slices of whole-wheat toast, a cup of fresh fruit, sometimes he’ll have cranberry juice diluted by water, usually just plain water.
He’s at the gym by seven, following his training program, by nine he’s in the meeting room in the same building as the gym, he meets his team, his coach, going over the practice schedule, reviewing any changes made for the day or the week. By ten, he’s showered and on his way to class, where he fights to keep his brain turned on until two.
By three, he’s getting taped, at three-thirty he’s out on the field, practicing. By six, he’s back in the gym, then he’s eating dinner until seven, when he showers, fighting to stay awake for the academics squad that arrives specifically for the football team, helping them with homework, plain old studying, any projects they might be involved in.
He’s lucky if he’s finished by eight thirty, where he can finally go back home, to the house the entire fucking team lives in. In the beginning of the season, it’s usually quiet by nine, everyone so exhausted by the day they don’t have the energy to be rowdy– but that never lasts long, once everyone is comfortable in their routines, Mingi’s convinced they have endless pits of energy. Music, laughter, conversation, video games, it’s so fucking loud Mingi has to put on noise-cancelling headphones when he reaches his bedroom.
He doesn’t have the energy for anything outside of his schedule. His days are grid-locked, no room to pencil anything in, no time for partying, for socializing, for anything that would damage his D1-starting-quarterback reputation. He thinks he’s the only person in this whole fucking university that has a reputation, everywhere he goes, people watch. Everyone he speaks to, people listen. When he raises his hand in class, the whole fucking room turns their heads. It doesn’t help that he gets escorted to class. It’s unfortunate that his treatment comes with the gig.
It’s nauseating, the pressure of football was enough, there’s so much added bullshit that comes with it. On his good days, when his adrenaline is pumping, when he feels restless, when he’s really fucking tired of being Mr. Perfect, he makes time. He goes to the party the LAX house is throwing, he takes shots with his teammates, he even dances a little if Woozi’s mixing– if it’s Vernon DJing, he’s probably standing on the side, bobbing his head to whatever funky shit is playing while the nth girl of the night is in his ear.
The girls, the girls, that’s a whole other issue he tackles daily. Nightly. Literally. The cheerleading team, the dance team, the girls on campus he makes eyes at that quite literally fold. Well, he folds them, on the nights he doesn’t feel like releasing his pent up energy at a party, or when he needs to release his frustrations after an especially bad practice. There’s always girls, there’s an endless supply on a college campus, even more in his DMs, he’d assume half of his forty-three-thousand Instagram followers are women, at least that’s what it seems when he clicks his requests folder.
Mingi hasn’t really ever been denied in his life, not with women, not with his college applications, he was getting scouted by university after university in high school. Which is why he can’t wrap his mind around what happened to him last week, a typical crazy night at the LAX house, who throws weekly in their off-season, celebrating absolutely nothing but partying like it was everyone’s birthday.
Mingi was in his favorite outfit, short, dark hair slicked back, jewelry on his neck, his wrists, his fingers, he felt good. He felt lucky, even, when he eyed up the dark-haired beauty across the kitchen, standing alone, staring at her phone like she was waiting to be approached by him. He put on his pretty boy smile and crossed the room, running a hand through his hair, and approached her with every ounce of swagger he could conjure.
Winter. Such a pretty name for such a beautiful girl, Mingi was nearly drooling, her voice sweet like honey, her outfit screamed danger, he needed her. She didn’t smile when she looked at him, didn’t ask for his name, he didn’t think twice, Mingi just assumed she didn’t need to ask, everyone on campus knew his name.
“Do you know when Wooyoung will get here?”
He thinks his heart might have flatlined.
Mingi isn’t like his bitchless teammates, who jump at every opportunity to fuck just because they can. Mingi fucks, but it’s with purpose, every woman he approaches, every woman he hits on, it’s because they fit the criteria.
He coughed a little, brows furrowed, head tilted in confusion. He knew that name, he knew Wooyoung, he’s roommates with San who’s friends with Jongho, one of his teammates, on the starting offensive line.
“Wooyoung?” He found himself asking, choking on a laugh. “Like, the guy who got some girl pregnant last semester?”
She rolled her eyes, “That was a rumour, he didn’t get anyone pregnant.”
Then her phone lit up, and so did her entire fucking face. That smile, Mingi nearly groaned, she’s perfect, she’d look so good on his arm, flaunting her to the entire campus, to his teammates, his coach. He watched as she walked away, taking all of his hopes and dreams with her. His future, the mother of his unborn children, gone in a flash, off to find that leather-jacket-wearing fucking asshole that didn’t even have a career. Is she kidding? Mingi was on the brink of getting drafted to the fucking NFL, and she wanted Wooyoung? What did he fucking have that Mingi didn’t?
He stood there for at least another two minutes, stunned into silence, fingers slowly gripping his solo cup harder until he could hear the crackling of hard plastic bending in his palm. Then and there, Mingi decided she wasn’t worth it. How could she be worth his time, when she wants him? It showed a lot about her.
Mingi spent the night burying himself into whatever girl he could find that looked closest to her. For the week that followed, his mind was clouded by a dark vignette, the picture of her at the center. Winter. He didn’t even fucking like snow, that’s why he went to school somewhere warm.
Slowly, day after day, the rejection began to eat away at him, making him look inward, a practice he doesn’t have much experience in. What does Wooyoung have that he doesn’t? He came to the conclusion that there’s nothing. In every which way possible, Mingi’s better than Wooyoung, so why the fuck did she want him so bad when Mingi was standing right in front of her, in his favorite black party shirt, rings on his fingers, Aquaphor freshly applied on his lips?
She wouldn’t leave his mind. He replayed the rejection so many times, involuntarily and voluntarily, Mingi found himself attracted to the bored stare she gave him. Eyebrows straight, lips wet from liquor, shoulders slouched, not even a hint of a smile. She’s beautiful. She doesn’t care about him. She’s perfect for him.
He has to do something, has to commit some kind of crime, or somehow get Wooyoung kicked out of the school. He sat his teammates down in the dining room days later, the whiteboard they kept for discussing gameplay filled with scribbles and lines in red at the head of the table, in the center was a circled photo of her. His teammates called him crazy, down bad, but Mingi considers himself the next Albert fuckin’ Einstein.
All he has to do is prove to Winter that he’s better than Wooyoung. Easy.
“...I’m sorry you feel that way?” Your eyes, so wide they took over the entire upper half of your face as you all but screeched, “doll?!”
Yeosang and Jongho eyed each other from across the table, then redirected their gaze back onto you. The three of you at the most popular coffee shop on campus, Lucent, you didn’t even care to have this conversation somewhere private, all the ears who might listen should take it as a warning. You considered it a service to the ATZU campus.
Yeosang, green hair messily waved over his cheekbones, sighed, “I can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I know,” you bit back, eyes pointed, already prepared for that response. “But can you wait before saying I told you so and comfort me first?”
“Thank you,” you grumbled, “it’s just stupid. She’s not even prettier than me.”
Yeosang and Jongho shared another look, but it’s Jongho who spoke up this time, “I bet she’s not, probably just easy.”
“Exactly!” You screeched again, eyes wide, jumping out of your seat a little. After receiving looks from around the semi-crowded shop, you shrank in your seat again, cheeks heating up. In a quieter, but still sharp voice, you continued, “Because that’s what Wooyoung likes. He’s a no-good piece of shit who just wants to get his dick wet, it doesn’t matter who wets it.”
“I wish someone would have told you that before you jumped in bed with him,” quips Yeosang, a small grin playing on his lips. When you cursed him out with nothing but your eyes, his smile disappeared.
“Why are we blaming me?” Your fingers curled onto the table as your eyes danced between your two best friends, probably looking insane, but you didn’t care. “I’m the victim here. He played me.”
Jongho runs a hand through his hair, still half-damp from his training this morning, or maybe he actually showered after the gym this time. He sits back in the booth, eyeing you with a bored look, “Wooyoung plays everything. All he does is play, that’s who he is.”
“Well, forgive a girl for wanting to be different.”
Yeosang snorts, and the way your eyes pierce his soul makes his laugh die on his tongue. “What are you laughing at?” You scoff, “You can’t even look your girl in the eye publicly.”
Yeosang gasps, “Do not bring up my situation because you’re pissed about your own.”
“Well?” Your head shakes, arms flailing about in front of you to say What the fuck is the difference?
“Okay!” Jongho intervenes, his arm literally laying over the black table between you to cut the two of you off. “I’m sorry you’re upset, and I’m sorry he hurt you. But he seriously isn’t worth a shred of emotion, you aren’t losing anything by cutting him off.”
You bury your face in your palms, elbows holding you up. Muffled from the edges of your hands over your mouth, you mutter, “He’s so hot, and he’s so good at sex.”
Jongho chuckles, his head shaking, you could see it even with your hands over your eyes. “Is that why all the girls on campus flock to him? Because he’s a good fuck?”
You split four fingers down the middle to peek an eye out, “Yes. And he has this, like, magnetizing aura about him, I don’t know. He’s good at talking, at making you feel special, like wanting him was your idea all along.”
“Hm,” Yeosang’s head tilts, plopping back into the booth, arms crossed. “So he’s just… a manipulator?”
You whine, faking an annoying, high-pitched crying noise. “Yes, he’s really good at it.”
“Damn,” Jongho mutters under his breath, “he’s giving the whole campus problems. How long until he runs through everybody, you think?”
“Not long,” you grumble, “who else is he giving problems?”
“Mingi,” Jongho’s lips scrunch to one side, and a shiver runs down your spine. Mingi. “He wanted to bag this one girl and she dubbed him for Wooyoung. He’s torn up about it.”
“He should be torn up,” you snatch Yeosang’s coffee cup from in front of him and take a long sip. He makes a face like he’s disgusted you’re drinking from his cup, so you make the same one back, mocking him.
Yeosang turns to Jongho, “Mingi never gets dubbed. What is Wooyoung, like a sex god?”
“He’s the bad boy trope in every shitty coming-of-age movie you’ve ever seen,” you sip again until you hear the rattle of the last bits of liquid between ice cubes. Yeosang makes the same face when you slide the coffee cup back to him.
“Mingi is genuinely losing his fucking mind,” Jongho laughs a little, shaking his head like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. “I don’t think the man has ever been told no in his life.”
“I wouldn’t tell him no, that’s for sure,” you say with the smallest laugh, and Jongho gives you a long stare, like he’s putting puzzle pieces together. You look on either side of you, then down at your shirt, then back up to him, “Do I have something on my face?”
Jongho shakes his head, eyes widening like he was about to shout eureka, “This could work.”
“What could work?” You ask, and within four seconds of him not responding, you ask again, “Ho, what could work?”
“Stop calling me Ho,” Jongho’s lip lifts in distaste, “Mingi’s trying to figure out a way to get revenge on Wooyoung, or prove that he’s better than Wooyoung, I guess, so he can steal the girl from him.”
“Just tell him to wait a month and she’ll be free again,” you shrug, “he doesn’t need an elaborate plan.”
Yeosang’s brows raise, bottom lip flipped over, shoulders slightly shrugging as if to say Yeah, true.
Jongho holds a finger up between you, “What if I set you up with Mingi?”
Your jaw drops, a disgusting sound leaving your lips that you’d die if anyone else heard. “Me? And Mingi? Are you stupid?”
“No, no, no,” he shakes his finger back and forth, “hear me out. Wouldn’t Wooyoung be pissed off if you bounced back with the star QB mere days after he cut you off?”
You, still sitting in anxious disbelief, plant your palms against the black table, shaking your head rapidly. “Even if he is–”
“Hear me out,” Jongho says a little stronger, and your lips smack back together. “Wooyoung will be so enraged that he cuts the girl off and gets back with you, maybe he’ll even be so mad he realizes his feelings for you were stronger than he thought–”
Yeosang cuts him off, “Hold on a second–”
“–Mingi gets the girl, and then you can break Wooyoung’s heart to get back at him.”
You sit back in the booth, arms crossing, face scrunching together in thought because it actually doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea. Jongho is grinning like he’d just solved one of the seven wonders of the world, and Yeosang is looking back and forth between you like he’s never heard anything so fucking stupid.
“There’s no way in hell you’re actually considering this,” Yeosang’s voice is shaky, drenched in disbelief, “have you ever watched To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before?”
“This is different,” you’re quick to answer, “I’m not Lara Jean, there are no letters, there’s just an Wooyoung who needs to learn what it feels like to be on the opposite end of the knife.”
“And Mingi won’t shut up until he sinks his claws into that girl, I think it’s a pretty even exchange,” Jongho adds, both of you two peas in an optimistic pod while Yeosang just stares, dumbfounded.
He blinks once, twice, before his lips part to speak, sucking in a breath. They close, and his face twists in confusion, “Let me get this straight, you’re suggesting fake dating Song Mingi, like, football player Song Mingi. And you think he’ll agree?”
You turn to Jongho who just shrugs. “Why not?”
“I don’t know how to say this without insulting you, girl,” Yeosang’s bottom lip is tugged down to expose his bottom row of teeth, a nervous but apologetic look. “But his taste is… refined. Of snotty girls and like, barbie dolls. Plus, you’re opposites.”
“Fuck you Yeosang, I’m hot!” You immediately bark out, then turn to Jongho, “I’m hot, aren’t I?”
“Yeah Yeo, she’s hot,” Jongho nodded, saying Yeosang’s name like it was an insult, then immediately cringing because those words feel gross on his tongue, “Mingi will be into it, trust me. And if he’s not, I’ll just remind him of the bigger picture, it’s not like he has to kiss her or anything.”
You make a face that is nowhere near pleased, lips thinning, brows flattening. “You guys have known me too long, you’re too comfortable insulting me to my face.”
Yeosang barely gives you a glance, “She doesn’t party anymore, she doesn’t socialize with anyone outside her study group and us. They’re opposites, even if she’s–” he cringes, “–hot.”
“Her study group goes out!” Jongho argues, also not sparing you a glance, “Jia and Riyo are always at the LAX house, she can just tag along with them or with Mingi or whatever. I don’t know, once I get him to agree, it’s out of our hands.”
Your jaw drops again. “Out of your hands? Hello? I’m right here, first of all, second, this is your idea, Ho.”
The flex in Jongho’s jaw is his way of saying stop it with the fucking nickname. Deadpanning, he responds, “It’s just an idea, you and Mingi can figure out the details.”
“Stop acting like he said yes already,” Yeosang argues, amusement in his voice now, “you’ll get her hopes up of fucking a football guy.”
You can’t react to the response, because fucking Song Mingi would be a dream— not that the football part has anything to do with it. Your face reflects the thought.
“He’ll say yes,” Jongho nods, “trust me.”
“Fuck no. Are you stupid?”
Maybe Jongho should have waited until they got to the gym, or at least until after Mingi had consumed four bites of his breakfast. Maybe waking him up a minute before his alarm went off at a mere six in the morning wasn’t the best idea, but his anxiety wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Come on,” Jongho whines, legitimately whines, because if Mingi didn’t say yes he’d have to hear about it for weeks to come, and he can’t bear to hear another complaint from the older man’s mouth. “She said yes already, it’s the perfect plan. Girls are jealous like that, they want what they can’t have.”
Dark hair, a little oily and piecey on his head, shooting out in every which way, he was shirtless under the navy blue comforter, sheets crumpled at the foot of his bed. Jongho can’t remember the last time Mingi used the washing machine in the basement of the football house.
Mingi sits up a little, yawning, before looking up to Jongho with an uninterested look, “Is she hot?”
Jongho can’t help the face he makes. Head craning back and forth, almost touching each shoulder as a high pitched, unconvincing, “Yeah,” slides from his lips.
Mingi smacks his lips, laying back in his bed and turning away, pulling the comforter over his shoulders as he utters, “Waking me up before my alarm for some bullshit, Jongho.”
Jongho tries defending himself, “I’ve known her since she was fourteen, she’s like a sister. If you’re talking about, like, conventionally attractive then I guess, yes—”
“I don’t even know what conventionally means,” Mingi huffs, “get out of my room.”
“Mingi, Wooyoung just broke her heart, she wants revenge, and you want the girl. It's an even exchange, no strings. You have nothing to lose.”
Mingi’s grumble slowly grows in volume as he turns back over, eyes still closed. “What about my pride? Making some elaborate scheme just to get a girl who I shouldn’t even care about.”
Jongho’s lips thin— not the pity party, again. He can’t listen to it another time or else he might explode. They’ve already hidden the whiteboard.
He bends at the knees, arms folding over the empty space at the edge of Mingi’s mattress, “Listen, bro, it’ll stay between me, you and her—” and Yeosang, “—it’s the perfect plan. You don’t even have to learn her last name, just stand next to her for a little while until your dream girl’s interest is piqued. Easy peasy.”
One of Mingi’s eyes opened, “It’ll work?”
Jongho nods.
“And she’s hot?”
Jongho’s lips thin again, but he nods.
“Fine,” Mingi huffs, “tell her to come over or something so I can get a good look before I agree to this.”
If it was any other circumstance, your fingertips would be buzzing at your sides, heart pounding in your chest with having a man so beautiful in front of you. Plump lips, dark hair still a little damp laying over his sculpted cheekbones, strong shoulders on display in his sleeveless tank. He sat sunken into the couch, one leg folded over the other with his ankle kissing his knee, arms crossed over his chest. Gorgeous. His skin looks so soft you want to touch it— maybe lick it.
But he did not look pleased. On top of ruining the fantasy, you’re disappointed that men like him still exist.
Standing before him across the living room, a hip popped with your arms crossed, the only thing Jongho said to you before walking inside the football house was that Mingi wanted to meet you. Not that you’d be put on display for him to judge your appearance before he agreed to being your fake fucking boyfriend.
“This is misogynistic in ways my mind can’t even comprehend right now,” you huffed the words to Jongho, your best friend of nearly a decade, not even looking at Mingi. As far as you’re concerned, he’s not in the room anymore. He no longer fucking exists.
There was an apology in his deep brown eyes, his features softened, lips tightened. But he didn’t answer. Mingi’s thick eyebrows were furrowed, top lip curled, but his eyes didn’t read distaste even if his body language portrayed it. With the rage simmering within you right now, he should thank whatever god he prayed to that you weren’t at the boiling point yet.
“I don’t know what that means,” Mingi shakes his head a little, voice lazy, “this will do, though. I guess.”
“You guess?” Your entire face jerks forward, “You fucking guess? I’m a human, you know. Standing right in front of you.”
“No shit,” Mingi sighs, head leaning back into the couch cushion, chin tipped up, face reading utter boredom. “You’ll get me the girl, though? You’re sure she’ll want me if I pretend I’m… dating you?”
He said the words like you casted a fucking curse on him.
Your eye twitched as you glance at Jongho. Meeting his apprehensive stare you uncurled your arms from your chest, legs moving for the front door, “Fuck no, I’m not doing this. Absolutely not, plan is cancelled.”
“Wait!” Jongho stands, eyes wide, palms pressing into your shoulders to stop you from walking straight out the front door. “He’s tired, we had a hard practice today. He’s not usually this bad, I swear, I swear.”
“What do you mean?” Mingi sits up a little, turning halfway to see the two of you, “What do you mean ‘this bad’? I’m being normal.”
“See?” Your arm flies in his direction, “he’s being normal. You never told me he’s a fucking asshole, Ho.”
“An asshole!?” Mingi stands up straight, arms at his side, jaw dropped. “I have to tell every single person in my life I’m dating you, and I’m an asshole for wanting to make sure it’s fitting?”
“What are you so worried about?” You raise your voice, “you’re twenty-one years old, it’s college, it’s not like you have a reputation to uphold, no one cares. You play football, big fuckin’ deal.”
Mingi gasps, insulted, “Big deal? Big deal? It’s my entire future, thank you very much.”
“You won’t have a future if you treat women like they’re your little playthings,” you snap, voice bitter, “is the NFL gonna draft a misogynist?” You smack your lips, eyes meeting the floor, regretting the words as soon as you said them. The NFL would in fact draft a misogynist. Plenty of them, actually.
“Why do you even care? We just have to show face a few times,” Mingi responds, voice bored yet again, “you don’t have to like me, I don’t have to like you. I just want her.”
Rage bubbles up inside you again as Wooyoung crosses your mind. It would feel really, really good to hurt him after he hurt you. And Mingi’s right, you guess, you don’t have to get to know him, or speak to him ever again after this. You could look past the flaws you were sure ran deep if it was just temporary. Situational.
You look up, brows flat, mumbling the reiteration, “A few times.”
Jongho is nodding, smile growing as his eyes bounce between you, whispering, “Yes, friendly, this is good, this is good.”
You face Mingi from across the couch, holding up a flat hand, curling a finger into your palm with each rule, “We don’t speak to each other outside of pre-scheduled meetings, we only act like a couple when there’s people watching, and do not fucking touch me.”
“Don’t touch you?” Mingi pops a brow, “people won’t believe we’re a couple. How am I gonna prove to her I’m boyfriend-worthy if I can’t show off my boyfriend skills?”
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, looking away, “you’re right. Wooyoung won’t be jealous if you don’t make him jealous.”
“Exactly,” Mingi’s brows raise, pleased, dimples out to play as his lips thin in a tight smile. “I don’t want to touch you as much as you don’t want to touch me, trust.”
Your head snaps up to shoot him another pointed stare, grumbling under your breath, “Asshole.”
Mingi’s smile morphs into a nasty little smirk, “Your asshole now, baby.” You give him an unimpressed, blank stare and his smirk falters as what he said sinks in. Sheepishly, he mumbles, “Sounded better in my head.”
“Like you actually think before you speak,” you snap, rolling your eyes, bringing your attention back to Jongho who looks like if he breathes wrong his entire plan will go in the shitter. “I’ll figure out where Woo will be next, you can tell Mingi and plan out when we’re meeting and where, whatever. Keeping this very much so in your hands, Ho.”
“Good,” you nod, then glance back at Mingi, “don’t embarrass me by saying stupid shit around people, ‘kay?”
Mingi cocks his head to the side wearing the biggest smile, “Don’t embarrass me by wearing that outfit in public again, ‘kay?”
FIRST OUTING: SOFT LAUNCH, THE LAX HOUSE. 11:20 PM.
“How the hell did you get Song Mingi to be your boyfriend?” Riyo is on your hip, bright red hair in a single braid down her back, denim booty-shorts hugging her hips, a cropped, tight bandeau top covering her chest. You suppose for where you went to school that was the uniform, something you quickly realized weeks into your freshman year, clothes were optional here.
You scoff, walking in-step with her, grass from the lawn of the LAX house sneaking around the edges of your flip-flop covered feet. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”
She giggles, a step ahead of you as she walks up the front stairs, “It’s weird, you have no correlation to the football team. Where did you even meet him?”
“On campus,” your voice is high-pitched, certainly not convincing. You clear your throat, “I mean, I applied to be a part of the football team’s academics unit, I just got in, like, a month ago.”
Riyo pauses at the door, a hand on her hip, eyebrows furrowed, “The fuck? And you just didn’t tell me that you,” she counts on her fingers, “applied, got accepted, and started?”
“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug, nervously laughing to cover up the so fucking obvious lie, “I’m just helping them study, Mingi and I.. clicked.”
God, the words feel sour. So unconvincing you could vomit– and he’s inside, waiting for you, you could really fucking empty your guts on the LAX house’s porch. It’s already cluttered with lacrosse sticks, solo cups, backpacks, containers of white balls you can only assume are used in the game, your vomit would probably go unnoticed. Or washed away by beer, maybe your tears by the end of the night.
You don’t know why you agreed to this, it was a moment of weakness. Of rage. Wanting revenge. Because behind the stained, scratched white door, was the entire lacrosse team, the entire football team, God knows who the fuck else if Riyo’s here. You could hear the music bleeding through the walls, something with heavy bass, something rap, something you might know if you opened the door.
Jongho texted you yesterday that Mingi asked for you to make your first appearance here, he said it was the perfect spot, that Wooyoung and Winter might even be here. As much as you were regretting your decision, you hoped he was here. You want to see the look on his face when he spots you at Mingi’s side, when word spreads that you’re dating him, you want to watch his face morph into confusion, into regret, hopefully something lustful that you could use to your advantage.
“That’s gotta go in, like, the top five most insane things to ever happen on this campus,” Riyo wears a supportive smile, yet her head still shakes in disbelief, “I’m happy for you, though. Actually, I think you kinda suit each other.”
You fight the cringe, that was an insult. You smile instead, already hating the words about to come out of your mouth, “Let’s go inside, I wanna see him.”
You’ve been here before, you frequented the LAX house plenty freshman year, a lot less sophomore year after your fling with Kim Mingyu, you haven’t been here once yet this year. It hasn’t changed, medium-sized house, open floor plan, giant kitchen, silver appliances. The furniture was dull, broken in, old, thrifted. It’s nostalgic, being here, these people, you barely see the lacrosse team on campus, you know a few of them from your times here as a freshman, mornings escaping after a night with Mingyu, you don’t know anyone well enough to be considered a friend.
Riyo is immediately squealing upon walking inside, hugging girls you only know the first names of, you smile in greeting from behind her. Jia, another girl from your study group that you’re close with, approaches with the same squeal Riyo had unleashed on the room, her dark hair styled in waves behind her back, deep, golden-olive skin glowing beneath the barely-there lights in the room.
Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees you, “Hello? Shut the fuck up?”
“Hey baby,” your tongue sneaks out between your teeth and she squeals again, throwing her arms over your shoulders in a tight hug. Swaying you side to side, she’s a giggling mess, sandal-covered feet tapping against the floor.
“I haven’t seen you here since last year!” She yells, grin spread wide, showing her dazzling white teeth you couldn’t believe shone so bright in a room this dark.
You shrug, smiling, “I have good reason.”
“She’s seeing her boyfriend,” Riyo teases, nudging you with her shoulder, smiling like a fucking crazy person. Leaning in close to Jia, her voice is still loud, even if she was trying to be secretive, “Song Mingi.”
Jia looks like nothing in the world makes sense, and she’s been transported to another dimension. “I saw you two nights ago, babe, and there was not one mention of a boyfriend, most certainly not a word about Song Mingi.”
“We’re not being, like, super public about it,” you shake your head, cheeks burning, “it’s chill guys, seriously, don’t make a huge deal about it, he’s not a celebrity.”
“Closest we’ll ever get to one, plus, last I heard you were still fucking Wooyoung,” the look on Jia’s face hasn’t left, and God you wish you thought out a better plan with Mingi before you left the football house the other day, you’re scrambling for a story.
“Ew, why are you talking about him?”
Speak of the fucking devil– a shiver racks down your now rigid spine, you fix your eyes that involuntarily widened. Jia and Riyo watch with dropped jaws as Mingi slides an arm over your shoulder, an easygoing smile on his face, looking at you so fucking fondly it makes your heart skip a beat. Fuck him for being so damn beautiful.
Dark shirt clinging to his torso, showing off every fucking muscle that was etched into his skin beneath it, his hair was styled, purposely messy how it hung over the sides of his head where it was shorter, faded into his skin. Baggy jeans on his legs, low enough to show the Calvins under them, he wore a skinny, silver chain around his neck, one to match on his wrist, with pretty, bulky rings on his fingers.
This is so fucking unfortunate– he’s beautiful and he sucks, you hate him, his personality, the misogyny he so easily wields as a weapon, it makes you sick. He doesn’t deserve a perfect face and an even more perfect body. Fuck him.
“We were talking about you,” you force a smile on your lips, turning back to Jia and Riyo as your stiff body leans into Mingi’s huge one, so stiff and broad and muscled you tried to not pay too much attention to it. “Of course you missed it.”
“Start again,” his smile is cheesy, so fucking cheesy you want to slap it off his face. “I wanna hear all the cute things my baby said about me.”
Spit lodges in your throat that constricts around nothing, you choke. Coughing, you pull away from his grip, turning around, smacking your chest with a fist, eyes tearing– he did not just call you baby unironically.
He leans in close, feigning concern, “Are you okay?”
Your other hand flies up, back still facing him, “Fine– fuck.”
Gathering yourself, you turn back around, plastering a smile onto your face. Bidding a wave to the two girls, through gritted teeth, you ask him in a false, sweet voice, “Don’t you have people to introduce me to?”
He quirks a brow, but nods, slinging his arm over your shoulder again as he guides you away from your group of friends. Voice low, keeping himself tight to your ear, he asks, “What the fuck was that?”
“Do not ever call me baby again,” you keep your smile, but your voice is venomous, “that was fucking disgusting.”
“You think I enjoyed it?” He whispers back, voice pitched sharply, “It’s kinda part of boyfriendism, no? Pet names and shit?”
You’re wading through the crowd, Mingi shooting smiles and dapping up tens of people you don’t know, mainly men, all beefy and drunk and eyes dilated like they just railed lines in the kitchen. You shift your shoulders under his heavy ass arm, “Jesus, Mingi, I’m not a fucking ledge for you to put your whole weight on, big ass.”
He grins as he looks down at you, wiggling his brows, “You think my ass is big?”
You roll your eyes, “I don’t think I’m gonna survive you.”
“You won’t believe how many times I’ve heard that line,” his grin is proud, he’s not even looking at you as he says it, eyes focused on the people in front of him, in the hallway where a large table is set up, holding a messy game of beer pong. Water beneath the table, a shallow film on top of the painted surface, swirls of brown covering your school’s logo shittily lined in black, gross.
You don’t have time to scoff– you know these guys, Jeno, Chris, Kai, Haechan, Soobin, Changbin. All on the football team, all huge, you’re already vibrating, body stiffening under Mingi’s arm that’s so casually thrown over your shoulders, heavy and thick. Suffocating.
You wish you could be meeting them under different circumstances. You’re tainted now, if they even cared about boy-code, which they might not usually, but you wondered if Mingi pulled rank with them, or if girlfriends were off limits compared to casual lays. Your answer is quickly delivered to you on a silver platter as Jeno eyes you from across the table, hip to hip with Chris who does the same, eyes sliding down your body and back up like they were sizing you up, waiting to pounce.
Your posture changes, subtle, but your arms uncurl from in front of you, back arching slightly, eyes drooping into that pretty, low stare that did Wooyoung in when you first met him. A small smile on your lips, you tilt your head away from Mingi while he introduces you– as his girlfriend. Right. You lock back in, blinking into focus, smiling and nodding to each man that introduces himself like you didn’t already know all of their names and their positions.
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Changbin has one palm planted on the painted table, clearly he didn’t care about the murky water, one of his hands palms a can of beer close to his chest, “you were crying over what’s-her-face two minutes ago.”
Mingi makes a face, head nodding towards you with his eyebrows raised like he was silently telling Changbin to shut the fuck up, like you weren’t supposed to hear that, as if you didn’t know already. He’s playing it up, smart.
“Nice to meet you,” Chris grins from the other side of the table, his voice warm, smile pretty, it makes you feel fuzzy inside. You can’t wait to fake-break-up with Mingi. “Your boyfriend didn’t get you a drink yet?”
“Was waiting for one of you to do it for me,” Mingi juts his chin out in Kai’s direction and he nods, eyes wide as he receives the order, and he scrambles. Like, literally scrambles. Nonchalantly you nudge your elbow into Mingi’s ribs, silently telling him to stop being an asshole.
Hiding his hiss in a forced laugh, he steals his arm back from around your shoulders, hiding his formerly exposed ribs, “You should have one hand-delivered to you, ba– sweetheart.”
God, you can feel the bile churning in your gut. You fix your face before it morphs into full disgust.
“How did you two meet?” Haechan asks, his voice whiney– you were not expecting that from his bulky build, broad and toned, so hot. His cherry-red hair is a mess of curls atop his head, skin bronzy under the far light dimming the hallway, allowing them to see the game, you presume.
“The library.”
“On campus.”
You and Mingi respond at the same time, then look at each other, eyes panic-stricken at the fumble. You couldn’t repeat your lie from earlier, they would know you aren't a part of their study team, all you could think was on campus, a generic answer.
You stutter, “The– The library.”
“The one that’s on campus,” Mingi nods, assured.
“Why the fuck were you at the library?” Soobin asks, leaned up against the wall of the hallway, dark brows furrowed, two hands around his can of beer. Valid question, your heart picks up speed in your chest, you weren’t expecting them to pry.
“Studying,” Mingi responds nonchalantly, his voice high, shoulders shrugging.
“Extra tutoring,” you add, “on top of what you guys have, yeah. One of the girls on your academics team told me Mingi needed extra help and volunteered me because our schedules lined up.”
“Exactly,” Mingi nods, lips pursed in an attempt to be more convincing, “love at first sight type shit.”
You tuck your lips between your teeth to hide your smile, smothering the snort that fights to climb to the surface, redirecting your gaze to the floor beneath you. You can’t wait to make fun of him for that line later.
“Right,” Changbin’s brows are tied together, dark hair sprawled across his forehead, almost hiding his skepticism. He redirects his attention to Jeno, the silver-haired hunk of a man beside him, Chris splitting the three. Tilting his chin up, he asks, “Keep playing?”
Mingi’s lips tighten, turning to you again, “Should we go find where Kai is?”
“Sure,” you sigh, flipping your hair off your now slightly sticky shoulders, “I could use a drink.” One of his hands slides to your lower back, guiding you away, and you realize then that he doesn’t have a drink– moving in-step towards the kitchen, you ask, “You’re not drinking?”
“No, not tonight,” his voice is monotonous, he doesn’t look down, keeps his eyes ahead. “Need a clear mind if I’m gonna lie to a hundred people.”
“It’s hot in here,” you complain, face crunching to cringe, it’s humid for November, even for where you live.
“I can tell, you’re sweating all over me, bro,” he responds, voice dripping in boredom, pressing his hand to your back a little harder instead of removing it from your body altogether. “Gross.”
“Then take your hand off me, bro,” you huff, turning the corner, the kitchen coming into view. Surprising high ceilings, white cabinets, silver appliances, marble countertops, probably the nicest room in the whole house, you wondered if there was still a hole in the back door from that one night Hoshi got a little too drunk. You sneer, “You probably smell like a wet dog after practice.”
You spot a few members of the lacrosse team in the corner, standing in front of the back door, a black mesh screen severing the house from the backyard, letting cool air from outside in. Joshua, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, a joint lit in Seungkwan’s mouth, the youngest of the three, a sophomore. Guess they really chilled out during their off-season, no worries about a drug test in their future. Good for them.
“I smell like a beautiful woman after practice,” Mingi scoffs, guiding you in front of him with his palm, hands gliding up to sit on your shoulders, pushing you through people that parted at the sight of him. You keep a tight-lipped smile on your face, giving a small nod each time you make eye contact with someone new. He leans down into your ear, “You’d probably like it, you’re the gross one. Pheremone-lover.”
“Keep your androstenone away from me,” you answer with disgust in your voice, without changing your face an inch, “you probably don’t even know what that is.”
“Guilty as charged, smart girl,” he catches Kai’s head of blonde hair over the crowd, the two men probably the tallest in the entire kitchen. “Huening!” Mingi yells, stealing Kai’s attention, he wears a wide, excited grin, holding two cans of beer over his head like he’d discovered the One Piece.
“I got beer!” He yells across the kitchen, immediately wading through people to get to you and Mingi. A freshman, you think, also on the offensive line, Jongho’s told you about him– a smart kid with great instincts for football, uses his build to his advantage. Innocent, ignorant like a child, a little stupid, he’s cute. Chubby cheeks, a kind smile, your already heated skin rises in temperature as he approaches, opening your can for you.
You introduce yourself properly, thanking him for the beer, “How’s your first year on the team?”
Mingi’s head snaps down to look at you, brows tied together in surprise.
Kai grins, blushing immediately, running a hand through his blonde hair, “Great, thanks for asking, the guys are really cool, Coach is terrifying lowkey, but he’s cool, too.”
You giggle, head tilting, “I’ve heard that, he’s famous though, right? Coach Suh?”
“Yeah, he’s like, renowned in the football world,” Kai babbles on, the two of you erupting into easy conversation, all while Mingi’s head bobs back and forth, watching, listening, his confusion growing with each new word that falls from your lips.
He can’t help but interject, “Since when do you know so much about the team?”
Your giggle slows to a stop, smile faltering, “What do you mean? I’ve always known, this is a D1 school, silly.”
Silly is synonymous with stupid fuck, he can feel it in how your pointed eyes stare into him.
“She couldn’t be your girlfriend if she didn’t know football, Song,” Kai adds, so innocent, so easygoing, oh my God you love him.
Mingi nods like he was the one who reminded himself you were his girlfriend, not Kai, forcing a laugh out, more punched and nervous than anything. “Right, yeah, yeah.”
Your blood runs cold as you catch a head of recognizable black hair around Kai’s ridiculously huge bicep, bronzy skin, a cloud of smoke surrounding him like it was his brand, his aura. Your eyes widen, head swerving around Kai’s arm to get a better look, taking in his leather jacket, the rings on his fingers, the cigarette dangling between his teeth as he smiles, Corona in one of his hands.
“Nice meeting you, Kai,” you don’t even look at the boy, grabbing onto Mingi’s arm, dragging him sideways, away from Kai’s earshot. “He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.”
“Who? Who?”
“Who do you think, dumbass?” You spit, chin pointing in Wooyoung’s direction, “The only man who’s more of an asshole than you.”
“Oh my God, she’s with him,” a hand comes up to cover Mingi’s mouth, his brown eyes wide, excitement gleaming in chocolate, drawing them hazel. Beside Wooyoung is Winter, long, dark hair pinned up halfway, a short, black skirt on her hips, halter top tugging her upper half just right. He lowers his voice, “Fuck, she’s so hot.”
“Pause,” you turn to him as the realization sinks in– he wants Winter? Winter is the girl you’re helping him get? Kim Minjeong? “You want Winter?!”
“Yes,” he groans out, head tilting back, a whine to his voice like he was four years old and you just took away his favorite toy. “She’s perfect, dude. Like, perfection in a human, I love her, I think.”
“What the fuck?” Completely baffled, you shake your head in disbelief at how perfect this is lined up. You don’t know how you didn’t put it together sooner, you didn’t once think about who Mingi wants, who the girl might be. You didn’t really care. “This is good, this works in our favor, this is perfect, actually,” you’re rambling as you turn around, watching Wooyoung and Winter across the room, how Wooyoung introduces her to the lacrosse trio at the backdoor, how he pulls his cigarette from his lips to press them to her cheek in a short kiss.
“Ew, he’s touching her, that’s my wife,” Mingi props his forearm on your shoulder, you immediately shake yourself out of his grip, eyes never leaving them, laser-focused. He whines, “Comfort me, I’m heartbroken. He’s touching her, bro.”
“They’re together, what do you expect?” You whisper-yell, twisting around to get him out of your personal space. “How can we get their attention? We need them to see us together, being coupled up and shit.”
“I’m boys with Shua and Wonwoo, we can go over there,” Mingi suggests, finally looking at you, and the excited gleam in his eye was now dulled down to desperation, a sadness only caused by yearning. If he wasn’t such an asshole, you might feel bad for him.
You nod, “Good idea, let’s do it. Let’s go, come on, football boy.”
With his hands on your shoulders again, you guzzle the beer in your hands as you cross the kitchen, eyes screwing shut as the spicy carbonation burns your throat. Beer is so fucking gross, at least it’s cold, it gets the job done– you burp before you approach them, a closed fist covering your mouth in an attempt to hide the noise.
“Ew!” Mingi gasps from behind you, “Did you just burp? You’re disgusting, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Shut up,” you spit, “I couldn’t help it, and they’ll hear you, go back to boyfriendism and make it believable.”
“You want me to put on a show?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, the wiggle of his stupid thick brows.
“I do, actually,” you answer with a defeated sigh, “do your worst.”
Approaching the lacrosse trio, Wooyoung and Winter, Mingi throws his arms fully around your front, tucking your back into his chest, his chin sitting on the top of your head. In an obnoxious yell, he makes his presence known, “Hey guys, how we doin’ tonight?”
Ew. One of your hands wraps around his forearm glued to your chest, a wide grin on your cheeks, your head leaned up against one of his biceps that boxes you into his hold, “Hey guys.”
“Song!” Joshua yells, smile widening, lighting up his whole face, “I was hoping you’d show tonight.”
Wooyoung’s smile drops when he sees you, you meet his eyes immediately, your fake grin turning real. Yes, be mad, be so angry you flip the fuck out.
“Of course I’d show,” there’s so much confidence in Mingi’s voice it’s nauseating, “had to introduce my girl to all my people, do you guys know her?”
With a coy smile, you introduce yourself as Mingi’s girlfriend, head leaning into his chest impossibly further, forcing a stupid, lovestruck look on your face, you prayed it was believable.
Joshua nods, as does Wonwoo, both recognizing you from all the times you’ve been here, probably also your fling with Mingyu. The two lacrosse boys greet you kindly, where Seungkwan introduces himself, newer to the team, to those who party in their house.
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Wonwoo’s brows furrowed, “the campus isn’t burned down, I’m confused.”
You and Mingi both laugh, but Mingi says, “I don’t think word has spread yet, don’t worry, expect the heat soon.”
“It’s hot enough,” you add, rolling your eyes, “your fangirls will be just fine, there won’t be a fire.”
“You have no idea,” Joshua snorts, “I remember one girl having to deactivate her Instagram account because word got out you were sleeping with her, remember that, Min?”
“Let’s not talk about the past in front of my girlfriend,” Mingi’s voice slips into something strict, “it’s disrespectful, Shua.”
You stiffen in his arms, that’s oddly kind, it makes your situation more believable. You briefly wonder how Mingi is with his girlfriends, if there’s any form of chivalry in his cold, chauvinist heart.
Joshua snorts, shaking his head, “‘m sorry, you’re right, my bad.” His pretty brown eyes fall to meet yours and you melt into Mingi all over again, “Blame the weed, sweetheart, my social awareness has depleted to zero.”
“It’s okay,” you smile softly, liking the word as it falls from Joshua’s plump, wet lips, eyes wandering back over to Wooyoung who’s still staring, lips slightly parted, the cherry on his cigarette so long it’d fall soon. You avert your eyes to it, cocky amusement in your tone, “Planning to start the fire yourself?”
His eyes find his cigarette and he jumps into action, twisting around to flick it in the ashtray behind him, sitting full on the corner of the kitchen island. Your eyes find Winter who’s eyes are staring up at Mingi, looking at him the same way Wooyoung was looking at you.
Your smile turns devious– it’s fucking working. You knew it would, but it’s still surprising, how stupid could these two be? Maybe they deserve each other. You remind yourself that Mingi’s stupid, too– maybe they could explore polyamory together.
“Preseason start yet?” Mingi asks, either unaware of Winter’s eyes or he’s playing his cards right, the three lacrosse boys erupt into conversation, complaining about their coach, their training, the program they go through in the fall season to ensure they’re in shape come Spring.
Wooyoung leans into Winter, a hand around her waist, pulling her into him to whisper something in her ear. It’s like she’s forced back into reality, how her hand lays over his chest, giggling at whatever he said. Gross. You could probably bet money on what nasty shit he just whispered in her ear, dirty talk so smooth it used to make you go weak in the knees, clinging to him like a moth to a flame, how she arched into him you assumed he probably asked to pull her into the bathroom. A move you’d fallen victim to plenty of times yourself.
Jealousy stems in your gut, anger pushing blood through your veins, you look up to Mingi, batting your lashes. You could do it, too. His eyes meet yours and blink into focus, into realization, you watch as his brows ever so slightly knit together, so slight it could go unnoticed, you’re sure you wouldn’t have if you weren’t so close.
A smirk creeps onto his cheeks, voice velvety and smooth, “I know what you want.” Thank God. “Excuse us,” Mingi winks at the lacrosse boys who start snickering upon the words leaving his mouth, “what the princess wants, she gets.”
You catch Wooyoung’s eye, his head whipping around Winter’s, a flicker of surprise. Winter turns too, eyes on Mingi’s biceps around your head, sinking down his build, you hope she’s thinking about fucking him. You hope Wooyoung’s thinking about all the things you’re about to fake-do to Mingi.
You wave as Mingi turns you around, voice light, “Nice to meet you, Seungkwan.”
A few steps away, his biceps flex around your head to get your attention, “Nice move, smart girl.”
You giggle to yourself in victory, bringing your beer up to your lips, “I do have to pee, though, we have to actually go to the bathroom.”
“There’s one at the end of the hallway,” he pulls his arms from around your head to sink down to your hips, his fingers curling through the loops of your denim shorts, guiding you where to go like you’ve never been here before.
Does he think you’re a LAX house newb? You run a hand through your hair, “And there’s two upstairs, one connected to Mingyu and Cheol’s room, another between Dino and Hoshi’s rooms.”
“Look at you, flexing how many bathrooms you’ve gotten laid in.”
“Only the one connected to Mingyu’s room, he’s huge, you can’t blame me.”
“Disrespectful,” he snickers, smacking his teeth, winking at his teammates he passes by in the hallway, you give them all a feigned, bashful smile. “Telling your boyfriend who you’ve slept with.”
“You don’t want to know who I’ve slept with,” you stop in front of the bathroom door, twisting the knob carefully, and thankfully, it opens. You rush inside and Mingi follows, closing the door behind him, locking it. You stare at him with furrowed brows, “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re supposed to be fucking, remember?” His brows raise, hands landing on his hips, his face falling into the usual disgust. You didn’t have to pretend in here.
You groan, head tipping back, “I have to pee.”
“Then pee!” A hand flies out from his side, five fingers pointing to the toilet, “I’m not stopping you, there’s a toilet right there.”
“What are you gonna do, watch?”
“Are you offering?”
“Fuck you, you’re disgusting,” you spit, a revolted chill making you shiver, he laughs like it’s funny. The weight in your bladder is clear, you whine, shoving your beer into his chest, “I can’t pee if you’re in here, I’m pee-shy.”
“Do you want me to sing? Do a little dance for you?”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, “Actually, yeah.”
His amused smile drops, “Deadass?”
“You offered,” you shrug, “turn around, do a lil’ dance for me, football boy.”
His face morphs into regret, but he turns around, facing the shower, he takes a sip of your beer before he clears his throat, spreading his legs for comfort, his other hand finding his front pocket.
“...Seventeen-thirty-eight… Ay… I’m like hey, whatsup, hello…”
You burst out laughing, hand covering your mouth, the weight in your bladder growing excruciatingly heavy, “Fuck, I’m gonna piss my pants.”
Flipping the lid, you shove your shorts down, squatting over the gross toilet, Mingi keeps fucking singing. You’re laughing as you pee, snorting, holding onto the bathroom counter for dear life until tears cloud your vision, he’s purposely singing badly, sounding insane, he has no shame. You suppose neither do you, peeing in the same room as Song Mingi, for a second you forget who he is.
Starting quarterback for your university’s football team, he’s a known figure, important. The face of sports for your school, everyone knows his name, everyone wants him– and he’s with you, singing fucking Trap Queen in the LAX house bathroom so you can successfully empty your bladder.
Wiping, flushing, he turns around as you finish buttoning your shorts again, his voice filled with amusement. “How was that? Should I switch careers, or what?”
“Stick to football,” you mutter, then snort again as you side-step to the sink, turning the water on to wash your hands. “Also, love at first sight? We need to work on your lying skills, and your vocabulary.”
“I thought it was cute!” He defends himself, setting your beer down beside you on the countertop, “People ask too many questions, I wasn’t expecting to make up a full-fledged story every time I opened my mouth tonight.”
“You forget who you are,” you eye him through the mirror, “I wasn’t prepared, either. But enough people know now, word will spread on its own. When can we stop? Like, break up?”
“Damn, one night with me and you already want to break up?” He clutches his heart in hurt, then grins, the tip of his back leaning up against the wall, hips blocking the pole that holds the hand-towels. “Soon, though. Did you see how she was looking at me?”
You turn around, shaking your hands out on either side of you to air-dry since he’s unknowingly hiding the damn towels, clutching the countertop to haul your ass onto it, beside the sink. “Of course I saw, I also saw how you didn’t even spare her a glance.”
He smirks, wiggling his brows, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever the fuck.”
Your face morphs into confusion, “I don’t think you can use that saying here.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs, “you know what I mean. Jongho told me girls want what they can’t have, so I’m trying to make myself look very unavailable. It seemed to be working, right?”
“Yeah, she seemed into it,” you shrug, “you think Wooyoung looked pissed?”
“I don’t think he puffed that disgusting cigarette once,” Mingi gives you an impressed look, “his jaw was too busy mopping the floor.”
You giggle at that, legs swaying back and forth where they hung off the counter. Tilting your head, you wonder out loud, “I think three-ish weeks max should be enough, what do you think? If they’re showing interest now, it shouldn’t take much longer.”
He groans, “I have to endure you for three more weeks?”
“Don’t act like you aren’t having fun,” you bite back, “I’m the one who has to endure you.”
“You weren’t complaining when I was holding onto you, smushing your cheeks with my arms, girls would fight to be in your position. Your back was probably getting my shirt wet, you know, sweaty ass.”
Your jaw drops, offended, “It’s fucking hot!” Throwing yourself off the counter, feet hitting the floor with a smack, your hand flies for the doorknob, “I’ve had enough of you, actually. We’ve done plenty of damage for one night, the rest should fall in place.”
“I got it,” he turns off the bathroom light, closing the door behind him, his hand immediately going for your lower back.
“There’s no one in the hallway,” you reach back to shove his hand off you, “don’t touch me, pervert.”
“I just fucked you, and now I can’t put my hand on your sweaty ass back?”
“You didn’t even make me cum, so no.”
He laughs, a genuine belly laugh, straight from his gut, “Don’t talk shit when you have no fucking idea the things I can do.”
Under other circumstances, in another life, if he wasn’t Song Mingi, you’d love to find out. You don’t answer, cheeks flaming, ears tipping with heat, you’re forgetting yourself, a few days without consistent sex and now your stomach is dropping from words said by him? Out of all people?
You walk a little faster, aiming for your escape. At the end of the hallway, you turn your head halfway, “I’m leaving.”
He pauses in the archway, brows furrowed, voice clearly disappointed, “So soon?”
Swallowing, you nod, “I have class early tomorrow, I’ll let Jongho know what the next outing is, kay?”
SECOND OUTING: LUCENT, TWO DAYS LATER. 12:24 PM
xxx-xxx-xxxx: come to lucent
xxx-xxx-xxxx: they’re here
you: the fuck
you: who is this
xxx-xxx-xxxx: arent u the smart one bro
xxx-xxx-xxxx: its mingi
you: lose my number
xxx-xxx-xxxx: bruh
xxx-xxx-xxxx: wooyoung and winter are here can u come
you: oh
you: i get out of class in 15
xxx-xxx-xxxx: i cant be here long
xxx-xxx-xxxx: theyll start to ask questions
you: mad ominous. who is they
you: ill leave early tho
The air is thick, humidity wrapping around your body like a blanket, so hot you tug your sweatshirt off your body upon leaving the lecture hall, leaving you in a thin-strapped tank, shorts on your legs, backpack slung over one shoulder. Headphones in your ears, the trek to Lucent is quick even if by the time you make it to the glass double-doors you’re sweating like a whore in church.
It’s air-conditioned, at least, battling the floor to ceiling windows that begged to let the heat inside, bright, white light invading the room, a perpetrator. It helped you find Mingi easy enough, not that you had to search, eight men squished into one booth had you snorting at the entrance.
Approaching the table, you put on your best girlfriend-smile before you even spotted Mingi. At the edge of the booth, dressed casually, much like how he looked the day you met him, he wore sweatpants and a cut-off tee, dark hair messy and sprawled across his face like he didn’t bother styling it. Heaving a breath from rushing over, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Hey, sorry I’m late.”
He looked you up and down before meeting your eye, a smile spreading across his cheeks, “Hey, princess.”
Your nostrils flared, lips tightening in a fight to not morph into disgust, you guess that was the nickname that stuck. Searching the rest of the table, you find seven men smiling back at you, Jaemin, Taehyun, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Seungmin, Beomgyu and… Jongho. Your eyes widen, smile dropping, hands falling to your sides, words rushing from your lips, “I didn’t know you were here.”
The others turn to Jongho, who looks scared, eyes wide and lips pursed like he didn’t know what the fuck to do. He forces a smile, a nervous chuckle, “I didn’t know I’d be coming here.” His eyes cross the room, leading you to the back corner of the establishment, where Wooyoung sat on one of the comfy chairs, legs stretched out to rest on the small table in front of him, Winter perched on his lap.
You swallow, ice prickling at your scalp. You never went anywhere public with him, even at fucking Eonian, his favorite stupid dive bar, the only time you interacted was either in the bathroom, or if he was drunk enough to address you in front of other people. Your jaw clenches for a split second, fists forming at your sides before you remember where you are, who’s watching.
“Do you want anything to drink?” It’s Mingi who pulls you back up to earth, half your body already in the depths of hell from what you were mentally planning to do to Jung Wooyoung.
Plastering that same, stupid fake-smile back on your lips, you realize you’re still standing, and the booth is clearly full. The boys are nearly on top of each other, large bodies pressed together by their shoulders and thighs, you refuse his question, instead asking, “Should I pull up a chair?”
Mingi’s lips warp into a small smirk as he leans back in the booth, two hands sliding down his thighs before he slaps them twice, “Here’s your chair.”
Your smile tightens, lips flat, eyes scrunched to hide the twitch. “Of course,” there’s nothing but sarcasm in your tone, enough for Mingi to notice, more than enough for Jongho to notice, but hopefully not the others.
Pulling your backpack from your shoulder, you set it on the floor beside the booth, resting your headphones and hoodie on top. Carefully, slowly, hesitantly, you slide a leg between Mingi’s body and the table splitting the seats, trying not to cringe as you sit on the edge of his thigh. In the back of his throat he makes a strained, tight noise, one low enough for only you to hear, it makes your head snap to look at him, eyes pointed and lips thinned.
He’s just smiling, fully amused by your reaction. You wish you could speak telepathically, call him a fucking asshole for pretending you’re heavy when he lifts six days a fucking week.
His arms wrap around you, settling on your thighs, you’re too aware of the silence at the table as he shifts you farther back, in a more comfortable position– if a comfortable position actually exists on Song Mingi’s lap.
“Are you guys between classes?” You turn to the table, smile back on your cheeks, hands in your lap, “I never see you here.”
“Why are we here?” Taehyun leaned forward, dark brows that matched his hair furrowed, plump lips scrunched in question. He’s a DB, if your memory serves, on the smaller side but fucking strong.
Heeseung, from across the table, replies simply, “Mingi wanted to come.”
The table’s eyes lead to the six-foot moron behind you. You can feel him shrug, voice casual like he didn’t care that this is clearly weird, “Was feeling coffee.”
“We’ve never been here before,” Jaemin comments, or argues, you think. He sips his water bottle, no coffee on the table before him, lean build with a wide upper body, he’s fucking gorgeous. He catches your eye, flashing you a smile held in his eyes, you have to look down at the table to stop yourself from asking for his number.
“We come here all the time,” Jongho adds, your head picks up to see something playful in his eyes, lips upcurved slightly, “probably wanted to see your girlfriend’s hangout spot, right, Min?”
It’s then that you realize Jongho arranged this, Jongho knew Wooyoung was here, but why wasn’t Jongho the one to text you? Your eye twitches remembering Mingi now has your number.
He’s having too much fun chuckling from behind you, knees bouncing, making your whole body shift. His voice is coated in rock-hard candy, “Of course I wanted to see the coffee shop my girlfriend loves so much.”
Your lips tighten again, embarrassed. You’re embarrassed. He’s embarrassing you right now, and it’s on purpose.
“You’re so sweet,” you turn your head halfway, shoulders lifted into your cheeks, forcing a cheeriness to your voice that makes Jongho snort from across the table, “I’m so lucky.”
It renders Mingi’s face flat, unimpressed, he reaches forward and grabs the half-filled plastic cup filled with what looks like watered down shit, bringing it up to take a sip. Your brow pops, “Are you drinking espresso water?”
The table erupts in laughter and your head turns, brows fully furrowing at the commotion, “What?”
“Have you ever heard of an americano, du–” Mingi stops himself mid-insult, lips snapping shut.
Your top lip curls, but instead of reacting your head turns to the table again, seven fucking football players staring at you like you’re an alien, “What the fuck is an americano?”
They all laugh again, slapping each other’s chests like it was the funniest thing they’ve ever heard and unfortunately it makes you laugh with them, a nervous-confused combination of a breathy giggle, their laughter too contagious for you to not join.
Mingi holds the cup up to your mouth, making you flinch as the straw approaches your lips. He smacks his teeth, “It’s espresso diluted by water, try it, it’s good.”
Your eyes flicker up to his, and he’s not laughing, not smiling. His brows are lifted with the offer, lips slightly pouted, he looks genuine. Reluctantly you lean forward, lips wrapping around the straw, taking a sip– and it tastes exactly how it looks.
Face scrunching up in disgust, you shake your head twice, “This is why god created cream and sugar.”
That makes him laugh, a smile curving his lips, he takes another sip right after you. An indirect kiss, the immature part of your brain realizes, you wonder how many women on your campus would kill to have exactly that with Song Mingi. How many women would die to sit exactly where you sat; to feel the sheer strength of his thighs beneath them, arms brushing his chest with each movement, his biceps stretched out on either side of them.
The thought is fleeting as you hear the table laugh again, this time it startles you, jumping slightly on Mingi’s lap out of surprise. His other arm wraps around you a little tighter, your movement startling him, you quickly mumble, “My bad.”
“You’re funny,” Seungmin notes from across the booth, as you look at him you realize he’s talking to you. He’s cute, mousy face, maybe more like a hamster, or a puppy– his eyes are soft and his smile is kind, it takes the edge off his attention on you. His eyes slide to Mingi behind you, “How did you guys meet again?”
“We met here,” Mingi responds casually and your lips tighten again, the lie spins once more. He keeps going, completely theatric, “She bought me coffee because she tripped me outside the cafe.”
You gasp, brows furrowing, head twisting behind you to scold him, “That did not happen!”
His eyes are playful, smile menacing, “Oh, yes it did, we cannot have this argument again, princess.”
Your tongue pokes your cheek, following now. Fine, let’s play. Straightening your back, you respond, “It’s not my fault you tripped over your feet, I just happened to be there. You blamed it on me and threatened to call campus security if I didn’t buy you a coffee.”
Mingi shrugs, “It got me a free coffee and a girlfriend, didn’t it? Well-played, if you ask me.”
Your smile grows, shaking your head in disbelief, at the story he created, how smooth he’s playing it. Fuck him. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter with a small laugh, “I guess it did.”
Turning to the table, they all seem so locked in you almost forget you told five or six of his other teammates a completely different story. You suppose D1 football players won’t be gossiping about where you and Mingi met.
Catching Jongho’s eye in your scan, he looks surprised, almost. Maybe disbelief, how he was blinking at the two of you, his jaw dropped, lips slightly curved. You thin your eyes at him, “You know this story Ho, don’t look so surprised.”
His face quickly morphs to irritation as the table sings a chorus of laughter once more, all six of them adding the nickname to their arsenals upon it gracing their ears. You smile, proud of the work you’ve done, Jongho can do nothing but scowl.
“If any of you call me Ho I’m putting dog shit in the vents of your bedrooms,” he looks around the table, voice threatening, eyes cold.
The laughter dies down but humor dances in the air, Beomgyu is the only one still verbally giggling with his whole chest, “I don’t even care, that is so fucking funny, I’m calling you that forever.”
Jongho redirects his scowl to you, exasperated, “Look at what you did.”
“And I’d do it again,” you’re giggling too, cocky, feeling big-dicked that Jongho’s teammates find you so funny.
The feeling of being watched strikes alarm bells in your head, you turn your head to scan the room, landing on where Wooyoung sits, his lap now empty. He eyes you from across the room and you can’t read his expression, mostly boredom, but the more you look, the more the clench in jaw is visible. Elbow on the armrest, forearm bent upward, fist clenching and unclenching, he’s analyzing.
You sink further into Mingi which he accepts easily, hand lazily thrown over your thigh, you looked like a real, proper couple getting coffee between classes. The smell of cedar beckons your attention, warm and woodsy, a little spicy, it makes it easier to forget who’s beneath you, who’s body you’re so easily and openly and publicly attached to.
Two taps to your thigh grabs your attention, you pull your gaze back to the table, to the dark-headed fuck behind you, “Hm?”
“Park asked you a question, princess,” Mingi tips his chin in Sunghoon’s direction, his voice light but direct, it has your head turning to follow his motion in an instant.
“Is this your first time dating a D1 athlete?” He asks the question with innocence, expression curious, “It has to be different than dating someone who isn’t an athlete.”
You resist the urge to say first time dating, because you’ve certainly slept with a few. Instead you nod politely, humming your answer, “Definitely my first time dating someone as high-profile as Mingi.”
Sunghoon snorts, body leaning back in the booth, his build leaner than the others, strong all the same. Pretty face, structured, timeless features, you briefly wonder what he’s doing on the football team and not on a stage somewhere.
“Not gonna lie, we never thought Song would date,” Heeseung leans forward again, eyeing you from the other side of the booth, a smile playing on his lips, but there’s more truth to his words than humor.
“Not again,” Taehyun quips, “we always assumed he was too focused on his diet and his training program to actually put effort into another human.”
Mingi stiffens beneath you– a slight movement, one you can feel too easily while perched on his lap. There’s still laughter in the air, the comments read light-hearted, but you wonder if it feels that way to Mingi.
Jaemin cackles, “What the hell do you guys mean? He’s never alone.”
“Did you have him tested before you fucked him?” Seungmin wears a smirk, brows raised in your direction, “Because if you haven’t, I think you both probably should at this point.”
Mingi’s chest leans into your back, his chin popping over your shoulder, “Alright, enough.”
You can feel every single muscle pressed to your back, the plush of his broad pecs against your shoulderblades, his fucking washboard of an abdomen against your spine, you can’t even register the tension consuming the table, how everyone quiets down on Mingi’s command, holy shit. You need to get laid.
Your eyes find Wooyoung, too aware of his presence, his eyes that are still fucking on you. Dark clothes, boots crossed over one another, he held up his caseless phone like he wanted you to check yours. Blinking into focus, you reach between you and Mingi to your back pocket, pulling out your phone, clicking it on to look at your home screen.
wooyo: can we talk
wooyo: outside
You pick your head up to look at Jongho, heart picking up speed in your chest, drowning out the sounds of the men around you in another conversation. He meets your eye, furrowing his brows for a split second and fuck you wish you could speak out loud.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say quietly to Mingi, barely turning your head to see his face.
His hand lifts from your thigh, “I have to leave soon.”
“That’s fine,” your voice is low, “wait until I get back so I can say goodbye.”
Don’t catch me outside talking to Wooyoung with half of your team in tow.
The restrooms are beside the exit, your escape is easy. On the far side of the building, you ignore how foul your heart feels in your chest, the pounding bass feeling like nerves instead of excitement.
It’s still putrid, hot, humid, disgusting outside, it only adds to the feeling of wrongness. It feels like an eternity before you hear the scrape of his boots against concrete, the smell of cigarette smoke circling where you stood.
“Hey,” his voice is low, casual, rough around the edges like that was his umpteenth cigarette of the day. His black tee is fitted, jeans baggy, one of his pantlegs tucked into a boot. He looked like danger personified but his skin still gleamed summer, bronzy and sparkling, pink dusting his cheeks.
“Why did you want to talk?” Your voice is sharp, no room for it to be taken any other way than rude.
Wooyoung chuckles a little, lips scrunching to blow smoke up into the air, above your bodies. He leaves room between you, enough for you to feel comfortable, but you’re sure there was a purpose. With him, there’s always a purpose.
He flicks the butt, ashing on the concrete below, eyes trained on his own movements before they slowly trail up your body to meet your gaze, making a show of checking you out, it makes you sick. Kind of.
“You’re really dating him?” It’s between a statement and a question, two of his fingers bringing the cigarette back up to his lips.
Your brows furrow, arms crossing tighter over your chest, “Yes?”
“We broke up a week ago, baby,” he chuckles, smoke escaping his mouth with each burst of breath, “that’s a little quick, don’t you think?”
“You’re one to talk,” your jaw clenches, standing straighter, “where’s your arm candy? Or did you cheat on her already?”
“She’s in there,” his voice is too light, so unbothered it genuinely pisses you off how fast your heart is beating. You wished you had a fraction of his nonchalance. “And I didn’t cheat on you, doll, we were never together in the first place.”
“Right,” you blow disbelief through your nose, rolling your eyes, body turning away from him, facing the parking lot that looked deserted even if it was packed with college kids inside. Turning your head only, you ask, “Why are you out here, Wooyoung? What do you want?”
“I still haven’t gotten my hoodie back,” his eyes are low, catching a honey bronze color in the sunlight, you hate how they steal your attention.
You crack a nasty grin, “I burned that ugly fucking hoodie.”
Inside the cafe, Mingi has caught on easily. He watched Wooyoung stand about forty-five seconds after you left for the bathroom, he doesn’t need to look to understand what’s going on, where you are. For such a shitty plan, he can’t believe it’s working so well, it’s as if Wooyoung and Winter were falling into Mingi’s palms without him having to lift a finger.
He doesn’t mind having you around, it doesn’t feel like work. You’re funny, quick-witted and smart, so smart he wonders what your major is. He wonders a lot about you, your relationship with Jongho, what you do in your free time, what the hell you were doing sleeping with Wooyoung, of all people. In the small amount of time he’s spent with you, he already knows you deserve better than a fucking asshole like him, you deserve someone who will meet you on your level.
Mingi wonders if there’s anyone on the team he can set you up with after the two of you break up. Looking around the table, there doesn’t seem to be any winners, maybe Seungmin could keep up with your banter, but Mingi thinks you might destroy him. Jaemin’s funny, but he’s stupid, he can't keep up with your smarts, he thinks Jaemin will irritate you before he entertains you. Maybe Chris, he’s smart, he’s a lot like Mingi, but he’s not one to date.
You don’t need another fuckboy asshole taking advantage of you.
It doesn’t matter, anyhow, maybe after your talk with Wooyoung the scheme will be cut short and everything will go back to normal. He won’t have to see you ever again, he’ll have Winter at his side and he can forget this ever happened, forget about you fully. Training, academics, practice, games. Playoffs are coming up– he hopes he’ll have Winter by then, cheering for him in the stands, wearing his jersey.
“Hi.”
Eyes flickering upward to a voice he recognizes, he sits a little straighter when he sees the dark-haired beauty standing at the head of the table, holding two coffee cups, wearing the prettiest, shy smile.
Winter. He could see his future like it was his past.
“Hey,” Mingi keeps his voice steady, only letting his lips curve ever so slightly. “You need something?”
She shakes her head, pink kissing her round cheeks, she looks down at her shoes, toes knocking together. “Just wanted to wish you luck with playoffs. I know your conference game is next weekend, you must be stressed.”
Mingi swallows down his giddiness, she knows who he is? She’s standing here, at the table, in front of a quarter of his team, talking to him? Wishing him luck?
“Thanks,” Mingi nods, smile growing, “no stress, we’ve got it in the bag. You’ll be there?”
She nods, “Definitely, wouldn’t miss it.” Finally looking at the rest of the table, her eyes land on each one of his teammates, and he’s loving the way each man looks like they want to devour her. Little do they know, she’s his. Her voice coy and soft, she says, “Good luck to you guys, too.”
She made it clear she was only here for Mingi.
He’d kiss her right now if he could.
She winks at Mingi as she walks away, long lashes fluttering as she makes her way back toward where she was sitting with Wooyoung before, setting the plastic coffee cups down on the table. Straight posture, dainty fingers, hair shiny and long, cascading down her back, fuck, she’s perfect.
“Your luck is crazy, Mingi,” Jaemin comments when she’s out of ear-shot, “Winter approaching when your girl goes to the bathroom? You’re one of God’s favorites.”
“Huh?” Mingi pops a brow before you pop into his mind again. “Oh, yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “I really lucked out.”
“What are you gonna do?” Taehyun asks, “She wants you.”
Mingi scrunches his lips to one side, catching Jongho’s eye from across the table. Playing with the coffee cup on the table, spinning it in a circle between his fingers, he’s reminded who you are to Jongho. He can’t be openly disrespectful.
Mingi answers plainly, “Nothing, I have a girlfriend.”
They all snort, table erupting in laughter like that was the most stupid thing that could have left his mouth. And Mingi guesses it is, Jongho knows who he is, that this is all a plan, a ploy, for the sole purpose of Mingi dating Winter. It doesn’t matter how it all unfolds.
You startle him by barreling back to the table, barely sparing Mingi a glance as you grab your hoodie, your backpack, your headphones. Your eyes find Jongho across the table, flaring something panicked before looking back at Mingi, “I have to go.”
You don’t sound happy. Your jaw is clenched, your chest is flushed, your eyes seem glossy, Mingi finds himself concerned, internally questioning what the fuck happened outside.
“You okay?” He asks, body turning sideways, knees poking out from below the table.
Wooyoung walks by behind you, not even looking as he leisurely strolls past, the smell of cigarette smoke following him like he was purposely leaving a trail behind.
“I’m fine,” you mumble, chest rising and falling in quick succession, “but I gotta go.”
Mingi, apparently out of his fucking mind, stands abruptly, stepping toward you with furrowed brows, “I’ll come.”
“No,” you answer harshly, then lick your lips, mouth tightening like you wished you could reel the word back in. “I’m sorry, I– I’ll text you, ‘kay?”
Your eyes find the table behind Mingi, everyone staring up at you, some with furrowed brows, some acting like they didn’t hear anything at all. You reach up to put your hands on Mingi’s shoulders, standing on your tippy toes to plant a small kiss on his cheek, then whisper, “Bye.”
Mingi’s dumbfounded as you haul ass out of Lucent. Backpack bouncing behind you, you rip the door open and leave the place like an intruder had just told everyone to put their hands up. His fingers find his cheek, though, confused as he is, he turns back to the table, all of his boys already staring up at him.
“You’re fucked,” Seungmin says plainly, “she definitely saw Winter at the table, she’s pissed.”
Mingi sits back in the booth, eyes sliding to where Winter sits, meeting Wooyoung’s already-there stare. He’s smirking, eyes trained on Mingi while Winter is speaking to him, a hand on his shoulder, it makes Mingi’s top lip lift in distaste, he’s such a fucking asshole it makes him sick.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: next sunday
xxx-xxx-xxxx: four highest ranked teams get a first round bye for playoffs
you: so youre planning to be top 4 i assume
xxx-xxx-xxxx: im planning to be top 1 fym
you: hmmmm
xxx-xxx-xxxx: idk how much time ill have between now and then tho
xxx-xxx-xxxx: we might not be able to flex our fake relationship as hard
you: absence makes the heart grow fonder
you: winter will be at the game tho
you: think shell kiss you if you win???
xxx-xxx-xxxx: stop dont make me delusional bro
xxx-xxx-xxxx: and dont steal my line
you: acting like you made it up is crazy
you: saying been around for decades and here you go
you: claiming it as your own
You’re smiling at your phone, not realizing you’re giggling while Jongho and Yeosang stare at you with pointed eyes from across the living room, the two sitting comfortably on Yeosang’s couch, laptops on their laps. You came over to catch up on schoolwork after Jongho left practice, not wanting to do it at your own apartment, plus, you had to catch them up on the newest development in the Wooyoung saga.
Since you ended things, you haven’t really had time to process what happened. Quickly shoved into the fake dating scheme, you were focused on something shiny and new, you forgot to pay attention to the small part inside you that ached. Four months is a solid chunk of time, especially when most of it was over the summer where most of the campus wasn’t in attendance, the only thing on your agenda was your part-time job and Wooyoung.
Despite having something shiny and new to focus on, the loss of him still hurts. Sleeping alone, not having anyone to touch, to kiss, to tell your work drama and have them fuck it better, despite being an avoidant asshole, Wooyoung filled a gap for you the entire four months you were ‘together’.
He spoke to you the other day like you meant nothing to him. Which you knew, but to have further confirmation in such a setting, standing outside your favorite coffee shop where the other woman sat just inside, it hurt. By the end of the conversation all your pent-up, repressed feelings rose to the surface, you needed to get the fuck out of there before you sobbed all over Mingi’s americano.
Mingi. Fuck him, his pretty hair and strong body, fuck him for looking at you like he cared about your feelings. It’s all bullshit and it’s not what you need right now, you should be focused on doubling your pain and passing it straight back to Wooyoung. School should really be top priority, your weekly study group, your shifts on the weekend, your top priority should be your degree and making sure you’re stable. You didn’t think this plan would come with so much added shit.
“Who are you texting?” Yeosang asks, green and black hair straight, tucked behind his ears, showing his piercings. He wore a dark sweater, ripped at the collar bone, jeans painted onto his legs, his pink bunny socks tucked beneath his body completely ruining the bad boy vibe.
Yeosang’s never been a bad boy, he doesn’t have it in him. A soft lover boy, one that cares, one that sees what others don’t see, that’s who Yeosang is.
Mindlessly, eyes still glued to your screen, you mumble, “Mingi.”
Jongho and Yeosang share a look. Jongho, face flat, looks over his laptop screen to you, “I still can’t get over seeing you two together.”
You look up, popping a brow, “Why?”
“You look too comfortable,” a very physical shiver runs through Jongho, ruffling his fitted white tee, gray sweats a contrast to the black couch, “it’s weird.”
“Are they friendly?” Yeosang asks Jongho, the two once again acting like you’re not in the room. You roll your eyes.
“Very,” Jongho nods, then turns to look at you, “what’d I miss at that party?”
“What do you mean?” Your face morphs into confusion, small shakes of your head enforcing your bewilderment, “It’s weird because we aren’t ripping each other’s faces off? Can’t really do that in front of people who think we’re dating.”
Jongho’s face stays flat, eyes knowing, “How about the fake ass story of where you met? That was bullshit, you were bickering like you’ve known him as long as you’ve known us.”
You giggle again upon remembering, “Wait, that was funny because half his team thinks we met at the library, it’s like an ongoing bit–”
Jongho cuts you off, looking at Yeosang, “Do you see what I mean?”
Yeosang narrows his eyes, “Are you into him?”
“Do you think I’m a moron?”
“Yes,” they answer simultaneously.
You scoff, “I don’t know why I hang out with you just to get verbally degraded.”
Looking down at your phone, you notice three more messages from the number you still refuse to save.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: shut up who even are u
xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u coming to the game? if shes there wooyoung will be too
xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill give u my jersey to wear lmfao
“Do football players do this?” You ask, brows furrowing, showing Jongho and Yeosang your phone screen. Holding it over the coffee table splitting where you sat on the floor and the couch they occupied, you sat up on your knees as they bent over their laptop screens, squinting to read.
“Give their jerseys out?” Jongho asks, still mid-read.
You snatch your phone away when he starts to scroll, “Yes, fucker, is that normal?”
“Girl,” Yeosang makes a disappointed face, sitting back on the couch, “that’s standard.”
Your repulsion is physical, “Do you think he washes it?”
“It gets washed for him,” Jongho responds, “I’m surprised the staff doesn’t do all his laundry for him. If it weren’t for them, it wouldn’t get washed.”
“Do the staff really do that much?”
“He doesn’t really have to think,” Jongho continues, “he’s the star, the prized possession, vital to the football team, to the school’s popularity and income. They’d do anything he asked.”
“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, processing each word out of his mouth, “there’s really a whole world out there I don’t know shit about.”
The two men laugh, Jongo harder than Yeosang, the younger man’s giggles high-pitched and shameless, “Have you not paid attention my entire football career?”
“No,” your answer is short, plain, “why would I?”
“Because there was a time we both played football and you were glued to us,” Yeosang answers, “there are some things you should probably know already.”
“Neither of you have had a girlfriend during the season!” Your voice is high-pitched, defensive, you bring your attention back to your phone. “You’re riding me for what right now, all of this will be over in like, two weeks, anyway.”
you: whatever football boy
you: ya im coming
xxx-xxx-xxxx: cool
xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u actually gonna wear my jersey
you: do i have to
xxx-xxx-xxxx: kinda
you: man
you: whatever
xxx-xxx-xxxx: wow
xxx-xxx-xxxx: i can feel ur excitement through the phone
“Are you bringing him to my gig?” You look up from your phone to see Yeosang already looking at you, “It’s at Eonian, so Wooyoung will definitely be there.”
You groan, throwing your phone to the side, stretching your body out as you lay down on the rug, whining. “Your shows are our time, Yeo.”
Bass player for his band, Yeosang playing shows on and off campus was a frequent event. Always somewhere lowkey, somewhere fun, you always went with Jongho, Jia or Riyo. Bringing a man, especially Mingi, would debase the entire meaning of Yeosang’s shows. You go to support him, not to keep tabs on Wooyoung all night or feel uncomfortable with Mingi attached to your hip.
“All that shit just happened with Wooyoung, though,” Jongho says matter-of-factly, “it’s smart to show up with Mingi on your arm. Where Wooyoung goes, Winter follows.”
You pick only your head up, squinting at him over the table, “Yeosang’s shows are off limits. I need to be able to scream my excitement freely, Mingi’s presence will hinder my enjoyment.”
“Whatever,” Yeosang sings, “it’s just one show, but okay.”
You whine, head banging against the floor beneath the rug as you lay it back down, “He’s busy, anyways. He just told me he won’t have time to hang before the conference game.”
“Yet here I am,” Jongho argues, “and at that show, I will be.”
You mumble a curse, “Whatever.”
Picking up your phone again, a notification from Instagram sticks out on your home screen, a message request.
blondenbeautiful: Heard you’re dating Song Mingi?
blondenbeautiful: Biggest joke i’ve ever heard LMFAO
blondenbeautiful: Lying for attention is pathetic, I hope he sues you for defamation
You sit up abruptly, eyes wide as you stare at the screen, “What the fuck?!”
Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing the shock in your voice, Jongho and Yeosang hop up from their spots, throwing their laptops to the side, racing around the coffee table to look at your phone screen.
“Ew,” Yeosang huffs, “no way this is happening already.”
“What do you mean already?” You look at your green haired friend, shocked and confused.
“Turn off your DM requests,” Jongho adds, “fuck that, dude, fuck no.”
“I’m not turning them off,” you scoff, “that’s pussy shit. Her username is blonde n’ beautiful, Ho.”
You click on her profile, scroll through her feed, watch her story, she lives across the fucking country. You think this is what Yeosang meant when he said Mingi had refined taste; barbie dolls, rich bitch attitude, this was his typical.
“Who cares about pussy shit?” Jongho’s brows are tied together, his eyes pleading, “That’s not the point. He has a fanbase of Warrior Barbies, have you even looked at his Instagram?”
Scrolling out of your requests and opening up the search bar, your eyes widen upon seeing his profile. You followed him already, probably from your freshman year, but he definitely didn’t have near fifty thousand followers back then, or so many posts professionally photographed.
For some reason it’s this that opens your eyes, a chill racking down your spine. You knew how detrimental he was to the university, his level of popularity, but you didn’t think it was outside of your campus, too. He was popular, known, and it spread wider than you ever thought was possible for a guy who sings Trap Queen in sports house bathrooms.
Voice shaky, you whisper, “I feel like I’m in a who the fuck did I marry subreddit.”
Yeosang can’t help the laugh that escapes him, head dipping down with an amused breath, he snaps back to deadpanning in a second’s time. “You should turn off your requests before it gets worse.”
“I’m not even dating him for realsies,” you argue, “the insults are empty. None of them are true, so they don’t count.”
Jongho sits beside you, flopping down on the rug from where he was crouched, “I just don’t want them to get to you. The whole Wooyoung thing upset you enough, you don’t need social media harassment to put the cherry on top.”
“I’ll be fine,” you lock your phone, tossing it to the floor beside you, “that shit won’t bother me. I’m strong.”
“Yeah, alright,” sarcasm swims in Yeosang’s voice, “is it a crime to listen to us every once in a while?”
You sneer, “Yes.”
you: btw yeosang is playing a show friday at 10
you: at eonian on 4th ave
you: woo and winter will be there
xxx-xxx-xxxx: just told u i dont have time
you: why are you acting like i want you there
xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill be there
THIRD OUTING: EONIAN, FRIDAY. 9:42 PM
“Did you hire a personal stylist or something?”
You scoff, standing in your doorway, looking down at your own outfit. You supposed it was different for you, more stylish than you’d normally shoot for when going anywhere, let alone the dinky dive bar you’ve gone to a thousand times. The doormen have seen you in sweatpants, chain-smoking cigarettes because you had too much to drink, the bartenders have seen you in stained overalls, making out with a random person in the corner because you had too much to drink, you don’t know why you chose today, of all days, to put in an effort when everyone there has seen you at your worst.
Looking at Mingi, he seemed to have the same idea. Although he always looked put together in a way, even if he was in sweats and a cutoff tank, it never looked necessarily bad. All black, leather jacket, boots, his hair styled away from his face, messily but purposeful, he looked good. Really good. It pissed you off.
“Did your staff pick out that outfit for you?” You sneer, “I’m not used to seeing you without sweatpants on.”
“Insulting the man who came all the way here to pick you up,” he nods, bottom lip folded over in the most attitude-stricken look he’s ever given you, “smart.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, heels clicking against the floor as you step through the threshold of your apartment. “Let’s just go.”
Mingi’s car is ridiculous. Ever since seeing his stupid Instagram page, there seems to be a constant reminder everywhere of who he is, what he has. It still smelled new inside, black leather interior, red detail, gear shift looking untouched, pristine. Not a spec of dust on the dash or in the backseat that held only one black duffel bag unzipped, your instincts told you it could hold a lot more.
“Have you been to Eonian?” You ask, turning your head to face him after he pulled out of your complex’s parking lot.
Pressure forces you back into your seat as he picks up speed, knees shifting below the steering wheel, palm wrapped around the gearstick, his face goes unchanged. He leans his head toward you but doesn’t turn it, “Maybe once, why?”
“Just wondering,” your voice is pitched, shaky, eyes widened while you swallow down your heart that shot up so high you could taste it. Your fingers curl into your jeans, thanking god seatbelts exist in your head, you turn your head to the window so you could close your eyes in peace without being caught as a wimp.
You hear him laugh after a second, a small, snarky giggle. The car slows and you can feel it in your chest, body sinking into leather, free to move as you please, your fingers uncurl from your pantlegs, shoulders slouching in relief.
“My bad, should have warned you.”
“I want to survive,” you don’t let him hear the shakiness in your voice, keeping it laced with clear irritation, “if I died beside you I’d have to resurrect myself just to walk ten feet away and die there instead.”
“You’re really sweet, y’know that?” Sarcasm evident, he continues, “I can’t understand why Wooyoung would cheat on such a nice, kind girl.”
Your neck twists to eye him, gaze harsh enough to cut. What the fuck? “We weren’t even together, he didn’t cheat.”
“Oh!” His laughter is punched, eyes condescending, lips half surprised and half amused, “Excuse me, he didn’t cheat, right. He didn’t want to date you at all.”
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you mumble, head turning to face the window again. It rained earlier, there’s still droplets of water sprinkled on the glass, the gloomy evening looking like the pit in your gut, soggy, heavy, dark. “That’s why Winter rejected you.”
“Well she wants me now,” he adds and you can hear the stupid smirk in his voice.
You snap your head toward him again, “Where did that even come from?”
“Did I strike a nerve?”
Your jaw clenches, facing the window again, mumbling, “This isn’t even worth it anymore.”
He turns the music up, letting it fill the cabin of the car, you can barely feel the road beneath you, his car drives so smoothly. You can hear him switch gears, the roar of the engine picking up, the feel of force in your chest as his speed increases, your hair moving when he slows again, it’s torture.
It’s worse when you step out to go inside the bar, the ground bendy beneath you, feet unsteady on pavement. Your stomach feels icky, your chest heavy and weird, and to top it off, the cigarette-smoking-stupid-fucking-asshole is standing right outside the front door, talking to the bouncer, doused in leather and silver. You suck in a deep breath, straightening your back, part of you forgetting Mingi’s there as you start for the door. Maybe you just wish he wasn’t with you at all.
Mingi calls your name, you don’t stop. A little firmer, a little louder, “Hey.” Jaw clenched, you stop in your tracks, the fur on your jacket whipping as you turn around. Lazily he strolls toward you, holding out a hand, to which you don’t grab.
“Hold my hand,” he wiggles his palm a little, voice edged with annoyance, “come on.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Is it what I said in the car?” He lowers his palm, head tilting, “I’m sorry if I went too far, I won’t do it again. Now please hold my hand so we can go inside together, they’ll be watching.”
Shooting daggers at him, your hand peeks out from your sleeve, reluctantly reaching forward; he spreads out his fingers with a satisfied grin, tangling them with yours, palms pressed together. There’s a certain intimacy to holding someone’s hand, not something you do often, not something you’ve done in a very long time; yet there’s no warmth that spreads through you at the contact, no electricity that stems in the tip of your spine. Strictly business.
Taking a step forward, he comments, “Your hand is clammy.”
“Wonder why,” you roll your eyes, “you have calluses, it’s gross, like sandpaper. Or cat tongue.”
Mingi smacks his lips together, walking in-step with you now, his head dipping down to hide how your words made him laugh. “You’re seriously deranged.”
It makes a smile claw at your lips, turning your head away so he can’t see the grin that fights its way to the surface. He squeezes your hand once like he can see through your wall of hair, snickering from beside you, by the time you get to the front door you’re both fighting to crack a smile like a pair of stubborn idiots.
Tall and buff, a head of light brown, curly hair hidden beneath a snapback, the bouncer eyes you over your ID, then looks at Mingi, deadpanning, “Make sure she doesn’t get near a pack of Marlboro Reds tonight.”
Wooyoung is behind him now, smiling as smoke pours from the corner of his mouth, losing its opacity as it melts into the humid air around him. He’s quiet, but he watches as your face falls, then makes it clear he’s inspecting every article of clothing on your body.
“I’m not even a smoker, Minho.”
“Minho?” Mingi questions, head bobbing in surprise and confusion. He looks at you with a dumbfounded face, “Marlboro Reds?”
“Can we just go inside?” You tug on Mingi’s hand, he takes your ID back from Minho before following you inside Eonian, his brows still furrowed.
“I thought you said you don’t really come here,” Mingi sounds lost as you pull him inside the door, the smell of humid air and alcohol meeting your nose upon entrance.
You do a quick scan of the bar, mindlessly answering, “I’ve been here a few times with Wooyoung.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with the bouncer,” he hisses his argument, standing close to you now, leaning down just enough to whisper-yell it into your ear.
Spotting Jongho in the far corner, just beside the stage at a table, your grin is finally real and takes over your entire face. “Yeah, well, he fucked my friend,” you pull him in Jongho’s direction, “I found Ho, come on.”
It takes longer than you thought it would to get across the crowded bar, you stopped three different times for Mingi to dap up strangers you’ve maybe seen before, all people who tucked Mingi into a quick hug with grins so bright it was as if they were meeting God. Antagonizing, remembering how many people love him, not that you showed your distaste as Mingi introduced you to every single person as his girlfriend, in which they all drank up your figure and complimented Mingi on how well he did scoring you.
It almost made up for what happened in the car. Almost.
Dick two inches bigger, you had more swag in your step as you dragged him to Jongho’s table, where he stood around the high-top wooden surface with two others beside him. Lee Minho, Lee Felix, tight-end, kicker. Felix, bright, blonde and bushy-tailed, stood a little shorter than Minho, who was everything dark and brooding, at least on the outside. Light seemed to return to his eyes when you approached the table, a small smile on your face, already in-character.
Jongho looked less wary as you approached this time, a pink hue to his cheeks, shoulders slightly slouched, a tall beer on the table before him. It looks appealing, even for a beer, at this point you think you’d take a swig of whiskey just to ease the lingering weight in your chest.
He notices your eyes lingering on his beer, he tugs it toward him, eyes pointed, “No.”
It makes a small laugh pass through your lips before you greet the table. Felix’s warm brown eyes seem brighter after Mingi introduces you, his freckled cheeks pink at the apples, “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
“Me?” You’re still smiling, one brow popped, “Why?”
“The girl who tamed Song Mingi,” Minho is quick to answer as if that was now a title of sorts.
Your head tilts, confusion spreading, Mingi’s hand slides to the small of your back, his pinky lining the hem of your jeans. The girl who tamed Song Mingi, your initial reaction is to laugh through the confusion, it comes out staggered, airy, uneasy.
Felix is beaming, grin spread wide like excitement was oozing from his pores, “The whole team has been talking about you, they say you’re funny, and hot, which is clearly true.”
Now heat is spreading through you, smile shifting to something of a smirk, he’s pretty. Like a girl, in a way, blonde hair straight past his shoulders, you can tell there’s a lean, disciplined body beneath the oversized clothes on his body. Backwards hat, lips plump and rosy like he’d been kissing someone for hours, you wonder how hot he thinks you are.
“Is your jacket from Anthro? I’ve been looking at it online, waiting for it to go on sale,” his eyes are on the faux fur on your shoulders, the jacket you thrifted ages ago for ten bucks, you have no idea what brand is on the tag.
Gaydar going off, you ask, “No idea, wanna check?”
His eyes flare brighter, you don’t wait for his answer as you break away from Mingi’s heavy hand, walking around the table. You feel soft fingers moving your hair out of the way as your eyes lead to Jongho, “When does Yeo go on?”
“I think in twenty minutes or so,” he shrugs, bringing his beer up to his lips.
You shiver when you feel the warmth of Felix’s fingertips at the base of your neck, “They’re late?”
Head down to allow Felix access to your tag, your eyes slide to look at the stage, lights on and empty. You got here right before ten, he should be going on any minute now.
“Technical difficulties,” Minho comments in a sing-song tone, reminding you he’s also at the table. Taller than you, beefier than Felix, his elbows sit on the table, biceps straining the sleeves of his fitted tee. Dark hair, eyes feline, lips small and pouty, shit, he’s hot, too.
You hum, storing the info for later, “I hope they play soon.”
“This is Anthro,” Felix gasps, “so cute, I want one.”
“I thrifted it a long time ago, if you ever want to borrow it, ask Mingi for my number,” you offer as you turn around, hands grabbing the hem of it to pull it forward, fixing where it sank backward.
Felix’s head turns to Mingi across the table, feigning a pout, “I like this one, can I keep her?”
In-character, Mingi shakes his head, a smooth, proud chuckle tumbling from his lips. “Sorry to break it to you, Lix, but that one’s mine.”
Mine.
Hand holding didn’t get a reaction out of you, but a singular word makes your stomach curl. You barely remember the last time you were considered someone’s partner, significant other, girlfriend, you don’t know if you ever have been; you’ve been a fuck-buddy, a situationship, a friends with benefits, everything under the fucking sun besides owned. At least five, maybe six years it’s been since someone used the word mine to describe what you are to them, and back then it was purely adolescent, puppy-love at fifteen that made you feel lovesick instead of violently nauseous.
“I need a drink,” you blurt, “from the bar.”
Mingi’s brows furrow, “Where else would you get one, princess?”
That fucking nickname. Your nose crinkles with disgust, you don’t even care about forcing a smile on your face or putting on a show, your irritation returns tenfold. Giving him a long, blank stare, you turn and beeline for the bar.
Deep, shiny oak littered with splotches of wetness, signed receipts soaked, smudged and clinging to the surface, loose, skinny black straws thrown about the bar like some drunk idiot threw a handful in the air, it was a typical Friday night here. Elbows on the bar, you push yourself up by the ledge attached to the base, you keep your chest pressed above your folded arms so the sexy bartender would help you first.
“What’s wrong?”
You smack your lips again, but you don’t turn around. Just his voice is getting on your last nerve.
“Tell me what’s wrong, you’re acting bitchier than usual.”
You can feel the words in your spine. You snap your neck to the side, “Is that why it’s so understandable for me to get cheated on? Because I’m bitchy?”
“You’re still mad about that?” Mingi asks, sounding genuine. You hear him sigh before he forces himself between you and the guy standing beside you at the bar, someone shorter than him, smaller. “Do you want me to apologize again?”
“I don’t want anything from you,” you say quietly, voice laced with venom, keeping your eyes on the tall bartender juggling bottles like they’re toys, his movements fluid. You attempt to telepathize with him, maybe he’ll hear your calls of his name in his mind.
“I thought we moved past that already,” he sighs, “you’re not even gonna look at me? I’m trying–”
“Why do you give a fuck?” You finally look at him and his brows are upturned, lips pouty, but that arrogance that’s embedded in him is so fucking clear you regret looking. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you. I’m here for Yeosang, you’re here to impress Winter, wherever the fuck she is. You should go find her.”
“Hey, baby,” you turn to find the bartender finally answering your calls, “he bothering you?”
“Yes,” you smile back, giddiness forming in the pit of your stomach. Slit through his eyebrow, buzz-cut bleached a sandy blonde color, he wears a mesh tank that sits loose on his skin, flowing with each movement. “But he’s paying, so I can’t escape him just yet. Wanna do a shot with me on his tab?”
You lean in closer, eyes low, smile playful. He chuckles, eyes sliding to Mingi and then back to you, “A shot with my favorite girl? Of course. Is he doing one too?”
You shrug, “Ask him, not me.”
You both look at Mingi whose brows are in his hairline, lips parted and slightly curled in a small sneer. It takes him a second to process Hyunjin’s staring at him with a question, he shakes his head slightly before reaching into his pocket, muttering, “Nah, I’m good.”
Hyunjin pours you your favorite drink before placing two plastic shot-cups on the bar, messily pouring liquor that spills onto the grated surface below, “Cheers, to Yeosangie.”
“To Yeosangie,” your grin spreads wide, clinking plastic before smacking them on the bar and shooting them back. “Thanks, Jinnie.”
“Anything for my favorite girl,” his voice is warm, almost as warm as his pretty brown eyes when he looks at you, it makes your insides feel fuzzy. He turns to Mingi who passes him his credit card with that same confused-annoyed look, but he stays quiet. Good.
When Hyunjin walks away, he speaks, and you groan upon the first word leaving his lips. “You’re such a liar, you lied to me.”
“Whatever,” you huff, bringing the straw up to your lips. Fruity, bitter, strong, necessary. “You don’t need to know the truth all the time.”
Mingi’s shaking his head, an annoyed chuckle falling past his lips, “Is there anyone else here you’ve slept with that your boyfriend should know about?”
You shrug as he gets his card back, signing the receipt. You eye it to make sure he left Hyunjin a nice tip, which he does without a word from you. “I’ll let you know if any more show up, if you’re really that curious.”
“I’m sorry for what I said in the car,” he tries again, voice sounding strained, “I’m exhausted, the coaches are working me to the fucking bone with playoffs so close, and I’m here for you.”
Mine.
“You are not here for me,” you bite back, “you meant what you said in the car, don’t go back on it now because it pissed me off. You’re here for Winter and that’s it, Mingi. Like I said earlier, go find her.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No!”
“Fine!” You huff, “Then leave! I didn’t want you here to begin with.”
“You invited me!” He argues back, eyes blowing wide, “I came because you invited me. I picked you up after a three-hour practice. I skipped the second half of studying with exams soon to be here.”
Mine. Your chest constricts.
“You shouldn’t skip studying,” you mutter, “you can’t afford to, moron.”
“Yet I did,” his arms raising on either side of him, defeated. You look at him, really look at him, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice the bags beneath his eyes earlier, he hasn’t had that energetic, snarky-spark since he picked you up.
The lights dim around the stage, music playing through the speakers silencing, the TouchTunes turned off. Mingi sighs, “Can we just watch the show? Wooyoung saw us, which means Winter's here somewhere. They’ll see us at some point.”
“Sorry for being a bitch,” you mumble, voice small, cheeks burning.
A smile tugs at his lips, “I’m sorry for being a bitch, too.” He throws an arm around your shoulders, “Come on, it’s time to pretend you like me again.”
There’s a smile on your face when you groan, body falling beneath his arm, he walks you up towards the table again, through the crowd that parts for him as if he’s a celebrity, standing beside Jongho like he knows it’s where you’d be most comfortable.
He pushes you in front of him as people start closing in, hands sliding down, hooking into your belt loops as Yeosang’s band walks out onstage. Excitement blooming, a grin breaks out across your face, head tipping back with a hand curled around your mouth to release a sharp, pitched whistle.
Mingi echoes the noise, leaning forward to cheer for Yeosang, the back of your head touching his chest. Your head follows his body as he stands straight again, leaning on him with a smile etched into your skin, holding the plastic cup between your hands as the band takes their positions.
Yeosang’s eyes scan the crowd, you follow where his gaze gets stuck, in the back corner, sitting at one of the high-top tables. She’s here, your eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight, warmth filling your chest, a semblance of pride. Good.
“Who’s that?” Mingi leans down to ask in your ear.
“Yeosang’s kind-of girlfriend,” you tear your eyes away from her to tilt your head up, looking at him. “Their relationship is weird.”
“Hm,” Mingi’s head tilts, “doesn’t look like Yeo’s type.”
“She’s exactly his type,” you giggle, “you should know that.”
A smile forms as he looks down at you, “I guess you’re right, don’t know why I assumed everything changed after he quit playing football.”
“Running-back-gone-stoner still likes his cheerleaders,” you sing, bringing your attention back to the stage, taking a sip from your drink. “He seems happier now that he doesn’t play anymore.”
“This is the most confident I’ve ever seen him and he hasn’t played a single chord yet,” Mingi adds, nodding his agreement.
“He’s good,” there’s pride in your voice, “you’ll like their music.”
As if they could hear you, Jay strums his guitar, a striking chord that pulls the attention of the entire room. You squeal, turning your head to see Jongho who’s looking at the stage with the same amount of fondness and pride in his eyes that you wore, the same feeling you have every time you see Yeosang on stage.
Their opening song is one original out of three, the rest covers. You know every word, singing along with Jay, their lead singer and guitarist, head bopping to the beat.
Mingi doesn’t know where to look. Yeosang, who was once his good friend, onstage, or you, smiling, giggling and dancing between his arms. It’s only the third time you’ve been out in public together, but with all the texting, the updates you send each other throughout the day, the constant banter, there’s a feeling in Mingi’s chest he can’t really explain.
He’s not into you. But there’s an urge in his consciousness somewhere, to keep you close, to protect you, it makes him fucking cringe every time the thoughts cross his mind. You’re not friends, you won’t stay in contact after your alignment fulfills its purpose, it’s something he reminds himself after he thinks about you for just a little too long.
He’s tired. His bones ache, his eyes feel heavy, there’s a slouch in his shoulders he doesn’t have the strength to straighten. Your energy bleeds into him, he’s found himself going along with you the entire time you’ve been associated, as if he’s a horse you’re leading to water. So he keeps his mindless grin, a hand steady on your hip since you jumped his fingers out of your belt loops, he holds your drink with the other, keeping his palm blanketed over the open top.
He’s never seen you so happy.
He’s seen you angry, irritated, maybe he’s made you laugh once or twice now, but it’s nothing compared to the joy on your face now, how your body moves out of excitement. It’s not the liquor, it’s Yeosang onstage, who plays so well and looks so fucking cool Mingi finds himself a little jealous, a feeling he pretends isn’t there as soon as he recognizes it. The way you care for him, for Jongho, it adds to the list of things he keeps learning about you, like layers of a fucking onion.
You come to Eonian. Often. You know the bouncer, the bartender, Mingi can’t figure out why you lied. He wonders what else you’ve lied about– what more he can learn about you just by sharing space. He wonders about Wooyoung, what he said to you outside of Lucent, what made you so nervous and eager to leave. He wonders why you wanted to fake-date in the first place, if Wooyoung has done worse than cheat, if that’s why you want revenge so deeply.
The way your eyes wander across the room, finding Wooyoung and Winter, his arms thrown over her shoulders, keeping her close. How they sway together, Winter’s fingers holding onto his forearms, a small smile on her face, cheeks pink. It makes your movements smaller, the bubble of excitement surrounding your being dwindles to a flicker, you turn around and ask Mingi for your drink.
“No,” Mingi shakes his head.
Your face contorts, “What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“You don’t need to drink because you’re upset,” he keeps his voice low, “liquor isn’t going to help.”
“I’m not upset,” you sound defensive, which only confirms what Mingi’s thinking is true. “I’m at a bar watching my best friend kill it onstage, why would I be upset?”
Your brows are furrowed, lips pouty, the gloss you wore faded by now, leaving a pinkish stain behind. There’s heat in your cheeks, a pretty flush, he hates the realization that determination in your features is kind of cute.
“Come here,” Mingi offers, placing your drink on the table behind him before twisting you back around by your hips, throwing his own arms over your shoulders, tucking you into him.
You squirm, making a whiney noise, shifting your shoulders and looking down to untuck your hair where it got trapped against Mingi’s body. “You’re fucking huge,” you mumble, soft fingers coming up to hook around his forearms, Mingi can’t tell if it’s a compliment, but it’s definitely not an insult.
“You have no idea,” he smirks to himself.
You groan, “Stop saying shit like that to me.”
“Why?” Smiling, his tone comes out playful, “Curious?”
Your head tilts back to look up at him, eyes pointed, lips bent in a frown. “No.”
“Liar,” Mingi smacks his teeth, “all you’ve done tonight is lie.”
“Like I said,” you bring your attention back to the stage, “you don’t always need to know the truth.”
“So you admit you’re curious.”
“No!”
Mingi chuckles, squeezing you with his arms clamped around your front. You stay there for the rest of the show, in Mingi’s hold, head pressed to his chest, your eyes don’t wander again. They stay locked on Yeosang onstage, singing along to each song. At one point you and Mingi started swaying together when he recognized one of the covers they performed, singing along with you.
“You two are so fucking cute,” Felix comments when Yeosang’s band runs off the stage after bowing to the crowd. Mingi finally let you go at that point, where you attached to your iced-down drink like a moth to a flame.
“Yeah?” Mingi smiles at Felix before jumping into action when you bring the straw to your lips. “Don’t drink that, I didn’t have eyes on it. I’ll get you another.”
You pout, but you let him pull the straw away from your lips, “Boo.”
“What’d you think of the show?” Jongho asks, a little drunk now, Mingi thinks, as he smacks a hand on his shoulder.
Mingi’s grinning again, nodding his head, “They’re good, Yeosang is really talented.”
You squeal again, stealing his attention, “Isn’t he? He’s so fucking talented, he makes me so jealous. I wish I could play an instrument.”
Cute. He doesn’t think before reaching up to ruffle your hair, “You’re talented at lots of stuff, princess.” He doesn’t know why he said it, he doesn’t even know what you do in your free time. He blames it on it feeling right. He’s tired.
You quickly fix your hair, mumbling, “Motherfucker.”
It makes Mingi’s grin spread wider. Weird, how your insults are starting to feel like compliments.
“Are you coming to the conference game?” Minho asks, and your brows perk up at the attention, that smooth smile appearing on your cheeks, the one you use when you look at any one of his teammates. Anyone you find attractive, actually, he’s noticed.
You nod, “I’ll be there, supporting Jongho.”
“Not your boyfriend?” Minho asks, popping a brow.
“Oh shit, yeah, Mingi too,” you nod, “duh.”
He has to fight his laugh, lips tying together. You meet his eye, the look of him biting back his laugh, and crack a stupid smile at the sight. “You ready to go?” You ask, brows lifted.
Mingi’s neck cranes in confusion, “You don’t wanna wait for Yeo?”
“He has people to see,” you say casually, but Mingi knows who. “Plus, you’re tired, and you need to study before bed.”
Hesitantly, seeing the honesty in your eyes, no disappointment evident, Mingi nods. “You’re right.”
“The girl who tamed Song Mingi,” Minho sing-songs, and Mingi’s neck snaps to glare. He hates that nickname, the way they use it in the house, in practice, how it rolls off his teammates tongues with a sneer. Minho’s smile is devilish, daring; he’s one of Mingi’s only teammates that doesn’t suck-up to him completely. It’s not the right time or place to berate him for it.
You say your goodbyes politely and grab Mingi by his hand, pulling him towards the crowd, in the direction of the exit. Mingi ignores everyone who tries to steal him for a chat, giving small smiles, nods, waves of acknowledgement, but he lets you drag him all the way to the exit, where you give the bouncer, Minho, a small wave goodbye.
A little colder now, enough to rack a chill down Mingi’s spine, you stop in your tracks when you open the exit door. Winter is pressed against the wall of the building, Wooyoung’s hand over her head, forehead touching hers. He plants his lips against hers once before realizing he has company.
“Leaving so soon?” He’s smirking as he tucks his arm back into himself, standing straight, turning to face the two of you. “Yeosang played a good show.”
Winter’s eyes locked on Mingi, widened, pupils dilated like she didn’t want to be caught where Mingi had indeed caught her. She swallows, licking her lips, fixing the baggy denim on her legs as she stands straighter, moving slightly behind Wooyoung as if it’d put her out of Mingi’s eyesight.
“He always does,” your voice is cold, venomous. No warmth at all.
Wooyoung’s eyes find Mingi, taking a second to look him up and down. “Nice outfit, different for you.”
Mingi pops a brow, “Because I’m not in a jersey?”
“Sure,” Wooyoung nods, then moves his eyes to you. “Same goes for you, doll. Find my hoodie yet?”
Your fingers flex at your side, fist clenching, “I told you I burned it.”
Wooyoung chuckles, arm lifting for Winter to tuck herself into his side, it makes Mingi grimace. Gross. He’s slimey, the energy he gives off, Mingi can’t understand what the fuck girls see in him in the first place.
“Did you see Hyunjin inside?” Wooyoung asks, “He asked me about you, said your little plaything was bothering you.” Wooyoung looks at Mingi again, “I take it that’s you? But you’re her boyfriend, right?”
Mingi’s brows furrow, but you speak up before he can open his mouth. “Don’t speak to Hyunjin about me or Mingi. The only plaything you have to worry about is the one under your arm.”
Winter straightens, brows furrowing, “I’m the plaything? Me?”
“What do you think he’s gonna do with you when he’s bored?” You laugh a little, eyes so piercing it renders Mingi silent, all he can do is stare. “Toss you to the side, just like he did with me. There’s another one, you know, it’s never just you.”
Wooyoung tucks her closer, his features devoid of all amusement, back going rigid. “Lying, huh? Just ‘cus you’re butthurt? Always leads to lies, you haven’t changed one bit.”
“You’ll never change,” you whisper, but the chilly air is quiet enough that it hits its mark. “When she calls, you’ll run back to her, it doesn’t matter who’s occupying your boredom at the time.” Your eyes find Winter, “You’ll see. I feel bad for you.”
Mingi, confused, watches Winter’s face fall, the slow realization that there’s not a lick of jealousy in your voice, just sheer honesty. His head bobs back and forth between the two of you, but he grabs your wrist when steam starts pouring from your ears. “Time to go, baby. Come on.”
You pull your wrist away from him, tucking it into your chest, keeping your eyes steady on Wooyoung who doesn’t falter for a moment. A staring contest of sorts, it makes Mingi feel nervous, uncomfortable at the least.
“Time to go,” Mingi reiterates, voice heavier, hands on your waist now. “It’s not worth it. I’ll take you home, c’mon.”
It takes you a second to turn your head away from Wooyoung as Mingi starts pulling you away, but once you’re out of eyesight, in front of Mingi’s build that engulfs you whole, the shakes begin. Your fingertips, your shoulders, your teeth chatter in your fucking skull.
“In the car,” he’s whispering, encouraging, ushering you into his passenger seat. “There you go,” he closes it behind you, making sure you’re tucked inside.
When he’s behind the wheel, engine roaring to life, he takes a second to gather his bearings. He turns to you slowly, only his head, and you’re staring into nothing, body still shaking. It makes him swallow, nerves etching into his vision.
“Are you okay?” He asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of. He doesn’t know how to comfort you. You hum an agreement, a slight nod of your head, it does nothing to ease the discomfort in his chest. His lips tighten, teeth grazing his bottom lip, “What just happened?”
You shake your head, still staring into space. Voice small, battered and broken, you whisper, “I don’t know.”
Mingi feels something swirling in his gut, something foul. Like before a big game, when he isn’t positive he’s going to win. Voice low, he asks, “What actually happened between you?”
“He didn’t just cheat on me with Winter,” you finally look down at your lap, “there’s another girl. I don’t know who she is, what she looks like, I just know she exists. She’s like, the girl version of him, she made him like that.”
Mingi’s brows furrow, but you keep talking after a deep, shaky breath. “He called me a liar, I am a liar.” You shake your head, staring at your lap. “I lied to everyone when I was with him. I lied to him, I lied to myself, not to mention Jongho and Yeosang.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s easier that way,” you finally look at Mingi, eyes glassy, pupils dilated, “if I told the truth, I couldn’t be held accountable for my own actions.” When you notice his confusion, you laugh, a short, disbelieving chuckle. “I knew about her the whole fucking time, the nature of their relationship, I even tried competing with her at one point.”
When Mingi asks why again, you sigh. “I think because I knew I’d never win. Him and I would never be real no matter how hard I tried, and that was safety to me, in a way.”
“I don’t understand,” Mingi sinks into his seat, carefully peeling back another layer.
You shake your head again, silent for a moment. “Have you ever wanted something so bad that it terrifies you?”
“All the time.”
“This is gonna sound self-deprecating, don’t make fun of me or else I’ll fucking kill you,” you start, and Mingi’s lips curve at the corners, but he nods. “That’s how I feel about relationships, or being loved, I guess. I want it, but do I deserve it?”
Mingi’s brows furrow again, “Do you deserve it?” You blink at him, and he shakes his head in confusion, “Who cares? You want it, don’t you?”
Mingi swears your eyes get rounder, your lips plumper. He’s never seen you look so… delicate. Small, vulnerable, like your walls have crumbled away and left what’s at your core bare for him to see.
“I do,” you whisper, staring at him, into him, he feels just as bare as you. He feels the moonlight pouring into the cabin, he hears the light hum of his idling car, and he realizes he hasn’t been in this position in a long, long time.
His relationship with women has been strict since… her. Transactional, never more, never less. Give and take. He doesn’t make friends, he doesn’t form bonds, he does nothing more than fuck– when’s the last time he had a real fucking conversation with a woman? When’s the last time his chest has felt so twisted from emotion?
He stares back, eyes dropping to your lips for a millisecond. Glossy, from the spit you swiped over them with your tongue moments prior, plump and opaque with color. This is the longest you’ve gone without arguing since the moment you met. This is the first time he’s looking at you so clearly, seeing you as more than a means to an end. He swears he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.
“Take what you want,” Mingi whispers back, “who gives a fuck about being worthy of it?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips, “That’s easy for you to say, you get whatever you want.”
“Not everything,” he shifts in his seat, sinking down, stretching out his legs as much as he can. “Not even a lot, actually.”
When your brows furrow, he makes a face like he doesn’t want to keep going, but he does anyway. “I don’t have control over anything in my life. What I eat, how I train, how much I sleep, what I do in my free time, that’s all coordinated by someone else. Dating you is the most freedom I’ve had in years.”
“They don’t do whatever you say?”
“I do whatever they say,” he corrects you, lips flattening. “I don’t have to think if I don’t want to, and I fucking hate it. I’m a twenty-one year old man that doesn’t do anything for myself, it’s suffocating. Like I’m a puppet.”
Your lips are tucked between your teeth, swept to the side, head tilted. “I thought it was the other way around. Are they mad you’re… dating me?”
Mingi laughs a little, “More than mad. Consequences-mad.”
You gasp, leaning forward, palm planted on the center console. “Then why are you still doing it?”
“Because I want to,” he’s looking at you now, “for once, I’m doing something I want, and I’m having fun.”
“You’re having fun with me?” Your smile makes Mingi feel like he’s just handed you a thousand dollars. “For realsies?”
Chuckling, nodding, Mingi nods, “For realsies, princess.”
You sit back in the passenger seat, body deflating dramatically, head sinking to the side, silly smile still on your lips. Looking up at him through your brows, you say, “I’m having fun with you, too.”
Mingi doesn’t understand why the sentence fills his stomach with… butterflies, like you’d just said the words he’s been waiting the whole night to hear. He pushes the feeling down, shifting himself upward, finally plugging his phone into the car’s speaker system. “You ready?”
“Yes,” you nod, sitting up, pulling the seatbelt over your torso. “Drive nicely though, please, or else I might throw up.”
FOURTH OUTING: CONFERENCE GAME, SUNDAY. 7:02 PM.
Bass pumps through the stadium, so deep and booming you can feel it in your heels that touch the concrete beneath you, it vibrates through the navy blue, plastic chair you sat on. Only in a mini-skirt, your thighs sat bare against the cool, hard chair, a relief in contrast to the humid air that rudely asks you to put your hair up.
In the tenth row, just above the fifty-yard line, your view was immaculate. Just above where the players stood on the field, you could see the field, the players clearer than you ever have, Jongho always gifted you and Yeosang nosebleeds. A routine, up in the stands, guzzling beers because what else was there to do if you couldn’t see? You’d trust the commentator with a tall-boy of Miller and pretend you were enjoying it until you got drunk enough to not care, and to you, that was the true college football experience.
But here, almost eye-level with Mingi who lines up directly under center to take the snap, this was different. Dark hair covered by his kelly-green helmet, the only reason you knew it was him was because of his last name and the number eighty-eight on his back.
It mirrored the one on your back, the kelly-green jersey that offset his white one, it hung more than oversized in your body, off one shoulder, tucked into your skirt. You haven’t seen Mingi in a week, and when Yeosang delivered it to you this morning the pang of disappointment in your chest was so uncomfortable you pretended you didn’t feel it.
“Mingi gave it to Jongho who gave it to me to give to you.”
Yeosang threw the jersey onto your couch, oversized and… green. So green you looked down at the jersey then back up to Yeosang’s head of hair, a smirk crawled onto your cheeks. Yeosang squinted, “Don’t.”
“Oh, you can make fun of me, but I can’t make fun of you?” A hand on your hip, one knee bent, you exuded nothing but attitude. You took a step forward to pick the jersey off your couch, held it up in the air in front of you by the shoulders, “Can dish it out but can’t take it, huh?”
The mini-skirt in your closet you haven’t been able to face since sometime last year popped into your brain, a tall pair of boots you already started mentally picturing with the outfit. It looked good enough in the mirror, his jersey hung off your shoulder, you did a little twirl in the mirror to see how it swayed with your movement.
A smile was stamped onto your cheeks when you glanced at your back in the mirror, reading a very clear Song written above the number 88. After noticing the grin, you forced your lips flat, arms straightening at your sides. You turned back around, lips tucked in as you ran your palms over the jersey, blowing a sharp breath through curved lips, then left your bedroom once more.
You kind of missed him, which was a strange pit-in-your-stomach feeling you didn’t let yourself think too much about. You haven’t seen him in a week, not since your explosion on Wooyoung at Eonian, he’s been too busy with this game approaching, strategizing, practicing, training. Not seeing him after sharing something vulnerable with him, something you haven’t even shared with the green-headed-motherfucker in the room just to get something vulnerable in return, you felt strangely closer to him. Like maybe you two could actually be friends.
Silly thought. Silly you.
He stands crouched on the field, your chest still heaves from cheering when his name was announced throughout the stadium, excitement vibrating through you as much as when bass bled through your skin. The stadium looks bigger from down here, more open, yet there was less air to fill your lungs, to ease the discomfort in your chest.
There were messages in your DMs, more messages now than when you entered the parking lot to tailgate. You read the first ones upon your first step through the wired, silver gates, not telling Yeosang who was already slurring his words because it didn’t matter. The messages have never grown too personal, nowhere close to a threat, until today.
Don’t go to the game today.
His minions, the army assembled of Mingi-lovers who haunted your requests folder, you wonder what they’d think if they knew you weren’t really together. If they knew Mingi only looked at you affectionately in public. You wondered what they’d think if they looked at your text thread, if they saw the slew of insults you threw at each other on a daily basis, between the updates with time stamps because Mingi said it’s proof he’s busy.
Now, there were more.
Thought we told you not to go
We saw you tailgating.
Should we expose you for cheating on him?
In his jersey too, you must be fucking stupid
Drinking beer, so trashy
Don’t you think you eat enough?
A tall-boy in the cupholder across from you, a cup of cheese fries split between you and Yeosang, a fucking hotdog in your hand. This was normal, this is what you always did, what you always fucking ate when you came to these games. You looked behind you, the crowd was busy talking to each other, laughing, drinking, eating, there were no eyes on you. You couldn’t figure out who was looking at you. Who was waiting.
Unsettling isn’t the word for how uncomfortable being seen was, when you didn’t want to be.
The game begins and you attempt to force yourself into focusing. Yeosang, drunk and belligerent beside you, luckily didn’t notice your discomfort, you don’t think he’d notice if you dropped a fucking brick on his head right now. You pull out your phone when focusing proves impossible, rereading your last text thread with Mingi again, the only thing keeping you from grabbing Yeosang by the scruff and dragging him out of the stadium.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: come down to the field when games over
xxx-xxx-xxxx: go down the stairs inside, tell security ur name. they should let u through
you: okay
you: play good or else ill cheer for jongho
xxx-xxx-xxxx: come on now
xxx-xxx-xxxx: whos name is on ur back
you: some guy
you: streets are calling me mrs. song
xxx-xxx-xxxx: wait that has a nice ring to it
xxx-xxx-xxxx: if u see winter let her know what her future looks like
you: i hate you
you: break a leg
xxx-xxx-xxxx: i dont think u say that for football
you: no like i hope you break your leg
xxx-xxx-xxxx: oh bro fuck u
xxx-xxx-xxxx: dont say that before a game
xxx-xxx-xxxx: asshole
you: go stretch or something stop texting me
You haven’t seen Winter, you haven’t seen Wooyoung. You didn’t see them in the parking lot, either, where you tailgated with not only Jia and Riyo, but Mingyu, Seokmin, Hoshi, Dino and Seungkwan. Nine of you taking up two parking spots, drinking beside Mingyu’s ninety-six Ford pickup, playing pong with the table he brought in the truck bed, sitting in folding chairs, watching from the roof panel.
Riyo claims they’re the only people she could convince to tailgate. You think they’re the first and only people she tried convincing, especially since she’s hooking up with Seokmin on the DL, but you’d believe there’s some truth to it just because Mingyu’s the easiest person to convince of anything on the planet. You can remember convincing him chocolate milk comes from brown cows and strawberry milk comes from pink cows– he was elated to find out photoshop-generated pink cows exist in real life.
Tall, buff, bronzy and handsome, he was the first one to refer to you as Mrs. Song with a slippery smirk and a wiggle of his brows. For the entire two hours you tailgated, you don’t think you heard your name once; like parrots, once one of them says something, the rest follow.
It was nice to be friendly with him, even if you eyed him up with a smirk of your own two or twenty times, advances only understood by him, and each time you remembered whose name and number was painted on your back and forced your face to fall.
Boring.
“That pass was,” Yeosang hiccups, “disgusting.”
You lock your phone, picking your head up, “I missed it, what happened? Disgusting good, or disgusting bad?”
“Good,” Yeosang nods, watching the game with a different, analytical eye, “Mingi’s so fucking good.”
“Do you ever miss playing?” You ask, tucking your phone into your pocket, picking up your beer to take a sip. Cringing, you wish you’d drank more at the tailgate.
“Of course,” he says like that’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked, “but I don’t regret quitting. Everything is better now.”
You can hear the liquor in his voice, it makes you crack a smile. Taking advantage of the situation, you lean in a little closer, “Do you miss her cheering you on?”
With his feet propped up on the empty chair in front of him, body lazily strewn in his own chair like it was deadweight, it might be, the way he only turns his head to look at you. “You don’t think she cheers for me anywhere else?”
Your top lip curls, leaning backward, putting space between you. “I don’t know if I should take that in a sexual way or not.”
Yeosang snorts loudly, head dipping back like he didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore, “You saw her at my show last week. She was cheering me on like she didn’t give a fuck who saw, it was awesome.”
“Good,” you nod, turning back to the field, eyes closing in on the pretty cheerleader dressed in little to nothing, green and white pompoms in her hands. Whispering, watching her, you nod again, “Good.”
Checking your phone again, you see more DMs, but you don’t open them. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself as you sit rigid up until halftime, where the cheers and boos from the crowd went right over your head the entire time. Twenty minutes to pee, buy another beer and more cheese fries because you should’ve eaten before you fucking came and you didn’t.
On edge, speed-walking through the crowds in the concourse, your eyes worked a mile-a-minute to scan every face you saw, to analyze if anyone was looking at you a certain way. It’s terrifying, knowing someone is watching, not knowing who, or from where. You stared above you, through the cracks in the stall doors while you peed, you kept an eye on your surroundings while you bought another beer, more cheese fries.
Maybe you should turn off your requests, you think as you sit back down in your seat, Yeosang leaned sideways with his head in his fist, eyes half-open.
“Are you alive?” You ask with a laugh as you sit down, handing him another tall-boy can, “Here, got you another beer.”
He resurrects like the second coming of Jesus, eyes wide and brows lifted like you’d woken him from hibernation. Back straightening, he grabs the can from your hand, sucking in a breath, “You’re my best friend.”
You laugh as you sit back in your seat, tucking your skirt beneath your thighs, the game had already begun again while you were up in the concourse. Peeking up at the scoreboard, seeing nine-zero clear as day, your head snaps to Yeosang, “When the fuck did that happen?”
“Mostly in the first quarter,” his voice is heavy with carbonation, he closes a fist over his mouth in an attempt to silently burp into it, a failed attempt.
You snicker at the sound, giggling through your words, “Who?”
“Haechan, Jaemin.”
“Jaemin’s a kicker?”
“Him and Felix.”
“Ah,” you nod, taking a sip of your own beer. Turning to him again, you ask, “Haechan’s the whiney one with the red hair?”
“Wide receiver,” Yeosang nods, “and a good one. Mingi’s passes are perfect, though, can’t give Hyuck all the credit.”
“Hyuck?”
“Haechan.”
“Oh,” you mumble, searching the field again. Mingi looks so much bigger with all the padding on, bulkier, you can see his chest heaving despite the layers, his run turning to a slowed drag of his legs as he walks towards the edge of the field.
Arms flexing as he pulls his helmet off his head, he shakes his hair back, running a gloved hand through the sweaty strands, away from his face. It’s like slow motion, his shoulders pushed back, lips parted, jaw clean and angular, teeth poking out from beneath his top lip.
“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, he looks hot. Fuck him.
That clean smirk lifting his lips on one side as he shakes hands with another one of his teammates, you don’t care to figure out which one, you can’t take your eyes off him. He tilts his chin up, keeping that same cocky smirk as he says something too far for your ears to catch, his eyebrows twitching upward. Shit.
Your stomach rumbles something unwelcome, a feeling of interest, sweat prickling at the back of your neck that isn’t from the humidity in the air. You know he’s hot, you knew he was hot before you started fake-dating him, you quickly remind yourself who he is. A narcissistic asshole, a misogynist, a lonely twenty-one year old that doesn’t have the freedom to make decisions for himself. One that likes spending his free time with you, one that laughs at your jokes, one that throws his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like there’s no other place he’d want you.
Mine.
You shake your head, turning to Yeosang again, “You know how I said I got those DMs the other day?”
Yeosang blinks in half-focus, “Kinda, why?”
“Nevermind,” you shake your head, sighing. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Can I have a fry?” He asks, giving you puppy eyes, you hand him the cup of cheese fries without looking at him.
By the grace of God, as if you fucking summoned her with damning thoughts, walking into the row before yours, sitting in the seat directly in front of Yeosang, is Winter.
Where the fuck is Wooyoung?
Yeosang stiffens, a cheese fry halfway in his mouth, he pulls his feet back down to the concrete, mumbling apologies through his already-full mouth. Winter is everything polite, she gives him a warm smile, tucking her skirt beneath her as she sits into the seat. Slowly she drags her hair to one side as she relaxes in the plastic, body not hitting the backrest, giving you a full, front-seat view of Song and 88 on her back.
Your lips part, eyes widening as you read it, you blink once, twice, six fucking times and the name and number doesn’t change. It’s a jersey bought from the school store, not official like the one on your back, but she’s fucking here, in front of you, with your boyfriend’s name and number on her fucking back.
“Excuse me,” you lean forward, heart beating out of your chest, brain spewing words onto your tongue and not one of them is nice.
She turns like she’s surprised, brows lifted, “Hm?”
“Your jersey?” You tilt your chin, what the fuck else would you be asking about?
“Oh,” she grins, cheeks pink, a hand coming up to cover her mouth like she’s fucking bashful. “I’m just a huge fan.”
“Right,” you say slowly, eyes thinned to shoot daggers, nodding like this shit does not add up.
Yeosang rests a heavy hand on your back, you turn your head to look at him still shooting missiles from your eyes and his face is twisted up to say what the fuck are you doing?!
Your face snaps back into reality, quickly straightening in your seat, pupils shaking beneath your lids and lips pursed hard enough to bruise, an embarrassing heat turns your body to lava. You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing but the mortifying pulse of your own heartbeat, what are you doing? What the fuck was that? This is the whole point.
You’re going insane, that’s the only answer, the only reason for what you just did. The DMs, sitting in seats he got you because they’re the best view, having eyes on you somewhere in the crowd, remembering how he looked at you from the driver’s seat of his car, telling you to go get what you want just because you fucking want it. It's all going to your head.
You need to break up. Now.
You don’t see the rest of the game. You don’t hear the music, the sirens of triumph, the roars of the crowd, you don’t even process that they won until you’re standing up, clapping, staring out at the field with your face utterly blank. This is fear. This is real, genuine, raw fucking fear.
“Let’s go,” Yeosang is tugging on your arm and your gaze is elsewhere, confused, your mind somewhere along with it.
You tug your arm back, “Go where?”
“Down to the field?” Yeosang furrows his brows, “Are you okay?”
“Oh,” you give him a weak smile, “yeah, ‘m fine.”
You’re gliding up the stairs into the concourse, fuzzy finding the staircase to lead you back down, you’re shaking your head, trying to snap yourself out of it before you reach the bottom platform. There’s a man shuffling around like he was waiting for bodies to approach, earpiece connecting to a small black box clipped onto his slacks, a black polo to match, his face reading focus, professionalism. You mumble yours and Yeosang’s names and he lets you through with a stretch of his arm, you heave another breath when the LED lights come into view at the end of the tunnel.
The field is vast, it’s warmer down here, the air is wet. Bodies seem to cover every inch of sideline, cameras, lights, people with clipboards and hats on their head with your university’s logo, you’re too aware of your fingers at your sides.
You spot him and he’s smiling, laughing as he talks to an interviewer, already standing before a camera, it makes your heart drop to your asshole. You shuffle closer to Yeosang who’s already on the hunt for Jongho, you’re sure he doesn’t want to be caught down here by his old coach or any of the staff, if they’d even recognize his bright green hair.
“You’re down here?” Jongho finds you before you find him, brows furrowed, hair sweaty and chest heaving, he wears confused brows and a winded smile.
Chest puffed from padding, sweat dribbling down his forearms that aren’t covered by nylon, you actually feel a semblance of relief when you see him. “Mingi invited me, I wasn’t coming without Yeo.”
“Oh,” his smile spreads, “how was it?”
Yeosang claps his hand, throwing another on his shoulder, “You’re a fucking boulder, wish I was down here with you.”
Jongho looks confused, “Are you drunk?”
Your eyes travel, landing on Mingi, who catches you just as you look over. You see him brighten, smile widening, a sparkle in his eyes that makes your stomach do flips. Fuck.
You watch him mouth the words excuse me, nodding his head before escaping the press, running over to you with that stupid fucking smile you might have seen in your dream last night.
“You came!” He yells when he gets close enough to pull you into his chest, acting as if his sweat didn’t soak through his padding. Huge, massive, he swallows you, it makes your knees weak.
You verbally cringe, muttering a noise of disgust before pulling away, “I was right, you smell like wet dog.”
“Beautiful woman,” he corrects, face reading amusement, “like you in my jersey, green looks good on you, princess.”
Your eyes meet the turf beneath your boots, “You don’t have to say that, no one can hear you, Mingi.”
“Damn, no insulting rebuttal?” The more he looks at you the more his smile falters. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
You look up at him through your brows, surprise written on your face as you take in the concern on his. He can tell? You shake your head, plastering a fake smile on your cheeks, “I’m great, I’m fine, I’m good. Did you hear me cheering?”
“For me?” He’s cheesing, excited like a little kid.
You laugh a little, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Duh, you told me I had to since I’m wearing your jersey.”
“Let me see,” he pulls his arm from where it laid over your shoulder back to his side, “do a little twirl for me, smart girl.”
The heat on your cheeks is molten, you roll your eyes as you make a ponytail in your fist, twirling to give him full access of him on your back.
He cheers, woo-ing loud and shameless, his smile takes over his entire face. “Wow, look at you, like a real-life WAG.”
“What’s a WAG?”
He shakes his head, “Means you’re mine.”
Mine.
You panic, words spilling from your lips, “Guess who else is in your jersey.”
His smile falls, body going still with knowing disbelief, “No.”
You force a tight-lipped smile, nodding, “Yup.”
“Oh my god!” Yeosang cuts you off, loud and obnoxious. Now he chooses to get rowdy? “I almost forgot, you guys should take pictures.”
In boyfriend mode again, Mingi’s gloved palm finds the small of your back, coming to your side when you twist around to look at Yeosang, face screaming no. Yeosang giggles, a nasty little smirk on his lips that tells you he’s playing the game, too, maybe better than you are at this point.
He pulls his phone from his back pocket, “Come on, pose.”
You look at Mingi, uneasy. He shrugs, unbothered. Hand tighter around your waist, he leans into you, smiling. You try to force light into your eyes, doing your best to grin like a proud girlfriend, not that these pictures would ever see the light of day.
“Cute,” Yeosang crouches, “move over, the lighting is weird.”
You huff, but move in the direction Yeosang’s pointed palm is ushering you in, Mingi following, the both of you quiet. Too aware of where you are, eyes, cameras, lights— it’s overstimulating just having his fucking hand on you, his body pressed to yours.
Yeosang eyes you over the top of his phone screen, flashing something mischievous, “Now kiss.”
“What?” There’s barely a moment between his order and your reaction. Mingi stiffens beside you, you think you’ve gone cold, you think you might drop dead on the turf.
“Kiss!” Yeosang nearly whines, “Come on, what are you, children? One kiss for a picture, you’ll thank me for it later.”
Your jaw drops. Blinking at him, stuttering a rebuttal, head shaking and a hand moving to wave in front of you out of denial, Mingi speaks before you do.
“Okay.”
“Huh?!” You look at him like he’s insane.
He shoots daggers, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Yeosang as if to say don’t blow our cover. Little does he know, Yeosang was present when the plan was fucking formed.
“No,” the shake of your head is final, “absolutely not.”
“One kiss,” Mingi argues, “it would be a cute picture.”
You whisper, “Why are you encouraging this?”
He shrugs, his smile effortlessly stupid, “It’s just one kiss.”
Your eyes lower to his lips for a split second. Round, plump, pink, wet with spit from his tongue that glides over them seamlessly, there’s an anxious pit in your stomach, your fight or flight kicks in.
He uses the angle in which you turned, one hand sliding to your waist, the other on your jaw, tilting your head upward. Warm, his touch delicate, you feel your heart in your throat as he leans in, kissing you with a softness no one has ever kissed you with.
You’ve been someone’s situationship, friends with benefits, fuckbuddy— all things that require a disconnection to function, a wall you were far too good at putting up, keeping stable. You’ve been kissed with haste, with fervor, just to add a touch of romanticism because the rest that followed lacked respect in its purest form.
This was different. It wasn’t a peck, your lips parted for him, your body melted into him, his hand on your jaw was guiding, grounding, his gloved thumb swiped along your skin like he fucking meant it. He tasted clean, like he just drank a gallon of water, still fresh on his plump lips that tucked yours in like they belonged there. It's not right, it’s not right but it’s working and you’re fucking terrified.
He pulls away just as softly as he leaned in, a dopey smile stretching his lips wide. Keeping himself close, he hums, “See? Just a kiss.”
You don’t realize your fingers wrapped around his forearm, or that your spine bent towards him. Breath shaky, grip iron, your eyes flicker upward and even the way he’s looking at you is different.
You swallow down your discombobulation just enough to utter, “We need to break up. Now.”
kq university's newest and hottest social club is dropping their collection from the past quarter, and she's full of drama, comedy, and spice! be there or be square 🫵🤨 (find the flyer here)
the following content will be released between april 10 - april 30. some of the work featured here is 18+ ONLY! heed warnings, respect boundaries, and DON'T FORGET TO REBLOG <3
a message from our club president: thank you so much to all the lovely writers who joined me for this collab!! i was so thrilled to meet so many great writer atinys and i absolutely cannot wait to read your fics 🥹 you were what made this collab so successful, and i can't thank you all enough for your enthusiasm and work 💖 lots of love, beam x
DISCLAIMER: please reach out to individual writers about taglists as i am not managing a taglist for this event :]
DO I KNOW YOU? ☆ @starlitjoong
Freshman year of college was supposed to be your fresh start. Your opportunity to put your best foot forward. Then a familiar face you’re not too thrilled by rips that chance away. Kim Hongjoong was assigned to train you for your new job in the campus library. He was thorough, too thorough, recalling things you didn’t quite want to remember. The memories with your first love haunt you in your sleep. Will seeing him every day cause your hate to grow? Or will the feelings you worked so hard to bury erupt into a chaotic mess of storage closet makeouts and cold shoulders?
HARD TO FOCUS ☆ @belongjoong 18+
physics was never a strong subject for you, but when your hot new tutor kim hongjoong comes to the rescue, you start to wonder if you're really staying for the lessons - or just for him.
ONE MORE LINE ☆ @blizzardfluffykpop 18+
Everything in your senior year of college felt like you needed just one more; one more class, one more test, one more line, and it would all be over, and you could finally rest your bones. And with Hongjoong by your side; every class, every test, every line came easy. And when Tuesdays and Thursdays came to a close, you could peacefully rest your bones beside him. Drawing to your hearts content as he scribbles down a half a page of lines.
CURTAIN CALL ☆ @sangis-puppy
College was draining enough without having D1 athlete and ‘Pride of the school, Chris, up your ass for two years trying to get you in his bed. You’d do anything to get him off your back for even a week of peace. So when the chance to knock him down a few pegs presents itself in the form of Park Seonghwa, a nerdy type that said athlete torments, you take it. What starts as a few campus spottings to get under Chris’s skin turns into blurred lines and moments that feel too real for a fake relationship. Time ticks to Homecoming and the curtain will fall on this act. How will you bow out?
SUNBURN ☆ @sungbeam
you and park seonghwa, petty rivals since the third grade, can't stand the sight of each other. at least, that's what you both claim. sometimes, getting the truth out of two stubborn people just requires turning up the heat.
SWEETHEART ☆ @ja3hwa 18+
ATZ was the place to be. Everyone either wanted to be in the fraternity or be with one of the members... And this push and pull you had seemingly fallen into with one of the brooding frat boys was making you dizzy. Your neck quickly aching from whiplash over the constant what ifs and maybes...
Oh... Oh wait, it was just the dark bruising hickies he left that were the ache and the overflow of alcohol that made you dizzy... Whoops.
LEVEL ZERO ☆ @03jyh23 18+
Jeong Yunho is the human equivalent of a system crash. A 6’2” wreck of stuttered sentences, fogged-up glasses, and nerves he can’t outgrow. He has spent his first year of college trying to be invisible. He’s a tactical genius on screen, but on campus, he can barely survive a three-word greeting without his voice cracking.
He tries to start a Gaming Club in a basement that smells like dust and dump. When a pack of “Mean Girls” turns his recruitment drive into a public execution, you step in.
You lie. You improvise. You claim you’re his pro-tier carry—his star recruit.
Now you learn the hard way: Rule #1 of saving a cute nerd from bullies is this—don’t claim you’re an expert in a game you’ve never heard of.
NEW PERSPECTIVE ☆ @from-izzy
the stage has always been jeong yunho's, star university's top acting student, happiest place. but as time goes on, and pressure makes him slip away from acting, a certain girl with her canvas paints a story from a new perspective that keeps him going.
SLEEPOVERS IN MY BED ☆ @everyonewooeverywhere 18+
jeong yunho and song mingi have always been the campus's "it couple." even those who don't know them say they're a match made in heaven--meant to be in every universe. but you know different. you know the truth: that jeong yunho spends her sunday nights in your bed and song mingi is a fucking weirdo. but while her boyfriend thinks she's studying, you're giving her what he could never fulfill. she may love him, but at least she's in your bed.
AFTER HOURS ☆ @17teezers 18+
being an ra comes with a lot of responsibilities: managing residents, hosting events, surviving move in day… but apparently you need to learn how to survive your co-ra, kang yeosang, as well. that definitely wasn’t in the manual.
he’s professional, intelligent, organized, and also really good at making you feel stupid. after being assigned the same floor, you start to realize he might not be as bad as you thought. which would be fine — if there wasn’t one very simple rule: don’t date your coworkers.
LITTLE MISS CATASTROPHE ☆ @hyungszn
meet kang yeosang. sophomore, gymnast, and most importantly, campus’ most eligible omega. yeosang’s been trying to set the record straight for years but thanks to his slightly awkward nature, people kind of just brush him off for a pretty face. however just when he thinks of giving up, the universe concocts the most disastrous “outing” imaginable: you.
WATER GIRL ☆ @yeonlymine 18+
between lectures and slaving in the training room, choosing athletic training as your work study job was supposed to be the easy part of college. until a transfer named yeosang joins the roster mid season and suddenly the nickname “water girl” isn’t just harmless locker room teasing anymore.
A PACK A DAY ☆ @maho6any 18+
you asked him what kind of doctor smokes? he said he'd quit once he gets his degree. you didn't like each other very much. you hated that you sat next to each other in class, to which you both used the excuse that it was only because it was the desk closest to the wall outlet. the professor seems to think you do this by choice, and decides you would be the perfect pair for the childcare simulation. and unfortunately for you and your poor sensitive heart, a pack a day does not in fact keep the doctor away
HANDS ON ME ☆ @xomakara 18+
You join KQ University’s Taekwondo club and immediately get underestimated — especially by San, the star member who treats you like you might break. When you finally reveal your true skill by sweeping him in a spar, everything shifts, and San becomes fascinated, competitive, and increasingly drawn to you.
DARE ☆ @minkieater 18+
you can’t fucking stand jung wooyoung, mingi really really wants kim minjeong. when wooyoung and winter end up together, you and mingi have no choice but to figure out how to win winter’s favor, to stab wooyoung in the back. mingi needs a favor, and you want revenge... do you dare?
PAS DE DEUX ☆ @way2jellyous 18+
at Seoul's most prestigious ballet university, no pair is more legendary than you and Ikhyun - until a scandal destroys his career overnight. Varna is coming up, and you're forced to pick a new partner. But maybe some things are never meant to be replaced. - or lowkey a k-drama that somehow got converted to a fanfic on tumblr dot com
PIPE DREAM ☆ @yestodayys 18+
song mingi is a lot of things. he’s top of the class you hate the most, a mutual friend of your roommates, probably the best dressed guy on campus… and now he’s haunting your dreams, too.
FLASH POINT ☆ @hyungszn 18+
there’s a very thin line between lust and hate; a concept of which you are intimately familiar. when you push, wooyoung pulls, and soon what started out as a battle of wills has quickly morphed into a war of temptation with no ceasefire in sight. TL;DR: in a world where opposites are meant to attract, you and wooyoung couldn’t be more alike… so why the hell do you want each other so bad?
KANJO ☆ @jitaewoo 18+
there’s two subgroups of hashiriyas that rule japan: the kanjozoku of osaka and the roulettezoku of tokyo.
in osaka, you live your days out either on campus or at work. on the outside, it’s all seems so repetitive and boring—but that is exactly what you want. then, one day, it all gets messed up when a new transfer student, jung wooyoung, comes and threatens to shatter everything you have built. stupid tokyo boys have no clue what really goes on in osaka, and wooyoung is going to have to learn the hard way.
THE OFF LIMITS RULE ☆ @stxrrywoo 18+
coming back from studying abroad for two years you had two goals in mind: win the annual end of summer fashion design contest and jung wooyoung... your brothers best friend. only issue? your brother had forbidden you from his friends and likewise has forbidden his friends from you. yet when yeosang gets the opportunity to study abroad you start to see an opportunity to finally make your move, so you take it. I mean.... what's the worst that could happen?
AS IF ☆ @moooonandroses 18+
you and jongho can’t stand each other, but the universe doesn't seem to catch the signals. everywhere you went, he was there. friends teased you both, saying that you liked each other so much you were manifesting the other everywhere. ugh, as if you would ever like him, right?
[NOUN] LOVE ☆ @redemptions 18+
you and jongho met as children during a letter writing project. years later, you get the chance to meet in person because of a study exchange but you are determined to keep your feelings a secret - after all, how do you tell your best friend you’re in love with him?
THE LAW OF ATTRACTION ☆ @jinkoh
Jongho was everything you weren’t: ambitious, diligent, promising—all in all the perfect law school student. Naturally, your chaos didn’t fit into his prearranged life. Not for long, anyway. Your silly little relationship was never meant to last. So how come you couldn't seem to move on? Of course, being grouped together for a semester-long assignment didn't exactly help your case.
i was so nervous to join this, i don’t have a lot of works up and i’ve been insecure of my writing, but i’m so happy i did <3
i’ve met so many amazing mutuals, some people i’d go as far as to call true friends. please check out everyone’s work—they were NOT made ethically (we have been writing tirelessly for months).
and a huge thank you to beamie for hosting this and managing the server popping off every 2 seconds. but truly, you have been an amazing host and have made everything so smooth.
KANJO coming soon!
ps re-reading this and it feels so dramatic wtf neph is it really that deep but it’s okay because it IS that deep to ME i am not nonchalant idc
popping in to say that while i’m so sad by mark’s departure, i’m also so incredibly moved by mark’s words in his letter.
there’s a particular courage in walking away from the thing that built and shaped you and in being able to leave something so grand and safe to find something bigger than your current self. most people never do that. i am incredibly moved that he has chosen that journey: to leave the thing that made him, so he can become the person he know’s he was always meant to be.
his departure isn’t him just leaving, but it is him also modeling a kind of self-trust people hardly ever have. people often think courage is that cinematic moment where someone stands up and declares their new path to everyone, but, truthfully, it is often a quiet, fearful, and private decision where you turn it over in your head a million times and have a million conversations over the same topic over and over again with loved ones before you decide you’ll eventually have to loosen the grip on what’s defined you to find what’s waiting for you.
letting go of something big isn’t just courageous either, it’s painful, lonely, and disorienting, and i can only imagine what it feels like when the life you’re letting go of is what’s been the majority of your life AND career.
i don’t mean to sound parasocial. i am, in full honesty, just recognizing the weight of someone making a life changing decision in full view of the world and admiring the courage it takes to do that. as someone who understands the courage it takes to walk away from personal experiences, this has given me the opportunity to watch someone name a truth i’ve been developing for a while now. shout out to mark lee, i truly believe when you choose yourself, you’ll find where you’re meant to be.
missing mark hours, until we meet again <3
no content warnings... just seeing mark years in the future unexpectedly.
not proof-read, truly just got home from a long drive looping journey mercies and this was born!
1.7k words
a little piece of you dies each time you catch a glimpse of that box you keep tucked away in your wardrobe. luckily though, you have worked your way to making the parts that chip off in grievance smaller and smaller since the years have gone by. when you think of it now, you laugh at your younger self for being so caught up over it. life goes on for everyone, why would he be exempt? looking back now, you can see the bit of selfishness you had for wanting him to stay, but as you grew older and went through your own life phases, you started to understand him more. you can think of the past and the memories now in a more fond way. the world and life all seemed so big at the time, but you have since been able to carve your own path to follow a journey, one which has been devastatingly merciful towards you.
some days, you open the box. you’ll never forget what’s in there—how could you? this box serves as a time capsule, a symbol of what your life once was and what you represent. the contents of this box got you through some of your worst years, and gave you hope for a better future, one you wanted to say hello to and not run away from. this box acts as a reminder of the rainbow that comes after it rains in heaven. this box is your youth, filled with dream.
today is one of the days you sort through the box. you giggle at some of the contents, oh how much work you put into some of these things. you don’t think you can ever erase all the nights lacking sleep in exchange for a pair of tweezers in your hand placing gems and stickers so delicately and precisely. you pick one of the items up, the nostalgic face of what used to be stares back at you. you run your eyes over every inch of the small piece, still in pristine condition. for some reason, it feels right to take it with you today. you feel as though you can hear something calling for you.
your days are usually boring. wake up, get ready, work, get unready, sleep, repeat. you mean it when you say your life has been devastatingly merciful. not that you necessarily want something outrageous to happen, but sometimes you hope that maybe you’ll stumble a little bit on your way to work. or maybe you’ll run into an old college friend. oh, or maybe you’ll accidentally walk into an event happening and get swooped up in the crowd. none of this ever happens of course. nothing ever really happens, this is real life—not those silly stories you used to read. all the princess or damsel in distress stories your mother read to you growing up have never happened, and they never will—same with all of the wild stories you used to read on your own later in life. there's a thick line between fiction and reality, and you’ve made sure it’s never thinned out or been blurred.
you work a corporate job, of course you do, you are in your 30s, it’s what is expected. again, your life is nothing to rave about. you're wearing a matching set of slacks and a jacket, a pair of tall heels on your feet. you’ve perfected your walk so well from daily repetition that you know exactly where to step to avoid bumps and dents in the pavement. the street is busy, it always is. you’re in new york, the concrete jungle where dreams are made of. at least, that’s what you used to think it was. when you finally moved here, you realised it wasn’t too different from any other city you’ve been to. everywhere all around the world is just filled with people trying to survive and live another day, of course you are one of them. sure. when you were younger you thought maybe you would be one of the few people who broke free from the norm, someone who was able to do something different with their life and be lucky to not work a 9-5. oh, how naive you were. now, you realise happiness isn’t always found where you most expect it, you can find happiness and joy in the oddest things. you can find peace in a place which may seem like it’s a downgrade from your current life, you actually learned that years ago from watching someone else leave.
which is why your life doesn’t bother you. sure, it’s a bit repetitive and the job itself isn’t stimulating, but that’s not where you get your happiness from. you get you smiles out of seeing maple leaves in the fall. you blush whenever you see a rainbow in the sky. you find amusement out of people looking at you crazy when you twirl under the raining sky. your joy doesn’t have to make sense to others, it only has to make sense to you.
so, when you step out of work, and hop onto your usual train, everything is just that: usual. your headphones are in, and you’re listening to your playlist that reminds you of your younger days, days filled with a bit more innocence. the people on the bus are all the usual folks in their usual places. the bus ride is the usual length it always is. you get off at your usual spot, walking your usual route back home.
musical melodies fill your ears as you stroll across to the park—this is not usual. if this was usual, you would have kept going straight to your apartment, but again, something is calling you to stray from your usual for the second time today.
you take your headphones out, ears perked up around the new sounds you’re hearing. amongst the wind blowing the trees and birds chirping, you can hear the faint strumming of a guitar. odd, you think to yourself, as it is nearing night time and the sky has already painted itself dark with only the faint luminescence of some stars lighting your way. though, you keep walking toward the noise. you feel something akin to that of someone tugging at your heart strings to pull you towards the steadily growing sound of an acoustic guitar as a voice becomes heard as well.
the faint murmurs and guitar strums become louder and louder until you can see the back of someone’s head. he’s just there, sitting down on a short stone row. you can see his head bobbing and shaking and nodding along to the lyrics he is singing to a song you can’t quite make out yet. you keep making your way, nobody in the area except you two. you round the corner, gently to both not scare him and try and calm your mind down from the situation.
today is so not usual. your feet are starting to hurt from your high heels, the material of your suit has become itchy and tight and irritating. the watch on your hand burns and it feels as though it is digging deep into your skin tissue. even the star necklace you have worn around your neck for ages feels like a cinderblock weighing you down and you have to try your best to keep afloat. your head feels heavy and all you want to do is lay down on a pillow and go to sleep. though, you prevail, today is not usual, but why did it end up this way?
just as you turn the corner, the voice finally clears and you are able to make out the lyrics.
“my life is in pieces,” you slow down, convinced that your mind is playing tricks on you.
“but you can always put it back together with your fragments.” you feel your eyes water, unsure of what to make of everything. you reach inside your work bag, pulling out the item from your time vessel of a keepsake box you took this morning.
“i want you to be my everything.” your mind is racing, why would someone be singing this song out of every other song out there? and why have your feet led you down this path?
you finally turn the corner and face the singer, which knocks the breath out of your lungs. you still, eyes scanning over his now aged features, from the smile lines prominent around his lips, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, his fingers now a bit calloused, even a single grey hair peeking from the messy part in his hair.
“can we still end our messages, with wishes that are lifelong?”
he’s finishing the song, ending with the ohs and ahs that come at the outro. you can’t help but squat down, the weight of your star necklace finally succeeding in pulling you down. everything feels too much—you thought you were over it, over him, and you were! how could you expect to find him singing this late at night at some random park by your apartment in new york, you’ve had this routine for years and never strayed, it never changed—so why now?
your head is in your hands, and you are clutching the precious item from your adolescence which is related to the song that played and the feelings you are being drowned in. you move your free, empty hand to your neck, feeling the star necklace which is also reminiscent of the scene unfolding before you. you feel a hand around yours, and you grip the small plastic holder tiger, but not tight enough for him as he easily pries it out of your hands. you can immediately feel his warmth around you. it’s been so long since you have felt his presence, and honestly, you didn’t realise just how much you needed it right now. you think of how he looks now. he's aged a bit, and you couldn't be happier, every faint line and fold and marks across his skin comes from a time in his life he had to himself, not to the spotlight. you lightly cry as you come to the realisation it seems he finally got what he always wanted—freedom.
you finally look up, and he’s matching your position—squatted down right in front of you with his guitar slung across his back. he still has the same stupid smile from all those years ago, the one you committed to memory and lived seeing photos of.
and just as all the memories of your youth filled with dream flood back to you, he asks:
don’t believe in love, but no one makes me feel like you do
when the moment hits them, that they’re in love with you
mark: when you surprise him at the studio with his favourite snacks.
knowing your boyfriend more than he knew himself, you figured he would be starving at the studio. when he left you that morning, he told you he would be gone all day, working. you never bothered him on days like these, you knew how in the zone he would get, and you refused to disrupt his creative flow. however, when it starts to near midnight, you decide to take matters into your own hands. you stopped at a convenience store and got all of his favourite snacks and drinks to bring, things that were quick and easy to eat so he wouldn’t have to worry. in the studio, mark was so locked in that he didn’t even hear you walk in. it wasn’t until he saw a bag of food being poured onto the table beside him that he looked up and saw you. even though it was past midnight at this point, your face bare with pimple patches, messy hair, and his oversized hoodie thrown over your body, mark sees you as an angel. it was as if his hunger and stomach growling was bluetoothed to your brain. he pulled you into his lap and started to work on feeding you both. mark couldn’t remember the last time he felt loved like this. you weren’t upset at him for not being with you, or even talking to you, all day, but just upset that he wasn’t taking care of himself. the way you just sat in his lap and busied yourself on your phone while he worked away on his laptop brought him the most peace he has ever felt. to be loved is to be understood, and you understood him the best.
renjun: when he catches you singing to his music.
obviously you listened to his music, he was the love of your life, why wouldn’t you? renjun knew this too, but when he unlocks your apartment with the spare key you gave him and hears you singing to rains in heaven, something stirred within him. there you were, sat on your living room sofa, singing all the lyrics perfectly as you worked away at whatever was at hand. you hadn’t noticed him walk in yet, so he took a moment to appreciate your heavenly voice. even if you can’t sing too well, he thought you sounded like an angel. however, he couldn’t help but notice whenever his lines were up, you would remain quiet. finally, he approached you, greeting you with a hug and kiss as he sat next to you. curiosity gets the best of him,a nd he asks why you don’t sing his parts. when you answer that it’s because you want to hear his voice, he feels the blush creeping up on his cheeks. it’s the sweetest thing someone has ever told him, and he can’t do anything but kiss your cheek, letting you get back to work. while you returned to your task, he sat there and created a playlist of both of your favourite songs, planning on now having karaoke nights with him as you sung song after song. he loved singing, and he loved you. now that he knows you feel similarly, he can’t wait to rewrite songs with you in mind.
jeno: when you both go on a bike ride, and you stop to take a picture of the sunset.
jeno always knew you were absolutely stunning, it’s one of the things that first drew him to you. of course, he loved every part of you, but he didn’t realise just how in love with you he was. bike rides were one of you and jeno’s favourite ways to hang out, being in each others’ presence in beautiful nature reconnected you two every time. often, at the midway point you stopped for snacks, and would sit together before heading back home. this time, you two went on a bike ride quite late. while riding on the usual trail, you stopped and wanted to snap a few photos of the sunset. jeno always rides a few feet behind you, for “protection” he says. so, when he stops to see why you were stopped, and catches you basking in the sunset, the light shining a glorious pink and orange aura around you, he thinks you look more beautiful right now than you ever have. and it only gets worse for him when you turn around, smiling at him, pointing at how pretty the sky looks. he only grins back, stands his bike up, and walks over to kiss you on the cheek. your smile never leaves your face, and you laugh as you continue admiring the sky. jeno always thought it was cheesy to say you were the better view, but he gets it now. not even the nature that the gods created could compare to the smile on your face.
haechan: when you welcome him into bed after a long day.
walking into his dorm, he wanted nothing else but to be in your arms. the days have been long, and he’s had a lot of work and stress. so when he walks into his room and, to his surprise, sees you there reading a book, he almost falls to his knees. you peek up from your book, hair put up for the night and glasses on, with one of his shirts on. you wave him over, and he just flops right on top of you into your waiting open arms. his head falls on your chest, and you repeatedly pet his hair with one hand and rub his back with your other. when he hears you whisper “i love you, i am so proud of you. now get some rest, love.” he feels as though he wants to melt into you and never separate from you. he looks up to see you now scrolling on your phone, while your other hand still plays with his hair. he mutters a low “i love you too.” as he closes his eyes and dreams of his future with you by his side, forever.
jaemin: when you’re in a cafe together.
you and jaemin had gone on a walk, but neither of you had checked the weather. so, when it started pouring in the middle of your walk, you both ran to the nearest shelter, which conveniently turned out to be a cosy little coffee shop. you went to the bathroom in an attempt to freshen and dry up as jaemin ordered two hot cocoas for you both. after you both dried off to the best of your abilities, you sat down to enjoy the warmth from the cup of chocolatey joy. all it took was for jaemin to take one good look at you, dripping wet from the unexpected rain, yet still smiling as you enjoy the cocoa and look out the window. it’s funny how you were soaking wet and shivering, then immediately warmed up as the cup heated your hands. some things just have the ability to brighten up anything. like you, the light of his life. you’re reliable and always there for him, no matter what. you love him through thick and thin, even when he’s drenched in rain water. you are his hot cocoa on a rainy day.
chenle: when you made his favourite meal when he got back from tour.
chenle has a nice fancy house, all the money and expensive things, and even his dog, but what he doesn’t have is someone to make his house truly a home. after tour is always a bittersweet time, your body is readjusting from both the excessive adrenaline and overlooked fatigue. all chenle wants right now is to be at home, but even more than that, he wants some food from his hometown. so, when he enters his house, he thinks he has officially lost it and is hallucinating the smell of his favourite childhood dishes. following the scent like a cartoon, he lands to find you in the kitchen, apron tied and focused on the pots and pans on the stove. you turn, a large smile on your face as you go to hug your long awaited boyfriend. “you’re home! go shower and lay down, i’ll bring the food to your room!” you shoo him away and he obeys your commands. eventually, you make your way back with a bed tray filled with food. chenle waits no time to dig in and savour every drop you have so kindly made from him. when he questions how you knew the recipes, his hearts warms when you tell him how you had ‘virtual cooking lessons’ with his mom, you had been planning this ever since he left. as he looks down at the empty dishes in front of him, he tries to think of a gesture as grand and sincere as this one, and his mind turns up empty. you get up to take the tray back to the kitchen, but he pushes the tray to his nightstand and pulls you into him. he cuddles you from behind, and when daegal comes up to lay in your lap, his heart, and belly, have never felt so full.
jisung: when you go stargazing together.
in the middle of a vast grassy field, sat you and jisung on a blanket, surrounded by many snacks and drinks. at this point in the date, you were both laid flat on the ground, your heads next to each other as jisung intertwined your fingers. your eyes were stuck on the night sky above you, looking out to the millions of stars that sparkled brightly back at you. jisung was also looking at the stars, but not at the sky, he admired the way they reflected in your open eyes. the way the twinkled when you subtly shifted your eyes or when you eyes scanned over the dark night sky. jisung always loved looking at the stars, often staring out of windows to get lost in them, but he realised he’s slowly started to prefer watching them through your eyes. feeling someone staring at you, you turn to him quickly covering your lips with his, a sweet and passionate kiss that spelt out his love for you. he knew he was in love when all of his favourite things started to include you in them. he wanted to experience the rest of the world with you, and he prayed that you would allow him to do so.
a/n: live laugh love keshi ! stream requiem, this is based off of his song soft spot
hello everyone, I know this isn't my normal kind of post but I'm trying to share this as far as I can go, but this is our 9-week-old puppy, sky, and she has just been diagnosed with parvo. this news has devastated our family, but we swore we would fight like hell to make sure that she pulls through. however, the emergency vet bill has taken most of our funds, and we could use the help to gather supplies for her throughout these next few crucial weeks, things like pedialyte, puppy pads, chicken-flavored baby food, and drinking water! we just want the best for her, so we can see to it that she gets that love and care she needs and deserves during these next few rough weeks ahead of us. thank you so much for taking your time and reading this, anything helps, even if it's just five dollars!!
you can help me out by sharing my gofundme, even reblogging this post works, donate money or if you would like to donate just the supplies, reach out to me and we can discuss!! literally anything and everything helps, thank you all so much for your time 🖤
Hello everyone, this is our 9-week-old puppy, Sky, and she has just been diagnosed with … Kayla Green needs your support for Support Sky’s F
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