KIROKAZE
trying on a metaphor
blake kathryn
Andulka
icyghini twinkie
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Product Placement
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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Mike Driver
Stranger Things
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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Origami Around
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oozey mess
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One Nice Bug Per Day
YOU ARE THE REASON
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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@minkiverse
º𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉/𝓃𝒶𝓋𝒾º
✵ 𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒 • 𝟤𝟩 • 𝓈𝒽𝑒 /𝒽𝑒𝓇 • 𝒻𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓈 • 𝟣𝟪+ 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 ✵
ꕤ don't expect specific tags i'm trying lmao ꕤ i mostly post kpop recs but other recs will appear ꕤ all reblogs are queued ꕤ be aware that most reblogs are 18+ works and always check the content warnings for each fic ꕤ you will be blocked if you are a minor/ageless blog
˚*･༓☾✨ 𝓕𝓐𝓥 𝓕𝓘𝓒𝓢 ✨☽༓･*˚
˖₊⊹ 𝓐𝓣𝓔𝓔𝓩 𝓕𝓘𝓒 𝓡𝓔𝓒𝓢 𝓜𝓐𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓡𝓛𝓘𝓢𝓣 ⊹₊˖
⋅˚₊‧⟡ 𝐹𝐼𝒞 𝑅𝐸𝒞 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅/𝒢𝑅𝒪𝒰𝒫 𝒯𝒜𝒢𝒮 ⟡‧₊˚ ⋅
*•.¸♡ 𝒷𝒾𝒶𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 ❣️ ♡¸.•*
♡ 𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓏 ♡
♡ 𝓀𝒾𝓂 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒿𝑜𝑜𝓃𝑔 ♡ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒽𝓌𝒶 ♡ 𝒿𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝓊𝓃𝒽𝑜 ♡ 𝓀𝒶𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑒𝑜𝓈𝒶𝓃𝑔 ♡ 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾 𝓈𝒶𝓃❣️♡ 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾 ❣️♡ 𝒿𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 ♡ 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾 𝒿𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒽𝑜 ♡
♡ 𝒷𝓉𝓈 ♡
♡ 𝓀𝒾𝓂 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝒿𝑜𝑜𝓃 ♡ 𝓀𝒾𝓂 𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓀𝒿𝒾𝓃 ♡ 𝓂𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒾 ♡ 𝒿𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓀 ♡ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒿𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓃 ♡ 𝓀𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝒶𝑒𝒽𝓎𝓊𝓃𝑔 ♡ 𝒿𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝒿𝓊𝓃𝑔𝓀𝑜𝑜𝓀❣️♡
♡ 𝓈𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 ♡
♡ 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾 𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑜𝓁 ♡ 𝓎𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒿𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒽𝒶𝓃 ♡ 𝒿𝑜𝓈𝒽𝓊𝒶 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑔 ♡ 𝓌𝑒𝓃 𝒿𝓊𝓃𝒽𝓊𝒾 ♡ 𝓀𝓌𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 ♡ 𝒿𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝓌𝑜𝑜 ♡ 𝓁𝑒𝑒 𝒿𝒾𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓃 ♡ 𝓁𝑒𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓀𝓂𝒾𝓃 ♡ 𝓀𝒾𝓂 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓎𝓊❣️ ♡ 𝓍𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒽𝒶𝑜 ♡ 𝒷𝑜𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔𝓀𝓌𝒶𝓃 ♡ 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝒽𝓌𝑒 ♡ 𝓁𝑒𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃 ❣️♡
♡ 𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓎𝓅𝑒𝓃 ♡ ♡ 𝑒𝓍𝑜 ♡ ♡ 𝓃𝒸𝓉 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 ♡ ♡ 𝓃𝒸𝓉 𝟣𝟤𝟩 ♡ ♡ 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝒹𝓈 ♡
♡ 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝓀𝓅𝑜𝓅 ♡
♡ 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝓈𝓅𝒶𝒸𝑒 ♡ ♡ 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓀𝓎𝓊𝓊 ♡ ♡ 𝒷𝓃𝒽𝒶 ♡ ♡ 𝓀𝓃𝒷 ♡ ♡ 𝒿𝓊𝒿𝓊𝓉𝓈𝓊 𝓀𝒶𝒾𝓈𝑒𝓃 ♡ ♡ 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝒸 ♡ ♡ 𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 ♡
— 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ‧₊˚ 𝐉. 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎
𑣲.𝐜/𝐰 smut, 18+ mdni !! sub!yunho, dom!reader, stylist!reader, yunho cries, praises, handjob
“Quiet down, my love,” you smile, stroking Yunho’s cock lovingly as he struggles to keep his sounds at bay, unshed tears gathering around the corner of his eyes like glass pearls.
“Do you want the other guys to find you in such a precocious position?”
And the man shakes his head quickly, biting down on his shirt with wide eyes, face growing redder with your every movement.
Oh, how you loved to tease your loverboy.
It had truly been a fight against everything in your body not to jump at your boyfriend while they shot for the music video. It was truly, entirely your fault to offer to come as their makeup artist for today’s setting.
Truly fucking dangerous.
Other times, you might be able to contain yourself, determined to make a mess of your boyfriend once you are in the comfort of your home.
But something about today made it so impossibly difficult. Maybe it was the outfit he was donning or the under-eye blush look he was assigned, which, to be fair, you were the one to do, that made you all the more needy and desperate for Yunho.
“Baby, ungh–please!” He managed between muffled moans, cock thursting into your fist. “Need you.”
You smile, moving stray hair away from his face. “I’m right here, darling. What do you need?” You loved to tease the poor man.
Tears rolled down his face in desperation. “Need your pretty pussy, please–fuck!”
You tut, shaking your head. “That can’t be, my love. Don’t want others to see you like this,” you say, turning his face to the vanity mirror. Face flushed pink, eyes glassy, his hot cock weeping in your hands.
“This belongs only to me,” you rasp, kissing his cheek.
Yunho leans into your touch, thrusting his cock into your hands for any sort of friction to topple him over the edge.
Pressing your thumb against his slit, you massage his balls, feeling them tighten in your hold. He was close, you could tell it by the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his mouth hung open as he drooled.
“Come for me, yunho.”
And thats all it takes for him to throw his head back against the leather chair, white ropes of cum splattering on the mirror, dripping down your hand.
Smirking, you hold your spoiled hand to his pink lips. Yunho opens his mouth like an obedient puppy, licking his own release clean from your hands.
“My sweet little pup,” you praise. And his dick hardens again.
Oh the effect your words alone have on him.
𓏵‧₊˚ TAGLIST┊ @kisssan @4erzschyyy @silenttrxxs @zayn-210 @mae-murdock @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @belongjoong @chanscappuccino
© lillys-bakery, 2026 𖹭
Soft!Dom Jongho headcanon — Ateez
A short drabble of a slightly possessive!choi jongho
a/n:
hi loves!! sorry I havent really been posting, and especially sorry that this isn't even a full fic just a short lil ramble of possessive!jongho cause ive been so whipped for that man recently its crazy
— ᨳଓ Pairing: bf!choi jongho x female!reader — ᨳଓ Audience: smut — ᨳଓ Word Count: 562 (short drabble) — ᨳଓ Tags: possessive!choi jongho, soft dom!choi jongho, scent kink, thigh riding, hand job, nothing is explicitly explained, just some cute sentences of how id think jongho would act, smitten!choi jongho
Thinking about soft!dom Jongho, who absolutely loves to spoil you rotten. He loves seeing you in whatever he's bought, an almost primal instinct growing in him at the sight.
But also how absolutely feral he would get whenever you decided to wear a shirt of his. How you smelled exactly like him, wherever you went.
How shamelessly possessive he would get the second another member lent you a hoodie or shirt cause you were cold, knowing that he wasn't mad at you or the band member, but the fact that their smell now overshadowed his own.
How he'd pull your naked core flush against his clothed leg as you whine from the friction—thick, strong hands pushing you down as he guided your hips back and forth.
You would nestle your face into his neck, feeling delirious and overwhelmed all over as your senses were filled with his smell and from pleasure.
The unevenness of his chest rising up and down, a staggered breath leaving his slightly parted lips being the only sign of how affected he was, too.
How, no matter how many times you begged for his cock, his fingers would dig deeper into the skin of your hips to stop you from grinding down further.
“P-please, Jong—ah—please.”
“You'll stay just like this, baby. Until every nook and cranny of your body smells like me.”
How the man would just stare at you, eyes half lidded but irises so dark with lust you felt like prey under his gaze.
“Just like that, so good for me, princess.” Jongho would say with a growl, your wetness seeping through his clothes from how deliciously turned on you were.
How he would fight with all his might to keep his eyes from shutting, to just let his arousal overtake him while the sounds of your needy, desperate whines clung to him like a melody he never wanted to end.
How he'd eventually free his achingly hard cock that had been neglected for far too long, not able to resist how beautifully yet shamelessly you'd rub against the muscles of his thighs, sweat mixing from your foreheads touching.
How he'd chuckle when your eyes met his thick, swollen, red, flushed cock and whimper at the sight of it—hands coming down to wrap around it carefully, like you were afraid he'd swat your hand away any second.
How the two of you would come just like that, Jongho's mumbled praises threatening to pass the wall of pleasure your ears had put up, ringing as the world around you slowly morphed into a cloud.
How he had picked you up, the faint feeling of a soft shirt covering your body, along with delicate, soothing touches across your face, arms and wherever the man could reach.
How you had whined in frustration from the familiar warm, comforting body leaving your side—only to be met with something wet but so warm against your skin as he made sure you were clean.
How the two of you fell asleep like that, head resting soundly against his chest as he held you in his arms, the beat of his heart and the rise of his chest as he breathed, along with the gentle praise and soft kisses against the top of your head—reminding you that you are loved. And he will make sure you feel nothing less than exactly that.
𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 — 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛.
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; Headcanons on how I think San would be as an arranged husband.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Arrangedhusband!San x Wife!Reader.
☆ — 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 298. ☆ — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Smut. ☆ — 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Push and pull dynamic, kisses, mention of San wanting to hit y/n, middle finger usage, headlock, ass slapping, lovebites, ownership, full nelson, mention of alcohol, dick riding, nipple sucking, pull out method mentioned, and creampie is mentioned (you choose the outcome).
♡ — 𝐕𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ; @kissmatz @eggielix @miisanthropology @liaaaafixofff @chanscappuccino @eunseoksgirl @threepointstogryffindor @fixon-min @groovyravenagain send a ask to be added or removed!
A/N — Two posts in the same twenty-four hours, HOLY MACARONI 😧. Anyways! I got one more smallish post to make before I work on a Yunho oneshot 🤭.
Arrangedhusband!san who acts like he hates you, but will spend his nights awake pacing his room because he can’t get you out of his pathetic little brain.
Arrangedhusband!san who takes you on dates, telling you that he ‘has to in order to make himself look good for public’ but he just wants personal time with you, alone.
Arrangedhusband!san who kisses your temple when you’re asleep before tucking you in completely.
Arrangedhusband!san who looks at your perfume collection when he’s home alone, spraying each one to figure out which one it was that you wore on your date night so he can spray his pillow with it.
Arrangedhusband!san who sometimes looks like he wants to hit you, simply because he wants not admit he’s head over heels in love with you.
Arrangedhusband!san who flips you off when you yell at him to pick up after himself.
— “You’re frustrating!” “What’d I do?” “One minute you act like you love me, and the next you act like I have the plague!”
Arrangedhusband!san who puts you in a random headlock when he’s bored.
Arrangedhusband!san who does slap your ass when you bend over to pick something up.
Arrangedhusband!san who likes to trail lovebites along your collarbone to show ownership over you.
Arrangedhusband!san who likes to put you in a full nelson when he’s too into it, he does it especially when he’s drunk or stressed.
Arrangedhusband!san who sometimes when he’s feeling in a particular needy mood, he’ll make you ride him just so he can suck your nipples.
Arrangedhusband!san who does pull out most of the time before he cums, but every one in a while he’ll pin you completely to him so he can fill you to the brim.
escapism is an artform, a blessing, a superpower, but unfortunately not one you possess. if you could stop thinking about jung wooyoung, you would.
🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 6/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 10.3k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, yunho is an angel sent from god above
“HOLY SHIT, IT FEELS GOOD to be sitting at my mic again, it’s been too long. Sorry for going MIA, everybody, I hope you didn’t miss me too much, I’ve just been feeling a little… overstimulated.”
A shiver runs down your spine at the thought, a smile curving your lips upward. Your first episode back in over two weeks and you’ve been itching since Monday to sit down on your bed, your mic and your laptop in front of you, to say the words hanging so close to the tip of your tongue they’ve threatened to spill to everyone you’ve spoken to in the last two days.
“There are two kinds of rebounds that exist: a physical one, and an emotional one. You need the physical one just to feel wanted again, a quick fuck, a pump and dump if you will, because there’s nothing sexier than a man seeing you and deciding he needs to know what it feels like to be inside you. It’s usually mid at best, because no random man of your choosing is going to give you the best fuck of your life, but it doesn’t matter, because he wants you. And you want him. And you fucking got him.”
“The emotional one… that one is a little different. The emotional rebound is scary, because you just gave your heart and a half to someone else, and now you’re expected to do it all over again? So you might fuck up, and you might not be able to give him your entire heart, but you’ll assure him that you can. How is it that every single emotional rebound ends up liking you a hell of a lot more than you like them? So, even though you can’t give your entire heart, even though you assured them you could, they’ll hand you theirs on a silver platter.”
You’re speaking from Nayeon’s experience with her last boyfriend, she was with him longterm, but college longterm, so like, six months. It destroyed her for all of two weeks, until she went on her rebound bender and found two guys: one she wanted to fuck, and one she wanted to like. The one she liked, liked her just a little bit more than she liked him.
“My favorite is the physical rebound, I know, shocker, but especially if he’s worth it. You know that period of time after an orgasm, when your body is shaking, your breath is caught in your chest, when pleasure is consuming you so thoroughly you can’t remember your own name? For the longest time, for forever I didn’t think anything was better than that feeling. I wanted to pause time, to stay in that state of euphoria for as long as I could; when it washes away and reality returns and you remember who you are and where you are… that’s the worst feeling in the world, I think.”
“But imagine someone… elongating that for you. We’ve talked about squirting on here, we’ve talked about fingering, we’ve talked about female anatomy enough that all my vagina-pleasing listeners should be a pro at finishing their partners off. Seriously, if you’re not educated enough that you could teach a master class, I need you to do some re-listening. Study some more.”
“We’ve never focused solely on what comes first, though. What it takes to get your partner in the mindset, to get them comfortable enough to cross heaven’s gates with you. Or should I say the gates of hell? I guess it depends on who, exactly, is between your legs.”
A smirk tugs at your lips, a spark igniting at the base of your spine, pins and needles spreading around to your hips at the memory.
“I never even considered that I’d be a fan of overstimulation. And that’s sad, because what, I’ve gone my whole life being grateful I got one orgasm out of a partner, in one session? Well, what about two? It takes a lot to surprise me, it’s gotta be some real freaky shit, something that my disgusting brain can’t even comprehend. It’s wild to me that something as simple as an orgasm is throwing me for a loop. Maybe I’ve never been with a real eater before.”
Today was truly unscripted, you decided that after two weeks you’d leave the index cards on your desk and just speak, recall, recite from memory, because every single detail is burned into your mind. You can’t stop thinking about Wooyoung, being pressed up against that door, having his mouth on you, his fingers inside you. For the past two days, in the morning when you wake up, and at night before you go to bed, you replay the movie. Thoroughly.
“There’s a difference between something being fast-paced and rushed. Like if a partner pushes you into a bedroom, presses you against the door and kisses you breathless, it feels fast. But if that partner is kissing you with purpose, their hands roaming your body, whispering shit in your ear, things that no one else has ever said to you, time seems to slow. It’s only you and your partner in that room, and their focus is solely on you, their only goal is making you feel good. That’s hard to come by in a hook up these days, at least in my opinion.”
This might be the first time that you’re speaking from experience, and the words seem to flow out of you like water.
“Without even taking my clothes off, I was scarily close to the edge. He had a knee between my legs, his mouth on my neck, his hands under my shirt, I didn’t give a fuck that I was humping his fucking leg like a bitch in heat because he made me comfortable enough to. He encouraged me, he put his leg there for that reason, he praised me for being selfish, focusing on my own pleasure. Have any of you ever experienced a man praising you for humping his leg like a fucking dog? Have you ever genuinely considered that grinding on a guy’s thigh–with clothes on, mind you–might not be humiliating?”
“I’ve said walk ‘em like a dog at least four times now in the eight months I’ve been the host of this podcast, and this is the first time that I’ve ever felt like I was the one being walked like a dog. I need a new euphemism, if I keep talking about dogs, you guys are gonna start thinking I’m a furry. I’m not a furry, I swear, I just think that’s the closest animal to the male species. But this one… he might be different. A dog, but not a slobbering, begging, whimpering dog, he’s not a chihuahua. He’s like… a German shepherd. A well-trained working dog whose job is breeding. No, I don’t like this, I don’t fuck with dog breeding and fuck this is still giving furry vibes, or like we’re heading down a path to bestiality or something. I’m scared. I’m going back to the story.”
Okay, fuck. You shake your head furiously, this is why you keep index cards.
“My bad, for real. He took his time before he finally got on his knees, yes, he got on his knees because I was standing the whole fucking time. Up against that same door. But thank god for that door, because I needed something to keep me upright while he took my shorts off, when he threw my leg over his shoulder. The entire time, he’s speaking. Verbally. Comments on how I looked, how wet I was… I’ve never felt so sexy in my life. Don’t skimp out on what words can do for your partner, guys, my panties were stuck to me when he went to take them off.”
Your body does a full shiver, from your head to your toes. You remember your hands in his hair, feeling so tightly wound just from what he said to you while pressing his lips against your thigh, your legs already shaking, you don’t think you’ve ever been so horny in your life. And he didn’t even do anything yet.
“He teased me, kissing me everywhere except where I needed his mouth. And that was part of it, too, because the entire time he wore a shit-eating grin, like driving me insane until I begged for it was just a part of his head-giving routine. When he finally had enough and gave me what I needed, I don’t think I’ve ever come so quickly. It was like I blinked, and he had finished me off. What the fuck? This is what I mean, the difference between fast-paced and rushed. I was in that room for maybe ten minutes, but I had been worked up so efficiently that it was like I was a bottle of Sprite shaken up, and he unscrewed my lid.”
You shift your position, legs uncurling from where you sat criss-cross applesauce. Your hips tilt downward, needing the pressure of your mattress to keep your head clear while you recall the memory.
“I thought it was done, over. I didn’t want it to be, because I was still fucking cumming. And it was like he read my mind, because he took his mouth off me and used his fingers inside me, then started speaking again… I thought I was going to be the first woman to fucking die of an orgasm. Okay, not the first, but I thought my name was going to be added to the list. I could picture the news title: Woman Dies from Orgasmic Heart Attack. Maybe a brain hemorrhage. I didn’t think I was real for a solid eight seconds. Do you know how long eight seconds is while you’re having an orgasm?”
“I’ve never been fingered like that, no man has ever been so skilled. It was like he could see through my skin, like he knew exactly where to touch, how to curve his fingers to make me cum again. I don’t know if I ever stopped, honestly, the two orgasms might have bled together into a really, really long one. By that point, my legs were shaking so hard I could have shifted tectonic plates, I could have caused an earthquake. If I did, I don’t think I would have cared, I was so thoroughly fucked out without even fucking him that anything could have happened and I wouldn’t have noticed. I needed at least five minutes on that floor for my breath to even out, for my heart rate to settle into a non-alarming rhythm. And he just smiled like he was proud of himself. Shit, I was proud of him, too.”
“It’s been days and I can’t stop thinking about it, and we didn’t even have sex. We won’t have sex. But because he took his time before he got my shorts off, that experience shot straight to the top of my list of high-ranking hookups. We think so much about the act of sex, how to pleasure someone else, what exactly we should do when we’re sitting in front of a partner, butt-ass naked. But we don’t pay as much attention to what comes first, what comes after. Sex doesn’t start when clothes come off, and sex doesn’t have to end when someone finishes.”
“Now, imagine all of that right after a breakup. This is before I deleted pictures, before I blocked his number, before I even accepted the fact that I’m single again. Surprise, guys, the situationship I talked about last episode? Yeah, that got a little serious for a second there. But fear not, because it’s over and I’m back on my bullshit. A physical rebound is necessary, it’s essential in the process of getting over a man, you know what they say— do I have to say it? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Damn, I hate it when those old sayings are right, but it’s fucking true.”
“It’s been two days, and I’m still thinking about it. Part of me is considering DMing him on Instagram and just saying hey, wanna come over and do that again? But that’s when you shift from rebound, to a consistent hook up situation, and you can’t hide behind the rebound title anymore. Then it becomes its own thing, with emotions and thoughts and worries and strategies and honestly, I’m so over that mentality. It’s weird, coming out of a breakup, and having that strong feeling of I don’t wanna do this ever again. Everyone feels it, and it doesn’t last forever, but it’s such a strange mindset to have, because you really can’t picture yourself with anyone else or feeling that kind of emotion again. But one day, you wake up, and your brain has decided you’re ready. You get no control over it. Then you just walk outside and start loving people again, what the fuck is that?”
There’s honesty in your words, the best lies are half-truths. It reminds you of Yunho, who you haven’t seen again after he left Tuesday morning. There’s no urge to text him, no need to see him, even if there’s a string being tugged on somewhere in your chest. You don’t know why you asked him to stay– maybe part of you felt bad for inviting him over to fuck and then changing your mind. He quickly proved that he’s a sweetheart with at least what you think is good intentions, but your brain works a very certain way and if you wind up at the point where you’re wanting to have sex with him, you’re already going to be in another relationship. Even if it’s not serious, or it’s not going to extend longterm, it’s still a relationship, and there’s no part of you that you’re willing to trust in someone else’s hands right now.
Other than at night, when it hits just after one in the morning and you’ve already gotten yourself off twice, but you still have the itch. The need for more, to be filled so thoroughly that you can’t breathe, you don’t know if you’ve felt it before, but you can imagine it, and you need it. And you know Yunho’s fucking packing.
The Wooyoung thoughts push you past the finish line, but thoughts of Yunho come when you’re still tingling, aching for more. You don’t know what that says about you. This is why you don’t hook up with people.
The rest of the podcast goes by fluidly, words and ideas and comments pouring from your lips. You even included a spitfire question answering segment which you haven’t done in a few episodes that your listeners always love. It feels good to be back in the groove, to talk to your mic, imagining all your viewers in your room with you. Refreshing in a way, like you haven’t had a good, solid girl-talk in ages. Even though you’re the only one talking.
Sometimes you wish someone could respond.
By the time you close your laptop, thoughts of Wooyoung are still rattling through your mind. You’ve rewatched the memory twenty times in your head in the past forty-eight hours and it’s just as vivid, just as fucking hot as it was when it happened. You can’t stop hearing his voice, the way he looked up between your legs and muttered so pretty, his voice layered and heavy and fuck.
There’s a reason people talk about Jung Wooyoung the way they do. You’ve never paid much mind to it because you’ve always had a boyfriend, but the claims that your friends have made, the things they’ve told you that he’s done, you understand. All he did was eat you out and you understand. You can only imagine what– you won’t imagine, because it’s never happening.
No matter how good you felt Monday night, no matter how hard he made you come, he’s still Wooyoung. He could never give you more than one night, he’ll never give you more than an experience, an orgasm. Or two orgasms. You still can’t believe he gave you two.
Replaying the memory again, you lay back on your bed, knees spread, and shove your hand under the waistband of your shorts.
“I haven’t gotten hard since I woke up this morning.”
San, Yunho and Mingi all stare at Wooyoung like he has three heads.
“You’ve been in class all day,” Yunho says it like it’s obvious.
“Yes, but Minatozaki Sana is in my investments lecture and nine times out of ten, if I stare at her for long enough, I get hard. I stared.” Wooyoung hands are over his head, in his hair, staring at his friends on the couch in the living room who couldn’t give less of a fuck. He thinks he might start pacing out of panic. “I had sex Monday, but I haven’t had sex the last three days, and now I’m losing the ability to use my dick. That’s something that can happen, right? If you don’t use it, you lose it?”
Mingi laughs a little, “I don’t think two days–”
San, who already brought his attention back to his phone, shrieks. “Unscripted posted a new episode!”
Wooyoung groans in frustration, hands rubbing at his face. “Who gives a fuck?” he nearly shouts. “My dick is about to fucking fall off!”
“Go jerk off then!” San yells back, sitting up now, feet planted on the floor. “Let’s put it on the TV.”
Yunho’s face is halfway inside San’s phone screen, hands clawing at the couch cushions like Unscripted might jump out of the fucking phone and join them. Wooyoung’s lips scrunch in frustration, he might curse the three of them out, but he thinks about it for a second, and a conversation about sex might wake his dick enough for it to at least half-chub. He can work with that, he can fuck with that. Literally. Kinda.
“You’re staying?” Mingi asks, fully confused as Wooyoung sits beside him.
Face flat, bothered but not uninterested, Wooyoung shrugs. “Maybe she’ll read porn out loud or something.”
Like he’s debating it in his mind, Mingi’s bottom lip folds over, nodding. “Actually, that’s fair.”
San fumbles with the remote, the black stick doing three circles in the air before he secures it in his palm. Yunho yells, “Put it on already!”
“I’m fucking trying!” San yells back, pointing the remote at the TV across the room, pressing the on button.
Wooyoung sinks into the couch, spreading his knees, fingers resting over his stomach. He can’t live without jerking off, without sex, if he loses his dick he might as well die. He closes his eyes, trying to soothe himself, trying to shift his mind to anything else other than his dick shriveling up and turning to a ball of dust on the floor.
The jingle of her intro plays, a soft sigh playing through the speakers of the living room. Then her annoying fucking voice starts clawing at his eardrums. “Holy shit, it feels good to be sitting at my mic again, it’s been too long. Sorry for going MIA, everybody, I hope you didn’t miss me too much, I’ve just been feeling a little… overstimulated.”
He can’t remember the last time he’s gone three days without sex, it was probably before his freshman year of college. He hasn’t gone out, and he hasn’t been in the mood to text anyone on his contact list, his Instagram DMs. He was in the mood for a lay he didn’t have to work for. He refuses to think about the fact that he can’t get the taste of you out of his mouth.
“There are two kinds of rebounds that exist: a physical one, and an emotional one. You need the physical one just to feel wanted again, a quick fuck, a pump and dump if you will, because there’s nothing sexier than a man seeing you and deciding he needs to know what it feels like to be inside you.”
He groans internally, great. This is going to be another personal-talk episode. If it’s not going to wake his dick up, he might as well fucking leave.
“It’s usually mid at best, because no random man of your choosing is going to give you the best fuck of your life, but it doesn’t matter, because he wants you. And you want him. And you fucking got him.”
His brows furrow above his closed eyes. No random man is going to give you the best fuck of your life? He would have to disagree. There are plenty of random women who would protest that statement.
“How is it that every single emotional rebound ends up liking you a hell of a lot more than you like them? So, even though you can’t give your entire heart, even though you assured them you could, they’ll hand you theirs on a silver platter.”
He groans out loud this time, cracking his eyes open, turning his head. “Are you guys seriously into this bullshit?”
“Shut up or leave.” San doesn’t even look at him. Wooyoung crosses his arms, holding his elbows, and decides to give Unscripted a few more minutes before he leaves.
“You know that period of time after an orgasm, when your body is shaking, your breath is caught in your chest, when pleasure is consuming you so thoroughly you can’t remember your own name? For the longest time, for forever I didn’t think anything was better than that feeling.”
His lips curl ever so slightly, he can agree with that. If it was possible to permanently stay in a state of bliss, the euphoria of an orgasm, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Finishing inside, warmth spreading, a tingle in his spine, he’d stay there forever if he could, he’d keep going if his dick would allow it.
“What it takes to get your partner in the mindset, to get them comfortable enough to cross heaven’s gates with you. Or should I say the gates of hell? I guess it depends on who, exactly, is between your legs.”
He giggles a little at that, eyes opening to find three sets already on him. His smile falls. “What?”
“Nothing,” Yunho responds, face bent to prove his disinterest.
Wooyoung’s eyes thin, “It’s clearly something.”
“I think you like Unscripted,” Yunho teases, lips curling in a smirk.
“So do I, very much,” San interrupts. “Can we shut up now?”
“I don’t like Unscripted,” Wooyoung huffs, uncurling his arms from over his chest to push him off the couch. That’s enough. “In fact, this episode is stupid. No one gives a fuck about her situationship-breakup-rebound whatever the hell she’s talking about. I’m going to get ready for the Penny.”
“Bye!” San shoos him off with one hand, not even glancing at him as he crosses the living room, headed for the stairs. So rude. He’ll just listen to the episode on his own later.
Two kinds of rebounds… he wonders if out of all of your four boyfriends, if you’ve ever needed a rebound. You’d probably be the emotional type, though, and you’d probably be the one to give more of yourself or whatever. Wooyoung wonders if he was a rebound for you, the first physical rebound, the only real rebound. For some reason, there’s a sensation of pride that spreads through his chest at the idea.
He knows you didn’t fuck Yunho. He heard all about the fucking anime figures, the pizza, the TV watching, the cuddling. He listened to Yunho drone on and on about it, wondering when he’d get to the good shit. Turned out there was no good shit to get to, other than some kissing.
He liked that more than he thought he would.
Especially since he can still fucking taste you.
Fuck, it really was like hooking up with a virgin. You were so timid at first, like you didn’t know what to do until you finally gave in and lost yourself to the pleasure. Wooyoung knows he’s good, he knows he’s great. But if he didn’t, you would have given him such a superiority complex that it would have been the starting block to building who he is now. Maybe you boosted his confidence impossibly higher, you made him feel like a pussy-eating god.
The way you were grinding yourself against his thigh, moaning into his ear like he was inside you, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever forget it. You’re always so uptight, angry, yelling at him or scolding him or arguing with him. You looked so blissful, sounded so fucking undone, even when you were telling him to shut up and get to work. He’s never been more eager to obey.
He wonders if you’ll be at the Penny tonight. Part of him wants to confirm, or invite you or something now that he follows you on Instagram. He wants to see how you’ll act around him, if you’ll be your normal, argumentative self, if you’ll ignore him completely… his dick opens an eye at the idea.
Brows lifting, a wide grin stealing his entire face, with as much relief and excitement as he’s feeling, he screams back down the stairs, “My dick still works!”
On your way back from class, you spot Yunjin with her headphones in, walking ahead of you in the same direction. She must be on her way home, too. You pick up into a jog, bumping her shoulder when you get close enough. “You shouldn’t walk with headphones in, dumbass. What if someone creeps up on you from behind?”
Yunjin grins, ripping out a wired earphone. “Only you would creep up behind me, so I think I’m safe.”
You laugh, bumping her shoulder again. “That’s incredibly naive. What are we doing tonight? Can we order in?”
“You’re not gonna invite Yunho over?” she asks, brows furrowed. “Thursday gives date night vibes.”
She’ll never let you hear the end of it. She walked in Tuesday morning right when Yunho kissed you goodbye and it was like a fucking bomb went off when he left. A thousand questions rolled off her tongue at once, barely giving you time to answer one: What’d you do? Did you have sex? Did you meet him at the party? You’ve never brought a guy home, do you like him?
“I’m good off dates for a while,” you look straight ahead, and you pray she lets it go.
She laughs instead. “Good off dates? You just got cheated on, you deserve to be wined and dined and then fucked. I’ll leave, I can see what San is doing, don’t worry about me.”
You roll your eyes, “I’m not worrying about you, I just don’t want to.”
She stops in her tracks. “He looks like that, and you don’t want him? He’s literally the only good guy in that frat.”
“Says the girl who just said she’ll see what San is doing tonight,” you argue.
“I’m cool with casual sex,” she says matter-of-factly. Brows raised, pointing at you, she says, “You’re not.”
You keep walking, leaving her in your periphery. “Just because I don’t do casual sex doesn’t mean I’m a relationship hopper, Jen. I need time to heal.”
You hear her laugh again behind you. “You mourned that relationship while you were still in it. Go on some dates, see what’s out there, there are so many guys who will treat you better than Yeonjun did.”
There are plenty of guys who will eat you better than Yeonjun did, too.
“Okay, I’ll text him,” you stop, shivering as the thought crosses your mind. “Happy?”
She catches up to you, grabbing onto your wrist, “I want you to be happy. I want you to be twenty-one, hot, sexy, and a fucking maneater. If he doesn’t wine and dine you, then you leave him at the restaurant. No more accepting mediocre shit.”
“I was not accepting mediocre shit!” you argue, pulling your wrist away, offended. You absolutely were, but it feels like an insult to your character. “I was just… in love.”
“Well, you’re not anymore.” Her hands find her hips. “And the next time you are in love, you are going to be fucking happy. Deal?”
“Deal,” you frown, defeated. “Damn.”
Her lips spread in a sly, mischievous grin. “Text him. Now.”
“Now?” you basically whine.
“Now,” she reiterates, tone firm.
You curse under your breath, fishing your phone out of your back pocket. He left you a kiss and his phone number, he said to let him know when you wanted to see him again… you have no choice, you guess. The time is now.
You speak out loud as you type, “Hey, are you busy tonight?” You look up at Yunjin for confirmation. She nods, and there’s a surge of terror that starts in your chest, spreading to your fingers as you press send. Almost immediately, the typing bubble starts, and you gasp as you read, “He said ‘who’s this’!”
“Have you texted him yet?” Yunjin pops a brow, arms crossing.
You can feel your cheeks flush. “No,” you mumble, then type out your name, sending it.
The typing bubble starts again, and the terror doesn’t subside as you read, “He said they’re all going to Lucky Penny tonight.”
“Ask if San’s going,” she demands, coming to your side, looking at your phone screen.
You type out the question, and his response is immediate. “San, Mingi, Wooyoung…”
“They’re all fun.” Yunjin’s eyes flare with excitement, speaking as if you don’t know them at all. She starts walking again, and the excitement makes her talk faster, “That means we’re gonna have fun. Tell him I’m coming, too.”
“You said I should go on a date, not go to a bar.” It sounds like an argument, you can only pray she doesn’t hear the panic in your voice. You don’t want to see him. You can’t see him. You ignore the adrenaline that feels a lot like excitement.
“The Penny is respectable enough,” she shrugs, the wire of her headphones swaying with her stride. “It’s basically a date spot for a bunch of twenty year olds. Plus, all of his friends will be there, so it’ll take the pressure off. A buffer.”
Take off pressure? If she knew what you did Monday night, that sentence would be laughable. You don’t want to know how he’ll act, he’s too unpredictable, it’s either he’ll tease you all night or– that might be the only option, actually. You trust that he hasn’t told anyone since Yunho replied to you, but to put yourself between the same four walls as him, to face him from across the table again…
Yunjin turns around, “Didn’t Yeonjun take you there?”
“That’s actually the night I met Yunho. Technically.”
Yunjin giggles, “When San had to pick you up off the floor?”
You shoot her an obvious fake smile, “Yeah, when he forced water down my throat and I had to eat in order to be set free. Fantastic first impression.”
“San’s so nice,” Yunjin sighs dreamily. “It’s a shame he’s a whore, I’d pay to turn him into a housewife. Plus, Yunho probably thought you were like a damsel in distress or something, that’s attractive to guys.”
“Pale and about to vomit because my boyfriend wants to marry me?” you muse, words dripping in sarcasm. “So sexy.”
“Text him back,” she orders, pointing at you. “I know you’re avoiding it.”
Your face falls, phone already in your back pocket again. She knows you too fucking well.
you: yunjin and i will see u there
yunho: can’t wait !!! yunho: hopefully u don’t almost pass out this time
You sigh, showing Yunjin your screen. “I’ll never live this down, will I?”
“He’s trying to keep the conversation going,” she deadpans. “That’s a funny meet-cute. Imagine if you guys get married, at your wedding he can say he saved you from your ex that your body physically rejected.”
“He wouldn’t say that,” you mumble, trying to not sound as irritated as you feel. You should have put up more of a fight, you should have said you have an assignment due or something. Now you’re willingly putting yourself in a situation where you have to interact with Wooyoung, forced to pretend Monday didn’t happen. Hopefully he’ll already have someone to occupy him by the time you get there.
Lucky Penny is busier than it was last time, and you can’t tell if it’s a good thing. On one hand, it’s so busy that you might not even be able to find Yunho and his friends. On the other hand, it’s so busy that you can’t get to the bar.
Yunjin’s beside you, dressed in an outfit that’s almost twin to your own. Her toffee colored hair is curled again, pinned up the way she likes it, showing off her neck, the necklaces layered over her chest. Her shorts are longer than yours, her top fitted while yours hangs off one shoulder. You’re both in boots, tall ones that nearly kiss your knees. She wears sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, a deep brown color, shading her eyes from the lights, but also hiding her wandering gaze. She’s feeling nosy tonight.
“This is so ass,” she grumbles, arms crossed over her chest. “What does it take to get a fucking drink in here?” She looks around, taking in the college boys that wore shirts already stained with liquor. Cringing, her top lip lifts, “Are they running a deal on Natty Light or something?”
You huff a laugh, “I can’t believe you just called it Natty Light.”
“Apologies.” She clears her throat, standing tall. “Are they running a deal on Natural Light, the American-style light lager from Anheuser-Busch?”
You laugh out loud at that, head tipping forward, fighting to not actually snort. Someone bumps into your side, shooting you straight into Yunjin, who yelps. You apologize immediately, head whipping around to see who bumped you, ready to curse them out, but they’re already gone.
“See?” She leans in close. “That’s what Natty Light does to men. It makes them fucking animals.”
“They’re animals anyway.” You sigh, shifting your top, pulling up your shorts. “We should just go.”
“I’m not leaving,” she says, like you offended her. “Are you crazy? We have men to find and fuck.”
You laugh again, and you know it’s not fully Yunjin that you’re speaking to, it’s Yunjin with about three shots of vodka warming her stomach. You’re behind, the last one you took with her, but you weren’t in the mood to get drunk tonight, not only because you drove, but also for what lies ahead. You need a clear mind.
There’s three layers of people between the two of you and the bar, rock music pumping through the low-lit space, the vibe completely different from the night you met Yeonjun here. You think the only reason you’re actually here is to rewrite the memories of that night, so when you think of Lucky Penny your mind doesn’t immediately jump to the dimming, pink neon sign, Yeonjun threatening you with marriage, or raging at Wooyoung from across a table.
“Ooh!” Yunjin points ahead, slightly to the right. “There’s yours, that means mine isn’t far behind.”
You lean into her, eyes following her finger, standing on your tippy toes to catch the head of blonde hair currently standing at the bar. Your stomach flips at the sight of him, no headband, hair slightly wavy, frizzy. You can see the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips, his broad shoulders… fuck.
“Let’s go,” Yunjin says too quickly for you to stop her from pushing through bodies. You mutter a curse, grabbing onto the strap of her purse as she cuts through the crowd, the two of you receiving look after look because you’re cutting the fucking line.
“Jen,” you hiss, loud enough for her to hear. “They’re going to fucking kill us.”
“I’d like to see them try!” She’s grinning as she turns her head. “Yunho’s big enough to scare them off.”
“Until they see his outfit,” you add, because you know the only intimidating thing about him is his build. You can see it now, the slice of skin between his shirt and his wide-leg jeans, his uniform. You can’t blame him, if you had his body, you’d wear the same clothes.
“Yunho,” Yunjin sing-songs when you’re both close enough, just a few more bodies between you. His head snaps to the side, eyes wide and alert, cheeks already a light shade of pink. He grins when he sees her, then moves slightly to the side to get an eyeful of you behind her, and his grin spreads.
“You made it!” He shouts, reaching a hand out for Yunjin to grab onto. You hold her purse like your life depends on it, Yunho stringing the two of you closer like he was an anchor and you were at sea.
“Of course we did,” Yunjin answers as you settle into the small space beside her. Instead of his normal jeans, he has on a pair of baggy sweats hanging low on his hips. That same slit of skin… it might be the death of you. Gray sweats, white tee, skin like moonlight pouring in through the cracks, you could swallow him whole.
You don’t know if he doesn’t catch you ogling, or if he just doesn’t say anything about it. Smiling, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Finally decided you wanted to see me again, huh?”
Your lips part to answer, but Yunjin cuts you off, “She wanted to see you the whole time. Didn’t want to come off as desperate.”
Your jaw falls open. “Jen!”
She shrugs, her grin sly. Even if she has your best interest at heart, bending the truth to fit how she wants the night to go is not a part of the plan.
His smile turns coy, one of his hands lifting to toy with a piece of his hair. “I wanted to see you, too. I was waiting for you to text me.”
Fuck, he’s so cute. That’s so cute. Your lips scrunch to one side in an attempt to hide your smile, “Sorry it took me so long.”
His brows wiggle, “Don’t apologize, I told you I’m patient. Do you two want a drink?”
“Please,” Yunjin begs, and you’re grateful she answers because your stomach has dropped even further. He knows your situation, your feelings, your boundaries, and instead of deciding that he doesn’t want to bother with you, he’s choosing to let you come to him. He’s allowing you to set the pace.
And you find it really fucking sexy.
“I can’t believe I’m about to order a martini at the Penny,” Yunho fake-sighs, facing the bar now, looking over his shoulder at you with amusement in his eyes. “How do you like it?”
“Extra dirty, three olives,” you respond, and there’s no hiding the smile on your cheeks, the giddiness in your voice. Maybe Yunjin’s right about opening yourself up instead of shutting out the idea of romance.
“You’re literally thirty, stuck in a twenty-one year old’s body,” Yunho shakes his head, turning back to the bar. “I should be ordering you a beer, they’re three for five bucks tonight.”
Yunjin turns to you, probably wide-eyed beneath her shades. “I fucking told you!”
“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Miss All-Knowing,” you praise, then turn to Yunho. “You can order Jen a beer, she’s not thirty years old, only I am.”
Yunho laughs, “Are you holding that against me?”
“You aged me for liking olives,” you tease, leaning towards him. “Of course I’m holding it against you.”
“I’ll make up for it.” Yunho winks and your heartbeat picks up. “No more thirty, no more v-word, either.”
“I’m finally free.” You tilt your head back, and it bumps into something, someone. Turning, already rushing out, “My bad,” your face drops as soon as you see him.
“Virgin,” he nods his head in greeting, and not only has your face dropped, but your stomach drops, your knees wobble in panic and surprise. Dressed in all black, a contrast to his golden, tanned skin, he holds a beer bottle in his right hand, empty. Calling over your head, his voice piercing your ears, he shouts, “Order me another!”
“Where’s San?” Yunjin asks, and Wooyoung smirks at her like he expected the question.
“What, are you over me already?” He holds his other hand over his heart like his feelings are hurt. “What does San have that I don’t, Jen-Jen?”
Yunjin gags, sticking out her tongue. “Probably two hundred less bodies.”
“A clean medical record,” you add under your breath.
Wooyoung’s head snaps, lips parting like his rebuttal is on the tip of his tongue. Looking over your head to glance at Yunho, he doesn’t say a word, but you can read the comeback on his face, in his flexed jaw. You didn’t seem to mind when my face was between your legs.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” his tone is mischievous as he looks at Yunjin. “You’re not the only person San and I have both fucked.” Turning to you, there’s amusement dancing in his eyes now, “There’s plenty of women Yunho and I have both fucked, too.”
“Good for you,” you snap, reigning in the I won’t be one of them.
“Yunho’s the opposite of you,” Yunjin cuts in, arms crossed over her chest. “He’s not sleazy, he’s a gentleman.”
Wooyoung cracks a grin, a sharp huff of a laugh tumbling off his tongue. “Yeah? You think so?” His brows lift high as he looks back at you. “You think he doesn’t fuck because he talked about your anime figures and cuddled with you all night long?”
Heat crawls up your spine, cheeks flushing, embarrassment prickling at the back of your neck. “He told you?”
“He likes you, relax,” Wooyoung eases, rolling his shoulders. “He only told us because he was excited. What’s your boyfriend count now? Five?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mutter. “I’m gonna stay single for a while.”
Wooyoung pops a brow, “So it’s just you and your right hand until you decide to date again?”
Your face feels ten degrees hotter like you’re naked all of the sudden. It’s like he knows what you did just last night, what you’ve done every night before bed since Monday, like he can see the frustration and arousal still burning away inside you, bringing it right to the surface.
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Yunjin scoffs, reaching to push his shoulder. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Wooyoung giggles to himself, his smile bright as he glances up at Yunho who returns with your martini in one hand, the other hand holding the necks of three bottles of beer. His elbows bend high over the shoulders of the crowd, your martini filled to the rim.
While you grab your martini, thanking him, Yunjin asks, “Do you two know each other? You sound like you do.”
“No,” you answer, just as Wooyoung replies, “Yeah.”
You look at him, lips flat. He looks at you like you’re stupid for lying.
You blurt, “We met a few weeks ago and I haven’t been able to get away from him since.”
Yunjin’s brows furrow until Wooyoung adds, “She tried fucking her boyfriend in my bedroom and I caught them.”
“Can you please stop saying it like that?” you bark out, whipping your head toward him.
His brows furrow, “How else am I supposed to fucking explain it? That’s what happened.”
“Whatever,” you huff, carefully raising your martini to your lips.
Yunjin lifts her sunglasses over her forehead just to let you and Wooyoung see her confused expression. Brows slanted, furrowed, top lip curled. She glances at Yunho before dragging out a confused, “Okay… Let’s go find San. And Mingi, I guess.”
Yunho reaches for your glass, “Let me carry that so it doesn’t spill, there’s too many heads here.”
“Smart,” you mumble, cheeks still hot as you pass the glass into his hand, he slips behind you to let you follow Yunjin who’s following Wooyoung. Cutting through the swarm of bodies, you don’t see San or Mingi until you get closer to the bathrooms, in the same area San dragged you to the last time you were here. Instead of seated tables, they’ve been replaced with higher, standing tables, freeing up more space in the bar without chairs.
San and Mingi are already in conversation when you spread out around the circular table, barely acknowledging their friends’ return as they talk. Yunho places your glass back in front of you and takes his place beside you, Wooyoung slipping between San and Mingi. Yunjin stays close to your other side, leaning into the table, head bouncing back and forth between the two men to figure out what the conversation is about.
“...She deserves a real eater,” San’s speaking with his hands, biceps flexing in his black tee, showing off his swollen, sculpted chest. His hair isn’t styled, parted in the middle, messy but frames his sculpted face.
Mingi nods in agreement, sunglasses over his head, parting his dark, choppy locks. A tee sits snug on his upper half, choking his arms, his chest, silver necklaces layered over the deep fabric. “Apparently she found one. You want to be next or something?”
“Imagine you hooked up with her and fucked her so good she made an episode about you,” San shakes his head, then reaches for his beer. Pausing before taking a sip, he asks, “Wouldn’t you be hype as hell if that happened to you?”
“Are you talking about fucking Unscripted again?” Wooyoung hisses, face wrapping up in disgust.
If your stomach drops one more time you think your organs will empty out on the floor beneath you. You shouldn’t have come out tonight, not one fucking thing has gone well for you so far.
“Oh!” Yunjin interrupts, “Isn’t that the podcast everyone’s talking about? I haven’t listened to it, is it good?”
San seems to finally realize Yunjin’s there, his face softening, eyes lowering. Yunho retorts, “Is it good?” He laughs a little before continuing, “It’s incredible. It's entertaining, funny, witty, and thorough. It’s like listening to a woman’s innermost thoughts.”
“It is not her innermost thoughts,” Wooyoung barks back. “It’s bullshit, is what it is.”
“How is it bullshit?” you find yourself asking, annoyed by his annoyance. “She’s just talking about her own experiences.”
“Wooyoung thinks she’s just lying,” Mingi leans his elbows over the bar, explaining. Wooyoung isn’t wrong. “He thinks her voice is irritating and none of her stories are true.”
Rude, your voice is not irritating, and only half your stories are lies. The other half of your stories are things that happened to your friends.
Wooyoung nods from beside him, then tells you, “Yunho’s obsessed with it, obsessed with her. That’s your competition, just so you know.”
Cool cool cool. Competing with yourself.
Yunho’s voice raises in pitch as he defends himself, “I am not obsessed.” He looks at you, “There is no competition.” He looks back at Wooyoung, snapping, “Shut up, asshole.”
You can’t help but laugh, because there really isn’t any competition. At all.
But they’ll never know that.
“I’ve never listened to it,” you shrug, and you’re impressed by yourself for keeping it casual. Worry lingers in your stomach, but talking about Unscripted, you seem to be able to handle it. There’s absolutely no way of pinning her identity back to you.
“Why would a virgin listen to a sex podcast?” Wooyoung asks, rhetorical. “There’s no reason for you to listen to it, Jesus freak.”
Yunho interrupts, curious, “You’re religious?”
You shake your head, “He just thinks my view on sex is tied to religion.” Turning back to Wooyoung, you scowl, “And I’m not a fucking virgin.”
“Lay off the virgin shit, Woo,” Yunho nods his chin toward the younger man. “It’s getting old.”
Wooyoung pops an eyebrow, lips bending, impressed. He hums, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips. Before he takes a sip, dripping in sarcasm, he sings, “Wow.”
You look up to Yunho, giving him a small smile. You should be grateful he stood up for you, his words should send a wave of comfort over your body, but instead your stomach curls with the opposite.
“So you two, like, really know each other,” Yunjin says again, brows tied over her deep brown shades. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“What’s there to mention?” you shoot back, tone clear. A little sharper, sounding more defensive than you want to, you add, “We go to the same school, Jen, it’s not like we’ve never been around each other.”
“Anyways,” San cuts in, one of his palms landing smack-ass in the center of the table. “Her new episode is about rebounds. Is it really true that women seek out two? One physical, and one emotional?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Yunjin shrugs, then all eyes at the table turn to you.
You blink. The physical one might be across from you, the emotional one might be beside you. “I think it depends on the woman,” you answer honestly. “I’ve never really done the rebound thing, but I know a lot of women who have.”
“Boo,” Mingi throws you a thumb pointing down. “What about talking during sex? Or like, during a hook up?”
“Talking?” Yunjin reiterates, leaning forward.
San nods, “Like, dirty talk. Praise… the opposite of praise.”
You snort, “Degradation?”
“Yes!” San grins. “Do women like that, for real?”
“Are we the first women you’ve ever talked to?” you ask, confused now. “Do you not ask women what they enjoy before you have your pants down?”
“That’s what I said,” Wooyoung cuts in, and you think it might be the first time he’s ever agreed with you. “Your life will be easier if you just ask the person you’re hooking up with.”
He didn’t ask, you think. He seemed to just know. Maybe he’s slept with so many people that he could tell what you’d like just because he knows your personality, or rather he was trying to bring that side of you out before he even got on his knees.
There you go… Use me… So pretty… Give me one more, baby, you can do it again…
You swallow, toes curling in your boots, nails tapping against the base of your martini glass. His clothes match his hair, a single chain with a thick silver pendant hanging between his pecs, his shoulders broad, his lips pink and plump. You can still see it, in your head, those same lips between your legs, his eyelids fluttering while you grind up against his nose.
“You okay?” Yunho leans in, his voice low.
You snap back to reality, looking up at him, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m good.”
“You sure?” His head tilts, concerned. “You just zoned out.”
“I’m actually gonna go to the bathroom,” you give him a thin-lipped grin and make for the direction of the bathroom before he can respond. The bright, pink neon lights feel like a beacon to safety, you walk faster, running a hand through your hair.
You shouldn’t be thinking about him, especially standing next to Yunho. You shouldn’t have anything to do with him in general. Every time you’re around him you’re reduced to your instincts, the innermost part of you slicing through every word like you never had a filter to begin with. There’s a line for the bathroom and it’s a mile long, but you’re grateful for it because the less time you have to spend at that table, around him, the better. You can’t focus on Yunho, you keep forgetting Yunho’s even there because Wooyoung is across from you.
This is why you don’t hook up with people– this is exactly fucking why. He knows a part of you now, a part of you that only four other people on the planet know, the part that takes time to hand over to someone else. Yet you still don’t necessarily feel regretful, you can accept that you might have made a poor choice, but it’s not one that you would take back.
You don’t like Wooyoung. You don’t like his personality, his sharp wit, his perverted behavior. You like Yunho, his smile, his kindness, his generosity, you like him enough that you want to pursue knowing him better, you want to learn more things to like. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, your mind is too hazy, too distracted, and it confirms your belief that sex makes everything complicated, even though you didn’t even fucking have sex.
You huff, leaning against the wall, staring at the line ahead of you. The girl in front of you turns around, eyes big and round and doe-like. “Are you okay?”
She’s cute, right off the bat. Soft features, long lashes, full cheeks. You nod, “I’m fine, thanks.” She goes to turn back around, but you interrupt her, running on instinct alone. “Wait,” you blurt, and she turns again, still doe-eyed and pretty. “What would you do if you were currently hanging out with a guy you’ve hooked up with, and a guy you’re interested in?”
“I’d probably blow up the bar,” she replies, with such a straight face you think she’s serious. She cracks a smile, and your following laugh is delayed. “I’m joking, kinda. I’d probably just not interact with the one I hooked up with as much as possible. Keep my focus on the guy I’m interested in.”
“What does it mean if I can’t stop thinking about the one I hooked up with?” you ask instead, eyes darting all around you to make sure no one from your table was nearby.
She shrugs, “Honestly, you might not like the other guy that much. Have you fucked him?”
You shake your head, “No.” Then you quickly fix your statement, “Not yet.”
She hums. “That’s why.”
“Thanks,” you smile, and at least it’s partially genuine.
Why is the answer always sex? Why is sex so goddamn relevant?
You leave the line, strutting back to the table, still reeling but you don't want to stand behind someone you don’t know, who knows too much about you. It’s your fault for telling her. Everyone’s mid-conversation, the air buzzing between them, and you can feel your energy sucking the charge away from your presence alone.
“I’m gonna go,” you announce to the table.
Yunjin and Yunho both turn toward you, asking, “What? Why?”
“I don’t feel good,” you lie, your lips bending somewhere between a smile and a frown, eyes bouncing between them both. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”
One of Yunjin’s hands lands on your shoulder and you know she knows you’re lying. She insists anyway, “We have meds in the cabinet, make sure you take something when you get home.”
“I just need some sleep.” You turn to the rest of the table, “Have a good night, guys.”
Wooyoung’s eyes feel more analyzing than anything as he sips his beer. He doesn’t respond, his voice absent in San and Mingi’s song of goodbye, he lowers his beer back to the table with a steady, straight expression. Like he knows you’re lying, too.
“Can I walk you out?” Yunho asks, brows bent upward in concern, his lips pouty.
You nod, “Sure, I mean yes, please.”
You wish you used any other excuse so you could down the rest of your martini. Following behind him, he reaches for your hand as he slips through bodies, and without even thinking about it, you tangle your fingers with his, palms pressed together.
His fingers almost reach down to your wrist, his hand swallowing yours completely. It’s an innocent touch, but it’s not the kind of touch that a man who wants to just get in your pants gives. You could just be a romantic, or seeing what you want to see, but him guiding you through a crowded bar, attached to you for anyone and everyone to see… It makes you feel lighter.
Leaving through the front, the sidewalk packed with people smoking, laughing, your ears ring from the loss of music. He keeps holding your hand, though, as he walks you down the sidewalk, away from listening ears, wandering eyes.
“I can wait with you if you’re ordering a car,” he suggests, coming to a stop at the corner.
You smile, “Oh, I actually drove.”
You point behind you to the parking lot behind the building and his eyes follow your finger. “Oh,” he responds, suddenly shy again. “I’ll walk you to it, then.”
Your walk is silent, other than the vibration of bass seeping through the walls of the Penny, your shoes scuffing against the pavement. You’re leading him now, stopping when you get to your car, leaning up against the driver’s side door. “This is me.”
“Cute,” he grins, letting go of your hand to check out your car. You dig for your keys through your purse, shoving it over your shoulder again after finding them. “This is nice as fuck, actually.”
You laugh a little, “Thanks. It was my mom’s before it became mine, she’s a hand-me-down.”
“I drive a beater,” he admits, sucking in air through his teeth. “This is a car.”
It’s not anything special, but you thank him anyway. “I’m sorry I’m leaving so early.”
His head snaps up from checking out your car, brows furrowed in disagreement. “Don’t apologize for feeling shitty. Go home and sleep.”
“I will,” you nod. “Have fun.”
He walks closer again, leaning up against your car, mirroring your stance. “It won’t be as much fun without you.”
You can’t tell if he’s trying to get invited back to your place or not. Your head tilts, “Of course not, but I hope you have fun anyway.”
“Can you tell Gojo I miss him?” His lips spread, teeth showing in a smile.
You laugh, “He told me he misses you first, actually, I forgot to relay the message. He also said you snore in your sleep.”
“He’s a fucking liar,” Yunho muses. “I’ll have to come tell him myself.”
You nod, “You can definitely come tell him yourself. When I feel better.”
“When you feel better,” he reiterates, agreeing.
You both look at each other for a few seconds, and you swear there isn’t any lighting he looks bad in. So pretty, with his hair hanging messy over his forehead, a smile on his cheeks, a glimmer of happiness in his eyes. Like a kid getting candy. You want to kiss him stupid.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice breathy, soft. You want to tell him he read your mind, but you nod, too impatient to speak. His palm finds your cheek first, thumb brushing against your skin as he leans in, “You look really pretty tonight.”
Your cheeks burn, spine lighting up with fire. “So do you.”
His lips press softly against yours, no heat behind it, no intent. Like he wants to remind you that he’s patient, he’s kind, he’s not like any of the other guys inside the bar. He’s not like Wooyoung.
Can you do anything without thinking about him?
Your hands find his chest, deepening the kiss, keys jingling as your hands slide up to his shoulders, finding solace curled around his neck. He moves, one hand on your hip pushing your back against your car, closing you in as he moves in front of you. It’s cold against your back, pulling a soft sound from your chest, arching off the car.
“Don’t do that,” he grits out, and it’s not an order, but a plea.
You smile, stealing his lips again, “Sorry.”
He bends, his hand sneaking under your thigh, hands ghosting your skin just to feel you before he tugs it upward, hooking your leg over his hip. You gasp, and his tongue slips into your mouth, his body pressing against yours.
He feels so fucking big like this, towering over you, like he’s swallowing you whole. Your leg holds him close as his fingers dance over your skin, finding your ass, squeezing. He can’t come home with you, and if you keep kissing him, you’re going to want to fuck him. You’ll lose your restraint if you keep going.
“Hold on,” you whisper, panting. “Fuck.”
He kisses your cheek, “‘m sorry, my fault, you don’t feel good.”
“Don’t apologize,” you murmur as he lets go of your leg, letting you drop it back to the pavement. You keep your arms hooked around his shoulders as you admit, “If I keep going, I won’t want to stop.”
He smiles, pecking your lips again, “And here I thought you weren’t into me.”
Your hands slide to his shoulders, putting space between you. “You thought that?”
“You’re leaving, and I know you don’t feel good–”
“I don’t,” you enforce, letting him see the honesty in your eyes. “I’m just… it’s not that I’m not into you, I promise. I am definitely into you.”
“Then… Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks, brows going high with the possibility.
You smile, nodding, “Yes, you can absolutely see me tomorrow. I have class until three, then I’m free.”
“I’ll come over,” he insists, excited again. “We don’t even have to go out.”
You laugh, and it’s genuine. “We can go out if you want to.”
“Honestly, I’d rather spend the night just hanging out with you,” he admits. “If that’s okay.”
You kiss him one last final time, then pull your hands from his shoulders. “That’s more than okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Text me when you get home,” he points, backing away from your car.
“Yes, sir,” you say as you turn to your car, unlocking it.
“Watch what you say,” he says, a few steps away from you now. “Some people are into that.”
masterlist 🍬
𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕥
Dripping down your body like gold, slowly steaming up the windows
---------
𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅!𝖸𝖾𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝗂-𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖸𝖾𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗒𝗌, 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍.
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌: 1.9𝗄
𝖠𝖭: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖨 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿: 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖲𝗉𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗍! 𝖨’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖨 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖠𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖨 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗁𝖺 🎂
𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗎𝗇
𝖱𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 🤍
---------
You can hear the squeaking of his sneakers on the linoleum floor before you see him, smiling to yourself.
It’s close to midnight now. The building is empty save for the low thrumming of the music through the ajar door. You told him you’d pick him up tonight but he must have lost track of time.
Again.
You don’t hold it against him though - you know just how passionate he is about his job. The solo they’ve given him has been playing on his mind for days, the pressure to perform it beyond perfection the only thing keeping him trapped in the studio. Though trapped is a big word, the door is open.
You knock but he doesn’t hear, so you open the door a little more instead, leaning against the door frame. The heavy warmth of the air hits you instantly.
The mirrors are starting to fog up at the bottom, sweat dripping down his forehead, tiny drops flicking everywhere when he spins.
You observe him like that for a few minutes and he doesn’t seem to realise. After the third rerun of the song, you finally clear your throat, making him jump.
“Oh!”
“Hello my dear boyfriend who forgot to look at the time.”
He jogs over to you, crossing the room in just a few steps.
“Hey my love, is it really that late?” He asks after pecking your lips softly.
You uncross your arms to place your hands on his hips. “It’s okay, I like watching you dance.”
A bead of sweat drops past his chin and you chuckle, making him realise just how soaked he is. “Sorry,” he breathes heavily, still catching his breath, “let me go get a towel.”
He starts to turn away but your fingers wrap around his shirt, keeping him close. “Don’t.”
His eyebrow raises, inquisitive.
“I kinda like when you’re sweaty like that…”
“Oh.” A sly smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “How so?”
You shrug. “I like to see the results of your hard work. It’s hot.”
He pulls you inside, leaning forward to push the door closed next to you. He locks it without looking away from you.
“Anything else you like the results of?”
The click of the lock echoes in the room, reverberating against the walls until it settles back into you.
“A lot of things.” You murmur.
He waits a second, searching your face, before pulling you by the wrists to face the mirror.
The lights are low, creating imposing shadows over you as he settles behind, one hand lingering on your waist whilst the other moves your hair away from your neck.
He lowers his lips, hovering over your pulse and your breath hitches.
“I really like seeing how out of breath you get.” He says in a deeper tone than usual that travels straight to your core. “Haven’t even touched you and you’re already falling apart.”
You tug your bottom lip between your teeth lightly, trying to stay composed. His fingertips caress your pulse before his lips replace them. They barely touch you, almost like a ghost, his hot breath fanning across your skin.
You hum in contentment, his hand coming to lay flat across your stomach under the fabric of your oversized button up.
His teeth nip at the delicate skin and you shudder. He’s so soft with it, you don’t know if you want him to be rougher or to continue teasing you like this. All you know is your head is already spinning, intoxicated.
He slides his hand lower, toying with the waistband of your joggers.
“Sangie… we almost got caught last time…”
He smirks against your neck, burying his eyes in yours in the reflection.
“We didn’t.”
“B-”
He tugs sharply on the hem of your underwear, cutting you off, whispering in your ear.
“Trust me doll.”
And a doll you are, obeying him without any more protests.
The lust in his eyes sends a fresh wave of heat through you and your thighs clench instinctively. The gesture makes him smirk, using his free hand to grab your neck and turn you to meet his lips with yours.
The kiss is passionate from the very beginning - slow but deep, controlled but heated. Your head falls on his shoulder, reaching up to cup his cheek softly. He keeps his hold on your neck, possessive, whilst his fingers move past your waistband, finally grazing where you need him most.
You moan in his mouth, a sound he drinks up eagerly, tongue coming in to invade you.
All traces of the shy quiet man everyone knows instantly melt away when you’re alone together. He doesn’t often get to control things, but he loves to control your body, your reactions and your pleasure. He knows you by heart. No matter how much you protest to doing this here, he knows it’s the only thing you thought about as soon as you saw the sweat running down his skin. You’re not as bold as he is, but you definitely enjoy being taken there.
Your heart is hammering in your chest now, from the lack of oxygen and the anticipation. The air has grown thicker, heavier with your body heats, and you can feel sweat clinging to your skin - either from the air, you, or Yeosang’s.
Your oversized shirt is becoming too hot already when his finger presses on your clit, making you whimper, back arching into him. You can feel his unmistakable hard length on your back, rutting your hips both into his hand and back onto him in tandem. He's not immune to your charms, soft sounds leaving his lips with every bit of friction you create.
His hand on your neck pulls your attention back to the mirror.
“Look at you.”
He runs his thumb across your swollen rosy lips. Your collarbones peak through the lopsided shirt, the sheen of sweat catching his attention. His fingers fall from your lips to your chest, palming and squeezing you through the fabric.
You don’t even have time to react that he’s hooked his fingers between the buttons and ripped your shirt open, sending a few rogue ones flying across the floor.
You’ve lost a few clothes like that. He loves to tear off your clothes, yet the excitement never dims.
Your chest is rising and falling even faster now, the soft skin glistening as the low lights hit the sweat coating it. You didn’t bother with putting on a bra tonight, since you were supposed to just be here to pick him up after work. Knowing that whilst the odds are low, anyone could see above the frosted part of the glass door, your breasts exposed in the mirror, makes a shiver run through you.
“I know what you’re thinking, doll, but no one’s left here. You’re all mine.” He whispers in a low entrancing timber.
In a bout of bravery, you slip your hand into your joggers over his, moving his finger on your clit whilst your reflection quietly begs him.
His head dips to your shoulder, teeth lightly grazing the delicate skin as he curses into you.
“You wanna play it like that, hmm? My doll’s all needy.” He chuckles to himself, but his finger is already drawing tantalising circles where you need him most.
Tiny whimpering breaths fall out past your lips to mingle with the hot air circling the two of you. Your nipples are peaked now, painful, begging for attention - that same attention he’s giving so devotedly to your core.
His fingers dip a little lower, feeling the slick coat his fingers and he grunts.
“You make this too easy…”
You’re whipped around before you can say anything, pushed against the mirror. He presses himself into you and the fabric of his shirt rubbing across your nipples makes you whimper.
You tug on the hem and he passes it over his head, the fabric peeling from his skin inch by mesmerising inch. His joggers are next, followed by yours, and suddenly you’re both standing naked - except for your shirt, in case someone, somehow, was still in the building and he needed to cover you up.
You can’t help but look down at his length - red tip already leaking out precum. You wet your lips instinctively, making him chuckle.
His lips find yours again, hands holding your face close, before taking their time travelling down to your hips, where he hikes you up in his arms. Your nails dig into his biceps slightly as you steady yourself, making him hiss.
Without a word, he lifts you onto him, sinking in with ease.
He wastes no time in moving, need wound tight in his muscles from seeing you.
He watches the waves of your body follow the roll of his hips, mesmerised by the way your entire skin is covered in sweat now - dripping down your body like gold from the warmth of the studio lights. Like a treasure. His precious rare doll.
His eyes all but devour you - your sounds, your feel, your expressions, you’re everything to him.
The filthy sound of his thrusts on your ass echoes around the studio walls, growing wetter and more lewd the more he pounds into you.
The mirror is sticking to your shoulder blades now, your shirt having dropped a little amidst the action. His mouth continues ravaging yours, both of your hair getting in the way, sticking to your skins from the sweat.
There’s nothing going on in your mind other than the thought of him, all-encompassing in your mind.
His hold on your thigh tightens, hiking you up a little higher to hit that angle just right.
“F-fuck.” You cry out as stars start to blur your vision, throwing your head back against the hard surface.
His mouth moves down to your collarbones, leaving developing purple marks on your golden skin.
“‘feel s-so good doll, oh m-”
His own words are cut off by a whimper when your walls constrict around him.
You’re getting almost uncomfortably close now. Your thighs are begging to close up, forced to stay open around his waist. He frees one hand to come between your bodies, finding your clit and wasting no time in working you to the breaking point.
Your eyes screw shut, your hand flying to your mouth to cover the scream that rips through your throat as your orgasm explodes around you, drenching your bodies and the floor beneath you.
The sudden tightness and the sight of your blissed out face tip him over too, his cum flooding your insides, the duality of the sensations making you tremble against him.
It takes a minute for the intensity of the spasms to dim. His lips travelling softly over all the darkening areas coaxing you back to him little by little.
“You okay?”
You nod weakly, a twitchy smile forcing its way on your face. There’s no way you can drive back in your state.
He looks at the clock in the reflection before looking back at you and smiles softly, kissing you gently despite the shakes still running through your body.
“Best birthday ever.”
---------
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➷ Unspoken Conditions ✦ 8 || Oasis
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else ✦ frat!kuna fwb ✦ ongoing series
[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ only. nsfw. angst. FAMILY DRAMA. a wholeeeeeee lot of plot. fwb. slight degradation. dumbification. sukuna’s thick happy trail. SEXTING. phone sex. dacryphilia. toxic frat culture. sukuna has ANGER issues. crying. toxic co-dependency. TRAUMA. domestic abuse. child abuse. depression. anxiety. wc: 22.6k
series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)
the buzzing in sukuna’s ear was deafening.
all the blood in his body felt like it was burning through his skin. anger pounding behind his eyes as they stare at the red hand print on his little brother’s cheek.
the band on stage continues playing, a backdrop of chaos and cheering, all while sukuna stands completely still backstage. his heart pounds against his chest, cracking his ribs with boiling rage. the sweat builds on his face, and he slowly drags a finger towards kaori.
“…did you fucking touch my brother?”
choso, eyes rimmed red and glossy, glances up quickly at the familiar voice. his pupils grow wide at the sight of sukuna, shaking with rage. and already fallen off the edge…actively losing it.
kaori’s eyes widen in shock, her gaze drops to her hand then to her step-son. she swallows thickly. her short black bob lays flat on her head, a black skirt hugs her waist, as the rest flows, reaching her boney ankles. her formal attire stands out in the sea of casually under dressed teenagers and young adults. and none of it can hide the slight wrinkles around her neck, or the unnerving sensation that shoots through sukuna when she meets his gaze.
“choso said you weren’t here—“
she doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence when sukuna’s suddenly slamming the frail woman into the wall. choso’s eyes widen as sukuna’s frame towers over her with little effort. he ignores how his hand shakes, gripping the collar of her blouse, squeezing. every muscle in his body shifts, tightening his hold on her.
“I asked you a fucking question!” he shouts in her face. unbothered by the sudden looks of people backstage, including ino, who ran into the crowd to call for sukuna when the woman came in.
a few moments earlier….
ino’s standing beside mechamaru, the two watching over choso as he adjusts his guitar for the fourth time that night.
“dude it sounded fine before, now you’re just messing with it,” mechamaru exhales in exasperation.
choso’s brows pinch, “no, this chord is loose.”
“because you keep playing with it.”
“just give me a sec!” choso snaps.
the two boys glance at one another, looking down at their distraught friend. it’s obvious choso’s been on edge since they arrived. but the guy won’t give them a straight answer. instead he keeps fidgeting and messing with his guitar like there’s a fly constantly buzzing in his ear. to make matters worse, ino and mechamaru noticed sukuna coming in with a couple of his friends. last they heard, choso still hasn’t cleared the air with him. is that why he’s on edge?
“got it,” choso finally exhales.
unfortunately, the good news is immediately cut short when choso notices his bandmates looking like they’ve just been shot.
standing behind him is the uncanny woman that looks like a spitting image of their best friend. choso’s heart drops to his ass, and the blood drains from his face in seconds.
“choso.”
the unnerving sound of his name coming from this woman’s lips has a chill running down his spine. his sweat turns cold as he looks up from his seat on the ground, quickly moving to stand up. choso stands at nearly the same height as the tall skinny woma, maybe an inch or so taller.
“mom, how’d you—“
SLAP!
the sound rings so sharp it cuts through the muffled bass bleeding from the stage outside. choso freezes. completely still. his head jerked with the impact, black hair falling into his face as the sting blooms hot across his cheek. for a second, he doesn’t even process what happened. his body locks up as his brain tries to catch up. his eyes are wide and unfocused as he stares somewhere past her shoulder.
ino and mechamaru go dead silent. the two boys stand there like statues, shock written all over their faces as kaori lowers her hand with terrifying calmness. there’s no guilt at all, just that same unreadable expression.
“you lied to me,” she says coldly. the authority in her voice settles instantly, suffocating the space around them.
choso slowly lifts a hand to his cheek, fingertips brushing over the burning skin, still unable to wrap his mind around the fact that she actually hit him. it’s been years— his throat feels tight.
“choso,” she says again, sharper this time. “i’m speaking to you.”
his eyes flick up properly now, confusion and disbelief behind his eyes as he finally looks at her. then instinctively, his gaze darts toward ino and mechamaru.
his jaw clenches.
“can we talk after?” he mutters quickly, voice rougher than normal. “i’m about to go up—”
“no. we’re talking now.”
her fingers wrap around his wrist immediately. it tightens, making choso stiffen as she pulls him toward the farther corner backstage, away from the noise and people passing through, heels clicking.
the second they’re out of earshot, mechamaru’s neck nearly snaps as he whirls toward ino. “why is she here?!” he whisper-shouts.
ino throws his arms up, drumsticks still clutched in one hand. “i don’t know! that was a hard fucking slap too—”
both boys suddenly glance back toward the corner kaori dragged choso to, he’s sitting on a stool as she stands in front of him. and the reality settles ugly in their stomachs. maybe this is exactly why sukuna didn’t want choso around her alone. and neither of them have to voice that realization.
“should we—”
“i don’t want him killing us though—”
“he’ll kill us for sure, but if we call him he probably won’t!” ino cuts in frantically, already moving. “c’mon!”
the two practically trip over themselves rushing out backstage. the second they hit the main crowd, the noise slams into them full force. music shaking the grass, colored lights flashing violently overhead from the strobes attached to the makeshift stage, and bodies shove shoulder-to-shoulder near the elevated stage as another band screams through their set on stage. the battle of the bands was the first huge event kicking off summer break, and the turnout at the rented park is insane and only getting bigger as more people flood in.
finding sukuna in this mess feels impossible.
“i honestly don’t know which way he went!” mechamaru yells over the music, shoving past a group near the bar trucks.
“split up!” ino shouts back immediately. “call me if you find him!”
they separate without another word, because somewhere in this packed park is a six-foot-four soccer captain with face tattoos, a terrifying temper, and enough presence to make grown men shut up when he walks into a room, and right now they need him.
eventually, ino spots a familiar head of pink hair through the sea of people. well….two heads.
an almost identical, much smaller version of the man he’s looking for sits perched on sukuna’s shoulders, glow sticks hanging around yuuji’s neck as the eleven-year-old screams along to the music like he’s completely lost his mind. sukuna isn’t much better, one tattooed arm is hooked around yuuji’s leg while he shouts something toward the stage, feral under the flashing lights.
ino nearly cries in relief, “sukuna!”
he starts shoving through people immediately, bumping shoulders and muttering rushed apologies until he finally reaches the college student. his hand grabs the back of sukuna’s plain black tee.
sukuna whips around instantly, ready to shove whoever grabbed him, then stops. “ino—”
“there’s a small problem!” the drummer’s panting, sweat dripping down his temple from sprinting around the park venue. sukuna’s expression shifts immediately. brows pinching sharply as his stomach drops before ino even finishes speaking. he can see it all over the kid’s face.
“choso’s mom is here.”
everything happens at once. yuuji yelps as sukuna grabs him off his shoulders without warning, shoving the younger boy toward gojo’s side. the white-haired man barely catches him properly before sukuna’s already gripping ino hard by the arm.
“where?”
“backstage—she took him—”
“watch him,” sukuna snaps toward gojo and geto, voice suddenly low cutting through the music.
gojo’s grin vanishes instantly. geto’s brows pinch instantly, that tone isn’t new to them. “for sure,” gojo says immediately.
ino doesn’t hesitate. he spins around and starts forcing his way back through the crowd, sukuna right behind him. except “behind” isn’t even the right word, his shoulder slams into strangers hard enough to make them stumble, dark eyes fixed ahead as the noise around him dulls. his pulse pounds violently in his ears with every step, ino’s words looping over and over in his head.
choso’s mom is here. his jaw clenches so hard it hurts. and somewhere deep in his chest— something ugly starts waking up.
present….
“I asked you a fucking question!”
kaori raises a hand to her step-son’s forearm. lips parting as her eyes dart over his hardened expression, his eyes flashing red, every muscle on his body protruding as sweat beads down his forehead.
“are you deaf?—“ he snaps after she takes too long to respond. his head snaps to choso still sitting on the stool. “she hit you?”
choso stands, head dropping and hand covering his face. his heart pounds against his chest.
“choso—“
choso’s clenches his jaw, blood boiling.
“choso—“
“forget about it!” choso snaps.
sukuna suddenly lets go of kaori, taking the single step to uncover choso’s face. his other hand cups his chin, tilting his face up, and it all hits him at once. the tears building behind his brother’s brown eyes, looking away from the older as he bites down on his teeth, and the bright red hand print on his right cheek.
kaori smooths out the front of her wrinkled blouse, eyes cold as ice.
“choso lied to me,” she says flatly, but not to sukuna, she never talks to him, it’s always at him. “he told me the money was for cram school because he was falling behind in his classes and needed it for his finals.” her lip curls faintly as she gestures toward the backstage area and the unruly screaming crowd beyond the curtains. “then i find out it was for this.”
choso tries pulling away from sukuna’s grip, but sukuna’s frozen, completely still as he stares at the red handprint burning against his little brother’s cheek. the heat builds u see his skin, sweat collecting behind his neck.
“spending time with you has rubbed off on him, something I did not want to know.”
that finally makes sukuna’s eyes snap upward, sharp and furious as his gaze cuts to choso instead of her. “how would she know to give you that money?” he asks quietly, that tone is worse than yelling.
choso visibly shrinks, shoulders tightening as he avoids eye contact. “she asked to meet with me,” he mutters, uncomfortable. “and asked if i needed anything.”
sukuna’s jaw flexes hard enough to hurt. “so when I asked you, it was before that?” choso looks away. and that’s all he needs. sukuna’s head whips toward kaori so fast it nearly startles ino beside them. “I’m getting a fucking restraining order on your fucking ass.”
kaori scoffs immediately. “we both know that’s not an option.” she crosses her arms now, anger bleeding through her composed expression. “i’m more concerned about my son going around asking people for money over some ridiculous band competition while struggling in school—”
“choso isn’t struggling with shit!” sukuna barks. “he’s a fucking genius. that’s how he scammed your psycho ass in the first place.”
people nearby are definitely staring now. a few phones are raised before mechamaru immediately starts hissing at people to stop recording while ino frantically waves others back. choso looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
“are you seriously praising him for lying?” kaori demands.
“to you? fuck yeah.” sukuna steps closer. towering. violent rage practically radiating off him. “actually, i’m disappointed he didn’t ask for more money.”
“ryo—” choso starts weakly, oozing with embarrassment.
“that’s what you get for going behind my back,” sukuna cuts over him, eyes locked onto kaori. “throw all the money you want at him. choso isn’t going anywhere near you.”
“choso,” kaori says again softly, completely ignoring sukuna, that sets him off. choso’s face twists, confusion and guilt and stress all mixing together as he looks between them. “you know i’m just disappointed in your actions,” kaori tells him, voice suddenly gentler in a terrifying way that makes sukuna see red. “you can tell me if you’re having trouble asking your grandfather for things.”
the faux sweetness hits choso like another slap. sukuna sees the hesitation and confusion immediately. choso’s chest tightens, and suddenly sukuna’s moving again.
“stop fucking talking to him like that,” he snarls, voice low and shaking with fury. “jus’ ‘cause he answered your texts doesn’t mean you can suddenly care about him.”
“ry—” choso tries, voice tight.
sukuna doesn’t even hear him.
“you’re outta your fucking mind if you think giving him money is gonna win him over.” sukuna spits at kaori.
“i was helping my son,” kaori fires back immediately.
“your son?” sukuna laughs harshly. “now he’s your son?”
“ryo,” choso says again, louder this time, but sukuna’s blood is roaring too loudly in his ears to listen.
“i didn’t forget the way you fucking treated them,” sukuna steps closer. “some mother leaving bruises on her fucking kid, making him all jumpy. not after the shit you did with me—“
“i said stop!”
the shout cuts through backstage so sharply that even the people shouting over the music nearby go quiet for half a second. sukuna freezes. choso’s chest heaves. his face is bright red now from humiliation and anger. his eyes are glossy with held back tears that only seem to piss him off more.
“I don’t give a shit!” he snaps, voice cracking despite how hard he’s trying to keep it steady.
kaori’s expression shifts quick. “choso—”
“no—” he jerks away before she can touch him again, stumbling closer to sukuna, instinctively. “don’t— don’t touch me.” his breathing is uneven. ino and mechamaru exchange nervous looks from a few feet away. “I don’t fucking care about anything other than playing tonight—that’s it!” choso gestures wildly.
sukuna’s jaw clenches.
“i can handle my own shit,” choso continues, breathing shakily now, attention now on his older brother. “ya don’t have to make a big deal outta something when I didn’t ask for it!”
sukuna’s eyes darken immediately. “the hell you mean by that?”
“i mean i’m not yuuji!” choso explodes. “you don’t have to hover over me every second like i’m two!” a thick ugly silence follows, even choso goes quiet after saying it, but he doesn’t take it back. instead he glances briefly at his older brother, than at his mother, his jaw tightens. “i’ll pay you back the money by the end of summer,” choso snaps, eyes burning now. “so you can be disappointed at me, somewhere else.”
the words hit hard, then choso walks away, angry. truly angry.
sukuna watches his younger brother shove past the backstage clutter, shoulders stiff and fists clenched at his sides and for a split second, the resemblance is almost nauseating. not in appearance — sukuna’s always known choso looked too much like her — but in their temperament. the rage settling ugly beneath his skin until it explodes. sukuna never really noticed how much of himself choso inherited. but kaori notices it immediately, especially when her expression flickers.
choso reaches ino and mechamaru, both immediately crowding him with questions.
“dude are you okay?”
“what the hell was that?”
“did she seriously—”
“i’m fine,” choso cuts sharply. the three fall quiet, choso’s fingers tighten around the neck of his guitar before he looks toward the stage entrance where the current band is finishing up.
“we’re up next,” he says, jaw locked. “and we’re gonna fucking win this.”
ino blinks, then quickly grins. “HELL YEAH,” he shouts, shaking choso’s shoulders.
mechamaru nods quickly beside him, still nervous, but determined all the same. and just like that, the three disappear further backstage toward the stage call area, leaving sukuna alone with kaori.
sukuna’s sharp eyes cut through her, there was no holding back now that choso was gone. his hand snaps back onto her blouse, fingers curling in the fabric until it bunches tight and strains under his grip. he yanks her forward, lifting her just enough that her heels barely touch the ground.
“i’m going to fucking kill you,” he spits. his voice is low, and shaking with controlled rage. it was worse than shouting. “I’ll rip your arm straight out of your body if you—” his grip tightens again, the words weren’t enough to contain what he meant. “—ever lay a finger on him.”
kaori’s breath catches. she’s on her tippy toes now, frozen, sweat gathering at her temple, and for the first time, something in her cracks. this wasn’t another intimidation tactic or performance. it was a real threat from sukuna.
he leans in closer, voice dropping even further, every word precise, already imagining how it would happen. “i won’t even give you a chance to breathe,” his eyes are deep crimson blood, “if you touch them again… i’ll rip you in half before you even know what’s happening.”
and with that, sukuna lets go of kaori, and she stumbles back a step, catching herself with a sharp inhale.
“keep threatening me,” kaori spits, chin lifting even as her voice wavers at the edges. “I don’t take childish boys seriously—“
something in sukuna snaps again. “i’m gonna fucking kill you, you cunt—”
he steps forward, already closing the distance with terrifying quickiness— and then an arm locks around his chest and yanks him backward.
“what the fuck?!” sukuna twists immediately, muscles tensing as he fights the grip, but it holds him steady, pulling him off his line like he weighs nothing. he doesn’t even need to see the face at first, he just knows from the strength alone.
toji.
sukuna digs his heels in, shoulders straining as he tries to wrench free. “get off me,” he snaps, still fighting forward, still locked on kaori like she’s the only thing in the room. but toji doesn’t budge. he just drags him back another step, grounding him with pure force, cutting through the athletes strength with some struggle.
“get a fucking grip!” toji snaps in his ear. he uses every muscle in his body to knock sukuna off his weight again and drag him further away.
sukuna digs his fingers into toji’s forearms, but it’s too late when he’s pushed back to the exit, joining the crowd cheering the current band.
“fuck!” sukuna shouts, receiving a hard shove from toji until he’s completely knocked back. the rage had boiled way over, that toji standing in front of him, just as pissed, then he’s gripping sukuna’s collar, bringing him to his face, fist raised.
“are you fucking seventeen again!” he shouts, the music and chaos around them made everything much calmer than what was actually happening. “I’ll knock your teeth out if you don’t calm down!”
sukuna still struggles—
PUNCH
the hit directly lands on sukuna’s eye, sending him back, but toji keeps him up. fist curling tighter. “you wanna fuck everything for your brothers? do you!”
“you fucking bitch,” sukuna spits on toji, just to receive another punch directly in his solar plexes, almost knocking the wind straight out of him.
his breath catches, a few people nearby step away in surprise. the ocean crashes in the distance. toji still grips his shoulder. sukuna is hunched over, catching his breath, back rising and falling like a beast ready to attack. but instead, sukuna aggressively shrugs toji’s hand away.
“I’m going to fucking kill her,” he repeats under his breath.
toji rubs his face, chest heaving with his own rage.
“woah! what happened!” yuuji shouts over the music, eyes wide as sukuna finds them in the crowd again, toji not far behind.
gojo, geto, megumi, and now nanami, all glance up, all stunned at the bruise slowly forming around sukuna’s eye. sukuna looks furious still, not explosive like before, but still pissed. the anger settling deep. his chest still rises hard under each breath, jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth.
toji walks a few steps behind him, equally pissed, rubbing at his own face.
“jesus christ,” gojo says first, brows lifting. “did you get jumped?”
“shut the fuck up,” sukuna mutters instantly.
his voice comes rougher than usual, and he wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand standing back beside his brother.
yuuji stares up at him wide-eyed. “did someone hit you?!”
sukuna finally looks at him then. his expression doesn’t soften much, but something in his eyes shifts slightly at the sight of his little brother hovering there, worried out of his mind.
“i’m fine,” sukuna says shortly.
yuuji clearly doesn’t buy it. “your eye’s all swollen.”
“and?” sukuna shoots back, dismissive, though the edge in his tone dulls just a little. “still standing.”
toji scoffs behind him. “barely.”
sukuna cuts him a glare sharp enough to kill. for a second, it looks like sukuna might start yelling again, but then he just exhales hard through his nose and leans his head back instead. the ocean crashes somewhere behind them. music shaking the ground beneath their feet.
geto studies the tension between the two men carefully. “what the hell happened?”
“nothing,” sukuna says immediately. yuuji still lingers beside him, nervous energy practically radiating off him, and sukuna notices immediately.“quit staring at me,” he mutters, finally shoving lightly at yuuji’s shoulder. “i said i’m fine.”
yuuji doesn’t even get the chance to respond before sukuna suddenly grabs him by the waist and lifts him back onto his shoulders like nothing happened. except everyone notices the slight wince that flashes across sukuna’s face. his hand brushes his stomach for half a second, fingers pressing there instinctively before he adjusts yuuji’s legs over his shoulders again.
toji notices immediately. his jaw tightens.
“choso is up,” sukuna says instead, voice flat, already looking back toward the stage through the crowd.
yuuji steadies himself, hands gripping the top of sukuna’s head as he tries to lean down to see his brothers bruised eye. “are you sure you’re okay?”
“you ask too many questions,” sukuna mutters. but he keeps one hand locked around yuuji’s calf anyway, secure and steady despite the bruise forming around his eye and the ache spreading through his ribs.
gojo watches the whole thing with raised brows. “wow. tough guy for real.”
“say another word and i’ll knock your teeth out.”
“there he is,” geto sighs. nanami shakes his head slightly, though the corner of his mouth twitches for barely a second. behind them, toji exhales through his nose, still irritated, but at least sukuna has settled for the time being.
everyone’s attention shifts fully to the stage as choso’s band gets called up. megumi sits on toji’s shoulders, arms loosely resting over his dad’s head as the whole group drifts closer to the center front where the crowd thickens. lights flare across the stage, as the anticipation of the next band rolls through the audience. yuuji immediately lights up the second he spots choso stepping into place.
“CHOSOOOO!!!” he screams at the top of his lungs, bouncing on sukuna’s shoulders. sukuna tightens his grip instinctively, keeping him steady. the motion pulls at his bruised ribs again, but he doesn’t show it beyond a slight tightening of his jaw.
“THAT’S MY BROTHER!”
sukuna exhales through his nose, eyes fixed on the stage. choso stands under the lights now, adjusting his position at the mic, shoulders rolling back shaking off everything that happened earlier. the crowd noise builds around him, voices overlapping, everyone cheering.
gojo cups his hands around his mouth. “YOU GUYS GOT THIS!!”
on stage, choso finally looks up, and for a split second, his eyes find the group in the crowd.
yuuji waves wildly like his life depends on it. “you got this choooo!!!!”
sukuna doesn’t wave, but he holds eye contact with choso for a moment longer than anyone else, steady and sharp. the bruise on his face not visible under the shifting lights.
choso inhales sharply, shaking off the rest of his anxiety. sweat building from the nerves and heat. and then they start.
the first hit of ino’s drums sends the entire crowd shouting with excitement…
sukuna’s chest tightens. the uneasiness weighs on his shoulders as a dark pit quietly stirs awake inside him. though his focus remains ahead, eyes locked on his brother performing their first set, there’s that lingering anger that he hasn’t felt in a long time.
not since he was seventeen, standing by the intersection, red and blue lights flashing across his face, and his dad’s car jammed slightly beneath the truck, completely crushed.
“shit—that’s your dad’s car?” kashimo repeats, as if saying it again will snap sukuna back.
but he’s already moving. his feet stumble off the sidewalk before his mind catches up, shoving straight into the street. his skull is split open by the sirens screaming loudly. ambulances and police cars clogging the street. the headlights blur his vision, only seeing the wreck straight ahead.
“SUKUNA—!” kashimo pushes after him, nearly slipping as he forces his way through the growing crowd. officers notice immediately when the two teenagers duck beneath the tape.
“hey! kid—!” an officer grabs for sukuna’s arm.
sukuna violently shoves him off. “THAT’S MY DAD —!”
his voice sounds unfamiliar to him as it tears straight out of his throat, making the officer stumble back just enough for sukuna to break free and start running the second he sees paramedics dragging someone out from the passenger side.
his stomach drops.
the familiar body is pulled out, and all he sees is his father covered in deep red blood.
blood coats his face, runs down his neck, soaks through the front of his shirt. glass sticks to his skin. bruises already spread dark beneath the flashing lights while firefighters shout over each other around the wreck. controlling the truck from starting a fire. sukuna drops beside his dad so fast it scrapes the skin clean off his knees.
“shit—shit, shit, shit—” his hands shake violently as he looks at all the blood.
one of the paramedics tries pulling him back. “kid, you need to move—”
“dad?” sukuna grabs onto jin’s arm anyway, panic rising so violently inside him it feels like he’ll throw up. “dad, what the fuck—? WHAT THE FUCK?!”
his voice cracks at the end, eyes wide as jin tries to respond but only wheezing comes out. blood covers one of his eyes as he struggles to open them properly. every breath sounds wet and broken.
“r-ry—” his fingers twitch upward weakly, trying to reach him.
and suddenly sukuna can’t fucking breathe, the anger explodes through his chest making him dizzy. “YOU SHOULD’VE STAYED WITH ME!” sukuna shouts, tears burning hot behind his eyes. “WHY DID YOU GO AFTER HER?!”
jin barely seems aware of the wreck around him, or the paramedics putting a mask on him, or the blood soaking through his clothes. instead, his entire focus stays on his eldest son kneeling beside him with bloodshot eyes, and an anger he can’t seem to ease.
“ryo…” he wheezes painfully. “men…” his hand finally reaches sukuna’s hand, smearing blood across his skin.
behind them, paramedics pull another person from the opposite side of the car, alive and walking. kaori stumbles against the police cruiser, hysterical, mascara running down her face. her eyes are bloodshot and unfocused.
“ma’am,” an officer says sharply, catching her arm before she falls again. “have you been drinking tonight?”
another officer immediately steps in beside him after smelling it. kaori starts crying harder, words slurring together into panicked nonsense.
sukuna looks up. then something inside him twists… his father is laying in front of him and she’s standing.
“you fucking bitch,” sukuna spits, shoving himself to his feet so fast his knees nearly give out beneath him. jin’s bloodied hand slips from his sleeve, still reaching after him weakly.
“ryomen…”
but sukuna already storms forward. an officer immediately moves between him and kaori. “hey—hey! back up!”
“get the fuck out of my way!” sukuna barks, trying to shove past him again, completely losing it.
kaori sits against the side of the ambulance now while a paramedic presses gauze against the cut on her forehead. another wraps a blanket around her shoulders despite the smell of alcohol practically soaking the air around her. she looks up just in time to see sukuna lunging toward her and for the first time that night, genuine fear crosses her face.
“you did this!” sukuna screams.
two officers grab him before he reaches her. sukuna fights violently in their grip, rage tearing through him he can barely see anything besides red.
“HE WENT AFTER YOU!” he shouts. “HE FUCKING WENT AFTER YOU!”
“kid, calm down—”
“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN!”
behind him, paramedics suddenly start shouting near jin’s stretcher. one of them yells for another medic, and starts pushing sukuna’s father faster toward the ambulance.
what followed turned into a blur that sukuna’s mind never fully managed to piece together afterward. his body moved before his mind did. one second officers held him back, paramedics shouting around him, and the next he climbed into the ambulance beside his father while someone yelled that he couldn’t ride along unless he stayed seated.
sukuna didn’t even remember agreeing, he just remembered the inside of the ambulance feeling freezing cold, remembered the medic cutting jin’s shirt open, and remembered the blood. so much blood.
sukuna sat there with blood covering both hands, staring while they worked on his father right in front of him. jin barely stayed conscious the entire ride. every now and then his eyes opened halfway, searching weakly until they landed on sukuna again. like he needed to make sure he was still there. and every single time, sukuna felt something twist apart inside his chest.
then the hospital lights replaced the sirens. people moved around him constantly, nurses, doctors, officers asking questions—but sukuna stayed hunched over in the waiting room chair with his elbows on his knees and his father’s blood smeared across his hands. he stared at the floor so long he lost track of everything.
the automatic doors eventually opened again. heavy footsteps quickly coming towards him. toji. and then his gramps following close behind him.
“ryomen,” toji says immediately, breath uneven like he rushed there as fast as possible. “what happened?”
sukuna doesn’t answer. he just sits there, shoulders tense, brows pinched tight while his fingers curl harder against his palms. staring at the blood in the creases of his hands. then he mutters. quietly. low. “she killed him.”
toji’s expression shifts instantly. “what?”
“she killed him,” sukuna repeats, harsher this time, the words scraping out of his throat. “she killed him.”
sukuna barely notices the two men hovering around him. he keeps staring at the blood on his hands instead. his scraped knees. his football uniform still on.
sukuna genuinely can’t tell how many hours or minutes pass. the hospital waiting room grows quieter as the night drags on. his grandfather quietly rests his head back, while toji paces near the windows like he might punch straight through the glass. and then finally, the doors open again, a doctor walks out. everyone freezes immediately. and sukuna doesn’t need to hear the words, before the doctor even speaks.
he’s dead.
and it’s her fault.
the hard yank on his hair snaps sukuna straight back into the present. music crashes through the field while people scream their heads off around them. yuuji sitting on top of sukuna’s shoulders has one hand gripping sukuna’s phone while the other fully tugs on his brothers hair to keep balance.
“GRAMPS DO YOU SEE HIM?!” yuuji screams into the phone loud enough to blow out the speaker.
gramps voice crackles back immediately. “you keep shaking the damn phone!” the camera angle violently jerks around. all yuuji can see is the top half of the old man’s forehead shoved way too close to the screen. “stay still!”
“OHHHHHHHHH!!!!” yuuji completely loses his mind the second choso steps up to the mic again.
the entire field erupts with him.
ino’s drums shake through the speakers while the guitars kick in harder, the stage lights flashing over choso and his band as they absolutely light up the crowd. even nanami cups his hands around his mouth to yell, whatever dignity he usually carries cracking under the sheer energy of the performance. gojo screams something incomprehensible beside him. geto laughs while shoving him. megumi claps from toji’s shoulders with far more enthusiasm than he’d ever show on a regular day.
and somehow yuuji’s excitement finally drags sukuna with it. the tension in his chest loosens for the first time all night as yuuji bursts into louder cheering.
the two brothers start yelling toward the stage together, voices getting swallowed by the music and chaos around them while choso stands under the lights. and sukuna’s resolve hits him that very moment too.
he’s not letting these two out of his sight.
the celebrations, surprisingly, continued through the night until all the performers were done.
sukuna and the boys watched in the audience as all the bands crowded onto the stage and the promoters stood in the middle with a list and began announcing the six bands that will be proceeding to the semi-finals in two weeks.
“DEATH PAINTINGS DEATH PAINTINGS DEATH PAINTING!” yuuji starts the cheers, sitting back on sukuna’s shoulders. the rest quickly join, and as the four bands are announced, the chanting grows louder. the crowd joining, a universal want for choso’s band, death paintings, to be one of the semi-finalists.
“and the final band to make it into the semi finals is….” the host waits for the anticipation to simmer, but it’s not realized with how unbelievably loud the chanting has gotten for different bands, but the loudest being for— “DEATH PAINTINGS!!”
—
the culmination of celebration among the group extends to choso. him and his two friends are on cloud nine after the announcement, riding the adrenaline. somehow, choso manages to push everything else aside that almost swallowed the entire night.
people keep stopping him before he can even take three steps, congratulating the band, asking questions, slapping him on the back. toji leaves before everyone else, megumi staying behind with the group as security pushes the crowd out of the venue field and toward the beach nearby. bonfires burn in the distance and music continues from portable speakers.
everyone was distracted, except sukuna. his decision settled during the performance and by the time they return home, well after midnight, the house felt exhausted. choso’s friends immediately crash his room. megumi sleeping in yuuji’s room without complaint. doors shut, voices fading until silence settles over the house.
sukuna sits alone at the kitchen table. the only light comes from his laptop screen.
the black envelope sits beside it. opened.
a thick paper rests beneath his hand as he reads the letter again for what must be the hundredth time. an invitation. the one he’s waited to receive again for the past five years.
a la liga club. three weeks training with one of the best clubs in the world. three weeks that could change his entire future. the letter might as well weigh a hundred pounds. for weeks, sukuna pushed away replying, even when everyone brought it up. he had more pressing things at the front of his mind….
his eyes drift toward the hallway where his brothers sleep. a few months ago the answer would’ve been simple. obvious, even…but since kaori, everything’s changed.
his jaw tightens as his fingers move across the keyboard.
Dear Recruitment Team,
Thank you for extending the invitation. I am honored by the opportunity and would like to formally accept.
But before finalizing travel arrangements, I would like to discuss one logistical matter. I am the primary caretaker of my two younger brothers and am responsible for their supervision and wellbeing during the summer. As a result, I will not be able to travel without them and would like to ask whether accommodations can be made for my brothers to accompany me during the three-week training period. Their presence would not interfere with my participation in training or any club obligations.
his eyes narrow, reading over the email. he isn’t asking, he already knows what he’s doing. if the club says yes, yuuji and choso are coming. end of discussion. if they don’t…then. his fingers flex, veins straining.
both outcomes will result in consequences. the first is choso, but after today, he doesn’t care if choso throws a fit, or if he gets called controlling or insane. he isn’t leaving them behind after tonight and remembering exactly how fast everything can disappear.
his fingers resume moving.
I understand this is an unusual request, but I wanted to address it before confirming. If necessary, I would be happy to discuss the situation further and provide any information you may need.
Thank you again for this opportunity. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Ryomen Sukuna Itadori
sukuna leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling. for a moment, the silent churning deep in his chest twists… the lingering feeling that’s been pushed returning. a familiar one that’s ruled his life for years. bad things happen whether you’re ready or not. people leave whether you hold onto them or not. life keeps moving whether you’re scared of it or not. and if that’s true—
his gaze drops back to the laptop. the cursor hovers over the send button. the house remains completely silent. inside their rooms, his brothers sleep peacefully, completely unaware that their summer plans are about to change.
SEND
the email vanishes.
for several seconds he simply stares at the screen. then he reaches over, grabs the black envelope, and crushes it in his fist. three weeks in spain. suck it up.
—
the following two weeks went by with a breeze. aside from two separate incidents in two completely different places. one unraveled in the itadori household a few days after the battle of the bands tournament, and the second was in a certain hospital staircase that same day.
your jaw tenses. shoko quietly stands beside you, your hands tucked behind your backs. a resident stands across from you while an attending stands front and center. the staircase feels too small and you already know this isn’t about a patient, glancing at shoko beside you.
the attending, your father, removes his glasses, folding them in his hand. “you know why we’re having this conversation?”
you shift your weight, shoko glances at you. heat crawls up from the back of your neck. you finally respond with a small shrug. the resident cringes, your father doesn’t. “you asked shoko to ask a resident physician to prescribe medication to you.”
you swallow thickly biting your cheek. shoko opens her mouth, but your dad holds a hand up.
“I’ll give you a chance. I’m asking her to answer first.” you can feel his eyes on you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. which you do.
“i asked a question,” you clear your throat. “I was asking shoko to ask for me.”
“you put them in an inappropriate position,” he cuts, silencing you in seconds.
your chest tightens, heat spreading to your face now. the embarrassment sits heavy on your chest now. you see shoko try to raise her hand beside you again.
“can I—“ the attending finally turns his head to shoko. “we were just talking.” she clears her throat, “we both didn’t know what the policy was on—“
“the policy is your supervisors can’t prescribe you medication,” he snaps.
shoko nods, glancing at the resident, who’s supervising this summer’s undergrad students, including her and you. “yeah, I was told.”
you scratch your wrist awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to put anyone in an…inappropriate position.” you wet your lip, pushing the coil crawling up your throat. “it won’t happen again.”
he processes your apology. his eyes flick to the resident and shoko, dismissing them. shoko glances at you as she follows the resident out, the staircase door shutting behind her. the silence grows louder with just the two of you. you inhale sharply, your head falling back, hands covering your face.
“dad—“
“do you need a new prescription?”
“no,” you cut, hands shielding you from his gaze.
“then why did you ask? have you spoken to your doctor about this?”
“I’m not—“ you stop, taking a deep breath. “I don’t need another prescription. and I told you already I’ve been talking to my doctor. I was just asking a question— I was just stressed.”
“why? you’ve done all this before,” he cuts, brows furrowed, and arms crossed in confusion.
“I’m stressed about other stuff,” you exhale, hands falling, face still burning from the humiliation earlier.
“what other stuff?” he pushes. genuinely confused about what you could be worrying about. “you don’t have classes or exams. you know everything. if you have any questions you can ask me—“
“yeah, I’m worried about other stuff, like generally,” you huff, rubbing your face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“you’re not taking any medication now?” he changes the subject back, brushing off your concerns to push his own out, “jennie told me you weren’t when she visited.”
your teeth clench, rubbing your eye, “yeah, I don’t need it anymore. I haven’t had them since finals.”
his eyes narrow, you can see the concern pinching his brows. “I don’t have a problem if you still need to take them. you know that—“
“yeah, but I don’t need them,” your stomach curls tighter, especially when he glances over you like…like you’re causing him more stress. it’s confusing, you know tjat. saying you don’t need any more medication, but then asking a resident a question about whether they can give you some for stress. it doesn’t make sense, and at this point you’re getting frustrated with yourself. “it’s not a big deal. next time I just won’t ask anyone anything,” you mutter.
“we’re having a conversation, so don’t do that,” he shakes his head in disappointment. the pit in your stomach growing at the sight. “I want to understand why you asked.”
you stomach churns, “it’s fine.”
the silence stretches between you, then you finally decide to leave.
“you should go home,” he steps to block the door.
you barely blink, the comment rolling off your back as you hum. “great.”
your father exhales through his nose. “i’m serious.”
“i know.”
“you don’t sound like you know.”
your jaw tightens, ignoring the passive aggressive tone. “can i go now?” you ask.
he stares at you for another second before stepping aside. the staircase door swings open and you leave. your shoes slap against the floor as you move through the hallway. nurses pass, residents pass, families pass, and it all irritates you. you don’t even realize how fast you’re walking until another set of footsteps catches up beside you.
“hey.” you don’t look over. shoko keeps a quick pace beside you anyway. “hey.”
“what?” you stop.
the word comes out harsher than intended. shoko is unfazed, “i’m sorry.”
you glance at her. the two of you standing by the lockerroom. “for what?”
“for telling the resident.”
“yeah well you didn’t tell on me.”
“still.”
you put the code in before entering the locker room, shoko follows. “still what? i asked a question and apparently that’s illegal.”
“that’s not what i mean,” shoko sits on the bench as you take your backpack out.
you sigh, “i know what you meant.” you start changing. “it’s just annoying that I was scolded like that and I didn’t even wanna do this stupid ass program in the first place. no offense,” you start rambling. “but seriously, how many times does this make it—like the fifth freaking time I get yelled at in front of these residents and I haven’t even done anything that crazy. asking a question?! god forbid!” you throw your hands up in sarcastic defense. you scoff at the situation rolling your eyes.
“this whole thing is just a humiliation ritual of being a fucking doormat, and having every single person around me be the biggest ops ever—not you,” you put your shirt on, pulling your jeans up right after. “let’s bet how much shit I’m gonna get if I just mention to jennie how annoyed I am,” you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what she’ll say. “if yOU doN’t LiKe it sO mUCh jusT qUiT,” you mimic her voice.
shoko, who has been quietly listening, stifles her own laugh. “why do you let her get under your skin?”
you deadpan. “she is the only person that can ragebait me until i wanna tear my hair out,” you’re basically clawing at your skin. “can’t even complain about anything anymore,” you mutter more to yourself. “whatever.”
shoko gives you a sympathetic look.
“call me when you finish, I’ll come pick you up,” you conclude, waiting for shoko’s hum before leaving.
and just a few miles away, another incident was unfolding in the itadori garage.
“what?” choso’s voice cuts through the room. “you’re lying.”
“you don’t want a free vacation?”
“it’s not a free anything! i’m not going to spain! the tournament—”
“yeah, the finals are the day before our flight, still lying—”
“i’m not lying! when we win we’re gonna be meeting with producers and stuff—”
“and stuff,” sukuna laughs. “you can zoom in.”
“that’s not the same thing!”
“sounds the same.”
“it literally isn’t!”
the garage erupts. the old fan rattles uselessly in the corner, guitar cables snake across the floor and choso stands in the middle, face red with frustration while sukuna lounges against the workbench like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all week.
“i’m not missing opportunities because you’re going to spain!” choso shouts.
sukuna shrugs, “good thing i’m not asking.”
“you can’t do that!”
“watch me.”
“ryomen!”
“choso!”
the younger teen looks seconds away from committing a felony, his jaw tightens, anger bubbling dangerously, “you’re possessively controlling.”
“shocker,” sukuna replies lowly, checking his phone after it buzzes.
“you can’t just drag people across the world!”
“sure i can.”
“i’m sixteen!”
“exactly.”
choso makes a strangled noise just as the garage door suddenly slides open.
“hey, i brought—” ino freezes, a pizza box hangs from one hand. his eyes dart between the brothers. “…oh.”
“tell him he’s insane!” choso shouts, voice cracking and pointing at the tattooed brother lounged in the corner on his phone.
“tell him i’m right,” sukuna says at the same time with less effort as his younger brother.
ino slowly starts backing out. “nope.”
choso’s jaw clenches, “ino.”
ino shakes his head more, “no.”
“ino,” choso’s words strain.
“naaahhhh man.” the teen points at both of them, pizza box fumbling. “last time i got involved in your family drama i got interrogated by psycho satan.” he means sukuna.
“that’s dramatic,” sukuna snorts.
“you threatened me,” ino huffs.
“that’s different,” sukuna casually scratches his large tatted bicep, with an added shrug.
ino frowns, “how is that different?!”
suluna shrugs, while the younger teen throws his hands in the air, choso’s black hair is messy and pushed out of his face from how much he’s run his hands through it. “he accepted the offer!”
“what offer?” ino asks.
“the spain one,” choso frowns, and sukuna eyes dart up, not realizing how many people knew about this offer. ino blinks, lips parting and eyes lighting up.
“…spain spain?”
“yes, spain spain,” choso snaps.
“like beaches?”
“yes.”
“europe?”
“yes!”
“yoooooo,” ino is smiling wide now, stepping further into the garage. “that’s so cool!”
“dude—“ choso snaps.
ino cringes, but the smile doesn’t go away, “sorry, but like DAAAAANG, remember a couple years ago, we talked about it—duuude,” ino’s attention shifts to sukuna, smiling wide. “congrats!!”
“what—stop glazing him!” choso interrupts, and ino holds back his tongue, conflicted.
“cool but like yeah, no, that’s actually insane, why does choso needa go with you? not cool,” ino falls in line.
choso relaxes just a bit, “thank you.”
“but also…” ino hesitates, and choso’s eyes narrows immediately.
“don’t.”
ino puts the pizza on the table, shrugging, “i’m just saying—”
“ino.”
“i mean…spain is kinda sick,” he plays devils advocate. and sukuna barks out a laugh.
“ino!” choso looks ready to throw his guitar right at his best friend. “you never help, shit friend.”
“he’ll get over it,” sukuna says to ino, who feels slightly guilty, opening the box to take out a slice while it’s hot.
“i won’t!” choso shouts, putting his guitar down.
sukuna ignores him, “he will.”
“i won’t!”
“you always do.” the words come out too casual, and for half a second, the garage falls quiet. choso’s jaw tightens, and sukuna’s grin fades slightly, watching his younger brother’s expression shift, the anger burning hotter. the same anger claws at sukuna’s own chest remebering why he has to force choso to come with him.
“I’m staying with gramps,” choso’s voice is lower. his own brain trying to wrap around the sudden information. he hadn’t even known that his brother accepted the offer when he wouldn’t even talk to anyone about it. and to find out he accepted it and was told it’s okay for him to bring his brothers without even asking him?!
“gramps is going to the lake with his war buds like he does every summers so yeah, you’re not staying here alone.” sukuna tsks, standing up. he glares at choso across the garage, waiting for choso to test him. the tension suddenly hits ino full force. the bickering had turned into something charged in a matter of seconds. his chewing slows, awkwardly.
“I’ll stay with ino,” choso pushes, eyes darting between sukuna’s.
“this lying shit?” sukuna scoffs pointing at ino without glancing at him.
ino chokes, coughing, “me?!!”
sukuna frowns, eyes narrowing sharply, “I fucking asked you if he saw that bitch of mom and you said no. that constitutes as lying.”
ino lowers his head.
“I told him not to say anything,” choso defends, “he’s my friend.”
“exactly why you’re not staying with him because he’ll lie and I won’t know if you see that woman again or not.” sukuna takes a step towards his brother.
“i took money from her,” choso tilts his head, clearly not afraid of the older as his eyes narrow. “I’m gonna give her that money back.”
“I don’t give a shit if you don’t or if you take more money from her. she owes you and yuuji a shit ton of money anyways,” sukuna stops in front of choso. an unknown look crossing the man’s face, and choso hesitates for a moment. “I have a problem that she laid her hands on you.”
choso’s jaw clenches, stepping away. “I stole money from her.”
“so you think you deserve to get hit?” sukuna snaps. choso rolls his eyes, grabbing a slice of pizza, forcing himself to act casual. “she’s a toxic psycho.”
“whatever, man,” choso mutters, dismissing the conversation about his mother. an uncomfortable twist settling deep in his stomach making him slightly nauseous. “I don’t wanna talk about her with you.”
“why because I don’t sugarcoat how horrible she is?” sukuna scoffs. choso’s defensive attitude quietly triggers the older. choso rolls his eyes again, gaze locked at the pizza, but sukuna catches it and ino sinks further in the corner. “stupid ass teen,” sukuna grabs his keys from his pocket, walking towards the door, opening the garage. “fucking proving my damn point by acting stupid as fuck.”
sukuna scoffs, pissing himself off as the memories of this woman flood his mind. jaw tensing as he looks at choso turning away from him. “mothers don’t beat their kids, and she was more of dad’s fucking mental patient than a mom to you”
“how the fuck would you know!” choso finally snaps. “your mom left and my mom isn’t yours, I have my own memories!”
“the ones when you were two?” sukuna scoffs, walking towards the parked pick-up truck. “I doubt you remember shit before you were twelve,” sukuna says the comment without realizing the flame he lit.
“I remember you going to jail too and losing your first club offer,” choso spits. “great example compared to her. definitely my role model!”
sukuna stops dead in his tracks, jaw tightening, he glances over his shoulder and choso doesn’t back down. “you’re more like her than me or yuuji are, so it’s pretty hypocritical that I’m being forced to go to spain with another psycho.”
mechamaru had just parked his car and is exiting when he hears the yelling from his friend’s open driveway. ino has attempted to blend in with the couch, empty plate in his lap while choso’s chest heaves. the strings in his heart strain ignoring the unfamiliar look on his brothers face. especially when sukuna fiddles with his keys with one hand, the jangling fills the tense air, before sukuna licks his teeth.
“at least I’ve never hit you guys.”
the response is deeply honest that choso pauses, unable to respond. sukuna swings his keys between his fingers, rubbing the back of his neck and walking down the driveway. he passes mechamaru silently, unlocking his truck.
the teens are left in defending silence minutes after sukuna’s already driven away. ino and mechamaru exchange looks, especially when choso disappears into the house to wash his face.
at some point the houses thin out and the ocean appears. the clouds hang low and heavy overhead, turning the late afternoon gray. rain threatening to fall any minute. sukuna parks in an empty lot overlooking the beach and kills the engine. his hands are locked around the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
you’re more like her than me or yuuji are.
his jaw aches. choso hadn’t even sounded afraid when he said it, he was angry enough to mean it. sukuna drags both hands over his face, wishing he can claw at everything. “fuck.”
the word disappears, waves crashing against the shore, ahead as his phone vibrates inside. and miles away, parked beside an empty field, you do the same.
the hospital sits somewhere behind you, and your home is in the opposite direction, and neither destination sounds appealing. the engine is off. the windows are cracked. summer wind drifts through the car as you stare at absolutely nothing. your father’s voice rings around your skull making you rest your head against the window. you don’t want to go home or go back or do anything.
eventually your phone lights up.
after another few minutes of staring at the ocean, his hand finally reaches for his phone. notifications flood the screen, group chats, soccer shit, gojo being annoying, something from toji, and his thumb scrolls through the usual unopened messages until he sees a certain contact.
his thumb stops. three days ago.
crybaby: where’s the video of your brother’s band?
his gaze lingers. for some reason, that message irritates him less than everything else. he opens the chat and for a moment he considers not responding, his thumb mindlessly scrolls through your earlier conversation, until the photo you sent him fills his screen.
dumbass: they made it to the semifinals
a beat passes..
dumbass: i forgot to send the video
your phone vibrates against the passenger seat making you glance down and see his name, and despite the day you’ve had, despite everything, your chest loosens just a little.
crybaby: woww
crybaby: a whole 3 days later
crybaby: i was starting to think u hated me
sukuna snorts. his head tips back against the seat. outside, thunder rumbles somewhere over the water.
dumbass: good guesser
you roll your eyes, holding back a smile.
crybaby: haha u’re soo funny
sukuna scrolls through his camera roll. easily finding the video gojo had taken and sending it to you. you heart the message, and a few minutes later the texts flood in.
crybaby: WHAAAA
crybaby: WTHHHH UR BROTHER IS SO GOOD
dumbass: u def thought they were gonna be ass
crybaby: ngl…I wasn’t expecting much
dumbass: rude
crybaby: ONLY BC I’ve gone to a few in the past and RARELY r they ever good
crybaby: NO OFFENSE
dumbass: I’m offended
you don’t realize the smile on your face as you watch another video sukuna sends. relaxing back in your seat, jaw agape.
crybaby: no like actually wth — ur brother’s voice is making me tear up
crybaby: it’s so angelic esp for a hard rock band
sukuna snorts.
dumbass: crybaby
crybaby: did I say CRY? I said TEAR UP smh smhh
a few beats pass, not long enough for you to fully exit your messages, but long enough to watch the little typing bubble appear then disappear, and then your face fills your screen.
….incoming FaceTime from dumbass….
your lips part, cheeks warming as you easily click accept, the call connecting. sukuna’s face fills your screen, the camera angle is terrible, but somehow he still looks unfairly attractive.
the lighting inside the truck is dim from the storm clouds outside, shadows cutting across the sharp lines of his face. his pink hair looks soft, a few strands hang loose across his forehead. his tattoos disappear beneath the collar of his black shirt, the dark markings curling up the side of his neck. his forearm rests against the driver’s side window, broad shoulders, strong jaw—you hate how hot he looks.
on the other side of the call, sukuna feels much the same.
he expected your voice, but there’s something about seeing your face. your hair is slightly messy from your long day. you’re leaning sideways against the drivers seat, cheek pressed against the headrest of your car seat. golden evening light spills through the window in front of you, softening everything. you look tired, but pretty…really pretty. something in his chest loosens.
your eyes blink slowly, then narrow, “what happened to your face?”
sukuna’s brow furrows, “what?”
you lean closer to the camera, “your eye.”
his hand immediately comes up, glancing at the mirror in front of him. forgetting about the faint bruise caused by toji a few days ago, and barely noticeable to anyone except apparently you.
his fingers brush beneath it. “nothing.”
you stare and sukuna stares looks back at his phone, “that’s not nothing.”
“it’s nothing.”
“yeah definitely,” you sarcastically quip.
“it’s literally nothing.” your expression flattens. his matches yours instantly. neither of you budge. the silence stretches then—
“did you get punched?”
the offended look that flashes across his face almost makes you laugh. “the fuck kind of question is that?” he snaps.
you shrug fast, “it’s a valid question.”
“no it isn’t.”
“it is, since that’s what people who get punched in the face look like,” you say, like you’re some expert.
“speaking from experience?” he tosses, irritation scratching at your questions.
“yeah,” you lie, and he probably knows that, but still he leans back in his seat again. “it definitely looks like you got a bruise.”
“yeah, because i play a contact sport,” he huffs. you squint suspiciously as he rolls his eyes so hard it physically pains him. “gojo elbowed me in the middle of a game.”
“see?” you point triumphantly. “that wasn’t hard.”
sukuna tsks, “you’re annoying.”
“i was curious,” you shrug.
“it’s a bruise.”
“on your face.”
“you sound like yuuji.” the corner of his mouth twitches, barely there, but enough for the tightness in both of your chests to ease just a little. your lips part, still looking at the bruise.
“does it hurt?” your voice is softer, allowing something warm to settle in sukuna’s chest.
a smirk tugs on the players lips. “yeah. you gonna come make me feel better?” the teasing has your thighs clenching. his voice is low, deep, watching your eyes dart off screen. “where are you right now?”
you shift in your seat, flipping the camera to do a 360 of your surroundings. sukuna notices your bag in the passenger seat, “you get off work?”
“yup left early,” you flip the camera back, your phone on your lap as you fix your necklace in the mirror.
“you ditched?”
you laugh, “no,” you pick your phone back up, “I was kicked out.”
sukuna whistles. “bad girl. what’d you do?”
you shrug, leaning back in your seat, “I punched a patient.”
sukuna’s eyes blow wide, “you’re lying.”
you snort, “obviously,” you smile, pretty lips glossy as you wet them. “just had a chat with my dad and he told me to go home.”
“are you home?”
you shake your head, tilting just a bit as you watch sukuna through the phone. the silence fills both your environments. “doesn’t look like you’re home.”
“got work soon,” he answers, eyeing the curve of your jaw as you look out the window as if you weren’t parked in a deserted lot. still he can’t help the churning in his stomach as you fiddle with your earrings, lips parting again.
“so you gotta go soon?”
sukuna can’t fully read your emotions through a shitty phone screen, but he can catch the slight sweetness in your tone. and that was enough to pull a subtle smirk from him. he’s fully resting his back against his seat, arm propped on the open window holding his phone, while the other rests on his lap.
“I have some time,” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing a tad when you hum. “you have something in mind?”
you wet your lip, eyes twinkling as you nod your head. “yeah, i wanted to ask you a question.” he smirks, letting you continue. “how fast did you cum when i sent you that picture on saturday?” sukuna’s smile falters. “because you sent me a pic like three minutes later.”
you really love to push his buttons. the scowl is written all over his face. “i was already on edge, so i was doing it for awhile before you even sent it.”
your smile grows, if possible, a devilish twinkle in your eyes. “so i really helped you cum, ryo, hmm?” you wet your lip, and the action, coupled up with your sultry tone, has sukuna’s pants growing tight, “you made a big mess. cumming all over yourself like that,” you tsk, teasingly. “do you always make a big mess when you play by yourself?”
sukuna’s jaw tightens, his crotch swelling from your teasing. the bulge pushing up against his jeans, just as his palm digs against the evidence. unable to hide the fact that you’re turning him on.
“don’t be embarrassed, ry,” you coo with faux sweetness. “big boys make messes too.”
a loud, strangled scoff, escapes the man’s mouth. cheeks hot, as you continue degrading him. “suddenly y’er all confident because I can’t pin you down from here?”
you shrug, little smirk still playing on those pretty lips of yours. fuck, he misses having those lips on him. kissing you deeply, swallowing your whines and strangled moans. “am I not allowed to make you feel better?”
“fucking teasing me,” he grunts, jaw tightening as he palms his bulge.
heat pools between your legs, face warm as you see his shifting. “did I make you hard?” the excitement was obvious in your tone.
“don’t act surprised,” he mutters, flipping the camera to see the big bulge he’s gripping over his jeans. sukuna see’s the dizzy like look you have, lips parting.
“take it out.”
he smirks. you’re a little perv. and not so surprisingly, you see the uncoordinated moving as he unbuckles his belt, the phone dropping then getting raised again to see the way he pushes the waistband of his black Calvin’s, dragging it down. his dark pubes not as well groomed as it usually is, and that has you biting back a whimper.
fuck fuck, you miss pressing your face there, licking the coarse hairs, kissing his base.
and finally his hand wraps around the chubby length, freeing his semi-hard cock in his car. thunder cracks in the distant, rain starting to pour.
“gonna keep telling me what to do, or do you want closeups?” he teases, stroking his base lazily, biting his lip.
you shift in your seat.
“spit on it—“
you already see his spit fly and hit his flushed cock, immediately making your cheeks sting.
“c’mon, gotta keep talkin’ to me like my personal slut,” he hasn’t done anything since spitting on his cock, waiting for you to continue your directions. if you’re gonna act all dominant, then he’ll give you all the control…at least when you’re separated by a phone screen.
“stroke your cock…slow,” you command, wetting your lip as you watch him, and he listens. a wave of quiet confidence floods your head at his submission. “rub your slit with your thumb…yeah…” your lips part watching him stroke his cock. “faster.”
his breath is heavy behind the phone, grip tightening when he reaches the base, before twisting his hand back up, thumb collecting his pre and spreading it to the rest of his cock.
“do you usually jerk off like this?” your lewd curiosity always makes him smirk.
“I’m taking your direction.”
“jerk off like you usually do then…I wanna see,” you interrupt.
he snorts, loosening his jaw, before his pace picks up, tugging on his impressive size, collecting more pre and doing his best to self lubricate. his grunts are slightly louder, sending heat to your pussy, you can already feel your drenched panties.
“let go.”
a strangled noise comes out of him as his hand lets go making his cock bob between his legs, his thighs flex, jaw tightening as more pre cum leaks out in humiliation. “fuck.” he runs his hand on his abs, lifting his shirt higher, watching his own cock throb and twitch mid-air. the weight angling his cock down.
“ow!”
he doesn’t fully realize what you’re doing, until you yelp. his brows pinch, eyes narrowing because your phone is no longer on your face, but on the ceiling of your car.
“what’re you doing?” his words fall on deaf ears, when you’re suddenly lifting the camera back up, and revealing the state you’re in. you’re completely naked from the waist down, shirt pushed above those beautiful tits, and your lips all wet from how much your biting them. “fuck, baby.”
you smile, pushing the drivers seat further back to give yourself space, cheeks hot as you spread your legs. “lemme see your face, ryomen.”
he easily flips the camera back. you blush seeing the pink dusting his cheeks. “you like risky stuff,” he points.
“I’m alone.”
“still public.”
your lips part, rubbing your nipple, slowly teasing yourself. his eyes darken, gaze darting between your face and those beautiful perky nipples he wishes he could suck this very second. fuck, when you’d run your nails through his hair when he’d bite your perky buds and you’d moan so sweetly.
“you’re not even twisting them hard enough,” he tsks, watching you play with yourself…incorrectly. “how often do you touch yourself.”
“not as often as you touch me.”
sukuna chokes. you’re way too fast for him, and it catches him off guard every once in a awhile. he quickly recovers, “show me how wet you are.”
you listen, managing to face the passenger seat and have the phone propped on your bag.
“aw, you’re dripping,” he coos, biting his lip, as you run your fingers through the mess, spreading your pretty folds for him. “dirty girl,” he groans, hand sneaking down to his twitching hard cock—
“don’t touch yourself,” you cut possessively. “it’s my turn.”
“I didn’t even cum,” he tsks, but still eases back, thick legs spreading wider as he watches you shrug. “fine, lemme see how many fingers you can put in that little pussy.”
“one.”
“I said: let me see,” his voice drops an octave and that has you clenching and blushing all over. “lick your finger.”
you lean close to the camera, making a show of caressing your plump bottom lip, then easing your middle finger in. your suck the digit, eyes heavy as they look directly at sukuna. he silently watches, jaw loosening as he tries his best to keep his hand away, especially when you pull your middle finger out, flipping him off.
“cute,” he smirks, screenshotting. “put it in.” he tilts his head, humming as you sit back just a little. he eyes the way you open your legs, running your finger down your body, before circling your clit. your lips part and sukuna notices the way your back arches just a bit, finally pushing in, “theere we go.”
you hum along, jaw agape as you curl your finger in slowly pumping your finger. it’s not the same though. you hate having to do this shit yourself, it would kill the mood if sukuna wasn’t praising you on the other line.
“fuck, your pussy looks so pretty,” he groans, “so hot.”
you bite back a moan, lashes fluttering as you move your finger back to your clit. unaware of the disappointment until you hear a loud tsk.
“why’d you take your finger out?” sukuna barks.
you frown, still rubbing your clit, “It doesn’t feel as good.”
“bullshit,” he huffs, “put two fingers in.” your cheeks flush hot, collecting your arousal on your finger and teasing your hole again. “fuck your pussy like I told ya too.”
you wet your lips with attitude he can clearly read, especially when you add a sarcastic, “yes, sir.”
pre oozes from the brute’s twitching cock.
still, his eyes narrow with lust as he watches you dip your pretty little fingers in that tight hole. it’s always the initial stretch that has your lips parting. “keep moving your fingers. curl ‘em,” he husks, voice much lower and sexier, unbelievably turned on. “dirty girl fingerin’ herself in her car.”
you whine, back pressed against the door, as you angle your hips up, back arching as you continue fingering yourself, especially when you curl them and finally feel that spot. “got it?”
your glossy lips part, nodding, “y-yeah haah—ry-touch y’rself to me.“
fuck.
he doesn’t waste a second grabbing his cock and working himself up to the pace you’ve set. his own jaw clenches, watching your legs tremble as you pump your pretty fingers in and out, watching the way your fingers glisten every time you pull out, pretty nipples all hard and exposed, and lips glossy.
his thigh trembles, jaw tensing as he squeezes his base, holding himself back as you pull your fingers out to stimulate your neglected clit.
“good girl,” he husks under his breath, unaware of how much he enjoys watching you and getting jealous from nothing. you respond with a heavy sigh, tongue poking out as you feel yourself getting closer.
“gun- cum with me…ry-haah?”
he starts working his chubby cock, wishing to death he can feel the heat of your pussy against his swollen tip. “yeah, keep working those little fingers, make yourself cum.”
your whine pitches a little higher in the small car. thighs spreading wider as you stimulate your clit, oblivious to the low praises sukuna is muttering, feeling his heavy balls clench up. and just as your about to reach the edge, toes curling in your shoes, your phone tips over, hitting the ground just as sukuna hears you moan—
“anhh—“
“what the fuck!?”
you whine, back hitting the door as your legs close around your hand. lips parted as your chest rises with each heavy breath. you don’t even realize what happened until you hear your name being called, followed be another “where the fuck did you go?!”
your brows furrow, glancing at where your phone once was, then to its place on the floor of the passenger side. “oh.”
you move over the center, reaching down to lift your phone, and the moment your face comes to view, sukuna’s jaw tenses more.
“you came?”
your lips part sitting back in your seat. “yeah, I think i accidentally kicked my bag. did you cu—“
“no.” he cuts sharply. you suck your lips in to refrain from laughing. “cum again.”
your brows rise. “I can’t.”
sukuna barks out a humorless laugh. “I always make you cum more than once—“
“yeah, YOU—not ME. I don’t know how to overstimulate myself,” you reach for some tissues to clean yourself off camera. but sukuna groans loudly, cock throbbing as he works himself. “just imagine me cumming.”
his jaw locks, head tipping back so you can get a perfect shot of his sharp jaw. the silence stretches for a second before sukuna opens his mouth, refusing to look at his phone, missing the way your lips part, and face burns.
“talk into the phone then.”
your stomach flips with something you don’t want to name, especially when he tilts his head back clearly still working his monster of a cock that’s painfully red. “I’m close. speak.”
the command has you closing your thighs tighter, raising the phone to your lips, inhaling slowly, controlling the butterflies.
another beat passes before you finally begin.
“my fingers are so wet after cumming…” you dramatize a gentle sigh, “my pussy is so empty…I need your big fat cock filling my tight…little…pussy…ryo.”
“fuck,” sukuna’s jaw clenches harder, abs tightening as he aggressively twists his hand up his cock, thumb digging into his slit, much more aggressive than how you’d touch his cock, but he just needs to cum.
“can’t wait to see you, ryomen,” you exhale sweetly, adding a little pitched hum, “want you to use my pussy like it’s your pretty toy,” you blush at your own words, keeping it just a little over a whisper because if it was any louder than you might melt into the seat with embarrassment. but sukuna’s strained, low grunts, is reassuring. “fuck me until I can’t move, kiss me until I can’t breathe…you wanna kiss me right, pretty boy?” your cheeks sting viscously at the pet name that casually rolled off your tongue—
but then, a long deep groan comes from the back of the 6’4 footballer’s throat.
your entire body catches on fire, and a smile quietly tugs at the corners of your lips.
“you wanna kiss me that bad, baby?” you tease lightly, and even though sukuna refuses to reply, his strangled grunts, and sounds of his squelching cock being tugged, is enough reassurance to give you that final sentence that pushes him off the edge. “you also wanna stuff my pretty pussy right: wanna fill me with your thick…heavy cum, don’t you ryo?” you bite your lip the moment you hear the choke on the other end.
you quietly listen, pulling your phone to see that sukuna’s phone is forgotten in his lap. your finger playing at your lip, still smiling, waiting for sukuna to come down from his orgasm.
the man’s jaw is locked. head tipped back against the head rest. chest heaving. and face burning with a light shade of pink.
“you cum?” you break the silence, tone laced with something that twists in sukuna’s gut. the phone shifts, your face unable to stop your smile when you see his flushed face. your fingers still playing with your lips with faux innocence.
“yeah.” his clipped tone isn’t too harsh, but definitely shielding something else as he looks down at the mess. his jaw tenses seeing his cum covering his hand and splattered on the steering wheel. even if the phone is on his face, you can see the way his eyes are looking past it.
“you made a mess?”
he licks his teeth, eyes catching yours. “yeah.”
dang he’s cold. is he embarrassed? a warmth settles in your tummy at the thought. it’s hard to read him, but it’s even harder when it’s through the phone. either way, you shift around your car, putting your panties and pants back on and pulling your shirt down, fixing your bra. on the other end, sukuna is pulling his shirt off, and using it to clean the mess he made. jaw tensing every time your voice rings in his head again.
“who taught you how to talk like that?” he raises his hips pulling his pants back up, tucking his softening cock in.
your brow quirks lightly, “nobody lol,” you look back at your phone. “I was just going with the flow,” you smirk, head tilting just a bit that the man freezes, stomach flipping at the pretty sight on his phone and he instinctively just….*screenshot* “was I good?”
he makes a grumbling noise, then, “made me cum.”
“so, good?”
he rolls his eyes, “sure.” he ignores your smile as he finishes cleaning his mess. the buzzing of your phone interrupting. “you have to go?”
you hum, “yeah, gotta pick up shoko.” you text her that you’re on your way. sukuna looks back at his phone as he starts his car up, you do the same. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”
and the second sukuna gives an affirmative hum, you hang up.
as the days pass. neither one of you found your stress levels steady. instead, you were tested again and again, more rejection emails coming in for writing and producing programs you applied too for the summer. and as was sukuna with his brother’s attitude, especially with this weird phase that’s caught his attention with yuuji.
“I thought you were seeing megumi tomorrow?” sukuna glances up from his spot behind the bar, stopping mid-wipe down to see yuuji slinging his backpack on.
“we’re going to the beach today to see them set up before the festival tomorrow,” yuuji mutters, pushing his overgrown hair off his forehead in quiet annoyance.
sukuna’s brows pinch tight, “thought we were gonna do that?”
yuuji shrugs already walking to the back of the bar, large open windows lining the back that overlooks the beach. megumi and nobara wait outside, chatting. “s’fine,” yuuji stops by the door, “choso doesn’t talk to you, and you’re always busy—so whatever.”
sukuna tenses, grip curling around the dirty rag as his little brother turns and leaves. what the fuck?? since when has yuuji been cut and dry with him!?
just as sukuna stresses about his younger siblings, you’re wondering how much longer you have to hold yourself back until you tear your eyes out. another rejection email, that could’ve been the reason why your sudden stress skyrockets and then it immediately crashes after higuruma finally texts you after not hearing anything from him since you first got his number.
[12:34PM] hiromi higuruma: hey this is hiromi
[12:34PM] hiromi higuruma: sorry it’s been awhile but my uncle finally got back to me, he’s free thursday or friday around the afternoon to chat
[12:35PM] hiromi higuruma: lmk which day works so he can put it in his calendar before he gets booked
your lips part, standing outside a patient room staring at your phone. shit. your heart pounds rapidly against your ribs. you work until five everyday. your jaw tenses…just ask if he can do anything after—he can’t. unlike you, people can’t just move things around for you. your fingers quickly tap your screen.
[12:40PM] you: hii
[12:40PM] you: yea friday works for me, would this be a zoom call or phone call?
you see the bubbles appear, then disappear. you shift your weight, stomach churning.
[12:42PM] hiromi higuruma: shit
your stomach drops.
[12:42PM] hiromi higuruma: I forgot—you’re not based in the city?
[12:42PM] you: no, I’m back home for the summer
[12:43PM] you: would it be a problem doing it on zoom?
your back leans against the wall, stomach aching as you wait for his response. seriously, can one thing not work out in your favor?
[12:44PM] hiromi hirguruma: I’ll talk to him, but I think it’s better to wait until you’re back in the city and do it in person
[12:44PM] hiromi higuruma: only saying this bc he forgets everyone he talks too on zoom but he’ll be much more helpful if he meets you face to face, plus you’re a good conversationalist (js from my perspective) so you’d leave a good impression
a beat passes.
[12:45PM] hiromi higuruma: your call tho, i can still talk to him if u want
[12:45PM] hiromi higuruma: he's here all summer, so whenever you're back js Imk and I can set up a meeting
fuck!! your jaw aches, clenching down hard enough to break your teeth. hot tears sting behind your eyes, threatening to spill. you inhale sharply. grinding down harder on your teeth as you squeeze your phone.
what’s the fucking point in meeting with him now if he’ll just forget about you?
[12:47PM] you: oh okay, yeah I think it’s better in person then
[12:47PM] you: I’ll be in the city in august, is that okay?
your heart twists unbelievably tight, nails digging into your palm.
[12:48PM] hiromi higuruma: yeah for sure! and dw I’ll set a meeting up with u and him
almost like he can sense your disappointment through your hesitant texts. he sends another message.
[12:49PM] hiromi higuruma: how’s your summer?
wrong question…
[12:49PM] you: 😀 so good!
the bubbles appear then disappear, then:
[12:50PM] hiromi higuruma: that’s a sarcastic emoji right?
you can’t control the quiet chuckle that slips out.
[12:50PM] you: loll yeah
[12:50PM] you: its fine…working here…with my dad…yayy
higuruma seems to understand your tone as he responds.
[12:51PM] hiromi higuruma: u losing ur mind?
[12:51PM] you: nope
[12:51PM] you: y would u say that (I wanna kms)
[12:51PM] hiromi higuruma: (rip) just a hunch, guess I was wrong
a smile threatens your face.
[12:52PM] hiromi higuruma: don’t stress tho, my uncle has some rlly good connects so he’ll help u out
you bite your cheek, pushing down the anxious twists that’s been eating at you for months. you’re still waiting on another possible opportunity for the second half of summer, but now you’re scared if that falls through, all you’ll have is nanami’s friend’s uncle as a connection..
[12:52PM] you: thanks🥹🙏
[12:53PM] hiromi higuruma: how long is ur program?
[12:53PM] you: till the last week of july so js two-ish more weeksss
[12:54PM] hiromi higuruma: homestretch
[12:54PM] hiromi higuruma: u need a vacation after
[12:54PM] you: TRUSTT
[12:54PM] you: it is in the works🫡 my friends r planning it
[12:55PM] hiromi higuruma: where r u guys going?
you pause, lips parting.
[12:56PM] you: oh….i forgot
[12:56PM] hiromi higuruma: fr?
[12:56PM] you: no frrr shoko just told me to block off the dates but i actually forgot where we’re going bc they were planning it for awhile and i was too busy to pay attention
you cringe, trying to remember where shoko said satoru’s infamous mediterranean summer house is. either way higuruma responds with a cool message, unbothered by your lack of remembrance.
[12:57] hiromi higuruma: well it’s clear u need that vacation then
[12:57PM] you: 😪✊
you don’t realize you’ve basically been standing on your phone for awhile until a resident passes by, eyes flicking down.
“put the phone away before I tell your dad,” he mutters, and though the “joke” has been tossed around multiple times by the residents who know exactly what your relationship is with the chief of surgery, it doesn’t make it any funnier when you heard it the first time or the hundredth time —
your jaw tenses, glancing at your phone to see higuruma’s text.
[12:58PM] hiromi higuruma: make sure to stop in the city after tho and text me ahead of time
[12:58PM] you: i willlll
you shut your phone off, exhaling sharply as your head tips back. at this point…the only thing you’re looking forward to now is this trip. considering the second half of your summer is delayed after pushing this meeting back. and from the looks of it…you highly doubt you’re getting accepted into those writing programs.
“great,” you mutter to yourself.
your feet finally drag you away from the wall, and down the hall. unfortunately the pressure on your chest doesn’t leave, instead your mind quietly moves in circles as you continue the day’s work. unable to remove yourself completely from the stress of your future.
you smile at patients when they greet you. you laugh when shoko mutters something inappropriate under her breath. you still finish your notes, answer questions, make coffee runs, and remember to ask people how their weekends were. nothing is wrong enough for anyone to pull you aside and ask if you’re okay because you’re not falling apart. you’re just…tired. there’s a heaviness that sits beneath your ribs and makes everything feel harder than it should.
even when you check your phone during lunch. your conversation with higuruma sitting near the top of your messages. another month of waiting. another month of this feeling. you lock your phone just as someone calls your name, answering immediately.
it all keeps moving, dragging you along. the routine sucking you in. driving home as shoko talks from the passenger seat about the residents. about a movie she wants to watch. about a patient that yelled at her. about her not fully confident about her mcat studying methods. you nod and laugh, chiming in.
that’s how it goes in the mornings. driving at six am, music playing softly through the speakers. your eyes randomly burning behind your sunglasses, making you blink, unable to stop the tears from gathering for no apparent reason other than you can shake this heaviness on your chest. but it’s easy to wipe beneath your eyes during the red light. shoko doesn’t notice.
even at home, your sister asks how your day is, if you ate, how dad is, and you answer shortly without much thought. jennie watches you for a moment longer. her eyes lingering, opening her mouth like she’s going to say something before deciding against it. especially when you quietly play with yazzy now. playing with her barbie’s clothes in silence, clearly not fully present, but still able to pull a smile for your niece.
“fix her hair now!” yazzy shoves another barbie in your hand, the gum stuck to the ends making you scowl.
“why is there candy all over them?” you lightly scold, making yazzy cover her face with a doll, bashful and guilty.
“it was an accident!” she giggles, making you tsk lightly, giving her a faux disappointed look which earns you another loud giggle from her.
jennie quietly watches from the living room, eyes softening. she’s been gone for some time, but her concerns are present, so when shoko walks into the kitchen, her attention shifts momentarily.
“question,” jennie glances at the brunette. shoko hums, looking over her shoulder from the fridge. “how upset is she? because she’s working with our dad?”
shoko glances at you in the living room, the tv playing masking the conversation in the kitchen. “she hates it.”
jennie hums, looking down at her nails. “she said that?”
shoko nods, “she takes it on the chin though, but yeah…she hates it. she usually complains then feels guilty for complaining.”
that seems to twist something inside jennie, her jaw clenching. “yeah…she’s an idiot.” she mutters, hand rubbing her face. “there’s only so much you can tell her and she still won’t listen.” jennie stands straight. “it’s her life.”
shoko doesn’t respond. instead watching as jennie calls her daughter to head back to the hotel, and once they leave the house quiets, and you’re left alone with yourself.
you brush your teeth while staring into the bathroom mirror, foam gathering at the corners of your mouth as your reflection stares back. the faucet runs as you tilt your head. you look the same…same face, eyes, person — there’s no visible proof that anything is changing beneath your skin. but…you wonder if everyone else feels this way. is everyone secretly mourning versions of themselves they haven’t even become yet. are they walking around pretending everything is okay too? do they also hate where the direction of their lives are heading? can they even see what path they’ve taken—
you spit into the sink, washing your face.
once you crawl into bed, your room finally settles, feeling the darkness press close. and once again, your chest tightens. you think about the mcats. about the future. about all the people your age collecting internships and recommendations and certainty. you think about your father’s anxieties of your future. your mother’s concern. jennie’s harsh words—
you turn onto your side…then your back…then your other side. then…your eyes sting.
the tears build on their own, as they always do. your throat drying as you feel the warm liquid slide onto the pillow. you’re not sobbing. you don’t even know what you’re crying over. nothings happened. but eventually, sleep takes you.
“are you excited for college?” “what are you majoring in?” “you’re going to be a doctor, right?” “isn’t your dad a really good surgeon? my dad wants me to go into med school, but i don’t think i have the patience.”
the high school girls are packed into the locker room before gym, voices bouncing off metal lockers and tiled floors. someone’s trying to braid their ponytail in the mirror. another girl is complaining about wanting to get out of this gym period.
“wait, did they release decisions yet?”
“can your dad help me out when i’m looking for an internship?”
“yeah, you always work for your dad, so it’s not fair.”
“i’m jealous.”
your seventeen year old brain can only laugh, “it’s not like that,” you say automatically. but your friends only seem to double down. marking all your “wins” on one person who isn’t you.
“must be nice having your whole life figured out.”
the pressure in your chest tightens. you blink. you’ve heard these conversations a hundred times, so you should be used to them by now. but something tight twists in your chest. your fingers fumble with the combination lock on your gym locker. the metal slipping beneath your hands.
“you okay?”
“yeah,” your voice comes out too fast. you try again. however, it becomes harder to breathe, your vision blurring around the edges.
“shit!” your friend moves back just as you hit the lockers, falling to your knees as you grab your chest. is this a heart attack? people have heart attacks. can a high schooler have one? your dad would know—
“i can’t breathe.” the words tear out of your throat. your heart pounds harder, your fingers feel tingly and your head lightheaded.
“i can’t breathe.” you try again. nothing is coming out. air won’t come in. your hands shake violently, chest twisting.
“someone get the nurse!”
“she’s crying—”
you don’t feel the tears spill down your face before you even realize you’re crying. your chest hurts, your head spins, and the girls crowd around you.
—
the week leading up to the trip moved strangely, it was slow. the days blurred together as each individual hour stretched.
sukuna picked up more shifts at the bar, the smell of beer and musk clinging to his clothes long after he got home. when he wasn’t working, he was on the field by the beach, shirt sticking to his back beneath the summer sun as he played against whoever was willing to challenge him. usually it was gojo and geto. sometimes yuuji joined him, always laughing, but sukuna could feel the subtle shift. the kid lingered less…asked fewer questions, and as close as he is with gramps, even he wasn’t telling wasuke the full answer. and that was starting to make sukuna a little on edge.
then there was choso. it was inevitable after their argument. choso went out of his way to avoid his older brother and buried himself in rehearsals for the upcoming semifinals, spending more nights at ino’s, then with yuuji or gramps.
meanwhile, you’ve settled deeper into a routine. the hospital shifts, and early mornings that made you want to claw your eyes out. the drives with shoko that always eased you a bit. but then there was the wedding that jennie came for. and every aunt and family friend had something to ask. was there anyone special? were you talking to someone? how is it going into your senior year of undergrad? had you started studying for the mcat? have you taken the mcat yet?
your mother brushed them off, while your sister laughed because dating felt like the last thing on your mind. you smiled through it all, even as your stomach twisted tighter with every question you couldn’t answer honestly.
and then there was your father. he’d become quieter after the incident in the staircase, polite but distant in a way that unsettled you more. is he disappointed you aren’t taking the mcat yet? did one of the residents say something about your performance? you don’t ask. you just keep the questions with you, swirling in your mind whenever you see him.
none of the stress eases. not even when you quietly see sukuna in gojo’s ig stories. not even when yazzy tries to teach you and shoko a new dance move she’s learning. not even when your sister finally heads to the airport. none of it seemed to scratch that itch that kept your mind loud and irritating.
“did you get any sleep?” shoko pulls her shirt off, slipping into her scrubs. you stifle a yawn, shaking your head as you pull your scrub pants up. shoko yawns along with you, but exhales loudly afterwards. shaking her hands as she gives you smile. “last day though!”
your lips part, eyes widening, “oh snap.” and maybe that was what you needed because you’re suddenly smiling with shoko, laughing as you look at your phone. “last day!”
shoko hums, smiling wider as you both start dancing. and that definitely could be considered the longest, and best day of your week. and before you can blink, you’ve packed your suitcases and kissed your mom goodbye as she drops you and shoko off at the airport.
and with full unbridled honesty, you knew the best part of this trip was the excuse of being away from everything and everyone, and that’s what you’ve convinced yourself is what you need.
even after hours trapped in a middle seat, struggling to fall asleep, awkwardly folding yourself away from the men occupying both armrests beside you, you endure it. by the time the plane lands, your eyes burn with exhaustion and dark circles sit beneath them. the warm air greets you outside carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen.
you and shoko collect your luggage in a daze, exchanging tired glances until your attention catches on a sharply dressed man near the exit, holding a sign with both your names.
and that’s when your oasis begins.
the drive stretches along the coastline, blue water glittering beneath the afternoon sun. the mediterranean houses blur past the windows. shoko rests her cheek against her fist while you stare outside, feeling something inside your chest tighten again. what’re you even taking a vacation for?
you turn the corner into the neighborhood and your jaw drops. a villa sits at the end of the hillside like something straight out of a movie, and beyond the property is the ocean stretching endlessly, waves crashing.
“…you’re kidding,” you breathe.
shoko lets out a low whistle, stepping out of the car, “i forgot how disgustingly rich he is.”
the front doors slide open before either of you can fully process the sight, grabbing your suitcases.
“well, well, well!”
of course, the first thing you see is satoru gojo. he stands at the entrance wearing nothing but black swim shorts and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his white hair, arms spread wide like he’s welcoming royalty into his kingdom. his skin is slightly tanned, abs glistening, and veins crawling up his forearms.
“took you guys long enough,” he announces obnoxiously. “i’ve been suffering all alone.”
“you’ve been posting pool pictures for three days with everyone,” shoko deadpans.
“but we’re still missing people,” gojo rebuts.
shoko laughs despite herself, stepping forward to wrap him in a quick hug. gojo squeezes her dramatically before turning his full attention toward you, who’s still dragging your suitcase across the polished floors, gaze darting between the towering ceilings, the sweeping staircase, and the ocean visible through the open living room.
“…what the hell,” you murmur. “this is insane.”
gojo’s grin somehow widens, “i know.”
you finally look at him properly, “thanks for letting me join,” you say, sincerity slipping into your voice before you can stop it. “seriously.”
for a brief moment, he looks genuinely touched, then— “well, it’s the least i can do,” he says, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “i’ll just need significantly more praise from you and sho for being such a generous, handsome host—”
“sure,” you cut him off easily, making him pout. but you finally step closer, wrapping your arms around him in a greeting hug anyway. “thank you, satoru.”
the complaint dies in his throat. “you’re welcome,” he says quickly but sounding almost suspicious of your sincerity before recovering instantly. “see? this is why you’re my favorite guest.”
“sure,” you sarcastically hum. “I’m just guessing you say that to everyone.”
“i do not.”
“you literally called utahime your favorite yesterday on facetime,” shoko points out.
“that was an obvious lie,” gojo shrugs.
“you definitely told geto he was your favorite,” shoko adds quickly.
gojo points, “he’s my favorite best friend.”
you glance between them, exhausted laughter bubbling out of you despite the lingering ache behind your eyes. sunlight pouring through the windows.
your suitcase stands forgotten by the doorway. somewhere outside, waves crash against the shore. and as gojo continues arguing with shoko about favoritism while leading you deeper into the villa. more people start coming into view.
“ahhh!! finally!!” a familiar voice booms, suddenly seeing a blur before you’re being engulfed in a hug by utahime. “it’s been hell with just these guys!”
gojo snorts, rolling his eyes, “why don’t you go ogle yuno, you perv—“
the harsh slap to his bare arm shuts him up, utahime glaring at him as she looks over her shoulder. luckily, yuno was still chatting loudly with nanami and some other guy you weren’t familiar with.
geto takes the attention as he steps in from the front door, sunglasses on and hair tied in bun. a smile immediately comes to his face when he spots more people. “it’s finally starting to feel like a vacation.”
you and shoko are taken upstairs. your suitcases bump softly against the polished tile floors as gojo launches into an overly detailed tour that neither of you retain, and something shoko’s already heard before.
but what you do manage to take in is how the villa becomes even more breathtaking the more you see of it. the arched doorways connecting the rooms, the patterned tiles lining the hallways, and carved wooden accents softening the stone walls. the villa held about eight bedrooms, and you and shoko barely process the number before finding yourselves in your room—or rather, your suite.
utahime’s presence is immediately obvious. her clothes are draped over the armchair near the balcony doors, makeup bag open across one of the dressers, bikinis and dresses laying on two of the beds, and several pairs of shoes already claimed near the closet.
“she really made herself at home,” shoko mutters.
you hum softly, too distracted by the room itself. two queen-sized beds sit beneath the exposed wooden beams, white linen curtains swaying every time the wind passes through the open balcony doors. the adjoining layout gives the three of you more than enough space, and the balcony utahime had apparently secured for the girls stretches across the back of the villa.
you wander to the open balcony before you can stop yourself, curious as to what the view is. warm air brushes against your dampened skin from the journey, but you’re immediately welcomed by the scent of salt and blooming flowers. below, you see the large pool, and then past the trees that circle the property, are terracotta rooftops of other villas, then the coastline in the distance. you can see the ocean glittering invitingly.
eventually, you peel yourself away making your way to the shower, washing away the hours of sticky travel air. the warm water loosens the knots in your shoulders, the steam clouding the mirror. by the time you emerge in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, toweling your hair dry, your body feels impossibly heavy.
the room is empty. you can hear shoko and the rest of the group outside from the open balcony. but all you can manage to do is walk across the tiled floor, barely managing to crawl onto the bed to turn of your phone alarm. your eyes struggling to stay open as you uncap your bottled water and swallow your scheduled pill. and once it goes down your throat, you toss the birth control pills back in your bag, and hit the warm sheets. you sink into the mattress with a relieved sigh.
the balcony doors remain open. the breeze filtering through the curtains. setting sun painting soft patterns across the tiled floor. and somewhere between one blink and the next, lulled by the sound of the ocean just beyond the villa walls, the exhaustion from everything finally catches up to you.
your eyes eventually drift shut.
unaware of what’s taking you so long, shoko and utahime go upstairs after an hour, freezing once they see you passed out.
“what the—“ utahime frowns. “we’re gonna go out to eat, wake up—“
utahime’s words die feeling shoko tug her out of the room.
“just let her sleep,” shoko cuts. “she’s been stressed for weeks, and i feel bad.” shoko’s voice is much softer, eyes down as utahime glances at her expression, then at the closed door.
“did something happen?” utahime’s brows are pinched.
shoko steps away from the door, shrugging, “I dunno,” a beat passes. “her sister just told me she doesn’t sleep well when she’s stressed, so just to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t drink too much if she’s still, like,” shoko tries to find the right words. “funky, I guess. so like…this is a good chance for her to catch up on her sleep and relax a bit.”
utahime nods, immediately. “for sure. I’ll keep an eye on her too then— and we can help her destress in these next two weeks!—“ utahime suddenly slaps a hand over her mouth after she basically shouted.
shoko chuckles, but hums along.
the two had the right idea leaving you to sleep. you knocked out for the rest of the day, and by the time you wake up, the sun is only a few minutes from rising. you were slightly confused, having slept for so long. groggy, you sit up and blink around the unfamiliar room. the pale morning light filters through the open balcony doors, the curtains shifting softly with the breeze. and once you see the two other people sleeping in the room, you realize where you are.
utahime is asleep beside you, laying on her side hugging her pillow. shoko is sprawled across the other queen bed like a starfish, blanket tangled around her legs.
and you simply sit there, still waking up, until your stomach starts growling. you rub your eye, reaching for your phone, happy someone had put it in the charger.
6:02 a.m.
“…damn” you mutter to yourself, you hadn’t eaten since the shitty airplane food. careful not to wake either of them, you slide out of bed and slip out of the room.
the villa is quiet in that way when everyone’s still asleep. it’s peaceful and calming. you notice a few abandoned glasses still sitting on the kitchen island from the night before. some half-finished bags of chips on the counter and couches. through the open doors, the warm morning air drifts inside carrying the scent of the ocean.
gojo’s pretty rich to not care that all the back doors are wide open, you think.
you rummage through the mediterranean style kitchen until you find bread, cold cuts, cheese, and enough ingredients to throw together a decent sandwich. then with a plate in hand, phone tucked beneath your arm, you wander outside. the backyard overlooking the hillside below, terracotta rooftops spilling toward the ocean in the distance. the pool reflects the pale pinks and oranges beginning to stretch across the sky. and you settle onto one of the lounge chairs by the pool. your legs curl beneath you as you scroll mindlessly through your phone between bites of your sandwich.
it’s nice and quiet, and your shoulders sink further into the chair, slowly beginning to force yourself into a vacation mindset. and because of that, you don’t hear the front door open, or the footsteps crossing the brown tiled floors.
what you suddenly hear, mid-scroll, is a heavy unexpectedly loud thud of a duffle bag hitting the ground startling the living hell out of you. your heart hitting your ribs.
“…what the fuck?!”
you yelp entire body jerking, nearly tumbling off the chair as your heart launches straight into your throat. you’re still holding your sandwich, immediately whipping around to see the perpetrator.
and standing in the middle of the living room. black soccer shorts hanging low on his hips, a loose black t-shirt stretching across his shoulders. a cap resting in one hand, headphones around his neck. suitcase standing beside him, and a worn-in duffle bag abandoned at his feet….is sukuna.
he looks like he just got off a flight, slightly sweaty, slightly irritated, slightly exhausted, and unbelievably attractive. his scowl is already in place from being startled by the scream, but then he pauses once he sees you.
his eyes drag over your messy sleep-tangled hair, oversized shirt, bare legs tucked awkwardly beneath you on the lounge chair, and the bite of your sandwich still sitting in your mouth as you slowly chew. the edge of his expression shifts, not quite a smile, but something softer than his scowl.
“…the fuck are you screaming for?” he asks.
you stare at him, chewing the rest of your sandwich that flew out when your screamed. he stares back.
“…you look a mess,” you finally say through your bite.
his gaze flickers over you once more. “i think you’re looking in a mirror,” he replies flatly.
and just like that, sitting barefoot beside the pool at six in the morning with food in your mouth and your heart still hammering against your ribs, you can’t explain the way your shoulders ease a bit.
“asshole,” you reply with no bite. sukuna hums, sliding his backpack off and dropping his cap, headphones, and phone on top of his duffle before walking towards you. you swallow the bite you’d been chewing just for sukuna to kneel on the ground beside you, inspecting your sandwich.
“what is that?”
you glance at it, then down at him, your cheeks warming in seconds. he’s so close. “turkey, cheese, olives—“
“olives?” his large hand wraps around your hand, holding the sandwich.
you raise a brow, “yeah, it’s good—wha!” your eyes blow wide when he suddenly takes an obnoxiously large bite out of your sandwich. “what the hell!” you shove his shoulder back, making him loose his balance and catch himself on his annoyingly big arm, but it was too late. he’s chewing your sandwich, as you frown. “you didn’t even ask.”
“y’ didn’t look like you’d give me a bite if I asked,” sukuna speaks with his mouth full.
you scowl, “obviously, it’s mine. you can make your own, tch.”
sukuna continues chewing, still sitting back on his arm, eyes heavy as he stares up at you from your spot on the lounge chair.
you frown right back at him. even half-awake, with travel exhaustion weighing down your limbs, your expression pinches in annoyance. your brows pull together, nose wrinkling slightly, and your grip tightens around your sandwich.
his gaze lingers, “your eyes are bloodshot,” he finally says. you blink at him. “did y’ get any sleep?”
you take another pointed bite before answering, glaring at him over the edge of your sandwich, “yeah, actually. i slept the second i got here and missed dinner,” you narrow your eyes. “which means the first thing i’ve eaten since yesterday is the sandwich you freaking stole.”
sukuna scoffs, “dramatic.”
“you took half of it!” you screech lowly.
“that’s not half.”
“you have no idea what half means.”
his eyes drift downward before returning to your face. you’re sitting cross-legged on the lounge chair, turning slightly away from him now as you continue eating, subtly trying to finish it before he tries to take another bite. which he probably would do, just seeing the way he’s eyeing it.
sukuna feels a quiet tug beneath his ribs. the morning sun finally stretches over the horizon, painting gold across the pool water and catching against your soft skin. you’re still grumbling under your breath as you chew.
“you’re unbelievable,” you mutter.
he pushes himself up a little straighter beside your chair, his calloused palm rests on your bare thigh. “one more bite?” he asks.
you let out a humorless laugh, “yeah, as if.”
he lifts a brow, squeezing your thigh, “c’mon I’m starving. the plane’s breakfast was ass.”
“make your own then,” you say through another mouthful, keeping your free hand against his shoulder to keep him at arm’s length. he glances down at it, then back up at you.
annoyance flickering across his face. “seriously?”
you glance between his eyes, swallowing and taking another bite, “yeah.”
“one more bite.”
“there’s barely any left though,” you whine, keeping his shoulder back as he tries to get closer. but he clicks his tongue before wrapping his hand loosely around your wrist, pulling your palm away from his shoulder with little effort.
“selfish,” he mutters.
you nearly choke. “selfish?” you repeat, staring at him in disbelief. “you’re tryna steal my breakfast.”
“whatever,” he scowls, still holding your wrist. “I’m hungry.”
“ryomen.”
“what?”
“make your own sandwich.”
he stares at you. you stare back. then, without warning, he reaches for your wrist that holds your sandwich, making you gasp loudly, using your legs now to keep your bodies apart. “don’t—“
your free hand wiggles in his grip while he leans over, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as your horrified complaints echo through the otherwise peaceful sunrise. your body struggles as he takes control, easily manuring himself onto the lounge chair, your knee keeping him away, as the other squirms to move between your body, but hanging loosely around his torso.
“ryo pleasee,” your whine rings so clearly, he can’t contain the flip in his stomach. he stops.
your chest is rising and falling from the struggle, anxiously glancing at him, brows pinched expecting him to pull your wrist to his mouth, but he remains still. staring down at you. then at your lips. then back at your eyes.
and suddenly, your legs are loosening, heart beating against your ribs, and letting sukuna fit himself comfortably between your legs. his hand holding your free hand, carefully brushes beneath your jaw before settling against the side of your neck. it’s warm and familiar. the morning breeze lifts strands of your hair across your face, and for a second, neither of you move.
waves crash in the distance. birds calling out in the pale sky. sunlight spilling over the terrace, painting soft lines across the sharp planes of sukuna’s face. his eyes don’t leave yours, and you can feel his breath against your lips, warming a deep spot in your tummy.
“you good?” you whisper eventually, voice smaller than you intend.
his gaze flickers down again. your mouth, then back to your eyes. then groggy, and voice much deeper then before, he mutters… “been a minute.”
your stomach flips. wetting your lips unconsciously, and sukuna’s eyes sharpen at the movement, barely blinking before you feel his firm lips against yours.
the breath leaves his lungs in a quiet rush. there’s a desperation hidden beneath the steadiness he tries so hard to maintain. but his hand tightens ever so slightly where it rests against you.
your lips move in sync like muscle memory. it’s familiar and instinctive. your fingers drift upward, threading through the soft strands at the nape of his neck before settling against his scalp. he releases a gentle exhale against your mouth at the contact, making your pulse stumble. sukuna leans closer without realizing it, his broad shoulders block out the morning sun as he deepens the kiss. your lips part on instinct, welcoming his tongue.
you can’t explain the urge that grows inside you the longer you kiss. the make out feels unbelievably calming, his grip tight around the lounge chair above your head, his knees digging into the seat, and his tongue swallowing your moans that have his pulse stuttering. your nails scratch at his scalp, threading through the pink locks digging gently.
“you taste like my sandwich,” you murmur with a clipped tone, tongue kissing his as he hums.
“yeah, fuck if I care,” he so easily brushes off the attitude to kiss you again. there were only two bites of your sandwich left, but you still held on to it, even as sukuna skillfully traced your bottom lip with his tongue. his hips lowering just to press his semi-bulge right against your clothed cunt, and that was enough to note the way your breath catches.
he can’t put into words how much his body needed you. just seeing you when he first walked in after his shit flight had his chest twisting, and now, kissing you…he feels every second relieving the weight on his shoulders.
your nails scratch at his scalp, tugging gently just to have him pull away, his eyes watching the way you catch your breath. lips all pretty and wet from him. eyes slightly dazed as you stare up at him, face lit softly with a healthy glow that has him leaning down again. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your bottom lip, caressing your tongue as it meets again.
“you didn’t send me any more pics,” he mutters.
your cheeks flush, nails caressing his nape. “you didn’t ask for more.”
“it should be unspoken.”
you snort, leaning closer when he pulls away, “it’s not now.”
sukuna grumbles, jaw ticking for a moment until your lips find each other again, your legs wrap around his torso, letting him put his weight on top of you, unbothered by the plane’s air that still clings to him. “give me a bite of the sandwich,” he mutters, trailing his lips down to your neck. and even if it’s been weeks, he still finds your sweet spot in seconds, nipping at it. your breath catches in your pretty throat, whining shyly when he licks the spot again with his warm tongue.
“no,” you say, managing to take another bite, doing your best to chew it as fast as you can, even with the bread being so thick, sukuna catches your wrist again. your eyes widen, watching him move your hand to his open mouth, taking the last bite.
you groan with a mouth full, eyes harsh as they glare up at him. the two of you chewing all the while his hand finds its way to your waist, slipping under your shirt to caress your bare skin.
“is it too hard for you to make a sandwich?” you speak with your mouth full, swallowing bites but still chewing.
“yeah, it is,” he replies coolly.
your brow twitches in irritation. but you still can’t help the way your gaze lingers. it’s been almost two months, and somehow he looks exactly the same. however, his salmon hair has grown out just enough to brush against the nape of his neck, it’s slightly damp from the warm weather. his shoulders seem broader than you remember, his t-shirt stretching across his frame. his veins stand out beneath his sun-bronzed forearms, hands rough and familiar where they rest against the lounge chair and your bare waist.
even sitting there, lazy and half-awake from travel, there is something unfairly imposing about him. it’s all familiar, but it could be the distance apart that has you pointing out the sharp tattoos again, the intimidating size difference, and the quiet confidence of him, painfully aware of what his body does to you.
your eyes drift over the dark tattoos peeking beneath his sleeves and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. his beefy thighs crowding the edge of the chair when he shifts, solid beneath his worn soccer shorts. he’s inconveniently attractive, stealing your sandwich like a jerk, familiar arrogance seeping with each glance your way, and his typical scowl…but still, your fingers almost ache with the remembered habit of tracing his inked skin beneath your fingertips, wanting to hear the low huff he’d give you in response.
you don’t miss him…but you do miss this pull of wanting someone who always feels just out of reach, but still appears right in front of you when you need him most.
“good-fuckin’-sandwich,” he finally swallows, licking his lips. he leans down with little effort, and high confidence, pressing his lips to yours again. body moving on top of you, rolling his hips down just to hear your little hiccup, your hand suddenly presses against his shoulder, pushing. he barely moves, but he does pause, pulling away enough to keep his face hovering close. “what? you mad I took the last bite?”
you roll your eyes, ready to respond when your stomach suddenly pierces the air with a loud grumble.
the sound has the frat boy freezing, glancing down. your lips part, cheeks flaring, glancing away as sukuna sits up just a little. “you seriously didn’t eat anything?”
“I told you I haven’t eaten,” you tsk, cheeks inflamed from the sound, desperately trying to ignore the caresses of sukuna’s hand under your shirt, thumb brushing your torso, suddenly pushing the material of t-shirt higher revealing more of your torso.
the air grows awkwardly uncomfortable, neither of you saying a word, and him not responding has you growing slightly more aware of the position he has you in. you don’t want to address it, you seriously, strongly, want to ignore how he’d just made himself comfortable with touching you after being apart for weeks. but that sudden thought as you pushing yourself up.
your hand climbs up his chest, curling your fist around his collar. and with little resistance, you tug him towards you.
“I’ll make another sandwich,” you mutter, your pretty chest rising with each breath. “you can keep kissing me…” his eyes flick between yours, they’re heavy with either exhaustion, lust, or both, but then you whisper the precious words he’s been dreaming of hearing this close, with your warmth wrapping around him, and your scent making his head spin… “please, ryo.”
his lips twitch up, arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close from under your shirt. then your heart skips a beat. his head tucks down to your shoulder, burying his face there, pulling you to his chest.
your lips part, cheeks burning hot as he hugs you closer. his fingers dig possessively around your waist, bicep flexing around.
the summer breeze wraps around you. heart beating aggressively against your chest. fingers twitching trapped between your bodies, his hot breath fans against your neck. seagulls fly above you, the sky clear as day. but none of it can be fully processed, not when sukuna is hugging you like it’s been years since you’ve seen each other.
“r—“ you stop yourself when a warm kiss is pressed against your neck. then another. his hand brushes up and down your warm torso, making you always aware of his presence. slowly trailing kisses up your neck, subtly inhaling more of your flowery scent.
his cheeks sting, and he feels the heat crawl up his neck as his bulge grows harder. but he doesn’t stop peppering your burning skin with wet kisses. he pays a certain spot with more attention, sucking just a bit harder, smiling subtly when he hears your cute hiccup-like-moan.
“y’know,” he mutters against your skin, sucking another light hickey on your pretty neck, barely noticeable. he doesn’t wait for you to respond, your fingers twitching at his waist, holding his shirt. “I’ve been thinking’ bout how you got naked in your car,” your cheeks sting as the memory resurfaces quickly. “and how you fingered this pussy ‘cause I asked ya too,” you don’t have to look at him to hear the devilish smile he’s sporting. “then you fucking knocked over the phone when you came.”
your lips part in a quiet gasp, “it was an accident—“
he tsks, “still.” you blush. “I wanted to see it.” his hand brushes higher, unbothered by how he’s pushing your shirt up, revealing your lower back to the warm air. your skin is just so soft under his rough palm, and you fit perfectly against him. “you’ve been teasing me.”
your eyes go wide, “me?!—haah—“
the moan has your face bursting into flames, his teeth sink into your neck. your hand finding its way to his bicep, nails digging in, as he licks the mark he leaves. his lips skim up your neck, warm breath fanning gently until your lips are parting to inhale the same air.
“yeah, you,” his eyes flick over your lips. “with that call, and the one before that, and your photo.” he wets his bottom lip, a sinister smirk exposing his sharp canines. and in that moment you feel like he’d swallow you whole any second. “and now you’re lounged out here waiting for me.”
that’s when a a loud scoff leaves your lips. cheeks aflame. “as if. I didn’t even know when you were coming. it’s a coincidence.”
a disbelieving hum resounds from his throat. “so you were camped out here in these little shorts,” he tugs the hem of your shorts. “and this shirt wearing nothing underneath, for who then?”
you raise a brow, amused by him, forearm casually resting on his shoulder as you look back at him. “would you believe me if I said it was for me?”
he clicks his tongue.
you hum, glancing away for entertainment, free hand coming up to your chin. sukuna sits still, surprisingly patient, almost like you both have all the time in the world. it was unnervingly attractive. but you still decide to tease him, amused by the thought so you say it.
“then it was for satoru.”
and the moment that name leaves your lips, the reaction is far from what you’ were expecting. sukuna’s once calm features shift into a sudden disgusted scowl. the expression catches you so off guard that you suddenly burst out laughing, right in his face.
“fuck outta my face,” he spits.
you laugh even louder, hand coming up to your mouth trying to control yourself. “what? you don’t believe me?”
your push has sukuna rolling his eyes to the back of his skull. “playin’ in my face.”
“pleaseeee,” you cackle, adjusting yourself higher, waving a hand in front of him. “I was—I meant to say it’s for suguru.”
you visibly see the twitch in his eye, and that has you laughing louder hitting his chest as your head falls back. “I’m DEAD, you’re actually killing me!!” your laughing is so loud it irks him how much you’re getting a kick out of his reaction. he also ignores how cute your stupid laugh is after not hearing for so long. “cmon, it’s no biggy, wearing this skimpy little thing for my suguru.”
“your suguru,” sukuna spits back, disgust laced in every word.
you nod, bitting your top lip as you hold in your laughter, even if your eyes are laughing. “it makes sense, since me and him are sharing a room.”
his body suddenly goes dead still. “you’re fucking with me.”
his tone has you laughing louder, unaware how much that bothered the footballer. “you don’t believe me?”
sukuna rolls his eyes, loosening his jaw as he exhales through his nose. “daamn, relax ryo.” you coo, hand coming up to squish his cheeks. “tough month? you can’t take my little jokes anymore?” your faux pout has him scowling immediately, but his cock jumps at the expression.
“ragebait,” he mutters. you softly snort, smile lighting up your face, then your pretty head tilts for him. so fucking pretty.
“aww, that wasn’t my intention,” you coo.
the lie has sukuna scoffing, eyes flickering between your insincere doe eyes, and it tickles an itch deep in his core. “I was just playing with you,” you playfully squish his cheeks again, watching the way his lips purse together. he’s so cute.
his hands rest on your waist, staring straight into your eyes, and he unknowingly allows you to mess with him. enough that a string tugs at his chest.
“you mad?” your lips part slightly when he doesn’t respond, your eyes still holding a playful spark in them.
“yeah.”
it was a detectable lie that has your pretty lips pulling into a smile you can’t control. “yeah?” you’ve seriously grown confident in your time apart, and it’s unbelievably attractive. “but I thought it was pretty funny. you can’t be mad about that, can you?”
your thumb brushes the morning shadow on his chin, the stubble beyond attractive. but sukuna is too busy clicking his tongue at you to notice the way you’re checking him out whilst pushing his buttons. “I can. do you see me laughing with ya?”
you purse your lips, smile spilling out wide. you shake your head, then you push yourself up. your pretty legs are loose around his hips, your fingers gently curling under his chin, wetting your bottom lip with a soft hum.
“I don’t,” your voice is low, sweet. his jaw tenses slightly, waiting for you to act, and surprisingly you catch it. and you start smiling again. “you’re so patient, ryo.”
his breath catches, covering it with a loud, offended scoff. “maybe finish your sentences,” he snaps. “y’ keep fucking trailing off.”
you smile, leaning close to his face. breath warm against his lips. “I just answered you though,” you trail off again, purposefully. your lips hover over his, slowing your breath, lashes fluttering like a subtle seductress. and it works. he leans closer, wanting your warmth to encompass him even more. his cheeks a stained dark pink as you exhale softly. “you just like listening to me…don’t you?”
your smile is unbelievably beautiful, but his remains still, glaring at you through his dark lashes. his thick brow quirks. “i don’t remember ya being this cocky,” he mutters and there isn’t much heat behind the insult.
your smile only widens, “I didn’t realize how easy you make it,” you coo softly.
his brow twitches, “don’t flatter yourself.”
“mm.” your fingers drift along the collar of his shirt, eyeing the tattoos that peak, then meeting his crimson gaze again. “too late.”
the morning breeze curls around the two of you, the scent of salt and sunscreen drifts through the quiet villa. the pool glitters behind him and still, neither of you moves away.
his eyes drag over your expression, lingering on the curve of your smile and the amusement brightening your face. he’d spent weeks listening to your voice through a phone speaker, catching glimpses of you through photos and stories, and now that you’re here, he finds himself unable to take his hands off you.
you tilt your head. “what?” you ask, trying and failing to sound innocent.
“you’re annoying,” he cuts.
“but…” you lean closer, your lips brushing his, and he barely reacts. “you haven’t asked me to stop.”
something shifts behind his eyes. the confidence in your expression flickers for half a second, replaced by something softer, and something he sure as shit brushes away. but the teasing quiets just enough for his stomach to twist.
“tell me ryo,” you murmur quietly, voice just above a whisper. the sweetness drips into his ear like honey. his cock straining in his shorts, unable to control his body’s reaction to you. “you like being teased…right?”
his mouth twitches. “you fucking with me again?”
you slowly shake your head, staring into his eyes, twirling his hair around your finger. “you can tell me,” you tug at his hair lightly. “I don’t judge.”
he’s leaking for sure. the clear outline of his cock would be embarrassing if he wasn’t packing. and even with how obviously turned on he is, how flushed his ears are, and how blown his pupils have gotten. he still manages to hold his composure, and bite back a shit eating grin.
“cute,” his arm tightens around your waist, the other dragging up your thigh, pushing up your shorts. his bulge is pressing directly onto your shorts, and his sharp canines almost make him look animalistic. “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing.”
you hum, dragging the sound in faux innocence, lashes batting up at him, almost making him release a pathetic noise. “what am doing? I thought I was creating a safe space for you,” you coo.
“don’t play dumb.”
you shrug, face still close, and fingers still playing with the ends of his hair, the other squeezing his bicep. “I’m not.“
and once your eyes glance over the scowl that flickers across his face, your unable to control your reaction. you laugh softly against the small space separating you, and the sound seems to snap whatever fragile thread of restraint he’d been clinging to.
you make a startled sound against him, one that quickly melts into something softer when he kisses you harder than before. his brows knit together, expression caught between irritation and want.
he completely steals the breath from your lungs. all the teasing from the last several minutes dissolves into something far less careful. the laughter lingering on your lips disappears beneath the press of his mouth, your fingers tangling tighter in the ends of his hair as he forces his tongue to meet yours. and the moment your tongues make contact, a guttural groan comes from the back of his throat. the sound is muffled against your lips, but the way you feel the warmth pool between your legs is immediate.
he doesn’t care anymore. his mind has wrapped itself around you, the familiarity of your lips, the warmth of your body, and the soft edges of your aura, it all has him melting. and it doesn’t take long for him to press his fully erect cock right against your shorts. rutting.
a squeak escapes your pretty lips at the first roll of his hips. jaw falling agape at the stimulation. the sunrise paints everything gold around you, warm light spilling across the pool deck while the rest of the villa remains asleep. and as exhausted as sukuna is from his flight, he physically can’t stop his body from rutting into you like a dog in heat.
his tongue is thick and hot, slowly stroking your lips passionately until you’re meeting the wet muscle with your own. your whine is muffled, arms latched around his shoulders, as he hooks your leg over his arm, humping your clothed pussy.
“we should fuck,” he mutters between kisses, grinding even harder, stimulating his cock. “yeah?” his hand squeezes the flesh of your thigh, kissing your bottom lip with haste. “everyone’s sleeping, I got a condom in my bag—“
a choked groan slips out of his throat when you tug his hair, his pupils twice their normal size. cheeks flushed a dark red, and his body unable to pull away from you. he doesn’t want to address how quickly you turn him on, or how much he craved your touch after being away from you for so long—no, none of it crosses the front of his mind when you’re under him, hands caressing his nape, lips glossy and swollen from kissing, and dark lashes batting up at him like you know everything. “you haven’t showered.”
he kisses down your neck, grinding slower, reminding you what he’s asking for. “I don’t smell that bad.” he unintentionally presses his face against your nape, inhaling. “fuck, but you smell so fucking good.”
your lips part momentarily, cheeks flushed. you feel him kiss the warm skin of your neck. he trails back to your lips, hand wrapping gently around your neck, tilting your chin up with a thumb, kissing you deeper, if possible.
it was a scene. and it was one that gojo was waking up to. his blue eyes are still heavy with sleep, white hair sticking in every direction, as he wanders down the staircase in nothing but a pair of shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips. one hand disappears beneath the hem of his shirt as he scratches absentmindedly at his chest, the other reaching automatically for the carton of orange juice waiting in the fridge.
the villa is quiet. the open screens let the morning breeze drift through the house, sunlight spilling across the floors and stretched toward the living room, where a duffle bag and suitcase had been abandoned carelessly near the entrance. gojo blinks, his gaze moves from the luggage to the open patio doors, then stops. “…oh.”
outside, beneath the morning blue sky, was a certain someone hidden behind one of the lounge chairs overlooking the pool, and sukuna was right on top of her. the two of you were obviously making out, his head bent toward yours, your hand buried somewhere near the ends of his pink hair, his broad shoulders blocking part of your frame from view, and his lower body was rocking against yours.
gojo stared, lifting the orange juice to his mouth, then lowering it. “…they’re still not dating,” he murmured to absolutely no one.
“what are you doing?” nanami’s voice breaks through the silence making gojo glance over briefly. fresh out of bed himself, nanami is halfway through pulling a shirt over his head, pajama pants slung low against his waist, catching a brief sight of his dark blonde happy trail, as he walks into the kitchen, following gojo’s line of sight. his steps slowed. “oh.”
gojo points toward the patio, “they’re not dating.”
nanami yawns, moving toward the fridge anyway.“i went to bed early,” he said. “did he get here last night?”
gojo shakes his head immediately, finally twisting the cap off the orange juice. “nope. he literally just got here. i got the notification from the security.” nanami pauses, glancing over his shoulder again, then toward the abandoned bags in the living room, then back outside.
“…they’re that comfortable with each other?” the question slips out before he can stop it.
gojo snorts, “or they’re just ridiculously attracted to each other,” he shrugs. “but they’re definitely not dating.”
nanami raises a brow thoughtfully. “did they not have sex with anyone else if they’re jumping each other like that now?” gojo tilts his head in genuine surprise. nanami’s eyes linger on the scene outside.
maybe it’s instinct or it the unmistakable feeling of being watched, because outside, sukuna’s gaze lifts. his sharp crimson eyes slide toward the villa without warning and land directly on the blue and honey-colored pair staring back at him from the kitchen. the silence stretches, until gojo slowly raises his carton of orange juice in greeting.
your brows quirk seeing sukuna’s suddenly pulling away and scowling over your shoulder. that’s when you decide to stick your head out, brows quirking at gojo and nanami both standing in the kitchen.
“didn’t mean to interrupt the streamy sesh,” gojo calls out casually, nanami glancing at him in annoyance. “you guys can continue.”
you snort, pressing a hand to sukuna’s chest, just for the hot head to sit back on his knees, glaring at his friends. “damn, but you kinda made me loose my appetite though,” you say stepping away from sukuna to stand up. his eyes follow you, jaw tightening as gojo cackles loudly from the house.
“whaaaat—but don’t you guys miss each other? I didn’t wanna ruin the reunion,” gojo lightly teases, unknowingly hitting a nerve as sukuna tsks, and you surprisingly raise a brow.
“you’re not ruining anything,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at sukuna who’s still sat on the lounge chair, hand over his bulge. “we were jus’ talking.”
gojo smirks, nodding sarcastically, “yeah, for sure. must’ve been the wind then.”
you sarcastically cringe, shrugging. “ah, must’ve been.” you don’t break a sweat as you walk further into the house passing by the boys as you make your way up the stairs, leaving them behind. and even with your heart beating erratically, and your face sweltering. you keep your composure until you’re out of sight.
as for sukuna…he remains seated, quiet, and unbelievably pissed off. nanami finds it slightly amusing, while gojo is snorting loudly. “that’s how much you wanna get in her pants—I just got the notification that you walked in and you’re already tryna fuck her—jeez.”
sukuna scowls, standing up. the irritation dripping from his being as he slips a hand into his shorts, tucking his erection up. “since when do you fucking cockblock me?” he snaps, walking into the house.
gojo’s hands fly up in defense, “you’re the ones that stopped. I was just drinkin’ my juice here.”
“he was watching,” nanami casually corrects, earning another shrug from gojo. sukuna clicks his tongue, and it prompts nanami to follow up with the only question swimming in his head. “are you guys dat—“
“no.”
the room falls silent.
sukuna picks up his duffle bag. his sharp eyes find the two men, and he utters his next words, with little thought, only wanting to end any further discussion on a subject he has little care to address with outsiders.
“we fuck. and I’m gonna fuck her again. and that’s my deal with her.”
his harsh tone is followed by a low whistle from the white haired man. and though sukuna walks away from them fully believing he put an end to whatever assumptions they insisted on making. because whatever existed between you and him has always been simple, physical, and convenient. except…
later that week, the simplicity shakes just a bit. when your arms lock around his torso, fingers twisting desperately into the back of his soaked shirt, refusing to let go. face pressed against his chest, eyes rimmed raw, breaths breaking apart into uneven pieces as your entire body trembles against him. the rain coming down harshly, drenching the quiet street and soaking through your skin and fabric.
and sukuna can only stare over your head into the empty street. his arms tighten around you without fully realizing what he’s doing it. his veins straining beneath his skin because you won’t stop shaking. your nails digging into him.
“don’t…” your voice is strained, the softness still shining through even in the state you’re in. “don’t push me away yet.”
his jaw clenches.
“please.”
a/n: watch you guys burn me alive after this. no joke, this shit was gonna be longer but I reached the line count limit on tumblr so I had to cut the scene short and add a sneak peak into next chapter.
chp 9 will have more yummy smut and angst. and I don’t wanna spoil, but *wink *wink, reader has been taking those birth control pills for a little over a month now 😛
₊˚.༄ ATEEZ bf texts ft. HONGJOONG
warnings: sex talk, corny, cursing
other versions: seonghwa | yunho | yeosang | san | mingi | wooyoung | jongho
requests are open! ask for tags below.
🏷️ : @seodwae @teaxkaisen @ateezwink @xoxiaojun @aaa-sia || @my-crew-unique @angstylittleb1tch
"Keep Talking"
choi san. your sweet, obsessed boyfriend. always calling, always craving. you thought it was just a late-night check-in—until you realized what he was doing on the other end of the line. and when he shows up at your door? he’s not holding back. it gets breathless. possessive. messy. and the next morning? he still can’t keep his hands off you.
wc : 5.4k
tags : explicit content, phone masturbation, softdom!san, fingering,oral , praise kink, light degradation, dirty talk, teasing, overstimulation, established relationship intimacy, aftercare, reader is clingy, san is obsessed with you in the softest filthiest way, fluff.
a/n: this man calls you while he’s jerking off, shows up 20 mins later, wrecks you again, and then has the nerve to wipe your makeup off like you’re his entire world??
Your phone buzzes just as you’re settling into bed.
Incoming Call : San 🏔
You smile immediately, warmth blooming in your chest. You put him on speaker and head to the bathroom, voice soft and sleepy.
“Hi” you murmur.
There’s a pause on the other end. A breath.
Then:
“…Hey.” His voice is low. Rough. Just a little hoarse.
You frown softly. “You okay?”
“Mhm.” A sharp inhale, followed by a quiet exhale. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”
That makes you smile again, soft and unsuspecting.
You rinse your mouth, crawl back into bed, and tuck the phone against your cheek.
You laugh softly, cheek pressing to the pillow. “You miss me that bad already?”
“So bad,” he murmurs, almost too quiet.
“I missed you too.” You roll onto your side, voice warm. “How was your night?”
Another pause.
“…Fine.”
There’s something in the way he says it.
It’s not unhappy, just… distracted.
Like he’s somewhere else entirely.
You squint, sensing it now — the air between you feels thick.
Like something is happening, and you haven’t caught up yet.
Your brows knit at how breathless he sounds. “Are you… working out or something?”
“…Sort of.”
“Sort of?” You giggle. “You sound weird,” you tease, voice gentle.
There’s a pause. Long enough to notice.
Then you hear it — the tiniest sound.
A slick sound.
Wet. Rhythmic. Subtle.
Your mouth parts slightly. “San?”
“Keep talking,” he says quickly. Breathlessly. “Don’t stop talking.”
Your heart skips.
Your voice falters. “Wait… are you —”
“I miss you,” he cuts in, voice heavy, strained, and definitely aroused. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“You’re—oh my god, are you touching yourself?”
He groans — low and unfiltered. Like your voice alone is enough to drag him under.
“Yes,” he whispers. “Fuck, I couldn’t wait anymore.”
You blink at the ceiling, suddenly burning everywhere. “You called me… to jerk off?”
“I called you because of you,” he murmurs.
“Because I kept thinking about your mouth. Your voice. The way you sound when I—” His breath stutters. “When I’m buried deep inside you.”
Your breath catches.
“Tell me something,” he whispers.
“What?” you breathe.
“Remind me how you taste.”
Your thighs press together instinctively.
“San—”
“I’d be on my knees for you right now,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know. Tongue deep in you, hands keeping you open. I miss the way you shake.”
You press a hand to your chest. Your heart’s racing.
“Your voice, baby. I swear.” His breath catches. “You’re so soft when you’re sleepy. It drives me insane.”
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“.. Are you close?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.
“Mhm,” he moans. “Keep talking, please. I’m—shit—I’m right there.”
You bite your lip. Then slowly, softly:
“You’d ruin me if you were here, wouldn’t you?”
He lets out a desperate noise.
“I’d take you so slow,” you whisper. “Just to hear you beg.”
He groans again, sharp and broken. His breathing gets faster.
You hear the subtle, unmistakable sound of his release — his moan is raw, whispered, like he’s trying not to be loud. Like he’s completely wrecked.
You lie there, blinking, flushed all over, heat rolling through you.
There’s a silence on the other end. Just the sound of his breathing, finally slowing.
“…I’m coming over,” he mutters eventually, voice low and raspy.
You laugh softly, heart still racing. “San…”
He groans. “I need you.”
And something tells you this night isn’t over yet.
–
You’re still in bed when your doorbell rings.
Your whole body stills.
You climb out of the covers, heart thudding in your chest, and tiptoe barefoot to the door.
When you open it, the hallway light spills over San — his dark hoodie pulled over his head, eyes shadowed, lips parted.
His chest rises and falls like he ran here, not drove.
He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you.
Then?
He steps in, shuts the door behind him, and grabs you.
You gasp as your back hits the wall.
His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, like he needs to taste you just to breathe.
“You,” he growls between kisses. “You make me lose my mind.”
His hands roam everywhere — under your shirt, across your hips, gripping your ass like it’s his. You’re lifted onto the wall in one smooth motion, legs wrapping around him on instinct.
“San—” you try to catch your breath, but he kisses you again, rough and deep, before pulling back just enough to speak.
“You sounded so fucking sweet on the phone,” he murmurs, dragging his nose along your jaw.
“That little sleepy voice. All shy. You knew what you were doing.”
“I didn’t,” you whisper, flushed and breathless.
He bites down gently on your neck. “Liar.”
You squirm in his grip, heat pooling between your legs.
His hands slide up your thighs and you realize — you’re still not wearing underwear.
He realizes it too.
“Of course you’re not,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“I didn’t know you were actually coming over—”
“You think I care?” His voice is gravel now, thick with need. “You think I can sit at home after hearing you like that on the phone?”
One of his hands slides between your legs, fingers dragging through your slick folds.
You cry out, head falling back against the wall.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Already soaked.”
You nod, breathless. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
That’s it. That breaks him.
He carries you towards your bedroom, mouth on your throat the entire way, and you cling to him like your life depends on it.
When he lays you down, it’s with more reverence than you expect — like even in his desperation, he still wants to worship.
He brushes his nose over your clothed nipple and groans low in his throat, like he’s trying to memorize you.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”
You reach for him, and he comes willingly, laying his body over yours, slotting between your legs.
You can feel how hard he is — straining through his sweatpants — and your hips twitch up, chasing friction.
He kisses you again, slower this time, deeper. Like he wants to feel how badly he missed you.
Then he pulls back just slightly. His forehead rests on yours. His breathing's still ragged.
“You want me?” he murmurs.
You nod.
“No. Say it.”
“I want you,” you whisper. “I want you so bad it hurts.”
He groans, like the words physically affect him, and his hand trails between your thighs again.
“I’m not gonna be gentle this time,” he mutters. “I can’t be.”
You whimper. “Then don’t be.”
And then he sinks two fingers into you — slow but firm, curling just right — and your whole body arches off the bed.
He watches your face, eyes dark. “This is what you wanted, right? To drive me crazy? To have me aching for you?”
You nod again, mouth open, gasping.
He leans in close, lips brushing your ear.
“Well, baby,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke, “you got me.”
“Take this off,” San growls, tugging at your sleep shirt, not even waiting for you to comply.
He peels it up and over your head like he owns it — like you’re his — and throws it somewhere behind him without looking.
You’re bare now. Completely.
And he just stares.
Chest heaving, jaw clenched, like he’s trying to hold himself back — but he can’t. Not anymore.
“You drive me so fucking insane,” he mutters, running both hands down your ribs, to your hips, spreading your legs wide with his knee. “You know that?”
You whimper when his fingers return to your center, teasing just barely. Your back arches. His eyes drop to watch every reaction.
“Already soaked for me again,” he whispers. “And I’ve barely even touched you.”
You reach down, grabbing at the waistband of his sweats.
“Please,” you gasp.
“Please what?”
“San—”
“Tell me,” he snaps, voice low and commanding. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you in me,” you cry, breath shaking. “Please, San. I need you.”
He exhales hard through his nose — then strips.
His hoodie and shirt go first, then his sweats and boxers in one tug, revealing his hard, leaking cock, already red at the tip.
Your mouth waters.
He strokes himself once, twice, eyes still locked on you.
“Turn around.”
You blink. “..Huh?”
“I said turn the fuck around.”
The edge in his voice sends shivers down your spine.
You scramble onto your hands and knees, and he grabs your hips immediately, pulling you back toward him until your ass is pressed to his cock.
He drags the head through your folds, just once — and groans like it physically hurts to hold back.
Then he thrusts in.
Hard.
You cry out, head dropping to the mattress as he bottoms out in one deep, punishing stroke.
His hand grips your hip, the other tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean down and growl into your ear.
“This is what you wanted, huh?” His hips slam forward again. “Wanted me so desperate I couldn’t wait another second?”
You moan, hands fisting the sheets. “Yes—”
“Wanted me to ruin you?”
He sets a pace that’s relentless — deep and unrelenting, every thrust dragging across the most sensitive part of you.
Your body jerks forward with each one, and you swear he’s somehow deeper than ever before.
“San—fuck, yes—” His grip crushes you tighter. “Say my fucking name.”
You sob it again and again, lost in the rhythm, and he keeps pushing.
Keeps driving into you like he’s chasing something buried inside your core.
Your legs start to shake. You're so close.
“Not yet,” he growls, he growls, yanking you upright so your back presses hard against his chest “I said—not yet.”
He keeps fucking into you while his hand slides between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, devastating circles.
“Hold it,” he growls. “Hold it until I say.”
You’re gasping now, practically sobbing from how full you feel — how stretched and raw and desperate you are.
“I—I can’t—”
“Yes you can.” He licks the shell of your ear. “You’ll come when I tell you to. Be good for me.”
And somehow… you obey.
He fucks you through it — deeper, harder, his hand still working you mercilessly — and just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, he growls:
“Now. Let go. Fucking come for me.”
Your orgasm hits like a wave breaking, loud and wet and devastating. Your entire body arches, thighs trembling violently as you convulse around him.
You don’t even hear yourself scream his name — too lost in the pleasure — but he does.
And it snaps something in him.
He pulls out and flips you over, not even giving you time to recover before he thrusts back in — face-to-face now, eyes burning.
“I’m not done,” he whispers
You can barely breathe, so overstimulated, so full. But you take it — you want it — because the way he’s looking at you? Like he needs to own every piece of you?
It’s worth everything.
He chases his own release now, hips slamming into yours at a punishing pace, his mouth all over your throat, jaw, chest.
“I love this fucking pussy,” he grunts. “You’re made for me. You know that?”
You nod, crying out again as he fucks into your oversensitive cunt. “Yes—yes, I’m yours, I’m—”
“That’s right.”
He buries himself deep one last time — so deep you swear he’s in your soul — and groans your name as he spills inside you, his body trembling against yours.
For a long moment, he doesn’t move.
Just breathes. Heavy, ragged, still inside you. One hand on your jaw. The other clutching your waist.
Then?
He kisses you. Deep, slow, reverent.
And when he finally pulls back, eyes soft, he strokes your cheek gently.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod, dazed. “I think you rearranged my spine.”
He laughs softly, presses a kiss to your forehead, and pulls out slowly, careful with your sore body.
Then he disappears into the bathroom — and comes back with a warm towel.
He wipes between your legs so gently it makes you tear up a little.
Then he crawls back into your bed with a whispered, “C’mere, baby.”
And you fall asleep wrapped in him — ruined, wrecked, and held like something precious.
—
That morning you wake to the smell of butter and maple.
The early morning light is filtering in soft and slow, and the sheets are tangled at your waist, your body sore in all the best ways.
Your thighs ache. Your neck has faint bite marks. You feel like you were worshipped… and maybe a little destroyed.
You blink sleepily.
And then you hear it — a gentle clatter from the kitchen. Something sizzling. Then a muttered curse.
You smile. San.
When he appears in the doorway — shirtless, sweats low on his hips, hair pushed back from his face — he’s holding a tray.
Plates stacked, two mugs, something golden and syrupy filling the air behind him.
He’s grinning like he knows he’s being hot about it.
“I made you breakfast,” he says, voice raspy with sleep, setting the tray on your lap. “Don’t freak out.”
You blink at it. Pancakes. Eggs. Fruit. Even whipped cream??
Your brows knit. “…San.”
He’s climbing into bed beside you, already grabbing a strawberry off your plate and popping it into his mouth like he didn’t just cook a five-star brunch.
You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know where my whipped cream is? You’ve literally been here like .. twice.”
He smirks around the bite. “What, you think I don’t pay attention?”
You stare him down.
He leans closer, hands slipping under the blanket over your lap. “I paid attention to a lot last night.”
You swat at him. “San! I’m eating!”
“You’re trying to eat,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “But I made the mistake of seeing you like this — hair all messy, no bra, all cute and sore — and now I’m distracted.”
You flush, tugging the blanket up to hide the fact that you are, in fact, still completely naked beneath it.
He feeds you a piece of pancake — literally feeds you — and you groan at the taste.
“This is so good.”
He hums. “Yeah?”
You nod through your bite. “You’re annoyingly good at this. I was prepared to lie to protect your pride.”
San chuckles and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll take that as a win.”
You’re halfway through eating when his hand starts creeping again — under the blanket this time, fingertips grazing the top of your thigh like it’s casual.
You shoot him a look. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You are literally touching my thigh right now.”
“I’m admiring it.”
“San.”
“Mhm?”
You squint at him. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“I literally am,” he says, no hesitation, dipping down to kiss your bare shoulder again. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes,” you say. “And it’s so distracting.”
He bites back a smile and leans in close, lips brushing your ear.
“You wanna know what’s distracting?” he whispers, hand slowly sliding higher. “The fact that I spent all night in you — and I’m still hard just thinking about it.”
Your stomach flips.
You grab your fork again with shaky fingers and murmur, “Eat your pancakes.”
But you already know this breakfast-in-bed is about to become a part two of last night — once again… you won’t be finishing your meal.
—
After the breakfast-that-you-did-not-finish (because San decided you were the real meal), he finally lets you rest — for like, ten minutes.
You’re still under the covers, half-limp with sleep and soreness when you feel him climbing out of bed again. You hear the water start in the bathroom.
Then he comes back to the doorway, shirtless, damp towel in one hand.
“Come shower,” he says gently.
You crack one eye open. “You go. I’m dead.”
He smirks. “If you’re dead, then you won’t mind if I carry you.”
You narrow your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
And then he does. Pulls the blanket off of you and lifts you like it’s nothing, making you yelp as you cling to him.
“SAN!!”
“You left me no choice,” he teases, voice smug in your ear as he carries you into the steam-filled bathroom.
The water’s already perfect — warm, a little hot — and when he steps in with you, he moves so carefully, hands steady at your waist.
You let the water hit your back, sighing at the heat, and close your eyes for just a second — until you feel his fingers in your hair.
Your eyes blink open. “…What are you doing?”
“Washing your hair.”
You eye him skeptically. “Are you washing my hair or do you just want to touch me again?”
San blinks, expression a little too innocent. “Can’t it be both?”
You groan, laughing despite yourself. “I knew it.”
He smiles as he lathers shampoo in his hands and starts working it into your scalp with surprisingly gentle, practiced fingers.
The way he massages your head, runs his fingers through every strand, careful not to tug — it feels so soothing you actually sway into his chest.
“Mhm… I take it back,” you murmur. “You can do this forever.”
“I plan to,” he says softly, voice near your temple. His hands slow a little, sliding down, rinsing out the shampoo as you lean back.
He keeps going — conditioner, a few more forehead kisses, and now his thumbs are brushing under your eyes, wiping away the faint smudges of leftover makeup.
He does it like it matters. Like he’s memorizing you.
“Why are you looking at me like that,” you ask softly, heart hiccuping.
“Because I’m lucky as hell,” he says without even blinking.
And just like that, you’re melting all over again — but not because of the hot water.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pull him in slow, press your lips to his under the falling spray.
It's slow, slow — the kind of kiss you sink into with your whole body.
He hums against your mouth.
The kiss deepens, steam curling around you both, and you feel him grip your hips like he might forget what he was doing.
You pull back just enough to whisper, teasingly: “You're getting distracted again.”
San smirks. “You literally taste like vanilla and warm water. How am I supposed to focus?”
You laugh into his shoulder. “Finish rinsing me, San.”
And he does.
But the way his hands keep slipping a little lower? You’re pretty sure you’re not leaving this shower untouched.
—
The shower ends with your back pressed lazily to his chest, both of you reluctant to step out into the cooler air.
You’re the one who finally reaches for the knob, sighing. “We should get out before we start round 2 just from steam.”
San grins behind you, shameless. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You swat his thigh without looking.
He helps you out first, careful with his hands as always — but the moment your feet hit the mat, he’s already reaching for a towel.
“Sit,” he murmurs, patting the bathroom counter like he owns the place.
You arch a brow. “I can dry myself off.”
“Please?,” he says with a glint in his eyes, already kneeling a little to start at your legs.
You give in — because you're sore, and he’s impossibly warm like this.
Gentle and full of affection. His hands work slowly, drying every inch like he’s mapping you all over again.
He glances up at you, curls damp and stuck to his forehead. “Still mad I carried you in here?”
You give him a small smirk. “No. But only because your massage game is elite.”
“Elite, huh?” He drags the towel up your thigh, fingers lingering too long before he slides it higher. “Do I get a trophy?”
“You’re already trying to earn one,” you mutter.
His only response is to kiss the inside of your knee.
You twitch slightly. “San…”
“Just drying,” he says — entirely unconvincing, because his hand stays exactly where it doesn’t need to be.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, blushing.
But still — you don’t stop him.
He stands slowly, now using the edge of the towel to press soft, careful dabs to your chest, your arms, your neck.
He trails it up to your face, and your breath hitches at how gentle he gets — like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
His thumbs brush beneath your eyes again, drying what little water clings to your lashes.
Then he leans in and kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.
You're smiling now. You can’t help it. “I thought you were drying me off.”
“I am,” he murmurs against your skin. “But you’re very… distracting.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re the one making this impossible.”
He hums and wraps the towel around your body fully now, pressing it snug at your back like he’s hugging you and drying you at the same time.
You lean into him. “You really can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”
He pulls back just enough to look at you — eyes soft, adoring, almost like you’re something rare and glowing. His voice is quiet but honest: “Nope. And I don’t plan to learn how.”
Your chest squeezes, heat curling all the way down your spine.
He presses a kiss to your nose now. Then your lips. Then murmurs: “C’mon. Let me get you into something cozy.”
You smile, letting him lead you — wrapped in his towel, in his arms, in his attention.
And the truth is: You don’t want him to stop touching you, either.
—
That evening, your living room is dim, the only light flickering from the soft glow of your TV — low volume playing some show neither of you are watching.
You’re straddled on San’s lap, facing him, your thighs resting on either side of his hips, one of his old hoodies swallowing you whole.
The fabric smells like him — faint cologne, detergent, that warm scent you know better than your own by now.
He’s shirtless beneath you, just lounging in some gray sweats, all tanned skin and quiet muscle, his arms looped loosely around your waist.
Your fingers are tangled in his hair, gently twirling one around your finger as you talk — about nothing, really.
Something dumb. Something comforting. You don’t even remember how the topic started.
And you’re not really paying attention to your words anyway — not when he looks like this.
His bare face is unfairly beautiful. His jaw is sharp and clean from shaving.
The light catches the slope of his nose, the tiny beauty mark just beside his left eye, the sleepy droop of his lashes as he listens to you — and God, his lips. Full, soft, kiss-bitten from earlier.
You feel like you could cry just from looking at him.
You run your thumb gently across his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly under your touch.
And then — too soon, too cruel — he shifts slightly beneath you and murmurs,
“I have to leave soon.”
Your smile fades. “What? Why?”
He exhales slowly, rubbing his hand down your back like he’s trying to soften the blow.
“I have work in the morning. Early.”
Your heart drops a little.
You blink at him, lips parting. “But… can’t you stay tonight?”
“I want to. I really do.” His voice is soft. Regretful. But firm.
You feel your chest tightening already, throat beginning to ache with the heat of unshed frustration.
“I barely get to see you anymore,” you whisper.
“I know.” He brushes his knuckles against your thigh. “I hate it too.”
Your arms slowly wind around his neck, pulling yourself into him, burying your face into the crook between his shoulder and jaw.
You don’t say anything at first — just hold him there like if you’re quiet enough, he’ll change his mind.
He strokes your back gently.
“I’m not leaving yet,” he says, voice quieter now. “I’ve got a little time.”
You cling tighter. “Can you sleep over again? Just for tonight?”
A pause. It lasts too long.
“I can’t,” he says, and this time it sounds like it hurts him more than you. “If I don’t go home, I’ll be late.”
You nod, but you’re not ready to let go. Your arms stay locked around his neck. You hate how warm he is. How safe. How rare.
“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur brokenly.
His hand slips under the hoodie, spreading wide across your back. He cradles you there, holds you tighter.
“Aw, baby…” he whispers, leaning his head into yours. “I’m gonna make time for us. I promise. This isn't always going to be like this.”
You sniff, but you don’t cry. Not yet.
“Don’t promise if you can’t keep it.”
His voice cracks. “I will. Even if it means losing sleep. I’ll be here. I want to be here.”
There’s a long silence between you two.
Just the sound of his breathing against your neck and the quiet, creaking shift of the couch when he leans back again.
Then you whisper something, voice soft and a little bitter:
“…And stop calling me when you’re jerking off, okay? It makes me want you even more.”
That surprises a low chuckle out of him — hoarse and heartbroken.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, a soft, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“But I love calling you,” he admits. “It’s the only way I feel close to you when I can’t be here.”
You sigh, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing over the faint stubble.
“You don’t need to call me to feel close to me, San. You are close to me. Always.”
He nods once, eyes shimmering just slightly.
Then you both fall into a long, warm silence. He holds you.
You stay in his lap, hoodie swallowing your bare legs, his fingers tracing soft circles on your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go.
You know he’ll leave soon.
But not yet.
So you press your lips to his cheek. Then his nose. Then his mouth.
You whisper, “I’ll wait for you.”
And he says, “You don’t have to wait long.”
But still — the ache stays.
Because even when love is strong… it still hurts to say goodbye.
—
Masterlist
on edge | yungi x reader
tags: there is literally no plot its just porn, threesome, edging/orgasm denial, fingering, oral, yunho and mingi action (frotting, oral), restraints, overstim, aftercare, not proofread
900 sins
you squirm helplessly on the bed, wrists bound above your head with mingi's belt, the thick material digging into your skin enough to sting.
yunho and mingi are shirtless, kneeling on either side of you. your legs are spread, knees held open by their hands, leaving your dripping pussy exposed to the air.
"fuck, look at you," mingi murmurs, one finger tracing a line up your inner thigh, stopping just before your slick folds. "already soaking the sheets and we haven't done anything yet."
yunho leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he nips at your earlobe, "our pretty girl's so needy... you want us so bad, don't you?"
yunho's long fingers slide through your wetness, parting your folds and circling your swollen clit, applying enough pressure to make your hips jerk. a little whimper escapes your lips, causing yunho to pull his hand away, leaving you with nothing.
"no-please, yunho-!" you whimper, tugging at the belt restraining you.
mingi chuckles as he brings his lips to yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth. yunho watches you two closely, palming his hardening cock through his sweats.
mingi's fingers push inside you without warning, stretching your tight walls and curling them against that spongy spot inside you. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing in steady circles in time with the thrusts of his fingers.
"that's it, baby, ride my fingers," mingi praises, the wet sounds of his fingers filling the room, "you're close, aren't you? clenching so tight around me.."
you pant as your hips grind down onto his hand, getting dangerously close to the edge before mingi yanks his hand away, leaving you empty and throbbing.
you cry out in frustration, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as yunho surges forward, crashing his mouth against mingi's above you.
the kiss is messy, mingi's hand coming up to grip the back of yunho's neck. mingi's free hand slips into yunho's sweats, pulling his cock out and stroking it slowly, his thumb swirling over the leaking head.
yunho groans into mingi's mouth, his hips twitching into his touch as he completely ignores your desperate whimpers.
"god- mingi.. your hand feels so fucking good," yunho breathes as they part, a string of saliva connecting their lips.
yunho moves towards you, settling between your spread thighs, his shoulders keeping you open as he leans in. he licks a long stripe from entrance to your clit, savoring your taste.
yunho focuses on your clit, swirling his tongue in circles before sliding two fingers deep inside you, making your back arch off the bed.
"yunho- oh god, right there-! i'm so close-" you sob, hands grabbing at the material of mingi's belt.
he sucks harder and pumps his fingers faster, bringing you right to the edge before pulling away, chin glistening with your wetness.
you whine loudly, body shaking as yunho leans over the kiss mingi again, their tongues tangling as mingi's hand wraps around both their cocks, stroking them together slowly.
you watch through your frustrated haze, low moans filling the room as they grind against each other. yunho's hand joins mingi's, caressing both their heads, making everything slicker.
they break apart again and mingi slides between your legs, pushing three fingers inside you. he stretches you wide as his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking hard and flicking his tongue rapidly.
yunho straddles one of your thighs, his cock rubbing against your skin as he reaches down to pinch your nipples, adding sparks of pleasure.
the coil in your stomach winds tight again, your whole body trembling as your walls flutter around mingi's fingers, teetering right on the edge before they stop agaiin.
yunho pushes mingi onto his back, yanking his sweats all the way down and taking mingi's cock into his mouth, yunho's gags filling the room. mingi's hand fists into yunho's hair, hips bucking up as a deep groan falls from his lips.
"please.. can't take it anymore," you sob, tears slipping down your cheeks, "need to cum to bad- please let me-"
mingi smirks, lips swollen as he turns back to you, "not yet, doll. you look so cute when you're desperate for us.."
the edge you more times than you can count: yunho fucking you with his fingers, mingi eating you out sloppily. each time they get you so close before pulling away, giving each other the attention you desperately want.
"think she's had enough?" yunho asks, lazily pumping his fist around mingi's cock.
mingi looks down at your tear-streaked face, a grin playing on his lips, "what do you say, baby? you wanna cum for us?"
"yes-! yes please, i'll do anything, just please- let me cum," you whine pathetically, hips twitching into them.
yunho and mingi share one last kiss before mingi pushes two fingers into your soaked pussy, curling them perfectly against your g-spot. yunho adds his fingers to your clit, circling steadily while mingi pumps his fingers ruthlessly.
"cum for us," yunho orders, voice rough, "let go, princess. we've got you."
your whole body seizes, bacl arching off the bed as a broken scream tears from your throat. your pussy gushes and spasms around mingi's fingers, soaking their hands and the sheets as they fuck you through every pulse of your orgasm.
yunho and mingi pull away from you and mingi reaches up to untie the belt from your wrists, rubbing the red marks and pressing soft kisses to them.
"you did so good for us, baby," mingi whispers as he slides down beside you, pulling your body into his. yunho grabs a damp cloth, cleaning you gently.
"our pretty girl.. did perfect for us," yunho says softly as he tosses the cloth aside, climbing into bed on your other side. he drapes an arm over your waist, nuzzling into your neck as mingi strokes your hair.
you sigh softly, curling into their warm bodies. mingi kisses your forehead, down to your temple, while yunho presses kisses along your shoulder.
"love you," you mumble sleepily, eyes already fluttering shut.
"we love you more, princess," yunho replies, squeezing you closer. mingi hums in agreement, his hand rubbing circles into your skin.
reunion
🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.”
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a classroom in a deserted school during a high school reunion), trying to be quiet during sex, sex on a desk, clothes on sex, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, manhandling, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) pretty girl.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5k
🍭 aus. Slice of life au, high school reunion au, nerd high schooler to sexy tech entrepreneur adult. etc…
☀️ mlist + an. We love a nerd who is obsessed with you in high school, then becomes super rich and fucks you at your ten-year reunion.
Prologue:
The football field is full of students, newly graduated, their whole lives ahead of them. Yearbooks are being absolutely defaced with notes of good wishes, and all sorts of multicoloured pens scribble kind words and hopes of the future.
You’ve been here for over an hour, saying goodbye to classmates and hearing about summer and university plans. But there is one person you’re keeping an eye out for; Wonwoo has been your math tutor for two years now, and without him, your grade point average may not have been high enough to get into your dream school, so you refuse to leave today without saying one final thank you to the nerd who made your future attainable.
He’s an elusive guy, the kind of dude who doesn’t really have many friends, keeps his head down, and is always the top of the class. You suppose you’re not surprised he’s missing from the football field; crowds have never been his thing, but then, you spot him by the bleachers.
Excusing yourself from your friends, you head over to Wonwoo. “Hi!”
“Oh, hi.” He looks up at you, glasses slightly crooked, closed yearbook in hand.
“Can I sign that?” you ask, motioning to his book.
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
You take the yearbook from him, and when you open it to the first page, you find it empty. Your heart drops. Although Wonwoo has always been the studying type, you’re sure it must hurt to have not one note written in his yearbook.
Wonwoo has extreme social anxiety, but he’s a kind person, and he was more than patient with you when he was your tutor.
‘Wonwoo, thank you so much for helping me with math. I’m not sure what I would have done without you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I know you’re going to go extremely far in life. I can see you being a CEO at some biotech company or running Silicon Valley. Don’t ever stop using that amazing brain of yours, and I’d say good luck, but I know you won’t need it. Xoxo y/n’
You give the yearbook back to him, and as Wonwoo looks down at your note, a hand wraps around your forearm.
“Come on, babe, everyone else has already left to go to the fair.” It’s your boyfriend, Seungcheol, his varsity jacket draped over one arm.
“Oh, sorry, I was just finishing up.” You swallow thickly, looking back at Wonwoo. “A bunch of us are going to the fair if you want to come.”
“It’s more of a football team and their girlfriends sort of thing,” Seungcheol interjects quickly.
You sigh. It’s no secret that your boyfriend can be a bit of a bully, especially when it comes to the more nerdy types, and while you’ll swear up and down that Seungcheol is a good guy deep down, he sometimes has a funny way of showing it.
“It’s okay, I don’t really like crowds,” Wonwoo says quietly.
You open your mouth, wanting to say more, but Seungcheol tugs on your arm again. “Have a great summer, Wonwoo,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by the urgency your boyfriend is exhibiting. “And I know you’ll kill it at MIT."
One:
“Okay, so little black dress, or the blue?” you ask, holding up each option so your high school friend Sumi can see it through FaceTime.
“It depends. Are you trying to get laid at our ten-year high school reunion?” Sumi laughs. “I heard Seungcheol is single again.”
“Yeah, and he has an ex-wife that sued him for half of what he made when he was in the NFL before he tore his ACL and had to retire at the ripe age of twenty-five,” you scoff.
“Okay, maybe too much drama,” your friend acquiesces. “Go with the black. Getting laid or not, we both have to look super hot.”
“It will be fun to see what everyone is up to,” you nod, putting your chosen dress in your suitcase. “I can’t wait for us to be in the same city again.”
You and Sumi had attended university together, but then you’d gone your separate ways, chasing job opportunities in different cities.
“Our Airbnb is a no-boy zone, though, I hope you know,” Sumi teases.
“We’re not going to the reunion to hook up with ex-classmates,” you agree.
“Speaking of ex-classmates who would want to fuck us at the reunion…” Sumi grins into the camera. “Is Wonwoo coming?”
“Wait, Wonwoo was into you?” you ask.
Sumi lets out a laugh. “Not me, you ditz. Wonwoo was always clearly into you.”
“Was he really?”
“It was so obvious!” Sumi insists. “But you were with Seungcheol, and everyone knows Seungcheol kind of bullied Wonwoo. I think he was jealous that Wonwoo was smart enough to help you with classes where you struggled, and Seungcheol couldn’t.”
You frown, memories of high school flooding back.
Wonwoo was always adorable, but his lack of social skills made it difficult for him to get close to anyone. You had a soft spot for him back then, but you were in love with Seungcheol before you parted ways for university, and he dumped you in the first week when he joined a frat.
“Hey, I’ve gotta run,” Sumi sighs. “But I will see you at our Airbnb in twenty-four hours.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile, saying goodbye to your friend. As the call hangs up, you do a Google search for Wonwoo’s name.
You’re a reporter now, and part of the reason you’re so good at your job is that you’re curious.
There’s no harm in looking up an ex classmate.
Two:
The first thing you find about Wonwoo is that he made the Forbes top 30 under 30 list, which nearly knocks you off your bed. The man in the picture is no longer the nerd who helped you with his homework. Adorned in a dark suit, Wonwoo looks regal in his photographs, and you’re shocked at how handsome he’s become.
It seems he launched a startup after graduating from MIT and has since founded his company, which runs out of Silicon Valley.
It takes you a few minutes to wrap your head around this information, because… well, you’d guessed this was his career path when you were a teenager. Although you’d known he was capable, you never expected him to actually follow through with his talent.
From Forbes, you find a few news articles. They describe Wonwoo as an elusive visionary, a master of all things related to computer science, the man to watch.
That’s when you find his TED Talk, and you spend the next twenty minutes watching this gorgeous nerd talk about AI, tech, the language of computers, and things you can’t even wrap your head around.
This man, who once hated crowds, who once dreaded doing presentations in class… he’s come so far, and it makes your heart melt with happiness to see that Wonwoo is doing well.
You love the way his lips still quirk into this silly grin when he speaks, the grin that says ‘I know way more about this subject than you, but that’s fine because I will teach you so you can understand what I’m talking about.’
It feels like you’re graduating high school again. Possibilities seem endless when you listen to Wonwoo talk. He makes the seemingly unattainable feel within reach.
God, you are so extremely proud of him.
Three:
So far, the reunion feels a bit lackluster. You spend the first half an hour dodging Seungcheol, and another half an hour listening to ex-classmates talk about all the children they’ve been having. The baby pictures are endless.
You finally pull away to get a breather, stepping outside the gymnasium to escape the scent of perfume and sweat that is beginning to overtake the crowded space.
It feels so weird to be back at your high school, and you take a moment to consider how far you’ve come. When you graduated, life seemed like a clear shot. You would go to university to become a teacher, marry Seungcheol, be a wife to an NFL player with a long career… funny how none of that ended up happening.
“Y/N?”
You whip around and come face to face with your old tutor… your now extremely hot and successful old tutor.
“Wonwoo?” you gasp.
“Thought that was you,” he smiles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
“I-” you swallow thickly. “Have you gone inside yet?” You’re pretty sure he hasn’t, because you’ve been looking for him the whole time.
“No, I got a phone call when I arrived and had to manage something, and then, well, then I wondered if going inside would be worth it.”
“Oh.” You can’t help the dejected feeling that washes over you.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he continues.
“Me? I wasn’t sure you would be,” you laugh. “Mister Silicon Valley.”
“I suppose you’re not surprised,” Wonwoo smirks. “You guessed this would happen.”
“You were the smartest guy I knew in high school, and I wouldn’t be shocked if you’re still the smartest man I know now.”
“I wish I’d had the confidence in myself that you had in me back when we were students,” Wonwoo admits, releasing a sigh. “Maybe things would have been a little different.”
You tilt your head to the side, trying to understand him. “What kind of things?”
Wonwoo shrugs, his tailored suit showing off the broadness of his shoulders. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Anyways, you’re a reporter, huh. That’s not the career I would have envisioned you in.”
“No?”
So he looked you up, too.
“You always used to talk about being a teacher, dating a successful man, having kids, that sort of thing.”
“Well,” you consider his words, “I was young then. Being a reporter allows me to share information with a wider range of people, and I learned that I didn’t need a man; I could be successful all on my own.”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m very happy. And you?”
Wonwoo cocks his head, opening his mouth, then closing it. “There’s a lot about my life that makes me happy, but there are also a few things… missing.”
“I can understand that,” you nod, not wanting to pry even though pushing for information is your job. You’re not on the clock right now, and you want to provide friendship to a man who is probably used to intrusive questions.
Wonwoo studies you. “So other than being a reporter, what have you been up to? Sounds like you’re not with the ‘star quarterback’ anymore.”
A laugh immediately escapes you. “No! It’s been almost ten years since I dated Seungcheol.”
“Oh?” Wonwoo grins. “You always seemed so confident that you two would be together forever.”
“I started dating him when we were fourteen. When we graduated a couple of years later, I had no idea what real life would be like.” You shake your head, hating how naive you were. “How about you, Mister Tech Entrepreneur? I bet all the girls are trying to slide into your DMs.”
“I’m single, very single, unfortunately,” Wonwoo laughs awkwardly. “I guess lately I’ve been thinking about the one that got away.”
Your body surges at the notion of gossip. “Okay, I was trying not to pry before, but now I have to ask. Tell me the story.”
“Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.”
Your heart is racing in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you don’t know what to say.
You’d always thought Wonwoo was adorable, and he treated you so well. He was patient and gentle, and he never got exasperated with you over math homework. He was quiet, but when he did talk, he was always insightful. Wonwoo always allowed you to be completely yourself, free of judgment, and he cheered you on for every math test, watching your grades improve as a result of his encouragement.
A part of you had known you were interested in him, even back when you’d thought your life was figured out with Seungcheol.
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this too,” you admit.
“And?”
“And… If we don’t take this chance… maybe we’ll continue to regret it.”
Your words hang thick in the air, and you can see Wonwoo digesting them. He swallows thickly, taking a step toward you.
You’re drawn to him, and you also close the distance, until there’s only a foot between you.
He’s truly become so handsome, but he’s still just Wonwoo, your Wonwoo. There’s something special about the fact that you knew this man before his worldly successes, that you knew and cared for him when he was the dorky nerd who ate lunch in the library and had only your signature in his yearbook.
You still feel bad for him, for the way his high school years panned out, but look at him now.
Thank God that Sumi told you to wear your sexy little black dress.
“Is it bad that I want to kiss you for the first time here, of all places?” Wonwoo asks with an awkward chuckle.
“Oddly enough, it feels right,” you laugh, taking his hand and guiding it to your hip. “If I’d never been with Seungcheol…”
“Let’s not even think about the past like that,” Wonwoo sighs, tugging you flush to his body. “We’re here now, that’s what matters.”
You nod, and then you lean forward, pressing your lips to Wonwoo’s for the very first time.
It’s like a jolt of electricity surges through you, and nothing has ever felt this right.
His lips are so soft, and he holds you in such a careful way, as if he’s afraid this is a dream.
But this is not a dream, that much is clear from the way your panties are already sticking to your core.
You press yourself closer, one hand grasping the nape of his neck as the kiss deepens in the most delicious way imaginable.
Wonwoo definitely knows how to kiss. It’s not an obnoxious style, no, he’s careful, calculated, but his movements still betray the fact that he’s been longing for you for ten years. It’s as if he’s dreamed of this moment a million times, and now you’re actually here, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up.
His tongue gently glides against your own, and you stifle a moan at the feeling, your body tingling delightfully.
You thread your fingers through his hair, wanting him even closer, although your chests are pressed together and there’s no room between you.
You want to feel him, all of him, and the realization makes a shiver run through you.
“Wonwoo,” you gasp, breaking the kiss.
“Yeah?”
“I know a place.”
“You know a place?” he laughs.
“Follow me.” You grab his hand, chasing your fantasies as you lead him to a door that takes you to the rest of the school. Running through the halls with Wonwoo feels like a fever dream; it’s as if you remember every locker, every linoleum tile that paves the hallways that echo with each footstep.
“Where are we going?” Wonwoo asks, a chuckle escaping him.
“The math room.”
“Why are we going there?”
“Because that’s where I realized I liked you as more than a tutor, more than a friend,” you tell him, your voice bouncing off the walls like a tantalizing reverie.
You can’t believe you’re doing this, but there’s no turning back now, and you wouldn’t want to either.
You whisk Wonwoo into your old math classroom, and the memories come flooding back. Your teacher would allow Wonwoo to tutor you here when the library wasn’t available, and you spent many hours alone with the handsome nerd in the confines of these four walls.
Maybe Seungcheol did bully Wonwoo because he could see what you were blind to until recently. It’s clear you had a connection with your tutor, one that was lost on you at the time.
“Do you remember this?” you ask, turning to face Wonwoo. “All the time we spent here?”
“Like it was yesterday,” he laughs.
“I thought you were the smartest, cutest guy I’d ever met,” you tell him, leaning back against one of the large tables.
“And I thought you were the kindest, most gorgeous girl I’d ever know,” Wonwoo retorts, approaching you. His hands make contact with the desk on either side of you, blocking you in while you look up at him.
His eyes are twinkling with joy, and you’ve never seen him this happy. He was handsome before, but now, he’s absolutely radiant, and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.
It’s a frenzied kiss, both of you pouring all of your longing into the meeting of your mouths. You thread your fingers through his hair, and Wonwoo reaches down, lifting you onto the table. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him flush to your body while a whimper escapes you.
Wonwoo grins, one of his hands slipping up your thigh and under your dress.
Confidence is radiating off of him, and it’s the sexiest thing you can imagine. His thumb strokes the waistband of your panties, and you wiggle your hips, a wordless invitation.
Wonwoo’s fingers make contact with your core over your panties, and you gasp.
“You’re soaked, pretty girl,” Wonwoo tells you, and your whole body shivers at his words.
“I want you,” you confess, swallowing thickly.
“You have me,” Wonwoo promises, rubbing your clit while his lips move to your throat.
You groan, throwing your head back and tugging gently on his hair. You love being worshipped like this. Most of the men you’ve been with have been self-centered in bed, but you suppose nerds always have something to prove.
Or maybe it’s just that Wonwoo actually cares about you, even after all this time.
You grind down against his hand, moaning louder when he applies more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Just like that,” you tell him. “Fuck, it feels so good.”
“I’m Mister Tech Entrepreneur,” Wonwoo says in your ear. “I type code and use my fingers for a living.”
God, why is that so hot?
He pushes your panties to the side, and two of his fingers enter your drenched pussy.
Wonwoo sucks your earlobe into his mouth as he curls his digits, immediately finding your G-spot.
“Right there!” you tell him, clenching your eyes shut.
“Be a good girl for me and try not to be too loud,” Wonwoo warns. “I’d hate for anyone to walk in on this.”
You’d kind of forgotten that you’re in a math classroom at your old high school during a reunion. It’s not like people are roaming the halls, but if Sumi were to come looking for you, or even Seungcheol…
You shiver at the idea of your ex walking in on this. There’s something so exciting about exhibitionism with Wonwoo, especially in a classroom that holds so much history for the two of you.
His palm makes contact with your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, whimpering desperately.
“Good girl,” Wonwoo praises you, and your core throbs from his words.
His lips find yours again, and you kiss him eagerly, wiggling your hips to grind against his hand while he works you up.
He definitely knows how to use his fingers, and each targeted stroke of your G-spot takes you closer to the edge.
Your heart is racing in your chest, your mind is fuzzy with lust, and your body is beginning to feel like it’s swelling with pleasure.
Your whimpers are muffled by the meeting of your lips, but as your orgasm approaches, you break the kiss. “Wonwoo,” you whimper, stroking the nape of his neck and looking into his eyes. “Please.”
“You can cum for me,” he assures you. “I’m not into orgasm denial.”
You can’t help but laugh, but your giggle quickly turns into another moan as he finger fucks you even harder.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Wonwoo tells you. “I want to see you cum.”
You bite your bottom lip, trying to force your eyes to stay open even as your orgasm builds. You continue to wiggle your hips, grinding against his palm while his fingers coax you to the edge.
Finally, you can’t hold back anymore, and your orgasm slams into you. Your back arches, lips parting as a cry escapes you. Your pussy clamps down on Wonwoo’s fingers, your entire body flooded with pleasure. With curled toes and muscles that are screaming, you do your best to keep your eyes open, your attention fixed on his handsome nerd, who seems to know exactly what to do to make you feel ecstasy in a way no other man has.
“That’s it,” Wonwoo grins, watching you closely. “You’re such a pretty girl when you cum on my fingers.”
Another wave of pleasure erupts at his words, and you twitch, core absolutely throbbing as he continues to work you through your orgasm.
As your high subsides, Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy. You watch with bated breath as he licks them clean, groaning sinfully. Then, he grabs the back of your neck, drawing your lips to his so you can taste yourself on his tongue.
You reach between your bodies, cupping his cock as it presses against his pants.
“Fuck me,” you instruct. “I need you.”
“If you only knew how many years I waited to hear you say that…” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath. “This is going better than I expected… I didn’t bring protection-”
“I’m on birth control,” you laugh. “And I’m assuming we’re both clean.”
“As a whistle,” he confirms
God, he’s so stupidly adorable.
You lean forward, letting your lips ghost past his ear as you whisper, “Then fuck me.”
“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”
Wonwoo reaches for his belt, and the two of you make quick work of it. Then you push his pants and underwear down.
“I’m not usually a fan of clothes on sex,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and pushing your panties to the side. “So you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”
Wonwoo laughs, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a pump. “I’m not usually a fan of exhibitionism,” he muses. “So I guess we’re both outside of our wheelhouse tonight.”
“It’s worth it,” you insist as he lines his tip up with your core. “And it feels grossly fitting that this is where we’re having our first time.”
“Grossly fitting?” he prompts as he pushes into you.
“Yeah, sex on a desk in a math classroom, we’re being delinquents,” you groan, falling back against the table as inch after inch of cock invades your most sensitive area.
“I guess so,” Wonwoo chuckles, fully sheathing himself inside of you.
You let out a sigh of relief, loving the full feeling. Wonwoo isn’t the thickest cock you’ve ever had inside of you, but he’s long, and he’s curved slightly, his tip nudging against a sensitive spot that makes your toes curl.
“Fuck,” you whimper, lifting your dress so you can reach down and rub your clit. Your body jolts, still sensitive, but fuck, it feels good, and you can tell Wonwoo likes the way your core clenches around him because he releases a groan.
“You feel amazing,” Wonwoo tells you.
“I’ll feel even better when you start to move,” you counter, feeling cheeky and desperate.
Wonwoo laughs. “You got it, pretty girl.”
He grabs your hips, anchoring you to the table so he can begin to fuck you.
His cock glides against your inner walls deliciously, and you close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wooden table with a soft thunk. You continue to rub your clit, muscles twitching at the pleasure that’s already beginning to blossom inside of you again.
His pace increases, and your whimpers fill the classroom. Your free hand moves to grab your own breast through your dress, and you hear Wonwoo let out a shuddery breath.
He’s bewitched by you, and it makes you feel powerful, alive, in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time.
You open your eyes and look up at him, loving the rosy tint to his cheeks. His tie is loose, and he looks frazzled in the sexiest possible way.
You rub your clit harder, your core squeezing Wonwoo like a vice as you work yourself closer to the edge, loving each drag of his cock inside your core.
“Just like that,” you tell him, biting your bottom lip to focus on the pleasure.
“You gonna cum for me again, gorgeous?” Wonwoo lets out a half-chuckle, but you can see the effort he’s putting in to remaining composed.
“If you’re lucky,” you tease.
“If I’m lucky,” Wonwoo repeats, his pace slowing as he shakes his head. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”
He pulls out of you suddenly, and you squeak as he drags you off the table, flipping you so your back is to him. Then he pushes your upper body onto the desk, dropping your panties to your knees and lifting the skirt of your dress to slide back into your core again.
“Try to be cheeky again, I dare you,” he says, his breath hot against your bare shoulders.
You shiver, wobbling a little in your high heels, but his hands on your hips pin you to the desk. “I’ll be good,” you promise, loving the dominance that’s radiating off of him.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Wonwoo lets up a little, allowing you to slip your hand between your thighs again. It’s an awkward position, your arm pressed between your body and the table, the fabric of your dress a mess, but you manage to rub your clit again, and you both groan desperately.
“I want to cum with you,” you tell him, loving the feeling of the cool wood against your hot cheek.
“That can be arranged.”
Dominant, confident, and oddly formal in a very sexy way… this is crazy.
He begins to rut into you again, but this time, you know he’s not holding anything back. Your hips repeatedly push against the edge of the table, and it hurts a little, but there’s pleasure in the pain, pleasure in the knowledge that Wonwoo is coming completely undone.
He’s groaning more now, and the sounds are music to your ears, egging you on to rub your clit harder, to chase the orgasm that he’s clearly on the brink of.
“Don’t stop,” you whimper, clenching your eyes shut, your muscles tight and ready-
Wonwoo suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you unfulfilled,” he tells you. “Now cum on my cock, pretty girl.”
His words are the last prompt you need, and your pussy explodes around him, throbbing desperately while your guttural moans fill the classroom.
Wonwoo lets out his own groan, his thrusts becoming erratic. You feel him filling you up, his cock throbbing deep inside of you as your walls milk him for every drop that he’s worth.
Your heart is racing in your chest, and you struggle slightly, which is when he releases your hair, allowing you to collapse against the cool table again.
His hands find your hips, and his motions stop.
You lay there, your upper body flopped on the desk, while you both recollect yourselves.
Finally, Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I got a bit rough at the end there.”
“No, I liked it,” you assure him.
“Usually, if we were in my own home, I’d clean you up in the shower, and give you proper aftercare-”
“We’re at a reunion, and I’m not planning on showering in the girls' locker room by the gym, no worries,” you laugh.
“I have a penthouse suite at a hotel nearby,” Wonwoo continues. “How about we say our goodbyes to everyone, and I take you back with me.”
He pulls out of you carefully, lifting your panties back into place as you begin to feel his cum dripping out of you.
“You did promise to fuck me without our clothes on.”
“Without the exhibitionism,” Wonwoo agrees with a laugh.
“Let’s do it,” you decide. “We live in different cities now, and even if it’s just for tonight… let’s make the most of it.”
“I hope it’s not just for tonight,” Wonwoo chuckles awkwardly, helping you off the table. “But let's talk about that later, there’s no rush.”
It’s interesting, there hadn’t been a rush for ten years, but the moment you saw him tonight, you wanted things to speed up. He may say there’s no time constraint on considering a future after this, but your mind is already spinning with possibilities. You feel like a love-struck teenager again, but now, you’re not as naive as you once were.
It will be interesting to see where tonight leads, but you suppose you just have to be patient. You waited ten years, one more night to figure things out won’t hurt you.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This fic kind of gave Sapiosexual vibes with the whole smart businessman thing. Killed me to make Seungcheol a bully but it had to be done for plot!
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🔮 preview. His thumb finds your clit, and you throw your head back, spreading your legs wider for Wonwoo. There’s nothing remotely alluring or seductive about the numbers he’s spitting out aggressively on the phone, but his voice just does something to you, and as always, he knows how to use his fingers.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral (pussy eating & blow job), handjob, exhibitionism, foreplay, foreplay while Wonwoo is on an important phone call, dirty talk, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, praise, etc… I petnames. (hers) pretty girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 130
🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
Some days you wake up and wonder if you’re still dreaming. You’ve been with Wonwoo for two years now, and life has changed in the most magical of ways. As much as you enjoyed being a successful woman who didn’t need a man, becoming aligned with Wonwoo has shown you that sometimes, having a partner who is equally - if not more driven - than you are, can be the biggest blessing.
You live with him in his swanky house, and he supports you as you build your career as a reporter in San Fransico. He’s still the CEO of his own company, and you both pour yourselves into work, which fulfills both of your spirits and allows you to be your best selves when you’re together at home.
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morning highs (cs)
summary ⇾ mornings are usually your favorite (because there's san).
details ⇾ 404 words / choi san x female!reader (established relationship) / domestic fluff
notes ⇾ no notes, just a bit of choi san lovin'!
[🥄 masterlist]
the morning is quiet, the sheets are cold and the sunlight is just enough to get san to peel his eyes open as he comes to wake. his arm instinctively reaches out, and is immediately disappointed when he doesn't feel you next to him. he half-haphazardly sits up with a huff, eyes still somewhat glued shut with muscle memory of the house layout guiding him out of the bedroom.
he takes tiny shuffles, occasionally putting his hand out to make sure he doesn't bump into anything. it's only until his feet reaches the cold tiles of the kitchen that he opens his eyes and is already smiling when he sees–"g'morning handsome. i was just gonna get back to you,"
before you can make a move, he's already on you.
"how could you leave me..." he mumbles, latching himself onto you as he curls his arms around you; his bare chest pressed your back but he's already radiating warmth with the only barrier between your bodies is his boxers lining his hips and the thin material of your night dress. chuckling, you put your cup of tea down to the counter, so you would have two hands free to rub along his forearms around your waist.
"it's just the start of the day and i already did something wrong?" you chuckle, palms smoothening on his skin. you feel him shaking his head against your back, squeezing your waist.
"mm..." you feel him sighing as he moves his head to rest in the nook of your neck, "you can do no wrong..."
you nuzzle your head against his, as much as you can feel it. you can hear him smiling, and then you feel it when he kisses your shoulder.
the kitchen is quiet apart from the sounds of both of your calm breaths and light movement of your hands rubbing along his arms. then, higher up for you to feel his hair as you reach up with a small smile. it makes your heart swell in delight when he stays like that, unmoving but he's occasionally planting kisses every now and then. it's the kind of bliss that makes you feel happy; in the littlest of things, in the silence, in the highs of being... just being here with him.
and in san's silence, with the way he's holding onto you, just like this, he knows that you know he feels the same.
𝐅𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 — 𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔.
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; Headcanons on how I think Yeosang would be as a fake boyfriend.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Fakeboyfriend!Yeosang x Fem!Reader.
☆ — 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 328. ☆ — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Smut + Fluff. ☆ — 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Fantasizing, porn is mentioned, jerking off intended, alcohol consumption, kissing, restraining, dry humping, whimpering, and cumming in pants.
♡ — 𝐕𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ; @kissmatz @eggielix @miisanthropology @liaaaafixofff @chanscappuccino @eunseoksgirl @threepointstogryffindor @fixon-min @groovyravenagain send a ask to be added or removed!
A/N — Really not even worth reading, ts is so butt 💔. My brain juice has ran out.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who started out as distant and uninterested, just to end up constantly checking his phone for your notifications.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who tells his friends that he hates you, just to end up laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling all night simply because he caught a wiff of your perfume.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who catches himself randomly staring at you whenever you hangout, using the excuse of ‘I zoned out’ whenever you question him about it.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who takes you on random dates, saying ‘we have to do it or people won’t believe it.’ But he knows deep down he just wants to spend all of his paycheck on you.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who seeks out your approval for things, even if it’s something as minimal of what color he should buy.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who has his notes app filled of random things about you, starting from your birthday all the way down to your favorite novel author.
— “It was a dare.” “I know, I was there when it was discussed.” “But I do admit I found myself in love with you..”
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who can’t get horny at watching porn, or even thinking of other women. But the mere thought of you, even just your name. Would make him cum until he cried.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who got so drunk that he ended up at your house, and the moment you opened the door he kissed you.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who lets his need for you take over and backs you up against the wall, pinning your wrists so you don’t try to push him away.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who uses his free hand to hike your leg up around his waist so he can grind his bulge against you.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who tries his best to not moan, but fails miserably and end ups whimpering in your ear from the friction.
Fakeboyfriend!yeosang who chants ‘love you’ over and over as he cums inside his pants.
one night, one party, two men.
🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 5/? 9.4k words 🎤︎︎ 18+ reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore | smut minors dni oral f!receiving, dirty talk, lots of kissing, fingering, multiple orgasms, thigh riding, Other Sex Happening™. we're getting somewhere. hi yunho
YOU’VE DECIDED YOU AND UNSCRIPTED are no longer two separate people. Tonight, right now, in the bedroom at the very end of the frat’s dimly lit hallway, Unscripted is with you. She is you, she’s a very real part of you, not a figment of your imagination or an alter-ego. She’s been you the whole time, banging on the steel beams of her cage, waiting to be let out, to be put to use.
Tonight was supposed to be about overcoming change, about listening to your instincts, your desires. It was about becoming the truest version of yourself, unabashed, shameless, letting all of your walls down and demolishing every filter. It’s impossible to build her level of confidence within minutes, to rework your mind, to step into her shoes, but you’ve got plenty of vodka inside of you and a man who just begged to get his head between your legs. Close enough.
You’ve barely got the door behind you before Wooyoung presses his lips to yours. Your brows lift high, hands reaching for his chest, back flat against the wooden door behind you, you were expecting at least a short conversation first. Maybe a small discussion on how this actually goes. You suppose he isn’t the type to need one, he already knows how this goes, he does it on a daily basis.
“Wait, wait,” you push on his chest, but all it really does is push you farther into the door. “That’s it? You just bring me in here and start making out with me?”
Panting, his brows furrow, hands lowering where they’d taken root on your hips. “Yes? What else is there to do?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug your shoulders, arms stretching on either side of you. “Talk about it? I don’t want anyone to know you went down on me.”
“I’m so gross and nasty that no one can know you hooked up with me?” he teases, amusement in his eyes. “I won’t tell anyone, Virgin. It’s just a favor, a one-time thing.”
So close, you’ve never noticed his eyes are two different sizes, like the angel and devil on his shoulders control each half of him. His eyes that are usually a warm, glazed amber are deepened to a woody, husky brown, but still soft, not impatient, not brash.
“Okay,” you blink, swallowing. “I’ve never hooked up with anyone before. Every guy I’ve ever fucked was my boyfriend, longterm.”
“If you don’t want to do this, then we don’t do it,” he says honestly. Then he grins like he just remembered, “I’ve got another appointment after this, anyway.”
Your skin burns, cheeks flaming, the tips of your ears threatening to melt your skull. You should hate each word he just said, you should hate that he’s fucking someone after he hooks up with you, but part of you finds it reassuring. That this, whatever was about to happen, was casual. A one time thing. A favor. Something inside you enjoys that you’re taking precedence, though, that he was putting off his own pleasure to tend to yours first.
“No,” you shake your head, certain. Despite the slight discomfort, the newness of it all, you’ve already imagined how this goes, you’ve already pictured his head between your legs. “I want to do this.”
He nods, eyes dancing over your features, you can only assume he’s checking to see if there’s any part of you that physically doesn’t want him. But he won’t find any proof in your quickly rising chest, the flush on your skin, your dilated eyes.
“Good,” he whispers, leaning close to you again, so close his lips brush yours. “Because I really want to see how fast I can make you cum.”
His lips meet yours again, hands heavier on your hips now, using his grip on your shorts to push you flat against the door. You gasp, hands finding purchase on his shoulders, balancing yourself on your tippy toes to reach his mouth.
He uses your parted lips to push his tongue past, and his rhythm, not frantic, controlled in a way that makes you feel how badly he wants this, how badly he wants you. You don’t know if anyone has ever kissed you like this, with such purpose, intent behind it that wasn’t half-assed. If you have, it’s been a long, long time.
He explores your mouth like he could get lost in it, hands sliding up to your waist, tucking beneath your top, hands roaming your skin just to feel. He dips down below your chin, lips pressing along your jaw and your head falls backward, hitting the door with a thump. Neither of you pay any mind, especially not as he shifts his hips, slotting one of his legs between yours, trapping you between him and the door, lining you up with his thigh.
You choke on a whimper, hips instinctively twitching against him.
“Yes,” he encourages, his breath hot on your neck, one of his hands finding purchase in the hair at the back of your neck. “Do it again.”
You roll your hips again and heat spreads like wildfire, stimulation bubbling inside your gut, reaching each nerve ending. Even through your shorts, his pants, your clit catches mercifully against the fabric, forcing a staggered sound of pleasure from your throat.
One hand hits the door behind you, nails clawing at the wood while the other reaches for his hair, fingers tangling in his roots. His lips move softly, rhythmically down your neck, never once moving his strong thigh, never twitching, never shifting.
“Use me,” he whispers into your neck, breath cooling the area where his mouth had just been. “Do whatever feels right.”
Your hand that’s in his roots pulls. He groans, head tipping back, dark eyebrows knitting together, his face so blown out in pleasure it makes a sharp noise escape your chest. Your eyes widen, silencing yourself with your lips smacking shut and he’s quick to shake his head no.
“Let me hear you,” he leans in close again, teeth grazing your jawline, making your hips snap against his thigh. “Wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make.”
“Wooyoung,” you arch into him, fingers tightening in his hair again. “Oh my god.”
You get it now— he’s barely done anything and you get it now. There’s an air about him, or maybe his saliva is laced with heroin, but the moment his hands touched your body something inside you relaxed. He’s never been shy about how much he loves sex, and you personally know six women who have had nothing but good things to say about his skills, all of which you’ve ignored because it never pertained to you, you never cared. Now, experiencing it for yourself, with all of your clothes still on your fucking body, you understand.
He smiles into your skin, you can feel the stretch of his lips, his teeth against your neck. He reaches for the hem of your top, lifting it upward, folding it over your bra, and takes a second to explore the stretch of skin across your stomach, the indent of your spine with his hands.
“So soft,” he murmurs, then pulls away, taking a good look at you, eyes zeroing in on your chest. “Damn, you’ve been hiding these.”
Your cheeks burn, you ignore how badly you want to cross your arms over your chest. “Shut up.”
“What?” His eyes find yours again, a smirk on his lips. “I can’t appreciate?”
“If you’re gonna use your mouth, use it between my legs, not to speak,” your back arches again, impatience radiating off of you.
“There she is,” he smiles all teeth, eyes flaring with amusement, thumbs tucking into your shorts. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me.”
“I’ve been here, just waiting for you to do something that actually feels good,” you quip, rolling your hips toward him.
He chokes on a punched, disbelieving laugh. “Right. Sure.”
He doesn’t fumble with the laces of your shorts, quickly untying them, you arch your back off the door to help him get them down your thighs. He sinks to his knees, lifting one of your legs to shimmy your boot out of your shorts, leaving them hooked around the other one.
Looking upward, his brows tie in, letting out a long, groaned, “Fuuck.” He meets your eye again to taunt, “You soaked through your panties, baby. Thought you said you were waiting for me to do something that actually feels good?”
“Shut up already, fuck,” you hiss, bending yourself toward him, itching for him to finally touch you where you need him. As much as he had to convince you to get you in here, the tables have turned too quickly for your liking.
His fingers dance along your skin, up the backs of your thighs until he throws one of your legs over his shoulder. Looking down at him, he keeps your eye while he presses his mouth softly to your inner thigh, then another one, inching closer, then another one, so close you could feel his breath on your underwear.
“Stop fucking teasing,” you nearly whine, voice raw with impatience, and the leg that’s over his shoulder begins to shake. The anticipation is eating you alive, it’s right where he wants you.
He laughs to himself before planting his final kiss over your panties, at the apex of your thighs, directly above your clit. You whimper, the knee holding you steady threatening to buckle. His other hand softly lands over it, holding it straight. He smirks, “How am I gonna eat you out if you can’t even stand up straight?”
Your chin tilts toward the ceiling, eyes closing, a harsh breath escaping your lungs, a whine wanting to crawl up your throat. “Please,” you mumble, without looking at him.
His tone is taunting as he asks, “What was that?”
“Please,” you whine this time, back pushing off the door, rolling your hips toward him. You look down again and he’s wearing a shit-eating grin like he’s proud of his ability to get you in this state, begging for him.
He presses another kiss over your panties, this one perfectly over your clit. A verbal breath escapes you, a soft noise of pleasure. Then his tongue pokes out from between his lips, and he licks a stripe over the fabric, along the seam of your center.
“Fuck.” You twitch like a livewire, hands reaching for his hair, fingers tightening in his roots. “More, take them off, Wooyoung.”
His hand that was holding your knee reaches upward, tugging the thin fabric covering you to the side. He groans at the sight— a true, full-chested, shameless fucking groan.
“So pretty,” he whispers, not even looking up at you, and it’s all he says before he leans forward, sticking his tongue out to collect every ounce of wetness from bottom to top.
Your fingers curl in his hair, hips bucking toward his face, a moan just as shameless ripping from your lungs. Both of his hands go to your thighs, your panties tucked away, he flattens out his tongue to lick over your clit.
“Yes,” you nod, jaw dropped, holding his eye as he softly but intentionally flicks at your clit with his tongue, slowly adding more pressure, circling it just right. “S-shit, Wooyoung.”
He groans into you, fingers sinking into your thighs harder, burying his fucking face between your thighs. His tongue drops down to your entrance before licking his way back up, circling your clit, closing his lips around it, making noises that should be embarrassing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, eyes squeezing shut. There’s no testing the waters, he doesn’t need to try to figure out what you like, he uses his tongue at a perfect pace with perfect rhythm like he already knows how your body works.
He lifts your leg off his shoulder, stretching you wider, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking harshly. Your toes curl in your boots, a shrill sound piercing through the room, hands leaving his hair to find the door again, clawing at it, needing to find purchase in something, anything— it feels too fucking good, and it’s too fucking soon for your stomach to be filling with warmth. Your moans heighten in pitch, breath heavier, the leg hanging from his strong arm shaking like a fucking leaf, it would be mortifying how quickly he’s pulling you to the edge if you weren’t so focused on how good it feels.
With your shoulderblades against the door you roll your hips into him and he meets your movement like he expects it. You watch with lips pried open, and then experimentally roll them again, and he follows your hips with his lips suctioned to your clit. Holding you steady, he watches you while your hips pick up speed, grinding yourself against his face like he was only there for you to use. His eyelids flutter, dilated pupils beneath them like he was enjoying every second of it, like the whole reason he kept you against the door was so you would ride his face.
“You want me to fuck your face?” you ask, breathless, then you hiss a strangled moan when he nods his head, his nose bumping against your clit. “F-fuck, do that again, do that again.”
Shameless moans and staggered breaths pour from your lips in symphony, fingers back in his roots as he nods his head in rhythm with your hips, his nose hitting your clit perfectly with every stroke. The warmth in your stomach amplifies, abdomen clenching, both of your legs shaking now, your breath catching in your throat.
He doesn’t stop, nor does he speed up, he keeps the same pace, the same rhythm, you think he can taste your fucking orgasm, it’s so close. You don’t want it to be over, you don’t want to finish but you have no choice with his hands on your body and his nose sliding over your clit.
Euphoria looms, muscles growing taught, you swear your heart stills in your chest before your orgasm hits like a tidal wave. Your back launches off the wall, curses flying off your tongue, you ride his face like it’s yours and he eats you through it, never once faltering.
You don’t know how you missed his hands leaving your thighs, the movement was lost somewhere in nirvana, but as one hand travels behind his tongue, two fingers slipping inside you, your body ignites all over again.
“No,” you whisper, voice shaky beyond belief, eyes wider than saucers. The pleasure was too much, your orgasm hasn’t properly ended yet and his fingers curl perfectly, pressing, massaging against your walls. You’re shaking your head in panic as you stammer, “W-Wooyoung, I can’t– I’m not–”
He finally pulls back for air, his chin soaked in you, eyes hazy. “Give me one more, baby, you can do it again. One more.”
Your legs are shaking, knee threatening to buckle, wobbling where you stand. The rest of you is rigid, high off euphoria, stuck somewhere between foreplay and post-orgasm bliss. “I can’t!” you shriek, hips twitching beyond control, your breath staggered, body in fight or flight. “It’s too much.”
His fingers pump into you steadily, curling into your walls, he gives you only a moment of reprieve before his tongue is poking out between his lips again.
“F-fuck you,” you grit out as his tongue flicks at your clit, and it makes him smile. The pleasure hurts, overstimulation bleeding into something hot. “You’re– you’re s-such a– fucking asshole– ah!”
The last word is broken by a sharp moan, stars blinding your vision, another orgasm creeping up too quickly for you to breathe. You could shift tectonic plates with how hard you’re shaking, nails surely leaving crescents in the door behind you, your eyes squeeze tight with your jaw pried open as he brings you close to the edge for the second time.
“I’m g-gonna, I’m gonna cum,” you manage to get out, and it’s the last reserve of air in your chest before another orgasm rocks through you. He must be able to tell that you’re legitimately about to cry, because lets you come down slowly, slipping his fingers out of you after pressing one last kiss to your swollen, buzzing clit.
You deflate into the door, chest heaving, legs still shaking hard enough to shake the entire house. He takes time kissing your thighs after lowering your leg to the floor, your knees, hands roaming your skin, laughing under his breath when your legs don’t let up.
“Why are you laughing?” you finally croak, running a hand through your hair.
“I think you should sit,” he looks up at you through his brows, pride in his grin, his chin still soaked. “I’m scared that if you try to walk, you’ll fall.”
“Don’t look so smug about it,” you mutter but reach for his shoulders anyway, lowering yourself down to the floor slowly. Around the mid-way point you feel the loss of strength, but you’d rather die than fall in front of him, so you let your nails sink into his shoulders instead.
He sucks in a sharp breath, but reaches for your hips, not touching but holding his hands out, just in case you tumble. You land softly with your knees spread, boots sprawled out behind you, and you quickly reach for your underwear, moving them back into place, then slide your top back over your bra.
Looking up at an uncharacteristically quiet Wooyoung, his eyes are glued between your legs as he sits back on his calves. Heat spreads, shame, need, you aren’t sure. “I’m not fucking you,” you remind him.
“I know,” he nods, eyes sliding back up to yours. He licks his bottom lip, his chin, “Just taking one last look so I can remember the time I ate virgin pussy.”
Your jaw drops as you reach forward to smack his arm, “I am not a fucking virgin!”
“Not anymore,” he smirks, wiping the rest of you off his chin with his thumb. “Everyone’s a virgin before me.”
“I can’t believe I just let you do that,” your palms find your face, shame spreading. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
“Disgusting, maybe, but skilled? Absolutely,” he teases, voice playful. He sucks on his thumb, and then the two fingers that were inside you before musing, “I just made you cum twice and you thank me with insults?”
“Why should I thank you?” You rip your hands from your face that’s scrunched up in revolted confusion. “You asked, and I let you. You should be thanking me.”
“Fair,” he nods, bottom lip folded over. “Thank you for letting me eat your pussy.” Oh, your ears fucking burn. His head tilts back like he’s daydreaming, “Taste so sweet, coulda eaten her for hours. Same time next week?”
This can’t be real. He can’t be real. You shake your head, pushing yourself up from the floor, “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
“Boring,” he frowns, uncurling his legs from beneath him, his arms stretching behind him. He watches as you try to shove your shaky leg through your pant leg, “You sure you don’t want another one as a parting gift?”
There’s a pang in your gut, arousal mixing with shame, an ugly cocktail prickling at your skin. “Please forget this ever happened,” you look at him earnestly while lacing up your shorts. “This never happened. Okay?”
“Whatever you say, Virgin,” his head falls to his shoulder, cocky amusement radiating off him. “Remember this the next time you have sex and he doesn’t play with you first. Remember how easy it was for me to get you begging.”
Right. He had a point to make, something to prove, and he did. With you. Easily. The words send butterflies swarming through your stomach, a firework show of sparks up your spine and you fucking hate it, how easy it was for him, how easy it was for you to let go. You don’t answer, you reach for the door handle behind you and rip it open instead, he has someone else to fuck tonight. Another name to scratch off his list.
You can’t believe your name is one of them.
Your heart is pounding against your chest as you walk down the hallway, thighs still trembling, you think adrenaline and shame might be the only things keeping you upright. Your ex boyfriend is upstairs, and you just came twice on another man’s face. Wooyoung’s fucking face. Reaching for the handle at the end of the hallway, you let out a verbal sound of frustration before pulling it open.
This should feel liberating. People your age do this every single day, casual sex is normal, but it’s not normal for you. You thought that you could step into Unscripted’s shoes for a night, you thought the two of you might be one person, but you were wrong. This doesn’t feel good. Maybe you chose the wrong person, maybe if you had hooked up with someone else you’d feel better, possibly even proud of yourself for letting go of the strict rules you made for yourself.
Doubtful. You’re a relationship girl for a reason, hooking up with someone you have no ties to just feels… hollow. But that’s how you felt every time you slept with Yeonjun, too.
When was the last time your blood boiled with so much arousal?
You can feel it in your fingertips, mixed with the anger, the shame, you can feel your body itching for more. His fingers inside you, they were enough to make you finish, but they weren’t enough to fill you.
You bee-line for the bar, you need something to take the edge off. Ignoring the naked people on the couch, you refuse to look to see what the fuck they’re doing now, you walk behind the bar and grab a bottle of vodka, pouring at least three shots into a crystal glass. Your fingers are trembling, breath short, body tight with stress. What if people find out? What if your friends find out, all of who have already fucked him? No, he promised not to tell anyone, and you most certainly won’t tell a soul. You take a long sip from the glass, almost choking on the taste, the burn, but it’s necessary.
You need to stop the panic before it spreads. Is the feeling really anxiety about what you’ve done, or is it just terrifying that a man actually took care of you for maybe the first time in your life? He did exactly what he said he was going to, without expectation of more, and made you feel better than anyone has ever made you feel. Your thighs are still fucking trembling and you didn’t even have sex.
The way he looked up at you, the way he purred so pretty… you send the rest of the glass of vodka back and your body racks a full shiver. That wasn’t about you, that was about proving a point. It wasn’t about you. But is that even possible? Can someone really put that much effort into pleasing a partner if it isn’t about them?
You leave the glass on the bar, making your way through the basement, ignoring the smoke and the people and the laughter and the sound of ping-pong balls bouncing. You’re wearing your shame like a cloak, keeping your head down as you walk up the staircase, back into the screaming living room vibrating with bass. The music has since shifted to house, a bright beat, accompanied by lights and bodies and a maze you need to push through.
All you’ve had is long-term boyfriends, but none of them have made you feel a fraction of what you felt in that room. In that room, you felt wanted, needed, you felt so fucking sexy. Like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered, your body an instrument to be played, he was on his fucking knees to coax you to orgasm. You can’t remember the last time Yeonjun laid down on the bed to attempt to make you cum.
You need to get out of here before you go back down there.
Wooyoung hears your scoff of frustration at the end of the hallway, and he can’t help the way it makes him laugh. Head tipping back, he laughs from his chest, because that’s the only reaction he could have imagined you to have. You just came on his face twice, yet you’re still stuck in your eternal irritation.
He picks himself up, makes sure there’s nothing on his shirt, then leaves the room. He plays eeny-meeny-miny-moe on the doors, then pushes the one he lands on open. To his surprise, not only is he right, but she’s still there, sprawled out across the bed, playing on her phone.
Her head whips toward the door, smiling, turning on her side when she sees him, “Finally. You’re lucky I didn’t leave.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He shoots her an apologetic smile, closing the door behind him. “Had to take care of something real quick.”
“Take care of me,” she whines, throwing her phone across the bed, sinking deeper into the mattress, legs prying open. “You promised.”
If his dick wasn’t already rock fucking hard, then it would have jumped at the sight. It still jumps, pressing against his nylon briefs, begging to be let out of his jeans. His hands go to the neck of his tee, tugging it over his head, throwing it at the end of the bed as he walks toward her. “You know I will, baby.”
He can’t kiss her yet, he knows he can’t. So he pulls her by her ankles to the edge of the bed, unbuttons her denim shorts, and kneels.
He meant it, everything he said to you about this being for his pleasure, something he enjoys. You thought he was bluffing, lying, but this is where he loves to be. Of service, on his knees, hearing the sweet song of pleasure that’s like a hymnal in his honor, he adores it. Gets off on it.
Except he’s not hearing it, because he’s too busy thinking. He uses his hand, making her arch, her cries louder, borderline pornographic, he grinds his hips against his jeans, or tries to, he’s starved. He works harder, not in the mood to drag it out, he stills his mind, his body, working at the same pace, using the same pressure until she’s clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking on either side of his head.
“Wanna ride you.” She stops him with a hand on his chest as he crawls over her, and who would he be if he denied a woman of anything? So he lays down beside her, grabs his wallet from his pocket before he shimmies his jeans down his legs, and rolls the condom from his wallet onto his cock.
She watches like she wasn’t expecting it. But Wooyoung’s had too many experiences, made too many mistakes to not at least put on a fucking rubber.
It’s routine, the dirty talk, his hands on her body. It’s a rhythm, the way she bounces, how his hips snap upward to meet her. It’s a dance, lips, tongues, hands, angles and stretches, the background music cries, moans, grunts, curse words filling the air.
He wonders if you regret it. You didn’t stay– part of him thought, maybe part of him hoped you would ask for more. That you were curious if he could use his cock as well as he used his mouth. It wasn’t the plan to make you cum twice, but the first one was too quick, and the second was even quicker, he felt like he was in that room for ten minutes, tops.
He isn’t finished after he fills up the first condom, and to his satisfaction, neither is she. On all fours, Wooyoung behind her, his hands on her hips, fingers sliding up her spine, taking root in her extensions, it was like he had an itch he couldn’t scratch.
It really was like looking up with a virgin. How timid you were in the beginning before you finally gave in, losing yourself to the pleasure, the way you shook with relief, euphoria… he’ll see that in his dreams tonight. He thinks that’s what has him hooked; knowing what he could do, a physical proof of his own skills.
At a ninety-degree angle, he feels like he’s piercing her. She wails, nails clawing into the bedsheets, toes curling, legs lifting to kick at his thighs, he gets proof of his skills every other day. She clenches around his cock a second time, and he focuses on following, brows furrowed, hips angled.
After tying the second condom and throwing it in the trash, he’s beat. She throws her clothes back on and kisses him goodbye, and it dawns on him that he never got her name. Shame. She was a pretty good fuck. He stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting his chest rise and fall until it evens out. He still feels like the scratch isn’t itched, he doesn’t know if his balls have more to spill, or if it doesn’t have to do with sex at all. Did he turn in his assignment before he left the house?
He finds his jeans, pulling out his phone, and on top of the bed, butt-ass naked, he scrolls. He finds your profile after some digging, but he doesn’t follow you, and you’re private. He clicks follow, the button turning to requested, and then he wonders if you’re still at the party. Maybe you re-thought your decision, and were curious about what else he can do with his hands or his mouth. He could probably make you cum without even touching your cute little clit.
He dresses himself, then passes the series of half-opened doors, those who didn’t mind people who took a step inside and watched the show. The same people who were on the couch, fully having sex now, those that Wooyoung can’t judge because he’s been one of those people his sophomore year. With his hands in his pockets, he makes his way upstairs, and it’s too cloudy, too loud, the multicolored lights too blinding for him to make out any faces at all.
Oh, well. He’ll try to find at least one of the guys from his frat, instead.
His walk is pointless until he finds San, currently taking a body shot off of a new round of women in the kitchen. He’s shirtless now, and Wooyoung isn’t sure if the sheen on his skin is from sweat or liquor.
“Woo!” he yells, grinning wide. Definitely liquor. “You’re next!”
He looks at the island, the girl laying on her back, and his brows furrow before realization sinks in. “Yunjin?”
“Wooyoung!” she throws an arm out, manicured nails clasping around his wrist. Her top is over her bra, shorts rolled down beneath her belly button, splayed out for anyone who has eyes to see. “Pour him a shot, Sannie.”
“Is Virgin still here?” he finds himself asking, doing his best to sound curious without any ulterior motives. “I mean– your roommate.”
“Nooo.” Yunjin pouts, shaking her head. “She texted me that she wasn’t feeling well, so she went home. Why do you call her that? She’s not even a virgin.”
Wooyoung shrugs, “Close enough.”
Yunjin thins her eyes. “You’re rude.”
“And you’re drunk,” he argues back. “Enjoy Sannie tonight.”
“I will!” she calls after him, and he’s sure none of them watch as he turns, heading for the living room which is a fucking maze, but it’s the only way to the front door. He drank, he fucked, he’s over it. He’s ready to lay his head down and go to sleep– after making sure he turned his assignment in.
He slips through bodies, going through his usual motions. Winking, scouting for next time, making promises he may or may not keep, all of them pretty, all of them hammered. It skeeves him, the idea of hooking up with some piss-drunk girl who won’t remember his name tomorrow. When he fucks, he’s remembered, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
He finds Mingi lounging on a couch by the door. His hair is a little fucked up, most likely by the girl he’s sitting next to, pretty, olive-toned. Wooyoung recognizes her, and it’s for reasons Mingi wouldn’t enjoy hearing if he's planning on getting laid.
“Hey, baby.” He shoots a wink to the dark-haired woman, then looks at Mingi. “Yunho still here?”
“Oh my god, scandalous.” Mingi’s eyes flare with excitement. “Guess who he went home with?” Wooyoung shrugs, as if to say tell me, I guess. “Virgin.”
Wooyoung’s jaw drops. Mingi laughs, “I know, scandalous, right? He’s had a thing for her since the cuff party.”
“Like, went home together, as in they’re fucking right now?” Wooyoung asks, head shaking in disbelief.
Mingi shrugs, “That’s what it seemed like, I don’t know.”
“Ain’t no way,” Wooyoung laughs under his breath. “Good for her. Didn’t think she had it in her.”
He doesn’t really believe it. There’s no way that you have four bodies in total, and you not only hooked up with Wooyoung tonight, but you’re also hooking up with Yunho. There’s just no way. It’s too out of character, too bold, too… un-virgin-like. He’s going to have to think up a new nickname.
“I’m heading out.” He dips his chin toward Mingi, reaching out a hand for the older man to clasp. “See you.”
He doesn’t wait for Mingi’s returning see you before he turns again, the area around the front door sparse, less bodies, more space to walk through. He doesn’t spot Yeosang’s SUV where he parked it along the street, and he wonders if you and Yunho took it back to the house with the rest of them.
“Need a ride?” He hears from feet away, a woman’s voice, one he knows.
Minatozaki Sana. He grins, skipping toward the SUV her head was hanging out of, realizing too late that it’s filled with people he’s had sex with. “Ladies,” he announces, nodding his head, looking in through the windows. “Seems we all have something in common.”
“Not me,” the dark-haired one says from the backseat. “Get in or don’t, I’m tired.”
Wooyoung doesn’t think twice about climbing into the backseat, sitting on the end, next to Momo. The drive is quiet for the most part, Sana focused as she drove, Nayeon in her passenger seat. In the back was the dark-haired woman, Momo, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu who was sitting on the dark-haired one’s lap. A tight squeeze, but Wooyoung has fit in tighter, like Chaeyoung, sitting beside Momo.
She pulls up at the curb of his frat, parking the car, and not a single head turns to Wooyoung. It doesn’t feel hostile, though; every woman in this car was well aware who Wooyoung is when he fucked them.
“Goodnight, ladies,” he teases as he climbs out of the passenger seat. He winks before closing the door, pointing at the tattooed, dark-haired woman in the middle, “Chae, text me later.”
The car erupts as he jogs away, and he smirks to himself, kinda wishing he could listen. He opens the front door with purpose and the living room is empty, the kitchen empty. He wonders if they’re in Yunho’s room. He doesn’t know why he’s tip-toeing up the stairs, or why he feels like he’s doing something wrong. He’s just curious.
He passes his room, tip-toeing further, praying to fucking god he doesn’t step on one of the squeaky parts of the floor. He just wants to know. He presses his back to the wall beside Yunho’s room, craning his head closer to the crack, straining to hear anything. A moan, a grunt, a whimper. Anything.
But there’s nothing.
“The fuck are you doing?”
He jumps, clasping a hand over his mouth, eyes almost falling out of their sockets. Hongjoong eyes him from across the hallway, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, completely confused.
“Nothing, fuck,” he mutters as he jumps away from Yunho’s door. “I wanted to see if he was still up.”
“No, he went back to that virgin girl’s house, the one you guys are always talking about.” He’s using his hand as he speaks, clearly annoyed like he’d just woken up. “I heard someone creeping, I thought we were getting robbed by one of your scorned hookups.”
“I don’t have any scorned hookups, asshole,” Wooyoung scoffs as he walks past him, towards his room. “They all know very well that I’m romantically unavailable.”
“Not all of them,” Hongjoong looks over his shoulder. “Trust me.”
“Virgin!”
Your brows furrow, head turning every which way in the midst of the maze, bodies surrounding you, none you recognize. It’s like a fucking nightclub and you’re in someone’s house. Can’t they get fined for this?
A hand on your wrist has you whipping around, ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off. Blonde hair greets you, sticking to his forehead, a loose tee leaving another sliver of skin before his baggy, wide-leg jeans. You yell over the music, “Do you have any shirts that fit you?”
“I like them this way!” Yunho yells back, his grin wide. “Are you okay?”
Your head tilts, brows furrowing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Your blood that was boiling minutes ago seems to settle, slowing into something calmer. The heat shifts from arousal to the comfort of vodka, a warm blanket, like a hole was drilled into your head, setting the pressure free.
He shakes his head, his shoulders relaxing. “Nothing. You look pretty.”
“Thanks, so do you,” you smile, head tilting, giddy all of the sudden. “I mean, not pretty, you look–”
“No, I’ll take it,” he cuts you off, still holding onto your wrist. “I like pretty. Yunjin was looking for you, but do you wanna dance?” You glance around to the crowd, it really is like a fucking nightclub. People are grinding, jumping to the music, like the beat was hypnotizing them all. You start to shake your head, but Yunho cuts you off, “Don’t say no.”
Your lips flatten, caught in the act. “I’m not a dancer!”
“Liar,” he yells back, his smile impossibly wider, brighter. He tugs on your wrist, dragging you further into the crowd and you giggle as if you weren’t just tweaking the fuck out. “Follow my lead.”
Finding an open spot between bodies, thighs still twitching and lacking their full strength, you follow his lead. His hips sway from side to side, and he watches as yours try to mimic his, focused. He pops a brow, “Follow my lead, don’t copy me.”
“What the fuck else does follow my lead mean?” you bark back, standing straight again, hands on your hips, unmoving.
“Your body is as stiff as your attitude,” he yells, shaking his head as he removes your hands from your hips, replacing them with his own. Your arms shoot upward, bent over your chest, eyes glued to where his hands swallow your hipbones, moving you closer to him, shifting you slightly to the side so your shoulders line up. “Now do it again.”
You bend your knees, arms lowering, eyes lifting to see him. He grins, “Try actually moving to the beat, Virgin.”
“Do you have to call me that, too?” you frown, but listen, waiting a beat to start swaying your hips again. “I’m suffering enough right now.”
“That’s what they all call you, San, Wooyoung.” Your cheeks feel hot at the sound of his name, that same burning kissing up your spine. Your back arches into the movement. Yunho grins, “There you go, you’re learning.”
Yunho’s leg between yours… if you lowered yourself just a little, you’d be transported to fifteen minutes ago, when you were grinding yourself against Wooyoung’s thigh. Is the mere mention of his name going to send you free diving into your memories for the rest of your life?
Yunho’s hands find your hips again, leaning close to your ear. “He’s here.”
“I know,” your brows furrow. I spent fifteen minutes with him in a sex room. “I saw him.”
“Is that why you stopped dancing on the counter?” Yunho pulls back, hands sliding up to your waist, keeping you moving. “Not a dancer, my ass. Who cares if he’s here? Let him see you.”
“Why would I stop because of Wooyoung?” you ask, running your hands through your hair, arching into Yunho’s touch, letting the music guide you instead.
Yunho’s brows furrow. “Wooyoung?”
Your smile is lazy, “Who else?”
“Your ex.” Yunho’s fully confused now. “Are you drunk?”
“Oh!” Your eyes blow wide, smile dropping. “Yes, yeah, I drank… I drank a lot.” Right right right, tonight started off with you worried about seeing Yeonjun. “I didn’t want to see him, it’s not that I didn’t want him to see me.”
“I saw him with another guy.” Yunho’s lips snag to one side. “Is that why you broke up?”
You nod. “Caught ‘em in bed together.”
Yunho’s jaw falls open, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say in a sigh, head tipping backward, and somewhere deep inside you, you mean it. “At least I don’t have to marry him anymore.”
Yunho laughs, his grip on your waist tighter with your head dipped backward. “You don’t want to get married?”
“When I’m old enough,” you’re smiling as you bring your head upright, reaching for Yunho’s biceps. You think the vodka might be hitting you now. “I’m not old enough yet, just wanna have fun.”
“Are you having fun now?” Yunho sounds playful, teasing. He pulls you closer to him, your abdomen against his. “Dancing?”
You bring one hand up to his neck, palm grazing his soft, sweaty skin, wondering if he’s anything like Wooyoung. Does he view sex the same way? Something casual, fun, like a hobby? If he found out that your boyfriend never cared enough to make you finish, would he get on his knees for you, too?
There’s still an ache in the pit of your stomach, space Wooyoung’s fingers had left, you want more. The thrum beneath your skin that you’re confused, maybe even disgusted by, has the wires of your brain tangled, like all the rules you made for yourself no longer exist, a wall broken down.
You nod, eyelids heavier, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Yunho’s different from Wooyoung, softer, kinder. Like he’s capable of more than one night with a woman, he’s capable of feeling, he’s interested in knowing. He looks at you like he’s curious, like there’s more to you than the girl with a boyfriend, the girl who got cheated on, the Virgin.
Wooyoung was just interested in seeing how fast he could make you finish, and Yeonjun was just interested in getting you out of his bed so Beomgyu could take your place. Yunho seems to be interested in you.
“Do you want something to… take your mind off the situation?” His cheeks turn a dusty rose color, clear under the lights that flicker white. His lips curl, “Or is dancing enough fun?”
“Is it bad if I do?” you find yourself asking. “Want a distraction?”
The distraction is for two completely separate purposes, you think.
He shakes his head, smile growing, leaning closer to you. “Is it bad that I’ve wanted to kiss you since the night of the cuff party?”
“I wish you had,” you whisper. “Trust me.”
He smiles before leaning in, pressing his lips to meet yours, and there’s a fraction of the haste Wooyoung used. It’s slow, a curious exploration, like he isn’t sure if you’re fully okay with this and he doesn’t want to push you too far. Your hand on his neck slides up into his hair, the other glued to his bicep following as his hands lead down to your hips, keeping you moving to the music.
He tastes like beer, but there’s a sweetness to it, like he was chewing gum, or took a shot of something flavored. Your tongue slips between his lips, tasting him, bending toward him, you’re sure he can taste your desperation, your need. The part of you still left unsatisfied.
“You taste like vodka,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips still touching yours.
You smile, a breath of amusement tumbling off your lips, “Caught.”
He kisses you again, harder this time, using his height to tip you backward. Your hips tilt toward him, arms hooked around his shoulders, meeting his pace with a need of your own. His hands sneak around you, taking two fistfuls of your ass, grinding you into him and it forces a sharp gasp from your lips, a streak of red-hot warmth up your spine.
You’re too aware of the people around you. You need more, and you need it now, but you don’t need extra eyes watching it all unfold.
“Yunho,” you whisper through your panting.
“Mind all empty yet?” he muses, smiling.
Yes, this is about you. This is about you.
“No,” you bite your lip, pecking his lips again. “Gonna need more than that, I think.”
“Don’t worry,” he leans in close, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I’m good at making pretty girls go dumb.”
“Let’s go,” you blurt, hands finding his wrists, holding onto them. “Jen will stay out late, I wanna go, let’s go to my apartment.”
“Are you sure?” His brows raise, raising his arms you were still holding onto. “You– are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” You’re nodding rapidly, and maybe you’re trying to convince yourself, too. “You said you wanted to be my distraction, right?”
“I do, but you’re–”
“I’m fine,” you drop his wrists. “I promise. Let’s go.”
He nods, hands finding your shoulders, turning you around before he guides you through the crowd. With his height, he can see where to move, where the small pockets of space are, and there’s a part of you that kinda enjoys not having to think, that likes just being guided in the right direction, without having to figure out for yourself what it is.
“Those are my friends,” he says in your ear, guiding you toward four guys standing together. All pretty small, there’s one with bright, orange hair, a blonde one, a taller one with dark hair, and one you recognize from the night at the Penny.
The blonde sees you and Yunho first. “Good timing, if you’re looking for a ride.”
You can hear Yunho’s grin behind you, “We are, but it’s to her place.”
The brunette stares you down, brows knitted together like there are many pieces floating around and not one of them is being put together. You keep a small smile on your cheeks, not in the mood to explain.
Yunho puts his elbow on your shoulder, pointing at each one of the men in front of you. “Hongjoong, Yeosang, Seonghwa, Jongho.”
You nod, storing the information for later, and introduce yourself. Jongho asks, “Don’t they call you Virgin?”
Your lips flatten. “Unfortunately.”
The three other heads look up to Yunho, confused, maybe concerned. Yunho quickly fixes the misconception, “She’s not a virgin, Wooyoung came up with it.”
Then there’s a chorus of ah’s like that just makes sense to them or something. And knowing Wooyoung, you guess it makes sense to you, too. Fuck. You don’t want to think about him right now.
“Guys!” Another man approaches, massively tall like Yunho, but thicker with muscle. His hair is dark, short, choppy, in a hot way. The sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose are really doing something for you. He asks, “Have you guys seen Sannie?”
“I heard there’s a stripper pole in one of the side rooms,” Seonghwa responds, his voice cool, calm. “Check there.”
The man pushes his sunglasses over his head, and you realize he’s noticed you, standing small in front of Yunho. His eyes thin out as he asks, “Is this Virgin?”
Your lips flatten again. Does everyone know now? Is this becoming a thing?
“In the flesh,” you respond, then ask, “Who are you?”
“Mingi,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re really cute.” He looks up at Yunho. “She’s really cute.”
“I know,” Yunho says from behind you, matching Mingi’s tone, filled with giddiness. They must be close. Yunho turns to the rest of the group, “Are we going? Can we go?”
“Please,” Hongjoong says, already making for the front door.
It’s like they’re split down the middle, the introverted ones and the extroverted ones. Although, you don’t really think Wooyoung is extroverted, you think he might just be a whore. Fuck. You did it again.
Yeosang’s SUV is parked at the end of the driveway, you give him your address for him to put into the GPS after squeezing into the backseat, knee bouncing. In the crowd, with his lips, his hands on you, you were certain you wanted this. A thousand percent certain. Now, it’s more like… five hundred percent.
The ride to your apartment is quiet, Jongho already asleep by the time Yeosang dropped you off, even if the drive was only seven minutes long. Hongjoong looked like he was drifting, too, his eyes half open. You thanked Yeosang and climbed out, Yunho following you up to the second floor.
Your kitchen still had remnants of your pregame scattered across it, and you can only imagine what your bedroom looks like. Then it dawns on you that you had another man’s mouth on you an hour ago.
“I’m gonna go freshen up,” you tell Yunho, hoping your smile doesn’t look nervous. You point to your door, “My bedroom is right through there.”
You skip into your bathroom, immediately turning on the shower and undressing. The water may be hot, but it might as well be ice cold with how reality is pouring over your head, and there’s a man in your fucking bedroom. A man you barely know.
And you made him come here.
You shower quickly, washing the remnants of Wooyoung off of you, and then swish some mouthwash around, removing him from you completely. You feel better after, but there’s still a level of uncertainty that you can’t shake.
In your towel, you walk back to your bedroom, and he’s poking around on your shelf, looking at all of your figures, your trinkets, your music albums. “Hi,” you say from the doorway, and he jumps back like you scared him.
“Fuck,” he clutches his heart with a laugh. He points to your figures, “You like Jujutsu Kaisen?”
“No, I just love Gojo,” you tease, stepping into your room. “Have you seen the new season?”
“Yes,” his smile spreads, excitement in his eyes. Like a puppy. “Still don’t understand the Culling Games, though.”
“Then you aren’t reading enough Reddit threads,” you respond, tone snarky. His eyes sink down to your towel, your bare feet. Your lips scrunch to one side, heartbeat picking up, “Will you be mad at me if I maybe changed my mind?”
His face immediately bends into concern, “No, fuck no, are you kidding? Do you want me to go? Yeosang is definitely still awake, I can ask him–”
“No,” you interject. “I don’t know if it’s weird, and I understand if not, but… you don’t have to go. I just don't want to… do anything until I know you a little better, if that’s okay.”
He walks toward you with a genuine smile, one so comforting that it makes the unease in your chest disappear. “Of course that’s okay, it’s not weird at all. You’re lucky I saw the Gojo figures, though, ‘cuz I might have left if I didn’t know I’d be sleeping beside them.”
“Don’t fucking rob me.” You raise a finger between your bodies in warning. “I paid, like, four hundred bucks for the prison realm one.”
“Let me take a picture and I won’t,” he argues, raising a finger back at you. “Do you want me to step out while you change?”
“Oh.” You look down at your towel then back up at him. “Sure, whatever, that’s fine.”
He does step out while you change into a pair of shorts and a tee, clean ones you got from the clean pile of laundry in the corner of your room. That pile was growing smaller by the day. You climb into your bed, calling him back in, and he joins you so comfortably it’s almost like he belongs here. He radiates comfort, kindness, nothing like the fuckboy energy Wooyoung gives off, or the detached energy Yeonjun has.
“Wanna watch TV? We can order a pizza or something,” you wonder, looking over at Yunho lounged out next to you, his arms behind his head, jeans still on his body. “I might have an old pair of Yeonjun’s sweatpants or something.”
You crawl off the bed without waiting for an answer, digging through your drawers. Finally finding an old pair of dark green sweatpants that were absolutely Yeonjun’s, you throw them at him, and he catches them swiftly as he sits up. “Are these from Urban?”
You shrug from the floor, “I dunno. They look long enough, though.”
Yunho stands, unbuckling his belt, then unzips his jeans. You know you should give him privacy, but he’s in briefs, and even soft– even soft he would probably tear you apart. He hears your intake of breath, looking up, then a smirk tugs at his lips as he pulls the sweats up his legs. “Are you peeping, you fuckin’ pervert?”
“I’m sorry!” you squeak, cheeks flushing, quickly looking away.
“You can look,” he says coolly, his voice a genuine threat to your wellbeing. “I don’t mind.”
You still ache. “I’m just happy I got a warning.”
He laughs at that, from his chest, genuine. “You think you need one?”
You still don’t turn your head. “I know I do. I need… preparation for that.”
“Why so shy?” You hear the bed squeak like he’s laying back down, and reluctantly, you turn your head. He’s on his side, head propped up on his hand, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “First time seeing a dick in real life? Don’t tell me you’re really a virgin.”
“No, asshole,” you scowl, standing up, even though you know he’s joking. You press a knee to the mattress, crawling toward him. “Yours is just terrifyingly large.”
“Terrifyingly?” He grins, laying on his back as you crawl closer to him, the upper half of your body leaning over him. “I think you’ll be able to take it, when you’re ready. I’ll prepare you.”
“We were supposed to be hooking up,” you frown, sitting back on your calves. “I feel bad making you wait.”
He shakes his head, “I’m patient, and I like you. I don’t mind waiting.” His face drops after he realizes what he just said. “I know you just got out of a relationship, please don’t get freaked out. I mean I like you in a friendly way, not in a serious way, I’m not trying–”
You laugh, head dipping forward. “You basically just met me, Yunho.”
“I had a lot of time to snoop in here,” he answers, looking around your room. “I can tell you’re cool.”
“You can tell from my four hundred dollar Gojo figure?” You pop a brow, still laughing a little.
“That, and your music taste, and your other anime figures,” he grins. “Great music taste, great taste in anime, terrible taste in men. Besides me, of course.”
You laugh again, then decide to shut him up by leaning down, pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands come up to your cheeks as you kiss him deeper, moving your hair out of the way, shifting so you can crawl over him easier. Your tongue splits his lips and his knees bend, hands moving to your hips, shifting you forward to what you presume is away from his length.
You stop kissing him before it gets any heavier, and press your forehead to his. “You’re cool, too. For waiting.”
“Wooyoung is the only asshole in our frat,” he looks at you, his eyes honest, warm. “He shouldn’t represent the rest of us.”
The evil part of you hopes he represents them in the one area it matters.
“Let’s order pizza,” you smile, crawling off his torso.
masterlist 🍬
PITC (version one)
hongjoong x AFAB!reader
smut - mdni
word count: 6.5k
walked in the room, you was looking like food - say “hey my love, can i bite it?” she said “i don’t mind if you try it”
TRIGGER WARNING: jealous!hongjoong, meandom!hongjoong, AFAB!reader, seonghwa and wooyoung are there, dirty talk, swearing, begging, biting, pet names (baby, mine, beautiful), kissing, unprotected p in v (don’t do this), m receiving oral, crying, possessiveness, jealousy, submission, name calling (slut), degradation, denial, exhibitionism?? maybe?, grabbing, gagging, praise (good girl), not proofread, bad humor
let me know if i missed any! i have a lot of ideas for this theme.. so i may do multiple versions whenever it sparks joy. i am (once again) not feeling 100% on this, but, i can always write a different one. thank you to everyone who has been kind to me about my stories. it means more to me than you know and i appreciate you all so much. okay, love you bye ♡
Your awareness was at an all time high.
It felt like your nervous system was teaming up with your body to try to warn you of a potentially dangerous situation. Goosebumps spread across your skin. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach as if something had you in their sights and nothing could take their attention away.
It was what you assumed a small animal in the forest felt before coming face to face with a tiger.
Which wasn't too much of a stretch, exaggeration wise, when it came to being under Hongjoong’s watchful eye.
You had been out for a little over an hour now, your friends had invited you to a celebration of- someone? For- something they had done?
The intent wasn’t explained clearly to you and you weren’t sure there even was a real reason for the party apart from just having a party. You were told to show up at Hongjoong’s place, ready to drink, and ready to have a good night.
And you were prepared to take those rules very seriously.
Drinks had been pushed onto you the second you walked through the door. Your friends’ intoxication levels had let you know that they had been at Hongjoong’s place prior to when you were told to show up. Not that you were on time, but it wasn’t late enough for them to get this wasted.
You hadn’t reached that level yet, not for lack of your friend’s trying, but due to being continuously pulled to the “dancefloor”. The dancefloor being the center of Hongjoong’s living room.
You had managed to get about a drink and a half in you in the moments you were able to sneak away from your friend Seonghwa. Who had been “forcing” you to be his dancing partner, since he had managed to tire everyone else out.
It was after the second time he had caught you drifting towards the kitchen that you noticed Hongjoong. You had wondered where he was when you arrived, but due to the constant pulling of your friends you hadn’t had a chance to find him. Typically, he would’ve sought you out the second you arrived but you didn’t blame him for keeping his distance from the drunken group that had clung to you.
As Seonghwa wrapped his fingers around your wrist and drugged you into the scattered bodies between the couches, you felt a disturbance.
That disturbance was Hongjoong.
He was sitting in a far off corner of his living room, the people around him aimlessly talking at him while his attention was on you. His elbows rested on the tops of his thighs, his fingers laced together as his head tilted off to the side, his eyebrow knitted in what you assumed was confusion.
Since that moment, you didn’t have a second where it felt like he had looked away. You would glance over occasionally, thinking the feeling was just in your head, but you were always proven wrong. His eyes stayed glued on you.
You tried to signal for him to join, but he just shook his head, the movement small and slow.
The people around him continued to laugh and talk and he would respond to them, but his gaze never left you.
It would’ve been unsettling if he was anyone else.
Hongjoong and you had been close since you met, the two of you had a chemistry that should be studied. You challenged each other every time you hung out. You could bounce off his jokes, you could retort any remark he shot out, you would help him when he was stuck creatively, and on occasion you would help relieve each others- tension. Both mentally and physically.
It wasn’t a secret and it had gone on long enough that your friends had stopped questioning why the two of you weren’t in a relationship yet.
You liked the little arrangement you had, but you also never knew when he was in the mood to be friendly and just hang out or in the mood to pin you against the wall.
The pit in your stomach let you know that from how he was looking at you it would be a night that was the latter of the two.
He had no issue with staking claim on you in group settings. He often made it known when the two of you were around others that they didn’t have a shot entertaining you, so you weren’t sure why he hadn’t approached you yet. But you were going to have fun until he inevitably did.
Your friends had phased in and out joining you and Seonghwa on the dancefloor. Your best friend danced with her boyfriend alongside you both, Yunho would twirl and dip her as your partner tried to do the same. However, Seonghwa’s coordination had been lost about two drinks ago as he flung you around carefully. His arms were never not around your back or waist as he manhandled you and called it dancing.
You were giggling, being tossed around as your other friends drunkenly circled around you. You wished that Hongjoong would join you all, but it seemed he was stuck on the couch in the corner.
As the hours passed, your friends had slowly started tiring themselves out the more they drank. San had tried, and failed, to start about four congo lines before passing out on a nearby couch. Yeosang tried to watch over him as Mingi poked, prodded, and took selfies with his unconscious body. He gave it a good effort to swat him away before ultimately deciding it’d be best to lock him in one of the spare bedrooms with the help of Jongho before the two headed out for the night.
Most of the people had left, leaving only the close group of friends behind. Your best friend was in the process of watching her boyfriend attempt to wrangle Mingi into their car, sending you a quick wave before following close behind the two.
And the party host? Still sitting on the damn couch. Even as people approached him for goodbyes, he’d only offer them a hand to pull them into a half hug but his ass never left his seat. You figured his legs must’ve been numb at this point.
“We’ve lost San.” Wooyoung, the man who invited you to all this, grabbed your shoulders to spin you away from Seonghwa in a panic.
You placed a hand on his chest, “Babe, San is still with us. He’s alive and in the spare room.”
The blonde shook his head with a frown, “No, he’s gone.”
“What do you mean?” Seonghwa questioned as he continued to do the sprinkler with concern on his features. Wooyoung involuntarily started bobbing along to match his rhythm, “He’s not in the room.”
Seonghwa’s hand fell to his sides as he took in a sharp inhale, “Aissh- do you think he made a run for it?”
Wooyoung slowly started getting more into the song playing, stepping side to side as he shrugged.
“He might still be in the house.” You looked between the two of them. “I’ll help you look.”
Wooyoung caught you in his hands before dipping you, “I’ve looked everywhere in this house. He’s gone, all we can do is move forward.”
You pushed yourself to stand with a laugh, “If I ever go missing, I want you nowhere in my search party.”
“If you go missing, I’d likely be with you.” he grabbed your wrist to spin you into his chest. His eyes scanned your face with a soft smile as he pushed back the hair that had fallen across your face.
You couldn't argue with that, you and Wooyoung were close and were probably the most likely to go missing if left alone for too long. As your hands pressed against his chest, the music abruptly came to a halt.
The three of you turned to face the couch where Hongjoong still sat, his phone in his hand with a remote app pulled onto the screen. His eyes locked onto your hands, his jaw crooked with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth sharply.
Seonghwa cleared his throat, his hand slapping against Wooyoung’s back. “San most likely started walking home, you know how much he loves sleeping in his own bed. We can probably catch him down the road before he passes out in a bush somewhere.” The taller of the two spoke with a hesitant voice, his attention still on the host.
Wooyoung nodded with a mumble in agreement, his grip on you ending faster than it started.
“Let me grab my stuff, I’ll come with yo-“
“No. No. I think you have your own situation to deal with.” Seonghwa politely waved you off with a laugh, his eyes ticking over to the corner.
You hesitantly looked at Hongjoong. He placed his phone against the arm on the couch before his fingers twitched to call you over. The look he gave you was enough to make your throat tighten as he leaned back to rest into the cushions.
“You’ve always been my favorite, I’ll miss you.” Wooyoung joked, pulling you into him to place a kiss on your forehead. Hongjoong’s intake of breath is audible with the music off. The blonde sent you a weak smile before being pulled off by Seonghwa towards the front door.
The two shouted goodbyes before shutting you in the house alone with a seemingly irritated man.
You felt your body heat as you stood alone in the center of his living room, the same place you had practically made a home in all night. It felt weird without everyone there, like you were on a stage.
Especially with the attention being solely on you.
“The party was great-“ you tried before he cut you off mid sentence.
“Come here. Now.” he moved his hand to point down against his thigh.
“No one lets me talk around here.” you cursed under your breath but your feet carried you towards him without a second thought. It wasn’t a long stretch to where he sat, and you stood in front of him with a pout. “I don’t know why you’re using that tone with me, I didn’t do anything.” you sulked, not fully understanding why he was so on edge.
You had danced with the guys many times on many occasions and it had never been an issue, but you could tell he had one with it tonight. For some reason.
He exhaled deeply, his tone sharp, “You didn’t drink that much tonight so I assume your eyes work.”
Your eyebrows pushed together in confusion as you nodded, “My eyes are fine. Yours seem to have a staring problem though.”
He ignored your remark as the corners of his lips twitched, almost breaking into a smile but he had enough restraint to hold it back.
“That’s not where I’m pointing, is it?” he asked, his finger having not left their original position.
You scoffed, “If you’re going to be a dick, I prefer to fight standing.”
His jaw locked, the intensity in which he glared was intimidating even in his seated position.
He didn’t say anything more, he didn’t need to.
You knew you didn’t have the ability to stand your ground when it came to him being so dominant. If anything, you were using all your strength to stop yourself from flinging yourself on to him. Your heart skips just at the idea alone.
You tried to refrain from giving in, which lasted about ten seconds before you rolled your eyes and perched yourself on top of his right thigh.
He hummed in approval, his hand moving to sit at the small of your back. “You always look so beautiful.” His thumb slowly traced back and forth into the fabric of your dress, “But you look edible in this.”
“And yet, you haven’t spoken to me all night.” you huffed, feeling your face warm as he stared lazily up at you. His shift in tone catches you off guard. A laugh slipped from his lips, “You knew where to find me.”
You relaxed more into him, your arm coming to lay across the back of the couch pushing your side to rest into his chest. “You’re the host, you should be making rounds to greet others.” you pouted, looking down at him.
He mocked your expression, his bottom lip jutting out, “What? Was everyone’s attention not enough for you? You needed more?”
You groaned, rolling your eyes away from him as his free hand caught your chin. “I let the first one go, don’t push your luck. You’re lucky you're sitting and not across my lap.” he spoke through his teeth.
You knew he hated when you rolled your eyes, which is why you did it. If he was going to be annoying, you would be too. “I didn’t do anything.” you spoke through your smushed lips.
“You did plenty.” he let out a dry laugh, “You showed up in that dress and let our friends grab at you all night.”
You immediately realized what was going on, your hand reaching up to pull his grip from your face. He let you move him with no resistance as your lips spread into a smile.
He tilted his head in response, “What’s so funny?”
“You’re jealous.” you teased.
He scoffed, “You knew what kind of man I was when you met me.”
“Being jealous when strangers hit on me is one thing but you’ve never been jealous of Seonghwa and Wooyoung of all people.” You couldn’t help but laugh, they constantly flirted with you for fun in front of him and it had never been an issue. They weren’t even acting out tonight, if anything, they were tame in comparison to other hangouts.
You waited for him to explain himself but he just continued to glare up at you. His chest rising and falling at a rapid rate as you could see him trying to come up with an excuse in his head.
You laughed again, unable to contain it as you tried to cover your mouth with your hand, “It’s Wooyoung and Seonghwa!” The entire situation felt ridiculous to you, you didn’t mean to laugh but you couldn’t help it.
“You find this funny?” he seethed up at you, his expression was angry but his cheeks and ears were flushed. He was clearly embarrassed, but you knew if the roles were reversed he would be doing the exact same to you.
His hand snatched your wrist and pulled it to his lap, using his fingers to flatten it around a very prominent bulge in his pants. Your laughter stopped abruptly as he moved your hand to rub over it, letting out a shaky breath.
“I’ve been dealing with this for hours and you’re laughing?” he gritted through his teeth, his eyes shutting as he released his grip to unbutton his pants before moving to reach for you again.
You let him move your hand to slip into his underwear, your body on autopilot as you began to stroke him in his pants with him guiding you. Your thighs pressed together as you bit your bottom lip. “I haven’t been able to move, watching my friends grab at you in that little dress. Seeing their hands on my girl-” his voice broke, a whimper falling out as you involuntarily squeezed him at the name.
He let out a soft chuckle, his head falling against the back of the couch. “Watching everyone here look at you, scan you over, thinking they had a chance.” he continued in pants as he sped up your pace. His hand on your back slid along to your side, ducking under your arm to grab at your breast and bring you in closer to his chest. “I’ve been so patient.”
He kneaded your skin, moving to slide under the fabric of your bra and pinch your nipple between his fingers. You gasped, letting him puppet you around while you fully gripped around his cock. His precum spreading over it as a lubricant as your breathing picks up to match his without him even fully touching you.
“I wanted to rip this dress in half. I’ve been trying not to kick everyone out or take you over the table while everyone watches.” he grunted, his head tipping over to lean his face towards your shoulder. He opened his mouth to bite into your skin as he whined at your hand closing on him again. “You like that idea? Want the boys to see what a good slut you are?” he grinned into your flesh, removing his hand from your chest to your bare thigh.
His dirty talk always went straight to your cunt, his voice was always so condescending and it made your brain fuzzy. It didn’t matter what he was saying, it was how he said it.
Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought you’d draw blood, your eyes shutting as you resisted melting fully into him. “Nothing to say? You like my dick so much that just touching it has that smart mouth of your speechless?” he lifted his head, his tone teasing and light.
His fingers slapped lightly against your clenched legs, the two spreading without a word from him as he smiled at the response. “If you won’t answer, she will for you.”
His arm wrapped around you as he palmed your heat, his hand meeting with the slick material of your underwear as he took in a sharp inhale at the sensation. “This better be from me.” he hissed, his fingers tracing your folds over the garment before quickly pushing it to the side. The pads of his fingertips collecting your slick with a moan, “Tell me who made you this wet.”
He continued to swirl around your entrance. Your hand’s pace didn’t falter once due to his help, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to even focus if it wasn’t for him. You released your lip from between your teeth to breathe out, “You-“
“Who?” he snapped, his fingers stilling.
He had a very strict rule when you two were getting into it, he loved to hear you breathlessly say his name. He hated when you didn’t. Even if you were speaking to him, you were to respond as if you were telling someone else. You knew this, but he had this ability to blank your brain with ease.
You pouted as his hand removed itself from you, “You know, I was going to be nice even after everything tonight but I don’t think you deserve it.”
“No.” you gasped, your eyes shooting open.
There had been many times that your attitude had made him leave you high and dry but you didn’t do anything tonight.
In almost a desperate plea for release, your hand worked harder on him. His body twitching as he laughed, “Fuck-“
His fingertips dug into your skin, gripping against you to ground himself. “I think-“ he started breathlessly, “You need to make it up to me.”
Without another word, he pulled back from you. He nudged your legs, signaling for you to stand. When you did, he lifted himself to remove his pants. He threw them off to the side before spreading out again, his own hand pumping himself as you watched.
You stood to slide the strap from your dress off your shoulder to slip out of it but he tsk’d, stopping you.
“No, keep it on. You let everyone else touch it tonight but I want to be the one to ruin you in it.” he took in a breath as you watched his tip leak into his fist.
You moved between his legs, sinking down to get your head level with his hips. Your hand grasping on the tops of his thighs as your knees dug into the carpet.
He looked down at you with hooded eyes as you looked up at him, the second your eyes met he twitched again. He swore under his breath as his hand picked up speed, “Keep your eyes on me.”
He whimpered, watching as you licked your lips. Your mouth salivating just at the sight of him, like it was preparing itself for what was about to come on instinct.
“Put those pretty lips to good use, yeah?” he said before letting go of himself and stretching his hands along the back of the couch.
You immediately took him into your mouth, his hips lifting in surprise as you sucked him into the back of your throat. “Fuck- Feeling impatient?” he gasped, his hand lacing into the hair at your crown.
You moaned around him as spit dribbled down the sides of his shaft, his mouth hanging open as he started directing your head up and down against him. The tip of your tongue lifted to trace up and down every vein as his hips shuttered up into you.
Moans fell from his lips as they gained higher in pitch with every thrust to meet your mouth, both hands clutched to the back of your head as you did your best to keep yourself from gagging at the speed and force.
Your fingernails dug into the skin of his thighs, making him hiss. “Maybe I should call them to come back, let them see how much you love my dick.” he grunted, his pace slowing but not faltering. His hips were meeting your face in the middle, lifting from the cushion in slow deep thrusts.
You swallowed around him, his groan so deep it rumbled straight between your legs. You thought your whimper was barely audible, but he had caught it. A dark laugh came from him as his head fell back, “So desperate just from tasting me.”
You were desperate, but for him to do something. The frustration building in your core only grew with every sound that fell from his mouth. His moans echoing in the empty space of his living room, making it hit your ears in surround sound.
You hollowed your cheeks, setting your own speed in an attempt to make him impatient enough to slam you against the couch and fuck you.
“Shit-“ he let out a shaky breath, “Don’t be greedy.”
His words meant nothing to you at this current moment, you ignored his warning as you continued to pull him to the back of your throat. Your jaw feels fully stretched around him as your nose hits his pelvis. Tears built in the corners of your eyes as you tried to breathe your way through his size and length.
He whimpered, his moan sounding like a broken cry as he mumbled a string of curses. You repeated this, your tongue swirling his tip every time you reached the top before sucking him back in.
His hands moved to grip your shoulders, stilling you.
“Are you that cock drunk you can’t hear what I said?” he hissed, his fingers pressing into your skin.
You did your best to continue despite the hold, licking him as his breath was rapid and strained. You moaned around him, his dick twitching at the sound.
He pulled you to stand, “You want my dick that bad then fuck yourself on it.”
Your heart skipped, excitement building in your stomach as he removed himself to lean back against the couch. His arms returned to the back of the couch as his hips pushed down to plant his feet fully on the floor. The angle of his body making your favorite chair to sit on.
You looked up at you, his eyebrows raised. He glanced to his lap and back at you impatiently, “I know you don’t need any help, I’m sure you're soaked.”
He wasn’t wrong, the fabric of your underwear had uncomfortably stuck to you at this point. He was the only man who could get you this hot and bothered without even touching you. The arrogant and chalant look he was giving you did not help.
You bent to free yourself from your underwear, pushing your hands against his chest as you straddled his lap. Your rugburnt knees stinging as they hit the fabric of the couch with your thighs already feeling weak as you hold yourself above him.
Typically, he’d guide you. His hands would find your hips or back to keep you steady, but he didn’t move. His fingers gripped into the cushions as your slick covered his throbbing dick.
You teased him more, sliding him between your folds as you adjusted yourself to fit onto his lap comfortably.
He bit his bottom lip but kept his eyes on you, “Are you going to do something or should we just wrap it up for the night?”
Your eyes widened, a pleading “no” slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
He smirked, his ego fueled by your need to have him.
Your hand reached down between your bodies to stand him straight, leaning up onto your knees to line him with your neglected entrance. He sighed, as if he was bored. Your attention snapping back to his face as the sound ignited something deep inside of you.
The desire to fuck him dumb out of spite.
You pushed him inside of you while sitting yourself until he bottomed out. His lips hanging opened as your hips met.
His fingers dug so deeply into the couch that you thought they would tear it apart. But he still didn’t touch you.
You lifted yourself slowly, feeling every inch of his girth before slamming back down. Making not only him but you gasp in unison.
You grinded your hips against him in a steady rhythm, making sure to hold his gaze as you did. Moans falling freely from your mouth with every bounce against him.
His dick filled you completely but you felt like you couldn’t get enough.
Your legs parted more, a burning sensation in your muscles as you tried to take more and more of him with every move. Your clit caught against his shaft whenever you pushed down, causing your brain to short circuit.
Your fingernails were digging into the material of his shirt, using it to ground yourself as you rode him harder than you ever had.
“Is that-“ he panted, a cocky grin on his face, “Is that the best you got?”
Your eyebrows raised as he laughed, your body still grinding against him. “You wanted to get me off so badly earlier, you think this will do it?” he challenged, “Maybe you tired yourself out by dancing with everyone and anyone all night.”
His words were stern, but his face was giving away his facade. He looked as if he was having the time of his life, his hands twitching in resistance to grab you.
You moved your feet to squat on top of him, if he wanted you to fuck him. You were going to fuck him. Hell, you were going to fuck him up if he kept up his attitude.
“Maybe I did, or maybe my mind is elsewhere.” you instigated, slowing yourself to make him feel every single inch of himself slipping in and out of you.
Your body squeezes him every time you push down on him completely.
He looked at you without amusement, his jaw locking as he processed your words and the feeling of you wrapped around him simultaneously.
“Yeah?” he amused, his tone agitated, “You’re thinking of someone else?”
Your tongue pulled your bottom lip to between your teeth, your eyes shutting as you shrugged. One of your hands moving from his chest to grab at your own. His angered expression only helped the tightness in your stomach build as you felt him twitch inside of you.
His breathing quickened, not only in pleasure but annoyance.
Your eyes snapped open as his hands found your hips, fingertips pressing roughly into your skin as he stopped your movements. You whined, attempting to move with no avail.
“Tell me who you’re thinking of.” he seethed, keeping your body still as he planted his feet further into the floor. You opened your mouth to tell him it was a joke but was cut off by his hips pistoning up into you. The force knocking the air from your lungs. He held you steady, grunting as he bounced you against him.
“Tell me. Who do you think can fuck you better than this?” he groaned, his dick feeling like it had reached inside of your guts.
The force was almost too much, your mouth hanging open as your vision blurred. “Tell me. Seonghwa? Wooyoung? You think they can fuck you the way you like?” he continued, your arms giving out as you laid into his chest. His thrusts never faltered.
“You think they’ll be able to fuck the brat out of you?” he grunted, your walls squeezing around him at the name. He let out a breathless laugh, his face falling into your shoulder. His teeth digging into the exposed flesh.
You yelped, the feeling flooding between your legs.
He positioned himself to fuck up into you, his tip sliding to graze your g-spot with every thrust.
You swore under your breath, the feeling knotting at the pit of your stomach.
“Come on, say their names.” he taunted, his shit eating grin confirming he could feel it too. “Tell me who you’re thinking about.” his voice breaking into a whimper as you squeezed him again. His hips stuttered at the sensation.
He took in a breath through his gritted teeth, his stamina picking up as he pushed himself through your tightness. He brought a hand to his mouth, licking his finger tips before sliding it between your bodies.
He found your clit, circling it as he pounded into you. “What’s the matter, baby? Can’t remember?” he moved his lips back to your neck, biting the sensitive skin and sucking it into his mouth.
You wanted to protest, to tease him more but the only name that ran through your brain was his.
“Hongjoong-“ you gasped, the band in your stomach tightening as he laughed.
“You want to cum?” he cooed.
You could barely lift your head to nod let alone speak.
“You think you deserve to?”
You whined, knowing that you were reaching a point where his permission would mean nothing. He felt too good inside of you. His fingers working magic on your bundle of nerves that made your legs shake.
“Beg me.” he moved his lips to whisper in your ear.
Your mouth responded before your brain could process what he had said, “Hongjoong, please.”
“Tell me- who’s the only one who can fuck you like this?” his voice was strained and you could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer.
“Hongjoong.” you panted, “Only you.”
“Fuck- say it again.” his eyebrows knitted as he pushed into you deeper than you thought was possible.
“Only you, Hongjoong. I only want you.”
His fingers sped, his thrusts becoming sloppy.
“Keep saying my name as you cum for me.”
You took that as the okay you needed, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. Your mind was blank as you repeated his name like a mantra. Each one that left your lips made me slam into you like a punctuation. As if he was trying to fuck the sound of it into you.
Your over sensitive walls clamping around him as his moans became higher and higher in pitch. His teeth digging into your shoulder to muffle the sounds.
You cried out, the feeling of him becoming too overwhelming.
He detached himself from you as you practically flopped against him, your body feeling drained as he continued to use you like a toy.
“I want you to remember me with every step you take tomorrow. I want you to feel me in your thighs the next time you dance with anyone that isn’t me.” he slammed into you, his hip bones hitting you with a bruising force.
“You’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” You managed to agree, your head lolling against his body.
“Tell me again.” he groaned, his dick twitching inside of you as he lost all rhythm at the sound of your voice.
You licked your lips, attempting to soothe the dryness from your panting, “Hongjoong, I’m yours.”
The second the sentence ended, he let out a groan before slamming into you one final time. His body stilling as he came so hard the force of it made you cry out.
The two of you laid there, your body melted into his as he tried to catch his breath. The movement only bouncing you off of him with every pant.
He buried his face into your neck, peppering kisses against where his teeth had marked.
“I don’t think I can move.” you managed to get out, his laugh in response making your head bob against him. “I don’t want to move.” he responded, kissing your neck again.
“Yeah, you seem to really like this spot.” you joked, pushing your arms to lift yourself to face him.
He looked up at you, his pupils blown as his eyes scanned over your face. “It’s my favorite now.” he breathed out, his hand pushing back at your hair before wrapping around the back of your neck.
He pulled you forward, his lips finding yours.
The two of you drained, lips forming against each other in weak movements. He kissed you softly, inhaling as he held you against him. The intimacy of it makes your stomach flutter.
Your head felt dizzy as you felt him smile against you.
He hummed, kissing you again, his fingers lacing into your hair.
“God, you feel fucking good.” he laughed softly into your lips, causing you to do the same.
There was silence for a minute, the two of you just coming down from your highs.
His hand wrapped around your jaw, lifting you from your laying position to look at him. His thumb traced alongside your cheek, “I didn’t like seeing their hands all over you.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, you hid it really well.”
He rolled his eyes with a smile, “Forget it.”
Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping his hand against you.
He looked back at you, his eyes warm as they scanned over your face.
“I spent the whole night wishing you were with us.” you admitted, turning your head to hide your face into his palm. Kissing it lightly.
“You did?” he smiled, his voice soft. As if he was nervous you’d take it back. Like you were saying it just to make him feel better.
You bit the heel of his palm, a yelp leaving him as he grinned.
“Yeah, but someone just had to get a hard on.” you rolled your eyes.
His fingers grasped your chin lightly, forcing you to look at him.
You waited for him to scold you but instead he brought your lips to his. He let out a contented sigh as he pulled back, “You really want to press your luck right now?”
He pushed his hips up, still inside of you as your thighs screamed in response. The soreness in your muscles burning hot, “Hongjoong, please.”
He groaned, “Begging me is the last thing you should do.”
You moved to push yourself off of him but he locked his arms at the small of your back to keep you still. “Moving makes it worse.” he joked, laughing as he pulled you into his chest.
You couldn’t stop your giggles if you tried, “I can’t do shit in this house.”
“You can do me.”
“Hongjoong.”
He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Stay tonight?”
“You physically won’t let me move.”
He scoffed looking down at you, “You couldn’t use your legs right now if you tried.”
You squinted at him before nodding, “You make a solid argument. I’ll stay.”
He laughed in response reaching to grab a blanket from the side of the couch before throwing over the two of you. “We can move to the bedroom in a minute, I just- want to stay like this a little longer.” he confessed, idly drawing shapes into your back as you shut your eyes. Your head against his chest.
His heart was racing. You knew it was probably due to your previous activities but a small part hoped it was from just being with you.
Your heart did the same whenever you were with him, but you’d never admit it. At least not sober. Or unless he had admitted it first.
“Where is everyone?” you heard a voice speak, your eyes shooting open as you flipped your head to face the stairs.
A muscular man stood at the bottom of them, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.
“San, what are you doing here?” Hongjoong laughed in shock, his expression matching yours.
He opened an eye to him, pointing a thumb behind him, “You guys put me to bed.”
“Wooyoung said you weren’t in there.” You shook your head with a smile.
San scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed chuckle, “I fell off the bed. I was on the floor.”
You nodded, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t think to actually look in the room.
San scanned you both over with a small smile, his eyes shutting in contentment. “You guys look comfy. Mind if I join?” he started to move forward before you both protested at the same time. Shouting rejections as you processed exactly what was happening under the blanket.
It wouldn’t be the first time one of the guys had caught you two in a compromising position, but it was an instance where you could stop them from seeing anything that might traumatize them.
San stopped abruptly, pouting as his shoulders fell. “I’m going back to bed.” he stated in a defeated tone, spinning on his heel back towards the stairs.
“Go home!” Hongjoong shouted after him as he was already in the process of ascending to the spare rooms. San waved him off as he disappeared from sight.
The two of you sat there, your laughter slowing to contented silence.
You stacked your hands on top of one another at the center of Hongjoong’s chest, your chin resting on the both as you looked up at him.
He glanced at you, "It'd be wrong to go again, right? Now that we know he’s here.”
“It is your house.” you tempted, smirking at him as he gripped you tighter.
His eyes went wide but you felt his dick move in response, “I was fucking joking.”
You boo’d him loudly, raising a hand to give him a thumbs down before he playfully smacked it away.
He pulled you down to rest against his chest, his chin sitting in your hair. “You’re crazy.”
“You like me because I’m crazy.”
He let out a soft laugh, kissing into your crown. “Yeah, I really do.”
Thinking about the way Mingi would eat you out..
He'd start slow, warm breath ghosting over your inner thighs first, dragging his tongue in lazy patterns up towards your center. When he finally gets there, he'd flatten his tongue in one broad, wet stroke from bottom to top, gathering your taste, groaning low in his chest like he's starving for it.
He'd figure out your clit fast, circcling it with the tip of his tongue, testing pressure, watching your hips buck when he hits the right spot. Then he'd settle into a rhythm. Firm and consistent strokes not too fast, building you steady. His hands would grip your thighs, holding you open and exposed while he works.
He seems like the type to be vocal about it too. Humming against you, groaning when you react, making it clear he's enjoying himself as much as you are. Keeps his eyes open, watching your face while his mouth works you over.
When you're wet enough, he'd slide two fingers in. Curling them upward, hitting that spot with precision while his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue against you. You'd feel the vibration of his moans, the way he loses himself in it, grinding his own hips against the mattress because he needs it too.
He'd read your body perfectly. Speeding up when your breath hitches, slowing down when you get too close too fast, edging you until you're gripping his hair, thighs shaking around his head as you grind against his mouth. When he finally lets you cum, he'd keep his mouth pressed to you tight, lapping up your release. Tongue fluttering rapid and relentless, fingers pumping deep, riding out every spasm until you're boneless and twitching beneath him. You'll have to push him away.
Then he'd crawl up, lips swollen and shining, and make you taste yourself on his tongue.
pairing :: kento nanami x reader
the position you have yourself in feels all wrong and the angle is, well, utterly embarrassing. you'd been the one to suggest this in the first place, well written smut online fogging your mind and forcing the request past your lips before you could think about the logistics.
he'd said yes, of course. kento's inability to deny you paired with you being too chicken to back out (plus not wanting to out of sheer curiosity), leaves you in your current predicament.
"I don't think it's rocket science, sweetheart." kento's lying flat on his back beneath you, head propped up on a pillow. being awfully patient despite your prolonged stalling. his fingertips draw the barest shapes on either side of your hips, tapping lightly to get you to move higher. your knees bracket his ribs, heat of your cunt burning into the firm ridges of his stomach. "it's just me. nothing to be shy about." his frame shifts just enough to get close, mouth brushing over yours. "you just sit there like you sit on my lap. and then you move."
"I am sitting." you grumble, settling a little lower, ass right up against the band of his slacks. "being on your lap is different."
it really isn't, but he just hums—hands smoothing up and down your sides, finally settling on your hips again. if he thinks looking at you the way he is currently helps, he's wrong. part of you just want to to just throw this idea to hell and take your usual seat, though with far less clothing than you both currently sport.
he's gotten buffer over the last couple months. beefy bi and triceps, chiseled abdomen rigid under where you're molten. what a waste it'd be to not rub yourself all over him. you're in completely uncharted territory. you'd think grinding on your boyfriend's abs would be easier than riding his cock, but the embarrassment you currently feel proves you wrong.
your hips cant forward then back in your first, tentative grind, exhale drawn out as though every breath would help to expel that nervous tension coiled deep in you. one after the other. in and out repeatedly.
it still remains as embarrassing as it was a minute ago, ridiculously enough. he's yours after all. your dignified, unshakeable nanami.
usually fucking you from behind, sideways (however he could get you, really) like it’s his government assigned duty, nanami. all yours...and here you are, shy about just getting off using his abs.
his fingers twitch against your hips, itching to help you out, but he bites back the urge. figures he'll let you work up that courage on your own.
"...this probably looks so silly."
"mm?" large, familiar hands slide upward- settling higher on your sides, fingertips cool against warm skin, "I promise that it doesn't," they coast under the hem of your shirt, spreading wide over the underside of your breasts. "you should see yourself from down here."
you bite the inside of your cheek keep your smile from spreading, letting your hips drag forward, just enough that your clit catches at the indent of a muscle. then backward in a similar motion. "what? you think I look good?" the sensation is a little dull through the fabric but good enough to warrant the continued rolling of your hips. the friction drags a shaky breath out of you, blood pooling hot under your skin. his stomach rises and falls with every breath, rigid plane shifting under you.
with how good it already feels, you figure applying just a little more pressure won't hurt. so you do, leaning close, hands bracing against his broad, firm shoulders for more leverage to rock your hips.
“very. don’t go overthinking it,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down to where you’re moving against him, “just use me.”
and that you do. your rhythm loses that tentative edge to it, speed picking up as you get more desperate. hips rolling, clit throbbing with every pass, soaked cotton catching right where it aches. a vicious ache blooms in your belly, a shaky moan drawn out of you in your building pleasure. "mm, kento.." every drag of your cunt over him leaves another sticky patch across his skin, shine of slick smearing across the hard cut of his abs.
"see? you're doing so well." his hands move low to plant on the curve of your ass over your panties, not at all taking over but guiding whenever he feels your pace begin to stagger. "that feels good, doesn't it?"
you can barely manage more than a breathy 'yeah', starting to enjoy this far more than you'd anticipated. but still, through the fabric is as dull as expected, beginning to cling uncomfortably.
which he notices, of course.
"here, let me.." one hand remains firm on your behind while the other slides between your thighs finger curling into the slick dampened gusset to drag it aside in one smooth, practiced motion. "does that feel better?"
the difference hits you like a breath of air after being underwater —immediate, raw. direct connection of your slick folds against his skin sending a hot zap right up your spine. it just feels so much better like this, incomparable to much else.
"kento,” you hiss, digging your nails into his shoulders, hips jerking forward too fast. “yeah, that’s—god, that’s so much better.”
your embarrassment wanes in the face of your pleasure, lips parting. now that you're comfortable he has no issue at all with guiding your movements on his own, heavy hands squeezing the fat of your ass. pulling you back and forth against his abdomen, letting you grind faster and harder down on him. just watching you, cock already properly hard and neglected behind you, far more caught up in seeing you finish like this.
the sounds filling the air get louder, lewder. squelches that would leave you embarrassed if you had the capacity for anything but bone deep arousal left. both your hands brace on his chest now, letting him get you off. despite the building ache in your thighs, stopping is the last thing you'd hope for. "oh—mm, kento. i'm gonna—oh my god—cum.."
“mhm, you are.” he says, almost under his breath. the words leave him breathless, strained. “keep going. make yourself cum on me. make yourself feel good.”
the ache has gone from something steadily building to a mean, insistent pressure that has your breathing coming fast, practically humping his abs at this point. his thumb—just the pad of it—presses down lightly on your clit mid-grind, just to add to the pressure already making you lose your mind.
and it hits just like that. sudden, white hot pleasure that has you bowing down into him, thumb still sweeping oh so gently over your clit as the other keeps you moving. the slick, sticky pool grows, spilling out over golden skin in a warm rush. he eases up the movement to not overstimulate you, thumb gently circling the sensitive bud to bring you back down.
your stay on his abdomen isn't long lasting after your orgasm. praise and his hands smoothing along your body prove to be the worst pairing when you're already worked up and horny out of your mind.
worse yet, meeting his already stiff cock about to burst through his slacks when you'd slid down to seat yourself on his lap had hijacked every other thought.
maybe you'd make it past 1 round of grinding next time.
author's note :: 𑣲⋆ princess nanami post as promised - repost from previous account <3
comments, likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!
