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summary: you fall asleep on your boyfriends arm. how does he react?
wc: 576
cw: fluff, cuteness, sleepy
a/n: hey so this is my first ateez thing i'm doing so if this is wrong then like don't say anything. positive vibes only i'm sensitive
ateez masterlist
hongjoong:
- fully determined not to wake you up
- he really wants his arm back
- but once he hears your little sigh of content he's done for
- he's so locked in, trying not to giggle at the sounds you make when you're sleeping
you eventually turn in his arms, head dropping down into his chest and he's able to pull you closer.
"it's okay baby," he presses a kiss to the top of your head, "i'm here."
you hum as he holds you tight.
"that's it babygirl," as he soothes a hand over your hair.
seonghwa:
- barely notices it
- probably daydreaming about something
- but when he notices there's no feeling in his hand he panics
- softly lifts your head to retrieve his arm
you stir, feeling the weight of your head being lifted. you blink your eyes open and turn to find him looking guilty.
"i'm sorry honey, rest up," he lays back down and pulls you close, "go back to sleep."
yunho:
- bro is immediately panicking
- do i wake them? do i suffer?
- he chooses that he'd rather suffer than wake you up.
- constantly flexing his fingers to make sure his arm doesn't go too numb
you stretch out your limbs and flip over, eyes landing on a very awake boy. he shoots up immediately and grabs his arm, flexing it to wake it up.
"i'm sorry baby, go back to sleep," he breathes quick, "i didn't want to wake you but i might need to go to the ER."
you giggle and force him to lie back down, this time making sure he's comfortable before drifting back off to sleep.
yeosang:
- he's fast asleep
- he doesn't even notice it
- bro is so chill
you adjust your position and wake up to the feeling of muscle beneath your head. you look, panic and turn over.
"baby, i'm so sorry!"
he's blinking his eyes at you, confused why you woke him up. in his dreamy state he flips on his back and draws you into his chest, and mumbles, "5 more minutes."
san:
- he's so happy
- not even a crane could tear that boy away from you
- omg they chose ME? hell yeah
- kinda creepy cause he's just watching you
hongjoong is the one to find you both on the couch, whispering to san, "you want some help?" he moves towards you both.
"don't you dare," he whispers with a growl, using his free hand to pull you closer to him.
hongjoong backs up.
mingi:
- panicking
- bro is so stressed he's going to wake you
- barely breathing
- barely alive
"baby?" he whispers so low he can barely hear himself. "ok princess, sleep well."
he tries to fall asleep after but can't due to his arm. but eventually you turn, still asleep and cuddle into him. he finally breathes and hugs you tight.
wooyoung:
- oh he's so smug
- thought about waking you up to tease you about it
- but saw how content and sleepy you were and held back
- watching you like the yearner he is
"youngie?" you croak, stirring from sleep and feeling his burning stare.
"yes darling?" he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
"stop staring."
"never."
jongho:
- tries to act nonchalant
- you're probably around the other members too
- they're teasing him about it
- but heaven forbid you try and move
you stir after hearing another round of giggles pass by the couch. when you catch on to what they're laughing about, he stops you.
he uses his free arm to hold you down.
"baby-"
"no," he sterns, "you're right where you belong." and although his eyebrows are furrowed together, the kiss to your forehead is soft.
⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they’ve built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.
⇢pairing:single dad!yunho x f. reader
⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut
⇢word count: 7.5k
⇢chapter content/warnings: light cussing, seonghwa is rebuilding himself lol let's give it up for him ok 😀, lots of bball talk, but also lots of sweet and affectionate moments (per usual hehe), whole chapter is pretty much focused on yunho x seora x y/n spending time together <33, it's all wholesome so not many warnings!
"Baby." Yunho covers his other ear with his free hand. "Where are you? The game is starting soon."
"We're parking now." He sighs in relief, nodding to himself as if you can see him. "Sorry, my love."
"That's okay, I just can tell she's looking for you."
"Aw." You respond, gathering your things as Sian shifts the gear to park and shuts off the car. "We'll be inside in a few, promise."
"Alright. We're on the right side, near the middle."
"Okay. See you soon." And with that, the call ends. Sian and Noeul smile, grabbing their posters and little pompoms that they bought from the store.
"You and Yunho are so cute. You can't even wait a few seconds before you see each other."
"In fairness, we're running a bit behind so he was getting worried." You add a little pep to your step, picking up the pace as you walk over to the gym.
"Isn't there like, 5 minutes left before the game starts? He just wanted more time to see you and get his smooches in." Sian teases, making Noeul snort.
"Stop it." You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you approach the gym doors, echoes of the loud crowd, dribbling and balls hitting the rims or backboards already ringing through the front walkway. It's crazy how even now, Yunho still manages to make you feel shy even with the smallest acts of affection— through check-in phone calls, through little gifts he leaves on your desks, cute texts in the morning.
When you spot Yunho and the group sitting together on the bleachers, his eyes instantly meet yours and you're quick to wave. He smiles from ear to ear, waving you over. You, Sian and Noeul walk alongside of the court— careful not to interrupt practice occuring on the main floor. You catch a quick glimpse of Seora running through shooting exercises with her team as you work your way up the bleachers to meet her father.
"Hey baby."
"Hey." You greet Yunho, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Sorry, we wanted to get a few props on the way over. Plus, a little gift for Seora." You say as you slide onto the bleachers next to him, saying your hello's to Mingi and Seonghwa. You're glad Noeul and Sian agreed to join, hoping to cheer on Seora and give her extra support during her championship game. Your mother, your father and Wonwoo are on their way, safely rushing over so that they'll make it in time for tip off.
While you settle in with your man, Sian catches up with Mingi and notices how stiff Noeul is next to her. Seonghwa can't help but look over a few times— probably wondering why Noeul hasn't said much or seems to be avoiding him despite the small progress they've made to move forward after what's happened between them.
"Why don't you sit over there with Seonghwa?" Sian nudges Noeul. "He keeps looking over here and I know damn well he's not looking at me." Noeul almost lets out a pathetic scoff.
"I'm not gonna leave you."
"Please, I'll be good with Mingi, Y/N and Yunho. Just go." She encourages Noeul with another nudge. Noeul sighs, rolling her eyes— but she stands anyway, making her way over to the empty spot next to Seonghwa. She doesn't wanna keep having this weird, awkward tension with him. And quite frankly, he had been trying. He was putting in more effort to show her that he was serious about starting over— about trying to be her friend, about taking things slow, about seeing where things go. She was tired of harboring ill feelings towards him, especially if he was trying to prove otherwise.
Though, she still had her guard up. Let's get that straight.
"Hey." She says, looking at him.
"Hey you." He smiles at her. "Glad you were able to make it to her game. I didn't think you and Sian were coming along."
"Yeah, we figured we'd come support. Why not? It'll be nice to see Seora kick ass on the court."
"Yeah, she's a beast on the court. Quite the show." Seonghwa chuckles. "Any other plans for today?"
"Not really. You?"
"There's this new exhibit at The Time Capsule. It's free admissions for a limited time period."
"Oh, I heard about it! I've been wanting to check it out, too." Noeul checks her phone. "Shoot, isn't free admissions about to end soon?"
"Tomorrow."
"Fuck." She mumbles to herself. "I'm busy tomorrow. Promised my parents I'd drive them around."
"Do you wanna check it out together after Seora's game?" Seonghwa looks at her. "No pressure at all, though. I'm sure they'll add more free admission dates randomly throughout the year while the exhibit is there, so you can always—"
"Yeah, I'm down." She cuts him off with a small smile. They agreed to take this slow and be friends, anyway. What does she have to lose? And when would she be able to see the exhibit otherwise? What if they don't add anymore free admission days while the exhibit is there?
"Really?" Seonghwa cocks a brow up, almost in disbelief that she agreed so easily. He wasn't used to it.
—FLASHBACK
Seonghwa and Yoori had just finished eating dinner at her place, and Seonghwa had been sitting on the couch flipping through the Netflix options trying to figure out what else they could watch tonight. He feels like they've gone through every possible option already, being that all they do is stay home and do .. this. Eat. Watch Netflix. Fuck. Cuddle. Sleep. He leaves. Repeat the next time he comes over.
Which, he loved in the beginning.
Now, though? The spark is gone. He wants something new and exciting. Something solid. Seonghwa is actually admitting he's tired of having something casual. It feels .. empty.
When he doesn't find anything to watch, he sighs. He looks over his shoulder to find Yoori still looking at something on her laptop with some papers next to her. Probably still glazing over some emails because she can never truly disconnect from work. She's sipping on a cup of tea, one that he made for her after dinner. It's chamomile with a dash of lemon and honey. He's got the measurements drilled in his mind like second nature because he does this for her so often.
Since, again, this is what they do.
She'll be getting ready for bed in no time.
But, Seonghwa thinks the night is still young and there's actually a place he's been wanting to visit. He pulls up the post on his phone, approaching her at the kitchen island.
"Find something to watch?" She asks, eyes trained on the laptop still.
"No. I did find something else, though."
"Hm?" She hums.
"There's this new exhibit at The Time Capsule. It's free admissions for a limited time period, and I wanted to check it out with you if you were down." He says, showing her the post for the new exhibit at the nearby, modern city museum. He's seen footage of the exhibit and has taken interest in it. He [especially] doesn't wanna pass up the opportunity on free admissions, either.
"Now?"
"Yeah."
"It's getting late." She looks at him, then out the window.
"It's barely 6:30pm. The museum closes at 10pm since it's also their 21+ event tonight."
"Mm. No, I'm not really in the mood to go."
"What, why? It's a free event. It'll be fun. Something different than us staying in like we normally do."
"Not really my thing?" She gives him a look, almost like she's disgusted. "Besides, isn't that what we initially agreed on? Just staying home and being peaceful behind closed doors."
"Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt to explore every now and then. Right?"
"Please, where is this even coming from?" She scoffs, making Seonghwa knit his brows.
"I thought you'd be excited to do something different for once, that's all."
"No, not really. I'm fine right here."
"You wouldn't wanna go anywhere? Do anything different from this?"
"What are you getting at, Seonghwa?" She sits the cup in her hand down before looking at him. "I'm confused as to why you're suddenly wanting different when the agreement was to take it slow and casual."
"And now things are changing for me." Seonghwa admits. "I'm tired of this routine, Yoori. I'm mainly tired of this routine, that's why."
"Well, I'm sorry, Seonghwa. I don't know what you want from me." She stands, crossing her arms at her chest, looking at him with full-on attitude. He hates the look she gives him sometimes. She can never step out of director mode, and it's something he's grown to despise. Work has become her life, and he doesn't think it's something he'll enjoy in the long run.
Being put in the back seat for a job.
"I want you to be open to things like this. To step out of the house, even if it's to take a damn walk arond the neighborhood with me or to sit by the goddamn lake right around the corner from your place. I wanna go out on some nights to the club or a bar. Do something new like rollerblading no matter how stupid we'd look just to have fun. Go to the museum to analyze exhibits even if we won't remotely understand what the hell is going on. Shit like that! That's what I want." Yoori remains silent before sighing, setting her cup into the sink and shrugging.
"That's what you want and I don't have that."
"And that's the unfortunate part." He says lowly. "Maybe it was my fault for assuming we could try."
"Yeah. It was." He looks at her, brows knitted.
"Yeah." He stands, grabbing his jacket. "I think this is done, Yoori. It has been, don't you think?" She nods silently, looking at him with her head cocked to the side. As if he's some kind of chore now. A waste of time.
"I'm sorry."
"I am, too."
—END
"Yeah, really."
"Alright then." Seonghwa returns the smile, feeling excited to finally be able to visit the exhibit with some good company. He's actually relieved at how easy that was— almost feeling like a breath of fresh air. No fuss, no fight, no explanation.He returns his attention to the court, reminding himself not to move too fast or set any expectations for this— he wanted to treat Noeul right as a friend, first and foremost. Lay the foundation properly and give himself time to heal. Fix his inner issues, work on himself before thinking about relationships and commitment.
He sees you and Yunho and realizes it's something he wants. Something he'd like to grow into and grow with, regardless of the time it takes him. It's a goal for him, and he'll work towards it.
Sooner or later, the buzzer goes off, signaling the countdown to the last minute before the game officially starts. You link your arm with Yunho's, sliding your hand into his. You look up at him sweetly, letting him press another soft kiss to your forehead. You giggle, enjoying the moment as Seora listens to her coach run through the first play before the game begins. She briefly looks over, watching her father look down at you with all that love bursting from every bone in his body.
Watching her father smile down at you like you hold the sun, the moon, and the stars in your eyes.
It gives her that warm feeling in her stomach— distracts her for a second, too much that she doesn't even realize she's smiling so big.
"Hey." Chan-mi gently tugs on Seora's jersey, giggling near her ear. "Are you okay? Coach is running through the play. Did you hear anything?"
"Oh, yeah." Seora whispers back, smiling at her.
"What were you looking at?"
"My dad and Y/N. They're being cute." Chan-mi looks over and giggles a bit more.
"So sweet."
"Alright, any questions? Concerns? We're okay to run this play, my starting five?" Coach looks at Seora, Chan-mi, and the rest of the starting five on their team with a smile. "We can do this. I believe in you girls. We've made it this far, and we can take it all the way to the championships." The buzzer goes off loudly, echoing in the gym. The crowd starts to cheer, getting both teams pumped up for the game and giving the girls the energy they need to get the game started on a good note. "Let's go, girls!" Coach yells loudly, clapping his hands— hyping the girls up as the starting five walks out onto the court to get into position. Seora steps into the middle, shaking hands with the jumper from the other team.
Seora bends her knees slightly, adjusting her shorts up just enough.
"That's my girl." Yunho whispers, the crowd going silence to let the two focus at the center while the referee positions himself in between, ball in hand.
"Get 'em, ace." You whisper along, squeezing his hand.
Tip-off starts.
The jumper from the other team immediately jumps up with the ball and Seora knows that's not how you time your jumps.
And she's right.
Because the other jumper is about to hit the ground before the ball does.
She's got this in the bag. It's like second nature to her by now.
Seora gives herself a few minutes, letting the ball linger in the air before she jumps to tip it over towards her team— giving them the head start to the game. You, Yunho, and the rest of your friends cheer loudly, giving them the energy to proceed down the court to execute their play and score their first basket. By this time, your mom, dad, and Wonwoo walk in, joining your group on the bleachers.
"We made it just in time!" Your mom says, sitting on the bleachers in front of you. The rest of your friends greet your parents and your brother before returning their attention to the game ahead. It goes back and forth for awhile— both teams exchanging points, leaving the game to be a close one with one or the other only trailing by two or three points.
As they hit the second quarter, Seora's team falls behind. Yunho sighs, getting visibly nervous as he tries to cheer and reassure his daughter from the stands when she hops back into the game to relieve her teammates for the last few minutes.
At halftime, they're down by 6.
"Hey, ace. You're doing great, okay? Don't add to much pressure or work yourself too much. Just let the game unfold naturally." Yunho says as Seora briefly jogs over to grab some gatorade from him.
"Thanks, daddy." She waves at everyone else. "I'll try." He can tell Seora is feeling nervous and pressed— wanting to do her best to pull the team through for the last half.
"You can't carry the entire team on your back, babygirl."
"I know. But I can do my best to." She says, just before she jogs backward and shrugs. Yunho shakes his head and lets out a small scoff.
"She's just like you." You tap his knee.
"I don't know if that's a good or bad thing right now." He chuckles.
"She's got the grit and determination." You smile. "Don't worry. It'll be all good, love."
Both you and Yunho watch as Seora quickly gulps her gatorade before rounding up with the team and coach, going over the play for the third quarter. Because they're down, coach knows they need to execute a whole new aggressive play to get the team back up. He scribbles on his clipboard, going over the new play and asking if the next five have any questions.
Then, the next quarter begins with the girls on edge. There's just so much anxiety and pressure to get the team back up instead of trailing behind even more. The third quarter starts off pretty slow, with both teams not able to make shots for a long while. Finally, Seora's team is able to pick up momentum again— getting their shots in properly. Yunho can tell Seora is starting to get too nervous with the way her leg is constantly bouncing at the bench. She continues to cheer on her team as they run up and down the court, doing their best to catch up. At one point, she looks over to the crowd, her eyes landing on you and her father. You give her a small smile, while Yunho mouths out some reassuring words:
It's alright, ace.
Relax.
You got this.
Don't let them get to you.
I love you.
She smiles, her heart relaxing—nerves calming just as the third quarter comes to an end. Her team is down by three. Close enough. If they keep it close and don't give the other team advantages, they can pull through and take the W.
Seora hops onto her feet when coach tags her in, stretching her neck from side to side before she swipes at the bottom of her shoes— making sure they've still got good grip for the last quarter. She's got a good feeling, and she feels like she's got the energy to take her team all the way through to the finish line.
The quarter starts off tense, with Seora executing the plays effortlessly as usual. There's a few turnovers, but nothing her team can't bounce back from. It's a tight game, both teams exchanging points by making baskets every time the ball is in their court.
And Seora is sick of the back and forth.
So, she takes matters in her own hands. Especially when time is ticking.
They don't have all the time in the world to be dancing around.
Seora calls out the play to her teammates once more, passing the ball to Chan-mi on the right. The other team begins playing hard defense, almost pushing Chan-mi to lose the ball. But, Seora dives in, taking the ball back to center to restart. She calls out another play just to throw the other team for a loop, her coach fully supportive of the last-minute change just to get a shot in before time runs out.
"Let's go, ace!" You and Yunho yell, standing for her as she takes her lead as point guard, running the full play with her teammates in order to take the shot at the right side of the court. The ball goes in, putting her team at a three point lead. The game continues to be incredibly close, but as long as their team continues to push the same momentum, you have no doubt they'll pull through.
Seora looks at you and Yunho, smiling from ear to ear as she makes the shot. You, Yunho and the rest of the group cheer loudly for her as she runs down the court to take on defense, giving her the boost of energy she needs to keep the energy going.
"Run it back!" Yunho stands and yells when Seora's able to steal the ball from an opponent. "Run it back!" He repeats, his hands behind his head as he watches Seora drive the ball down the court for a layup— scoring another basket for the team and putting them up another 2 points.
"Yes, let's go!" You, your friends, and your family cheer loudly. "Good job, Seora!" Seora and her teammates high five each other before running back down the court, the clock ticking down with only three minutes left on the clock. Seora is on full defense mode, making sure the other team doesn't get a chance to score more baskets. It's probaby impossible to catch up by now, but still.
Seora doesn't wanna let her guard down.
As the other team executes their play, they try to dribble past the defense Seora and her teammates are putting up. They pass the ball along between each other, the clock running out of time before they forfeit their chance with the ball. One of the girls finally takes a shot out of pressure, the ball barely hitting the rim and bouncing off. Chan-mi jumps for the rebound, passing the ball down to her teammate who is already on their side of court, near the basket— allowing them to shoot the ball from the right, outer three-point line.
She misses, but Seora is there to catch the rebound before anyone else can. She restarts, bringing the ball back to the top. She calls out the play and executes, the clock now ticking down with seconds left. The other team plays hard on defense, double-teaming any of Seora's teammates that has the ball. Chan-mi barely passes the ball over to Seora, and Seora immediately shoots the ball right before the timer runs out.
"Yes! Let's go!" You and Yunho yell loudly together as Seora makes the winning basket— bringing her team to the championships. Your entire group roars and stands up, cheering loudly as Seora, her team and her coach celebrate together on the court before congratulating the other team and shaking their hands. When families are able to greet their children on the court, Yunho runs straight to Seora— lifting her into the air and swinging her around in his arms. She squeals, holding onto him tightly until he puts her back down and presses a kiss to the top of her head.
"Congrats, Ace! You killed it out there!"
"Thanks, daddy." She smiles before turning towards you. "Y/N!" She throws her arms around your torso. You hug her tightly and smile, giving her a good squeeze before letting go.
"Congrats, Seora! You were a beast." You say, handing her the small bag in your hand. "Got you a little something." She pulls back and gently takes the bag.
"Thank you. I'm glad you came. I was looking for you earlier and was worried you wouldn't come."
"Why wouldn't I come?" She chuckles and shrugs. "I'll always make it work."
"I wanna open this in the car, if that's okay."
"Of course." She looks up at you and smiles again.
"Thank you again. I really am happy you were here for my game." She looks at you, then at her faher. "I'm ready to go shopping, though." You and Yunho laugh.
"Alright, alright. Let's go hang out with your coach and team for a bit before we head home. Looks like he wants to have lunch at the bbq place across the street with everyone."
"Yum!" Seora says. "I could eat!" You laugh just as she greets your family and the rest of your friends, the entire group congratulating her while making their way over to the bbq spot across the street to celebrate with the team and their families.
"How does it feel to be headed off to the championships?"
"Like I'm on top of the world." Seora says, tossing her duffle bag aside, sighing contently as she carefully places her MVP medal onto the kitchen island. "Frame this, daddy. Please. I'll need to cherish this forever." Yunho laughs.
"You got it."
"I'm gonna go shower so we can get to shopping. Ou, then I can finally put this on my purse for today!" She squeals, pulling out the Hirono plush keychain she got from you. You had given her a Hirono blindbox as her small present post-game; something she had apparently been talking about and eyeing for days now, per her father.
"Can't wait to see that little cutie hanging from your purse." She smiles, giving you one last look of appreciation with the keychain in hand before rushing off to her bedroom with her things— leaving you and her father behind.
"Want anything to drink or snack on, baby?" Yunho asks as he shuffles through his fridge. "Seora and I cut some fruit up last night and made a little fruit bowl." He holds out a large clear bowl full of strawberries, mangoes, pineapples, grapes.
"Sure, I could use some fruit." He laughs.
"Atta girl." He says, bringing out two small bowls for you and him. He scoops some fruit into both before heading to the couch with both in hand. "Here." He holds out a bowl.
"Thank you." You look at the fruit. "Ouuu, they look so pretty and fresh."
"Right? They're hella good." He immediately digs in, forking right into a slice of mango. "God damn." You giggle.
"Seora played a hell of a game today. And was named MVP by her coach. You must be a proud dad."
"Always." He smiles. "God, what a good day."
"What does she do during off season?"
"Tournaments." He looks at you. "She never really stops playing, honestly."
"Really?"
"Mhm. She signs up for the youth recreational league at the nearby recreation center every summer. It's usually the same group of kids, lots of kids from her school join, too. It helps her continue to train over break."
"That's good. She likes to be busy, doesn't she?"
"Yeah, she does. Which, I guess, it's good. At least she's not always glued to her phone."
"Yeah."
"Her, Chan-mi, and their other friends always go out and explore. They rarely stay in and just doom-scroll or stay on TikTok, even though it may seem like it." You laugh.
"That's really good, love. You should be proud." The two of you continue to eat away at your fruit while going over the rest of Seora's birthday party details. You had helped Yunho book the perfect place for her party, along with placing the order for the decorations and cake. Yunho finalized the catering. Now, they just needed her list so they could get a final headcount and send out invites.
Once Seora was freshly showered and dressed, she grabs her shoulder bag and clips the Hirono keychain, along with a few of her other smaller keychains onto it. She looks at herself in the mirror for the final time before spraying some body mist and heading out of her room.
"I'm ready." She stands in the hallway in her jeans and a light purple sweater with flowers printed on the front.
"You look so cute. I love that sweater on you."
"Thanks." She chuckles, walking by your side as you two slip into your shoes near the front of the door. "I can't wait to finally go shopping."
"I know. We'll find you a cute outfit for your birthday. I know we will." She immediately links her arm with yours as you begin to walk towards Yunho's car— leaving him behind to slip into his shoes and lock up alone.
"Heyyyy. I still exist, too. I'm paying, remember?" He calls out, patting down his pockets before locking up the house.
"Yeah, we know, daddy. Don't worry." The both of you turn and pause in your steps, Seora shooting her dad a look.
"Oh yeah, really?" He playfully scoffs, gently ruffling her hair.
"Hey!" She says.
"Let's not go overboard with the new outfits, okay? That's the only rule I have."
"I never said I was gonna go overboard." Seora says, climbing into the backseat. "I'm a responsible shopper!" She pauses before she buckles in her seatbelt. "Most of the time. I've only accidentally gone overboard during stationary shopping, but I don't always do it!"
"Mhm." Yunho chuckles, looking at you. "My ladies all buckled in and ready?"
"Yes." You respond just as Seora does. You look at her through the rear view mirror, giving her another small smile while Yunho takes off for the mall. You listen intently as she starts to brainstorm more ideas for her birthday outfit— her ideas having changed a bit since the last time you two talked. You can tell she's excited to see what's out there, to find what works, to find a new style that she could show off.
On the way to the mall, Seora connects her phone to the bluetooth so she could pick and choose her favorite songs. You and Yunho sang along to most, the car ride turning into a full-blown karaoke session at one point.
You arrived at the mall within a blink of an eye.
Seora immediately walked to her favorite store, her eyes lighting up at the new collection and spread throughout the shop.
"Ace." Yunho's hands are dug deep into his pockets as he trails behind you two. He's a little scared, he's not gonna lie. He's not sure if he's scared to see Seora grow up so quickly right in front of his eyes, or if he's afraid for his wallet. Or both, perhaps. But, he decides to give her a friendly reminder to keep it cool, calm, and collected. "Just what you need—"
"Yes, right, yeah!" She says, already rushing off to the first section with you right behind her.
"And not anything unnecessary." Yunho finishes his statement, shaking his head with a small chuckle. Forget it, he thinks. Why the fuck was he being like this? It was for her birthday. He needed to let her do whatever the hell he wanted. Besides, he liked seeing this.
You and Seora taking your sweet time go through the each and every single item on the rack.
He was going to sit back and silently trail behind, waiting to whip out his wallet whenever you two were ready. But, his smile grew wider and wider every time Seora turned to ask for his opinion or to excitedly show him the new options she'd hang over her arm before going off on how she envisioned the outfit in her head.
Once she was ready [and damn near drowning with all the clothes on her arm], she ran off to the dressing room with you— wanting you to be in the room with her. It was another step forward in your relationship with Seora, more progression in your relationship, and you couldn't be more ecstatic. Grateful. You helped set her clothes along the wall of the dressing room, lining up the shirts and bottoms by outfit ideas. Yunho sat outside, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He realized he hadn't taken an 'artistic' shot in awhile to post on his Instagram, and he was quite overdue. Hopefully, he could snap a photo today. It could be his way of updating whoever followed him on life's adventures.
Updating them that he was happy, that Seora was happy.
That all was well and he felt loved. At the equal amount of love he was giving. Everything felt balanced for once.
He could hear the two of you laughing while trying to decide the best way to mix and match the oufits, until finally, he heard Seora squeal a few times.
"Wait, this is it!" She squeals. "These are the two! This is perfect!"
"Yeah?" You laugh, looking at her in the mirror. "It's super cute. I agree on both." She nods. "Turn around?" She turns.
"Cute?"
"Mhm! Okay, face front again." You direct her. "Pose." She does a cute pose, throwing up the peace sign with her lips puckered. "Yes girl, there it is!" She laughs. "Again— mhm, cute!" Yunho laughs to himself hearing the cute girl talk outside.
"Wait, can we take a mirror picture?"
"But, I look gross." You chuckle.
"You don't." She gently wraps her arm around yours to tug you closer, leaning her head against it as she brings up her phone. "1-2— Pose!" She throws up the peace sign again— this time, sticking her tongue out, while you also throw up the peace sign and make a cute face. She laughs, admiring the photos. "Yup, I want these outfits. This is it." She looks at herself again in the mirror, observing the outfit from side to side, back to front. "See, I wouldn't have been able to do this with dad."
"I heard that." Yunho murmurs right outside the door, making her giggle.
"I love you!" She calls out before undressing and putting on her own clothes. You separate the 'no' items from the 'yes' items, making sure everything Seora wanted was in the right hand.
"I love you, too." Yunho grumbles. But, just before he could throw a dramatic [unserious, playful] tantrum, the door swings open and out comes a happy daughter and girlfriend. Suddenly, he's no longer hurt by the fact that Seora doesn't think he can provide top tier fashion advice— he can't even stop his smile from growing when he sees how naturally happy the two of you are together. "Sounds like we had some success with the stuff you two picked out?"
"Yup!" You raise your left hand. "This is the no group." Yunho's nods and chuckles.
"And that's the yes?" He points to your right hand, causing you to nod.
"I'll let you take care of these." You hand the clothes over to him. He lets out a teasing sigh, taking the items from your hand and throwing them carefully over his arm.
"Yeah, yeah." Yunho chuckles, taking out his wallet from his back pocket while you and Seora follow from behind. "Let me think about which card to put this on."
"Thank you, daddy." Seora clings onto his free arm and looks up at him with her cute, boba eyes. He smiles down at her and ruffles her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head like he always does.
"You're welcome, ace. As long as you're happy." As Yunho gets to the register to pay for Seora's outfits and accessories, Seora looks out to the mall, her eyes landing on the milk tea stand in the middle of the walkway outside of the store.
"Y/N, can you come with me to get milk tea, please? I'm parched after trying on those clothes." You laugh, nodding.
"Alright. Come on, let's go get some milk tea. What does your dad want?"
"Taro."
"What do you like?"
"I like being adventurous." She taps her chin as you approach the milk tea booth, eyeing the specials they have. "Like, that oreo thai milk tea. Ou, or that black sugar banana milk with boba? Oh my god."
"You should do it." You respond in a sing-song tone with an approving look.
"What'll you get?"
"I'm simple like your dad, too." You giggle. "I usually just go for a strawberry matcha latte if I want something sweet, or a roasted oolong milk tea if I want something that's not too heavy."
"Those are good, though. Strawberry matcha latte is so good. Are you craving that for today?"
"Yeah, I suppose I can go for that today." You smile as you approach the cashier. "Decide on which one you wanna taste?"
"Definitely can't stop thinking about the black sugar banana milk with boba. It's probably gonna be really sweet, but I need it. I played my butt off today." You laugh and nod.
"Got it." You order for the three of you, tapping your card against the reader just as Yunho makes his way over— his long legs striding over in two, three, four big steps.
"Hey, woah. You couldn't wait for me to get those?"
"It's fine." You look up at him with a smile. "Let me get the milk tea." He tuts.
"Babe." He whines a bit under his breath.
"Stop." You chuckle, grabbing the receipt from the cashier before thanking the associate. "We got you taro."
"That's perfect. Thank you." He says, planting a kiss against your temple before throwing his arm around Seora— tugging her to his side and causing her to giggle. "Wanna walk around some more?"
"Yeah, yeah!" Seora says. Once the drinks were made, the three of you continued to walk around the mall— mainly to window shop. Seora grabbed herself a few little goodies consisting of more stationary supplies, keychains, and small, inexpensive blind boxes. Towards the end, she found a pair of chunky black boots that she couldn't stop eyeing. Yunho could tell she wanted them badly, despite the fact that she kept brushing it off and telling him she didn't want it.
That he bought enough for her, that she was more than satisfied.
He could see it in his daughter's eyes.
So, he walked in there, had her try on the shoes— watched her face glow. The moment he realized she couldn't stop staring at herself in those shoes, he knew she had to have the pair.
After he bought her the boots, Seora's eyes landed on a small crowd of people populating in an area.
"Wait, let's go check it out." She nods at the section. "There's people heading over there. I'm curious." You and Yunho nod. It's not long before you find out that they were holding a light exhibit at the end of the mall, which Seora dragged both you and Yuhno into before going home. It was a free exhibit, and luckily, the three of you caught it on its last day. Despite the small crowd that formed at the entrance, there weren't too many people walking through the exhibit itself— making it easier to take photos.
"Y/N, oh my god. Look. Isn't it so cute?!" Seora says, dragging you by the hand towards the fairy made up of bright lights.
"She is cute." You laugh. "I've never seen such a huge light exhibit at the mall."
"It's amazing." She looks up in awe.
"Okay, pose right over there." You let go of her hand and direct her to stand near the fairy's wings. "Cute!" You show her the picture.
"Oh gosh." Seora laughs. "It is cute. Here. Can I take yours? Then, the big ol' giant can come join you."
"Excuse you." Yunho responds.
"What?" Seora asks as she focuses on taking your picture, smiling at the way you pose. "Pretty!" She shows you the photo, causing you to nod in approval.
"Aw, thank you, Seora. Your angles are amazing. You take better picture than me and Wonwoo combined. My parents will definitely agree on that." You snort.
"Okay, okay. Dad, go be cute and stand next to Y/N." She gently pushes her dad towards the fairy to stand next to you. Yunho throws an arm around you, tugging you close to his side. He makes a silly face and throws up the peace sign, making Seora laugh. "You're not serious. I said be cute!"
"Am I not cute?!"
"Dad, please." You gently smack his chest also in retaliation.
"Ah—Okay, okay." He laughs. The two of you smile for the first photo before Yunho kisses your cheek for the next. Seora directs him to hug you from behind, making you giggle. She snaps a few candid photos— satisfied with what she was able to capture.
"Perfect." She says, showing you the photos she took on your phone. "Isn't it super cute?"
"Damn, ace. You do take good photos."
"I know, I taught you, remember?" She laughs, taking the lead further down the exhibit. You catch up and walk alongside of Seora, the both of you continuing to look at the lights in awe— snapping photos every chance you get. Yunho couldn't help but chuckle to himself, trailing behind just to watch you two interact. It made his heart swell with love, affection. Overwhelming joy.
His girls drinking milk tea together under the lights.
The exhibit took 30 minutes before the three of you finally hit the end. A staff member noticed you and Yunho switching off to take photos with Seora, so they offered to take a couple of group shots for you. When you looked at the photos, you couldn't help but almost tear up at how happy Yunho and Seora looked alongside of you. How happy the three of you looked together.
How complete you looked.
It was decided you'd grab Seora's favorite fried chicken and kimchi fried rice from her favorite restaurant on the way home, part two of the karaoke session kicking in after a successful shopping trip and day out together post-playoff game. Back at Yunho's, everyone settles down quickly— changing into pajamas before gathering at the dining table to eat together. Seora talks a bit about the upcoming championship game as a way to calm her nerves. She talk about how she hopes she'll play well just like she did in today's game. You and Yunho reassure her, reminding her just how much of an amazing player she is no matter what the outcome ends up being. Yunho follows up by telling her how proud he is of how far she's come and how excited he is to see where she goes.
To see where this all takes her. To see her grow.
And you are, too. Hopefully, alongside of Yunho, for years to come.
After dinner, you and Seora help Yunho clean up in the kitchen. You're cleaning the dishes, while Seora is wiping down the table and Yunho is taking out the trash. Your mom had quickly stopped by to say hi, bringing over some cake for the three of you to quickly indulge in for dessert. Once the kitchen was neat and tidy, Yunho pulled out the couch to turn it into a bed, dropping some blankets onto the surface. Yunho gets himself settled on one end with you on the other end. Seora lays sideways [somehow comfortably] in between you and her father, with her head on your lap— your hand gently threading through her long hair and massaging her scalp.
"I want to invite him to my birthday, but I dunno if he'd go." Seora shows you a picture of a boy in the grade above, supposedly one of the cuter boys in that class that all the girls in her class have a crush on. She also has a crush on him, but she won't say it out loud with her father being so close in proximity.
"Why not? You never know unless you ask, Seora."
"I'm afraid of rejection. Like, as in, he won't be able to go to the party." She talks in code with you, giving you a quick look.
"How could he say no to you?" You chuckle. "Besides, you said the boys in your class are cool with him. He might be okay hanging out with them for the day."
"Excuse me, who is this boy we're talking about?" Yunho cocks a brow up as he sips the cup of tea in hand. He props Seora's feet onto his lap, gently adjusting her crooked fuzzy socks. "Acting like I can't hear this conversation."
"Nobody, dad." Seora giggles.
"All of a sudden he's a nobody." You give him a look, subtly shaking your head to stop him from pressing on. He mouths out a single 'what?' before glancing back down at his daughter. Then, back at you.
"Seora is just going through her guest list for the party."
"And are you satisfied with it?"
"I think so." Seora sighs, sinking into your hold as you continue to rake through her hair with your fingers.
"I say you should just invite everyone you've got on that list." She briefly looks up at you and you wink. She smiles before nodding, scrolling through her Instagram feed again.
"Yeah, I will. Why shouldn't I, right?"
"Let me see the list, ace."
"Once I'm done." She emphasizes.
"Am I gonna see some new names?"
"Perhaps."
"Can I at least meet these new names beforehand? Give them a little interview before they step through the hall doors—"
"Jeong Yunho." You mutter as you give him another look, making Seora laugh.
"Daddy got in trouble."
"Hey, I'm just trying to do my daddy duties."
"Daddy duties gotta relax during birthday girl's party." Yunho looks at you before giving off a resigned sigh.
"Fine, fine. But if these newcomers try anything, I'll be quick to show them the door."
"Dad's a gentle giant, he wouldn't." Seora says, setting her phone down to pay attention to the TV.
"Yes the hell I would." Yunho adds. "You think I wouldn't for you, ace?"
"Daddy. You wouldn't cause problems. You could never." She says, squealing a bit when Yunho gently tickles her foot and squeezes her toes.
"Just protecting my little girl, that's all." You smile at the two's playful banter. As the zombie movie continues, you and Seora chime in with your thoughts on each scene that unfolds. There's a lengthy debate that goes on for awhile about survival skills and the best way to stay alive the longest, even as Seora starts to yawn.
Then, the yawns trickle down to you.
Eventually, it gets a little too quiet. Seora's commentary has stopped. Sooner or later, your own comments and giggles have stopped. Yunho feels like he might be watching the movie by himself at this point.
And he's right.
He slightly turns his head to the right, seeing you tucked against his side— fast asleep. Seora's head is still on your lap. He smiles to himself, silently and slowly tugging up the blankets to completely drape them over your bodies in the meantime.
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who loves to receive dirty kisses, teeth and tongue. until his lips are plump and pink so he can stare in the mirror. long and hard at the mess. pouting and posing at his reflection, "mama, do you think i look good?'"
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who likes to tease, crushing his huge body against you, pushing his plush torso to your back. leaning down, humid breath pooling hot against your skin. kissing up to the crook of your ear. a wet pop that released with a nasty moan, from deep inside. he rubs, almost humps against you, whining desperately to excite you. "i need you, please."
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who likes it when it hurts. likes it when he's a twitching mess, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, it's just too good. when he cums and you pump harder, making his cock burn, red tip dripping soo much. he can't even open his poor eyes. such a beautiful drooling mess. "n-no more, no!"
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who sneaks under the sheets, locking fingers with you, playing it off as an innocent act. kissing the back of your palm to then stretch your fingers and wrap them around his lips. sinking his head into them until he gags. cute little tears bubbling up, only to repeat the motion, oh how he loves to be used.
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who likes to get in the bathtub and straddle you in his lap. grabbing soap and rubbing it all over your boobs to then press you against him. both chests squished together. bouncing up and down. nipples touching yours, dancing in tandem. "you feel so good, doll." spewing praise at him while gripping at the root of his scalp.
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who is a bratty one, cursing at you every chance he gets. "you are such a cunt." while you ride his poor brains out. "ffuck you..." while you swirl his pink tip around your tongue. "such a bitch."
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who goes into sub-space and blabbers nonsense while you finger him. drool spilling down his sternum. making direct eye contact with the way you fuck his ass.
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who grabs onto you tightly and falls asleep right between your chest. chanting over and over how much he loves you.
𓏲ּ𝄢 sub mingi ! who is an occasional switch, who bends you over and fucks mama how she deserves. ㅤ♡ྀི
pairing: bf!wooyoung x gf!reader
synopsis: life has been kicking your ass. overworked, no time for self-care, and little time to spend quality time with your partner- wooyoung decides to whisk you away for a long weekend hoping it will help you feel like yourself again.
a/n: this one's for the bitches who need a mf break. this was suppose to be an emotionallymessy!reader x emotionallystable!wooyoung fic but it turned into reader just needing to turn off her brain. also, i've been listening to castle a lot and it kinda influenced me!
cw: smut mdni! alcohol consumption (they don't get drunk though), not necessarily dom!woo but he's def the one calling the shots, cursing, pet names (pretty girl, baby), fingering, unprotected p in v, one slap, fingers in mouth, drooling, dirty talk, semi-public sex (they're in a backyard, but houses are conveniently spaced far away hehe), mentions of toxic past relationships (i don't go into detail)
wc: 6.7k
It was hot. Like, you better put on your flip flops coming out of the pool if you don't want the bottoms of your feet to barbecue on the patio, hot. The summer playlist Wooyoung curated bumps at a not-too-obnoxious volume from the speaker set on the lounge chair while you lazily float about the pool on an inflatable. The high, black iron fence that surrounds the backyard, matted with lush greenery and pops of light purple wisteria, makes it feel like you're in a fantasy world, away from real life problems.
Wooyoung could see that you were overwhelmed with everything life has been throwing at you lately and arranged for a stay at a rental house a couple hours away from the city. Somewhere that wasn't tied to the goings on of what was happening at home or work. A completely separate space that kept the looming thoughts of what was to come after the long weekend.
And a long weekend away was exactly what you needed. Your work shifts have been stretching long beyond the usual 8 hours into 10, sometimes more, because of reasons beyond your control. Coming home to a mountain of laundry and dishes with little time to cook yourself a nutritious meal let alone grocery shop. Wooyoung would cook for you when he had the time, but he was also busy with his photography business. Booked nearly every weekend for special events and the majority of the week for professional portraits. Quality time spent together consisted of strictly sleep. You’d trudge in from another long shift that made you rethink your career, absent mindedly shower, and eat cut up fruit and yogurt out of a glass Pyrex measuring cup because you forgot to run the dishwasher before hurrying out the door in the morning. Then, Wooyoung would make it over just in time to catch you as you were falling asleep, pulling your curled up form into his body as he ran a soothing hand up and down your back.
You didn't feel human anymore. You had no more spoons to give. Honestly, the whole damn silverware drawer was empty.
It’s a sweet gesture for him to make. You’ve only been dating for six months, the relationship very much still new, but it hasn't felt that way. Wooyoung's charismatic charm and talent for reading people made it easy for him to clock that the far away stares and random bouts of silence increasing in frequency was a sign of you being at your wits end.
The mixture of coconut-banana scented sunscreen and chlorine was like aromatherapy to you, a reminder that you weren't in the stifling city where all your problems were waiting for you to come back. You move your arms on top of the water, letting buoyancy do its thing, like you were creating snow angels, letting the feeling of the water rolling across your skin keep you grounded.
A hand caught your wrist, “Is this a relaxing type of fidgeting, or the anxious kind?” You hear your boyfriend ask from next to you.
You roll your head to the side where he was floating next to you and look up at him over your sunglasses. All golden skin, hard lines of muscle, and shiny silver of the necklaces, rings, and the bracelet he refused to go a day without wearing. His expression reads less serious than what his question was asking, but still genuine none-the-less.
“If you keep reminding me of my anxiety it’ll just keep me feeling anxious.” You twirl your wrist around to knock his grip off and interlace your fingers with his, pulling him closer to you so your inflatables bump together, “This is perfect, thank you for doing this.” You smile while you float next to each other hand in hand like a pair of sea otters making sure not to drift apart.
You bring the mixed drink you made before getting into the pool up to your lips, taking a sip to find it watered down and hard to swallow. The disgusted sound you make in the back of your throat comes out louder than expected, “I’m making another drink, you want one?” You shake your glass in front of Wooyoung for emphasis.
“I’ll get it,” He offers, already grabbing for the glass and slipping off his float. And bless his heart, but if he does one more thing for you, you might choke him out with all the love in the world. He's waited on you hand and foot since you got here a mere 18 hours ago. Laying out your bath towels and swimsuit in the bathroom before you woke up, bringing you breakfast and tea in bed, even applying your sunscreen for you. Not even in the sexy way- he just smooshed his hands all over your face and ears to make sure you wouldn't burn even a little bit.
“Woo, I really appreciate everything you've been doing for me. But you're starting to feel more like a butler and less like my boyfriend and it's weirding me out.” You argue, flopping off your own float and moving the glass away from his grabby hands.
It’s his turn to look up at you from over his sunglasses, a pierced brow raising and suggestive smirk plastered on his face, “That doesn't turn you on?”
You let out a short, loud laugh, “Maybe if you’d put on a pair of gloves and bow tie and didn't try to airplane feed me scrambled eggs this morning it would have.”
“Oh my god, rude!”
Plucking his glass out of the cup holder next to his tattooed forearm you ask,“Now, what can I get you, Mr. Jung.”
He pushes his bottom lip into a pout, “Mr. Jung, not baby? So you hate me?” He brings a hand behind you and rests a palm on an asscheek under the water, his large, veiny hand still warm under the cool water. Raising your brow at him expectantly, you shake his glass waiting for an answer.
He huffs and drops the feigned hurt, “Surprise me.”
“Sure thing…” you bend over and let your sunglasses slip down to the tip of your nose, making eye contact before finishing the sentence “...baby.” giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. His eyes roll back into his skull as you grin, all teeth, and turn around to wade through the water and up the steps.
At the outdoor bar, the guilt starts to gnaw at you. Being taken care of is such a foreign concept, how were you supposed to act? Is it a trap? A way to build up favors to hold over your head and manipulate you into doing what he wants? That's the extent of your experience in relationships anyways. Wooyoung seems genuine enough. It's been six months, which isn't a long time but men had shown their true colors a lot sooner in the past. You think you should be in the clear.
Your brain plays ping pong with the thought as you locate whiskey, bitters, and steal an orange from the pile of snacks you set out on the outdoor dining table before getting in the pool. Hands on autopilot, using your vague knowledge of mixology to make his favorite drink, your thoughts continue to spiral.
Were you too mean? Is he getting tired of you telling him he doesn't need to do things for you? Deflection over confrontation has always been your go to strategy when it comes to uncomfortable emotions. It worked with Wooyoung. You met him a couple months before the two of you became official in November and made your “couple debut”, as Wooyoung called it, at a get together for his birthday. A bunch of friends of his that you hadn't met before were there, and that included girls. Because girls like Wooyoung. He’s flirty by nature and a good listener. He remembers details about everybody, he’ll ask questions about something that was told to him months ago and women ate that shit up especially.
So when he was chatting it up a little too hard with Minji you couldn't help the physical shift in your face and body language. Lips drawn in tight together, body ridged and angled away from him. He clocked it immediately, but you couldn't push the words out of your throat when he asked about it. It felt like rocks were sitting in your mouth, blocking the jealousy from making itself known. Instead you made a joke about how he was fired from helping you pick out your outfits because his terrible choice in shoes was giving you blisters.
That was just the nature of your relationship, ribbing each other endlessly because you both enjoyed it. It made everything feel less serious, and therefore, the stakes were lower.
Tapping the bar spoon on the rim of the glass, you decide you didn't feel like making another cocktail so you settle on a canned seltzer for yourself, cracking it open before picking up Woo’s drinking and fast walking across the hot pavement to where your boyfriend was now sitting on the top step in the pool. Head titled back, eyes closed, and arms bent at the elbow, leaning back on the wet bricks you wondered how on Earth an emotionally fucked-up woman like you pulled a man like him.
An eye pops open as you step into the pool next to him, brown iris much brighter with the sunlight hitting them, “Who’s who butler?” he asks as he brings the glass to his lips for a sip.
It did make him feel some type of way then. Where exes of yours had no problem making their feelings of unpleasantness known through dramatic temper tantrums, Wooyoung did it with decorum. He thought before he spoke, when it mattered anyways, and it never came out accusatory, making your fight or flight less likely to kick in.
Sighing, you bring your leg over him and drop into his lap, the water only covering a few centimeters of your shins, your knees pressing into the blue plastic liner of the steps. Sour lemon and lime flavor prickles your tongue as you take a sip of your seltzer, the alcohol leaving a burn down your throat, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in an ungrateful way.” you say as you set the can on the pool’s edge and bring your hands to fiddle with front bow strings that keep your bikini top tied.
Wooyoung does the same with his drink and drops his hands to your thighs to rub, a silent way of showing he isn’t mad, “I know, I just don’t understand if you can do things for me why can’t I do them for you?”
Your throat feels tight and swollen all of a sudden, the metaphorical rocks are being shoved back into your mouth again and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. Groaning you drop your head forward so your face is hidden against his chest. The water droplets still clinging to his golden skin is a well needed shock of cool to keep your brain from overheating with a billion different thoughts. You try to parse through everything you want to say, weighing each word to determine what effect it would have on him. So badly not wanting to say the wrong thing- if that’s the case you’d rather say nothing at all.
Finally, you settle on “It makes me feel guilty when you do so much for me, especially when I haven't been giving back. I should be able to pull myself together and deal with my shit like an adult.” Your admission is quiet, whispered into his body like a secret, even though it was just the two of you hidden away amongst the viney walls the plants created around the yard.
With your vision obscured you hear more than see the laugh that escapes his nose through a huff of air. His arms wrap around you fully so you're pressed tight against him, trying to calm your racing, anxious heart.
“I do what I do because I want to. It’s how I show I care, baby. If it was too much for me I wouldn’t do it.” He speaks into the top of your head, trying to put all the sincerity into his words so you believe him. You tilt your head back so your chin is resting on his chest now and you’re looking up at him, wide eyed and glassy. It feels absurd how terrified you are about baring your heart to somebody, it’s embarrassing. He speaks with such confidence and certainty. How does he do it so easily? Why was it so hard for you?
But one thing was for certain: Wooyoung has been the best thing that's happened to you. You didn't have to worry about walking on eggshells to avoid a screaming match over trivial things. You could spend time with friends and family without him guilting you for leaving him alone and making you feel like you had to come home early. You never laid in bed at 3am agonizing over what you could’ve possibly done wrong because he’s been giving you the silent treatment all day. Your heart was calm with Wooyoung.
You inhale a full breath through your nose while wrapping your arms around his back, forcing your eyes back up to his.
“Lately, that's all you've been doing for me. I want to do things for you too, I don't want to feel like I'm always owing you.” You speak quietly, but Wooyoung hears you nonetheless. His brows dive-bomb down towards each other and flinches back subconsciously. He was genuinely curious, while also a little disturbed, by how you could think that? Why would you think that? Only answers that had his blood beginning to boil came to mind. He fixes his face and could only hope he did it before you could see his shock. Unfortunately for him, you’ve trained yourself to detect the microscopic changes in the facial expressions. He could see it in the way a blush flew up your neck and ears and how your bottom lip wobbled before you tucked it under your teeth.
He brings his hands up to cup your face, large palms with long, lithe fingers encompass both of your cheeks fully. Using his thumb to tug your bottom lip free from the anxious chewing you're doing to it, he says, “You will never owe me for anything I do for you. I take care of you because I want you to be happy in mind, body, and soul. Not because I expect favors from you. What can I do to make you believe that?”
You heave a big sigh and pull away from his hold on your face to move your cheek against his shoulder facing away from his neck, looking to the side and watching a squirrel dig frantically in the grass.
“I do believe you. It's my dumbass brain that-” you cut yourself off. If your brain doesn't believe him then doesn't that mean you actually don't? You groan, “I don't even make sense to myself. Woo, I feel like crawling out of my skin. I just know I like you, a lot, and I love being with you so much that I don't want something I do or don't do be a reason this ends.” By the time you finish your voice is warbling and you really wish you could trade places with that squirrel right now.
Wooyoung grips your shoulders to peel your sticky body off of him so he can look at you as he gently coos your name, “I love your big, beautiful brain,” he starts and emphasizes his statement with an obnoxiously large and loud kiss to your forehead. You scrunch your nose and give him a little hmph, but he just grins like you aren't spiraling out your damn mind and continues, “But it's gonna catch fire from all those neural pathways your lighting up with how much overthinking you do. You don't need to analyze and find a reason for every emotion you have. It's okay to just feel.” He rubs his thumbs into the joint that connects your shoulder blade and clavicle, trying to relax the tension you didn't realize you've been keyed up with.
You chew the inside of your cheek and narrow your eyes, “The brain is constantly using neural pathways, so if it was gonna be fried from that it would've happened already. I’m not worried about it.”
Wooyoung throws his head back and lets out a groan of frustration mixed with a laugh because picking apart the logic of the statement rather than absorbing the meaning was so undeniably you it was foolish of him to think you'd do otherwise. His fingers fly down and dig into your waists, wiggling them to tickle you “Don't be like that! You know what I mean, you're being bratty on purpose!”
You crumple into yourself and let out a screech of laughter, trying your best to swat at him while keeping your arms tucked close to your sides as an attempt to block the assault.
“Okay! Alright!” You gasp out between fits of giggles, “I’m sorry!”
He stops at your apology but keeps his palms resting on the curve where your waist and hips meet, “If you need to feel like you’re not…. in debt,” he doesn't hide his disdain for the word but continues, “Wedding season will ramp up next month and I’ll become a shell of a man with how many I’m booked for. You can take care of me all you want. I won’t protest or complain about it, I’ll let you do whatever it is you want to do for me. Will that make you feel better?’
You hum. It’s not something that will make you feel better immediately, but you know you have to meet him halfway.
“I suppose so. What if I’m still in this headspace though?” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth.
He doesn’t hesitate with his response, “Then we work it through together. We’ll be honest with what we need and what we can’t give, and promise each other it's not personal if we don’t have the mental capacity for extra attention. If we’re not open and honest about our feelings, how is anything supposed to get better?”
Damn his stupid, emotionally intelligent brain, because you know he’s right. Your whole life you’ve been bottling up your feelings inside hoping that things will change without ever expressing your desire for it in the first place. How were you supposed to get better at talking about your feelings if you don’t say them aloud in the first place?
“I’ll try harder to be more open about my emotions. It’s just really uncomfortable for me, I feel stupid talking about’em.” You mumble.
“Practice makes perfect, baby. I’ll never make you feel stupid for your feelings. Pinky promise.” He holds out his little finger for you to hook your own around, solidifying the agreement. Before he could let go of your finger you tug him forward and place your hands on either side of his neck to kiss his sun-chapped lips. He makes a shocked noise in the back of throat, but kisses back anyways tasting the citrusy tang of alcohol and the vanilla lip balm you put on this morning. Soaking in the wet slide of your tongues moving against one another and the slow movement of his lips over yours.
“My poor girl, been dealing with so much.” He coos against your lips, your mouth parted waiting for him to kiss you again, tongue flicked halfway out of your mouth. You open your eyes to find him already staring down at you, his expression changed from soft and sincere to something much heavier. You nod dumbly, all the talking about feelings making you want to shut off your brain for a minute. While it was much needed, it’ll still take a while before the idea of it stops feeling like an attack on your nervous system. He pulls you closer to him, sliding you up from your seat on his lower thighs until your core is pressed to his lower abdomen. One of his hands leaves your waist to cup the side of your face and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. “It’s so unfair, life’s been fuckin’ you more than I have, huh?”
You whine, squeezing your thighs against the outer sides of Wooyoung’s, closing your mouth to push your bottom lip out in a pout and nod. You can't remember the last time you had energy for sex. Even though your job doesn’t rely on physical strength it requires a lot of thinking and that mental drain sure makes your body feel exhausted like you've spent the day dead lifting concrete pavers. Driving home consisted of complete silence and fighting to keep your heavy eyes open while trying not to let your thoughts drift too much so you wouldn't miss an exit or run a red light. The reminder of the lack of intimacy sends a surge of neediness through you, your body wanting to make up for it asap. “It's been so long, Woo. M’sorry for making you wait.”
He slides his hand down your cheek to grip your jaw, chin pinched between his thumb and other four fingers, and jostles your head gently side to side, “While we're working on communicating our feelings let's fix your little habit of over apologizing too.”
The call out has you forming the word before you can even think to stop yourself. Wooyoung beats you to it though, squishing your cheeks together in his grip and making your lips purse together like a goldfish. His eyebrows shoot up, daring you to say it, his tongue poking out to play with his lip ring. You scrunch your brows together and blow air out of your nose, signaling your defeat.
He hums and gives your squished lips a light peck, “I know you weren't gonna say what I think you were gonna say, yeah?” He moves your head left to right to shake your head for you like a doll “That’s right, baby. I think you just need a distraction, make your brain go dumb and stop thinking about the bullshit.” This time the nod your head does is solely your own eager doing.
That’s all you've been wanting to do the last two weeks. The constant responsibilities being stacked up at work, being a shoulder to cry on for your friends who were also going through it this week, and being a problem solver for family all had your brain running nonstop. Always thinking of what to say, what to do, and how to do it. You haven't been able to cater to your own needs, too busy focusing on everyone else’s.
You use both of your hands to grip the wrist of the hand he was using to hold your face and tug it away so you can speak, “Shut if off, Woo.” It's said whiny, like you've been trying to fall asleep for hours and are begging the universe to grant you rest. Desperate, because at this rate, the need for him is more than your need to sleep.
The sound of your whiny desperation has Wooyoung cupping his hands under your ass to hold you steady as he carefully stands up. As quickly and cautiously as he could, making sure to step around the drinks abandoned on the bricks, he raced over to sit back against one of the reclined loungers in the shade and set you right back into his lap. You grip his shoulders and lay the front of your body completely along the front of his pulling him back into a frantic kiss. His lips move along yours, licking against the roof of your mouth, teeth catching on the skin of your lips, saliva making its way down your chin. You realize you haven’t even been making out like you used to in the beginning of this relationship and you missed it so much. The swell in your chest at the physical affection sends dopamine pumping through you, relaxing your muscles, and forgetting about anything that didn’t have to do with this moment.
Wooyoung’s hands glide up and down the curves of your body a few times before bringing them around your back and up to your neck where the string of your bikini top rests, giving it a tug to unravel it. He pushes up from his reclined position, forcing you up with him, before settling back down and holding you by the ribs to keep distance between you two. The top of your bathing suit slowly slips down, hanging flipped over your stomach still attached around your bust, and he groans.
“God, your tits.” He slides a hand up and brushes his thumb across your nipple a few times before using the tip of his finger nail to press down on it. You hiss, the sharp pain and zing of pleasure that zips down to your belly. “I missed seeing them, just as perfect as I remember them.”
“Wooyoung,” you pant, pathetically turned on in the span of a few minutes. But you can't bother with feeling embarrassed about it, “Please do something.”
“But I am already, baby.” He responds with an evil quirk of his lips, clearly knowing that's not what you meant.
“Wooyo,” you it say like a warning, but it didn't land. It was too breathy and soft.
“I dunno, I kinda like hearing you say my name like that. One more time for me.” You open your mouth to scold him, getting impatient. Sometimes if you're really stern with him, it'll turn him on enough to flip a switch, but he decides to use that moment to take your nipple between his index finger and thumb and pinch hard. A squeal comes out instead and your body jerks, “Woo!”
“Thank you baby, such a good listener. Giving me exactly what I ask for.” His eyes rake down your body behind his sunglasses, drinking in the shape of you, “This hot little bod drives me insane, and you have such a sweet personality? How’d I get so lucky?”
With eyes closed, soaking up the feeling of his hands sliding down to your thighs, thumbs rubbing the inside of each, you lick your lips before responding “Probably by being an unrelenting flirt and insisting on paying for every single one of my drinks at Mingi’s birthday party.”
He throws a “probably” in response, his thumbs reaching the crease of your thighs, running them along the inside seam of your bikini bottoms. You hum and roll your hips, trying to get them where you need them and open your eyes to see his own sunglass covered ones looking directly between your legs. Obviously too distracted to say anymore. Huffing out an impatient breath at the loss of momentum you bring your hand down to the bulge growing under his thin nylon swim trunks, rubbing the tip of your stiletto nails, the ones he so sweetly paid for you to have done before the trip, down the length of him. His thighs jump and he grunts, grabbing your wrist to twist your arm behind your back, “Put the claws away, woman. I'ma take care of you.”
And finally, he does. He lets go of your arm to bring you forward into his chest again, cheek on his shoulder with your lips pressed against the vein on his neck, pulling your hips up so they're hovering above his lap and can easily slide your damp bathing suit bottoms off. Wet from pool water? Sweat? Arousal? Fuck if either of you know, it could be all of the above. You hear the damp plap of them hitting the patio, feeling the hot breeze blowing across your exposed bottom half arched in the air. For a moment, the thought of surrounding neighbors seeing the debauchery taking place crosses your mind before you remember you're not in the cramped city anymore, you're in a vacation home where the next house is at least a football field length away.
The feeling of your boyfriend using his reach around the back of you to graze your slit brings you back to the present and rocking your hips back to take what you want. He graciously allows it, letting you fuck yourself on one of his fingers before adding another and slowly scissoring you open.
“I know it's been a long time, baby. L’me open you up real quick.” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You melt into the feeling, appreciating every drag of his boney fingers inside you, feeling every bump of his finger joints rub against the inside of your walls. The impatience bleeds out of you, after weeks of everything being go, go, go, you don't want to rush. You want to absorb the feeling of being with him, his ability to make you feel calm in the middle of the stormy parts of your life.
You aren't sure how much time has passed, only that suddenly you're empty and pouting again. You lift your head up with sad, scrunched brows and he's smiling softly, laughing, “Cute, all it takes is your little pussy being empty to bring you back from wherever your mind went off to? I’ve been asking if you’re ready for my dick the last couple seconds, I thought you fell asleep.”
The apology slips out unprompted by your brain, “Yes, yes, I’m sor-” Wooyoung’s thumb cuts you off, pressing down on your tongue, other four fingers curled under your jaw holding it open. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and rolls his eyes, “Alright, you lost speaking privileges. All I wanna hear outta this mouth are your pretty moans and whines, got it baby?”. You nod your head as much as you can. “Good fucking girl.”
This is what you needed. Being told what to do, for once, instead of being the one to do it. You’ll gladly let him take charge, direct you, use you, if that means you can just exist without thinking and dissecting every thought and feeling that rolls through your brain.
He keeps his thumb pressed down on your tongue while using his other hand to press the head of his cock, that he must’ve pulled from his shorts during one of the moments your mind had floated away from the present moment, to your opening. You sigh at the anticipation of being filled again, eyes slowly closing halfway, closing your lips around Wooyoung’s thumb to suck. The taste of his skin, mixed with a hint of chlorine and residual sunscreen from the last time he reapplied, floods your tastebuds as you hollow your cheeks and wiggle your tongue along the digit.
"Ah, ah,” A light tap to your cheek with the palm of his hand has your eyes opening wide again. “No sucking. Keep that mouth open. I wanna feel you drooling all over me, pretty girl.” A reluctant high-pitched whine leaves you as you drop your jaw back open, fighting the urge to taste the salt of his skin again. Pressure against your opening has that urge tossed to the side like your soaking bikini bottoms, the fat tip of his cock stretching your hole. The stretch of you wrapped around the thickest part of him has you clenching impatiently, wanting to feel him in your tummy already. You know better than to take without permission though. Wooyoung isn’t above dragging things out for the sake of making you squirm, but it seems like he was going to do just that anyways. He takes his time, fucking his tip in and out of you, driving you mad. It felt like scratching around a misquote bite, good but missing that satisfying pleasure of hitting the spot it needs scratching the most.
The saliva that's been steadily pooling in your mouth bubbles with your impatient whine, spilling over and down your chin. Wooyoung groans, "Music to my fucking ears." And that's all it takes for him to lift his hips and fill you in one long, torturous go. Your knees slide to the sides, rubbing against the tightly woven material of the lounger that makes the skin burn, but that's the last thing on your mind.
The sudden closeness- him being literally inside you- after weeks of quick kisses and body-to-body contact through pajamas while you catch as much sleep as you can has your heart beating something fierce. You missed him. You missed going to his place to keep him company and goof off while he cooked dinner for the two of you. You missed hanging out with him at his studio while he works on editing client photos. You missed feeling like a couple, because lately you've felt like strangers.
You grab his wrist and squeeze it twice quickly and once slowly. He slides his thumb from your mouth, a string of spit following, and quickly checks in, "You okay? Need a minute?"
"Mhm, wanna kiss you. And see you." You reassure and push his sunglasses on top of his head. Even in the shade you can see his pupils take up so much space only a sliver of pretty brown can be seen around the edges. You thread your fingers through his hair and brush your nose against his with a sigh.
"Better?" He whispers, moving your sunglasses from your face and carefully setting them on the ground. You nod with a dopey close lipped smile on your face, and once you begin kissing him slow and nasty he starts to move.
The delicious roll of his hips knocks a moan from your mouth directly into his each time he pushes in. His grip on your hips to keep them at the perfect angle is unrelenting as he steadily drives his cock into you. Chests sliding together with the help of the mix of sweat from the heavy humidity in the air and the drool that pooled out of your mouth moments earlier.
"Missed this pussy so much- fuck. Missed you so much." Wooyoung grunts against your lips, pace picking up and the legs of the lounger scraping on the patio bricks. “I’m spoiling you right now, because you deserve it for all the bullshit you've been dealing with.” He bands an arm around your lower back, pressing you into a deep arch that has you squealing, “But next round I want you to show me that you remember how to ride this dick.”
“Uh huh! I remember, ‘mma show you.” You're not even kissing him anymore, with every word spoken your lips brush against his. Brows twisted up at the way his body rolls are grinding your clit in the perfect pressure and rhythm. Your fingertips flex at the second joint in his hair, raking at his scalp, your sex dumb mind trying to keep them from using the tips of your sharp acrylics.
He sucks in a sharp breath, but plows into you harder, faster. Your entire body is jostling up and down the length of his, the fire in your gut growing at a rapid speed until you don't think you can take it anymore. The only noises leaving your mouth are a mash up of moans and sobs, and you don't realize you're actually crying until you taste the salt from the tears flowing down your cheeks and into your mouth.
“Oh, baby” Wooyoung coos, bringing a hand up to smear the tears away from under your eye with his thumb. “It’s okay. Shh.”
“It feels so good, Woo. I missed you so much.” You’re for real sobbing now. The emotional damn breaking and flooding your eyes. You love this man, you realize. He’s stuck by you at your worst, let's you have bad days without making it about him, takes care of you when you can't take care of yourself, rented a whole goddamn vacation house just so you could take a fucking breath. All of that, and he has never asked for anything in return.
He kisses you, lip melding into yours, gently nipping at your lips, tongue pressing against yours and licking anywhere he can to get a taste of you, “I’m right here, not going anywhere.” You’re about to cum, you can feel it, the uncontrollable clenching of your cunt around him makes it harder and harder for him to keep up the wild pace of his thrusts up into you.
“Shit, fuck, you gonna cum? I can feel you squeezing the life outta my dick. Go ahead, baby. Let go of all the stress for me.” It takes him a while for him to give you the permission, kissing you between every couple of words. When the tension that's been building up in your lower stomach finally breaks, your body locks up for a second before it starts twitching like you've been shocked. You moan directly into his open mouth, your tongue lazily pressed against his. Both of his hands are on either side of your face now, and he reciprocates with his own beautiful whine as he unloads inside you. Grinding into you to drag it out as much as possible before it turns into over sensitivity.
Your body falls limp on top of his, cheek against his chest, and you try not to think about the amount of sweat that's covering the two of you.
The rumbling of his voice keeps you from drifting off, “I’m going to say something at the risk of it breaking your brain, but I need you to know.” You turn your head to look up at him, seeing that he’s already looking at you. If he could shoot heart beams out of his eyes at the sight of you, he would. Red rimmed lash line, tear-glossed eyes, and dewy skin from the heat, it rivals how gorgeous you are when you dress your best for a night out with your shared friend group. “I love you. You don't have to say it back, I would actually prefer you didn't right away. But I know when, if, you do say it back, I’ll still feel the same way. Even if it's a month or year from now, I’ll feel the same.”
A smile slowly spreads across your face, completely unexpected from you by the faint look of shock on Wooyoung's face. Instead of feeling the need to crawl out of your skin at the thought of such a strong emotion, you feel relief.
“I don't think you’ll have to wait that long.” You say with no hesitation, no need to second guess the way you're feeling or why you're feeling it. Just letting it be. You turn to kiss his sternum, and he hums pleasantly, grinning like a maniac but he doesn't push for an explanation.
“Well, that's a relief.” He reaches over and grabs a towel from the little table next to the chair you're on, “You need to pee, and I didn't think pool water will be enough to wash off the amount of sweat we just produced.”
Your nose scrunches, the thought of moving right now is the last thing your body wants. However, the thought of feeling clean in fresh clothes, maybe going out to the little beach town fifteen minutes away for a late lunch at one of their local restaurants in sandals and a sundress sounds nice enough to get you moving.
You sit up and press your hands to his stomach to keep from wobbling sideways, "You're gonna have to help me clean up, I can't feel my knees." Wooyoung smirks, he can't help but be smug with himself. Pushing himself up, making sure to cradle your back to keep you from falling, "It's the least I can do I suppose." Kissing your forehead he adds, "Thanks for asking me for help."
Embracing the new you, leaving the fear of unworthiness behind, you respond. "Thank you for showing me how easy it can be."
You knew the outfit was a mistake the second you stepped inside. A low cut tank top and shorts, gold necklace dangling against your collarbone, the inferno that was going on lately was just too much.
Your eyes immediately found Kagami already seated on the couch in Aomine’s bedroom, arms crossed, red shirt loose on his frame, and his legs spread like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He glanced up when you entered—and then did a double take, clearly not expecting you to show up looking like that.
You stared back with the exact same silent energy.
The bedroom was dimly lit, a soft blue from the LED strip running above Aomine’s desk, and the TV was already playing. Some god-awful thriller flickered across the screen—overacted, over-scored, under-budgeted.
Aomine was lounging beside Kagami, legs kicked up on the low table. His eyes flicked to you with a cocky grin. “Took you long enough.”
You rolled your eyes and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag by the corner before sitting down on the couch. You left space between yourself and both of them, but somehow Aomine still managed to lean just a little too close. You could feel his arm behind your back, his leg casually brushing yours and your lips curled slightly with irritation. After about fifteen minutes of silent sitting from just watching the film, you exhaled—bored.
“Okay,” you muttered. “This is terrible. Do either of you have actual taste?”
Kagami cleared his throat. “I brought a game.”
Aomine snorted. “Let me guess. Uno?”
Kagami ignored him and pulled out a card deck from his bag—black and red with golden lettering across the box. “Twenty Questions or something. It’s like Truth or Dare, gets people talking.”
Aomine raised a brow. “Gets people fighting, more like.”
You leaned forward and took the deck from Kagami’s hand. “Honestly? I’m desperate enough to give it a shot.”
Aomine shrugged. “Fine by me.”
None of you noticed Aomine slip a couple of other cards into the deck while you were shuffling the half in your hand.
Five rounds in, the game was mostly harmless. It wasn’t until Kagami pulled a card and paused that the air shifted. He stared at it, blinked then frowned hard.
You hovered over. “What does it say?”
Kagami glanced at you, red creeping up his neck and Aomine smirked.
“Kiss the person to your left,” he muttered, voice tight.
You stared.
You were to his left.
You closed your eyes, and then slowly brought your palm to your forehead, sighing. “You have got to be—”
“I’ll do it,” Kagami blurted and you froze, unsure.
“…If you want to?” Kagami added and looked like his head might explode, but his eyes were locked on yours, steady and serious now, like he’d made up his mind and there was no backing out.
You straightened slowly, studying him. His eyes flickered to your lips once—then back to your eyes.
And then he leaned forward and kissed you. It was chaste, barely any pressure at all and his lips were warm and gentle, like he was hesitant. Unsure on what was okay, what was fine to cross the line. Despite this, his kiss lingered and your initial thoughts on the two began fading, your eyelids closing without your permission.
The moment broke with a loud, theatrical scoff.
“That’s it?” Aomine said, grinning like the devil.
Kagami pulled back, flushing deeply. “Shut up.”
“Nah,” Aomine said, already hovering over the table toward you. “Lemme show you how it’s really done.”
You blinked, still flustered from the kiss. “What—”
Before you could finish, Aomine’s hand found your wrist, fingers light but firm, pulling you toward him. He looked at you—really looked—his eyes trailing from your eyes to your nose to your mouth like he was mapping out his path before taking it.
“You cool with this?” he asked, voice low. You hesitated but your hormones didn't, tingling with anticipation.
“…Yeah.” And then he kissed you. Aomine kissed like he meant it. With an open mouth and slow drag of his lips, his tongue brushed yours, and your breath caught before your palms pressed flat against his chest, to push him away or keep him close, you didn’t know. You melted into it for a second too long.
When you broke apart, breathless, the room felt smaller.
Kagami scoffed. “That was sloppy.”
“Oh?” Aomine leaned back with a lazy smile. “Jealous?”
“You wish.”
Aomine chuckled, licking his bottom lip where your gloss had smudged. “Want me to teach you, Kagami?” You were oddly quiet. Your breath caught in your throat and you flicked between the two of them.
You didn’t feel like you had the upper hand anymore, that’s for sure. Clearing your throat once, then twice, you reach over, murmuring, “my turn,” and for the first time—your voice actually cracked. You snatched a card from the pile, not looking at either of them as you flipped over. The silence was broken only by the soft hum of the TV still running behind you. Your eyes scanned the text and you blinked.
“Sit on the tallest person in the room for a minute.” You read slowly and you felt your jaw clench. Gaze narrowed, your head spun to glare at Kagami who was already turning red, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Where the hell did you get these cards?”
“Uh...my captain. I didn't know they had that type of stuff.”
“Sure you didn't,” you said, card still in hand. You heard Aomine laugh at you outright, head tipping back. “C’mon princess, gotta play fair."
You sighed heavily, looking between them. It was obvious who was taller. You slumped a little and you muttered under your breath. Then, with the grace of a reluctant queen, you crawled across the plush floor of Aomine’s bedroom and planted yourself onto his lap.
Facing Kagami.
The second your thighs straddled Aomine’s, his hands instinctively found your waist. Not greedy—just firm. His thumbs brushed over your sides, and you felt your breath stutter, even as you kept your face blank. Kagami, seated directly across from you, was visibly fighting for composure. His hand twitched against the carpet.
Aomine smirked behind you. “Comfortable?” You didn’t dignify it with an answer.
Kagami grabbed a card before the minute could even begin, his movements brisk and irritated. “My turn.” Even though it wasn’t. He flipped it, eyebrows drawing together in a dark scowl as he read it. Then froze.
“What’s it say?” Aomine asked lazily, clearly enjoying himself. Kagami hesitated. Then muttered lowly, “Give the person with the longest hair a… hickey.”
Your brows arched. “You’re joking.” You glanced at Kagami. His face had gone full crimson, ears pink to the tips. Your hair fell just past your collarbone, loose from the heat of the room and the tension. The neckline of your top dipped, leaving a perfect canvas along the curve of your neck.
Aomine was already chuckling. “Come on, man. You’re redder than a damn tomato.”
Kagami glared. “Shut up.”
You sighed and slid off of Aomine’s lap, crawling across the short distance between them, then shifting so you were seated just in front of Kagami.
You pulled your hair back with one hand and tilted your chin up slightly, exposing the side of your neck to him.
“Go ahead, Kagami or are you chicken again?” Aomine drawled.
“Enough Aomine,” you said, voice like cut glass. You turned your eyes back to Kagami.
“I’m letting you,” you added, quiet but firm. He leaned forward slowly, hesitating once just before his lips brushed the slope of your neck. You could feel the heat of his breath before anything else. Then, he kissed and again, lower. And finally—he pressed a firmer kiss, letting his lips linger. His teeth grazed, gently, before he bit down just enough to make your pulse jump. You sucked in a breath.
A small sound escaped you, barely a hum but it was enough to make the other man click his tongue.
“I’m getting fomo,” he muttered, shifting from behind.
You had just started pulling away from Kagami when Aomine’s hand found your chin, turning your face toward him—and suddenly his mouth was on yours again, kissing you like the moment owed him something. This kiss was deeper than the last, more desperate. Your breath caught, but your mouth responded before your brain could stop it.
You didn’t know how this game escalated this quick, all you know is you suddenly found yourself on your knees, the carpet rough under your legs as you looked up at them—Aomine towering with that lazy smirk, and Kagami awkwardly avoiding your eyes, his cheeks flushed deep crimson.
The redhead pretending to study the wall turned his head and Aomine—well being him wasn’t so subtle, gaze dipping to your bare chest before locking eyes with you, a flash of smug satisfaction crossing his features. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Can I stand now?”
Aomine nudged Kagami with his elbow. He responded by sighing irritably, looking at the clock. “Nope, you still got time,” he muttered.
You exhaled through your nose, head dropping as your fingers drummed endlessly on your thighs. Aomine tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his expression.
“You don’t look bad like this,” he said, voice rich with teasing, “Actually kind of cute—suits you.” He proceeded to then nudge Kagami again.
Kagami frowned. "What are you-"
But then he glanced down at you, and something shifted in his face. Slowly, a grin started to pull at his lips, like he hated to admit it. "He's right. As much as I hate agreeing with this guy."
You scowled and smacked Kagami's hand away when he reached to pat your head. "Fuck off," you snapped, looking to the side to hide the way your heartbeat stuttered. That touch had done more than you wanted to admit.
"Babe," Aomine murmured with a laugh, "your thighs are tensing."
You didn't answer, but started to rise—only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder, gently but firmly pushing you back down. Aomine wasn't smiling anymore. His expression had darkened with something heavier.
You shot him a glare, then turned that same heat on Kagami—until you finally noticed the tension in both of them. Your eyes dropped, and your lips curved upward into a sly, slow grin.
"Oh? You two are really this easy?" you asked, voice sugary and mocking. "All it takes is a pair of tits and you're this hard?”
Kagami flushed deeper but didn't hide himself.
Aomine shrugged with a crooked smirk.
"Can't blame us," he said. "But the real question is... what are you gonna do about it?"
You leaned back slightly, gaze flicking between them. The clock ticked past your time limit but you didn't move. A spark lit in your eyes, something wild and wicked tempting you from the inside.
"Nothing," you said smoothly—but your tone suggested otherwise.
You crawled forward just slightly, palm trailing up the inside of Aomine's thigh, eyes locked with his. His breath hitched, and you felt the shift in the air as Kagami took a half-step closer, caught in the gravity of your pull, straight into your face.
"I'm just horny, don’t think much of it.” you grunt under your breath like it was a warning-to them, or to yourself, like you weren’t sure. In no matter of seconds—Kagami was bare, flushed, his cock twitching right near your face, eyes wide with disbelief at just how far this had gone, and how you let it.
"You're actually—fuck," Kagami muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, like the sight of you between them had short-circuited him.
"Don't get shy now," you smirked, hand wrapping around the base of his dick without warning. He hissed out a breath through his teeth, his head dropping as your grip tightened just enough to make him twitch again.
Beside you, Aomine's hips rolled forward lazily, letting you feel the weight of him pressed against your palm. "Keep teasing like that," he muttered into the air, voice low and dripping,
"and I'll make sure you're the one begging."
You laughed-genuine, amused, wild. "Who said I wasn’t already?” Then you spat into your palm, dragged it over Kagami's length without breaking eye contact. The sound he let out wasn't even human. His hips jerked forward once, just once, and you rewarded it with a little twist of your wrist. You heard a small tsk from Aomine and you smiled, pulling his sweatpants down.
"Easy," you teased. "I've got two hands for a reason." You reached and found Aomine's cock next, hot and heavy and already leaking. He groaned when you gripped him, his breath hitching as he buried his face in his shoulder, trying to keep composure.
"Fuck," he muttered, "Imagine what your mouth's gonna do."
You didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer—you just leaned away and licked a slow stripe up Kagami's shaft. He cursed, both hands flying to your shoulders, like if he didn't anchor himself, he might lose it right there.
You took him into your mouth-slow, deliberate, letting him feel every inch of heat and spit and tongue. His head fell back with a broken moan, muscles shaking with restraint.
“Look at you go,” Aomine teased, bucking his hips into your palm. You didn't answer—mouth too full. But you lifted your hand and gave him a slow stroke anyway, twisting your wrist just right, feeling him twitch against your palm.
"Get up,” Aomine muttered, voice rough. You were flipped on the bed before you could blink—Kagami's hands guiding you to your hands and knees, his fingers lingering like he didn't want to let go. Aomine was behind you in a flash, kneeling between your thighs like he'd waited all damn day for it. In front of you, Kagami was kneeling as well, shirtless, chest rising and falling like he was holding back. His eyes were locked on yours, jaw clenched. You could tell he hated seeing you on someone else’s bed, especially his bed.
“So where is this going now?” Kagami asked, voice flat, but laced with heat, eyes drifting from your eyes to your chest.
Behind you, Aomine leaned down, his voice brushing your ear. “I think she’s smart enough to figure it out.”The air between the three of you was thick. No one said what they really wanted to say directly. You were caught between two storms—Kagami’s burning stare and Aomine’s lazy possessiveness. And you didn’t want to back down from either.
“You two are exhausting, stop talking as if I’m dumb,” you muttered, eyes flicking between them. Aomine chuckled low behind you. “Then why’re you still here?”
“Because I’m curious,” You shifted slightly, legs tingling from their bent position, which only pushed you further against Aomine's cock. He let out a sharp whistle. You bit your lip and sighed, already regretting how badly you wanted this, but the heat between your legs was louder than your pride.
"Sure you are,” Aomine grinned into your neck. "Don’t kid sweetheart, turns you on being between us like this doesn’t it?”
Kagami said something under his breath, then leaned in, the line of sight between your eyes and his cock undeniable. "Ignore him," he muttered. "Just...continue sucking me."
“Okay, Kagami.”
You kissed slowly along his V-line, your hand wrapping around him—thick, warm, heavy and still wet from your spit. His breath caught and Aomine hummed behind you, lazily grinding his length between your thighs, smearing your slick along himself without going in. "Atta girl," Aomine murmured. "Give us a performance."
Kagami looked down at you, embarrassed, but too hard to stop you. His cheeks burned as your fingers stroked him, slow and reverent. You tapping his tip on your tongue, watching the way his body shuddered. Aomine leaned over you, one hand still gripping your hip as he glanced down at the lace panties crumpled on the floor. "Lace?" he scoffed. "You did know what you were doing."
You moaned around Kagami's cock, the sound muffled, needy. You hollowed your cheeks and watched him try to stay composed—and fail. Drool slid down your chin as you pulled off with a wet pop, then licked your lips and smiled. "I can't wait anymore," you said breathlessly.
"Kagami, you go first."
Aomine scoffed. "Why don't / get to go first?"
"Because you talk too much," you muttered, then added, "And I doubt either of you wants your dicks touching inside me, right?" You lay back against Aomine's thighs, your legs spreading shamelessly. Your body glistened, already soaked. He knew—knew down to the gut—that this view of you would’ve been perfect if not for the way tanned hands were roaming across your breasts like they belonged there, and Aomine’s mouth slotted against yours shamelessly.
"Well? Fuck her before I do," Aomine said smugly, pulling away with gloss and spit smeared over him.
Kagami grunted, grabbed your legs, and pushed them apart to kneel between them. He dragged himself along your slit, spreading the mess, and you exhaled, breathless.
"Get it over with already," you tried to say, but the words broke apart little by little when he pressed into you, slow and thick. The stretch forced your mouth open and your hand gripped Aomine’s thigh as you groaned. Your body twisted—Kagami fucking you deep and slow. The heat—of him and the sun—was overwhelming. The sounds of skin meeting skin, your gasps, their ragged breaths filling the room. Aomine watched you fall apart, his face unreadable except for the tension in his jaw.
"Shit," he said quietly. He wasn’t going to let his rival beat him this time. Once was excusable—barely. But twice? Never. The moment your quiet gasps turned into breathless moans for a second too long, he dragged his palm across your collarbone, chest, stomach—reaching to press low, tantalising touches onto your clit. "She's not loud enough, Kagami."
"Shut up," Kagami snapped, but his hips sped up.
You moaned out, voice boosted a little louder. "Right there, Kaga..."
Aomine rolled his thumb over your clit, smirking as your thighs twitched. "C'mon, Kagami. I’ve heard her sing louder at practice than this." Your brows furrowed, lip tucked between your teeth as you tried to block them out—focused on your pleasure.
Kagami gritted his teeth, looking down on you “ Don't worry about him, just focus on me."
But his focus cracked the second you gasped, trembling under Aomine's touch as his fingers increasingly moved over you.
"Don't rub too fast Aomine," you panted. "I'm gonna-"
"Did you hear that?" Aomine teased. "She called my name, not yours.”
"Yeah, and who's actually inside her?" Kagami snapped, adjusting his angle to go deeper. Aomine smirked, that cocky, unbothered kind—the kind that said he’d already won. Then, he dipped his head and bit lightly at the curve of your neck, fingers slowling slightly.
“You know…” he muttered, just loud enough for Kagami to hear, “if I was the one doing the job, she would’ve been satisfied by now.”
Kagami’s jaw clenched. His eyes shut for a second, breath heavy and ragged through his nose before— he let go of your thigh and swung.
You gasped but the punch never landed. Aomine leaned back, easily dodging it, lips still curved like he was enjoying every second of this. The problem came when the motion shoved you forward slightly—folded in half between them and your moan breaking in half—Kagami’s cock slipping out from inside you.
"Thanks a lot, you fucking hotheads," you said weakly, approaching orgasm gone.
Kagami glared. "Let's switch if you're so confident."
“Of course.” Aomine flipped you easily, laying you on your stomach with your ass arched up. He rubbed himself through your slick again, lining up. You glanced back and blinked—he was thick.
Stupidly thick, how you didn’t really notice while jerking him off was beyond you.
"Bigger, right?" he said, cocky. You rolled your eyes, about to answer—but Kagami grabbed your chin and forced your mouth open.
"Fuck you look so good for me,” Kagami whispered, brushing your lips with his thumb.
"For us," Aomine corrected, smirking at the two pairs of eyes that rolled back so far into their heads at him, it was almost synchronized. Kagami chose to kiss you, tongue deep, possessive, fighting to kick him out. You whimpered against his mouth, bits of pride unraveling with every second.
“Sorry, can’t wait any longer.” Then, without warning, Aomine pulled your hips back and slid in—hot, deep, slow. Your moan was muffled in Kagami's mouth. Kagami sat up in front of you again, stroking himself slowly, watching your face twist with every thrust Aomine delivered.
"Open up,” Kagami said, voice dark, needy.
You didn't hesitate.
Your mouth parted, tongue out, spit already dripping from your lips and Kagami easily slid back in, groaning as you wrapped your lips around him like you'd been starving for it. Your moans were muffled, guttural. Each time Aomine thrust in, it made your lips sink further down Kagami's cock. You were forced to gag and drool further—but you kept going, eyes rolling when Kagami grabbed your hair, using it to guide your rhythm.
"Filthy girl," Aomine murmured behind you. "Taking dick in both ends after all the denying you’d never be with one of us."
Kagami chuckled breathlessly, sweat glistening at his temples. "You hear how wet she is? Shit— she loves this."
Aomine reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing with slow, devastating circles that made your legs tremble. Kagami stared down at you, his cock twitching in your throat, your lips wrapped tight, your jaw aching—and still you kept moaning. Then Aomine leaned over, breath against your ear. "Say it," he growled. "Tell us you fucking love it."
You pulled off Kagami's cock with a wet gasp, panting, spit stringing from your lip to his tip.
"Nah, you guys love it.” you rasped. Both of their heads tilted slightly, lips twitching into smirks. Still standing on business, still in ‘control’, even though they’d reduced you to this. Kagami wiped your lip with his thumb gently, then shoved himself right back into your mouth. "Not done."
Aomine groaned, picking up the pace, thrusts hitting harder, deeper. "Choke on him—fuck.” You reached back blindly, fingers digging into Aomine's thigh as you choked on Kagami again. Your legs were shaking. Every part of you was shaking. And you knew you were close—so damn close. "I—fuck—I'm gonna-" you tried to say, voice strangled and muffled between moans and movement and their dicks.
Their eyes trailed across you slowly.
Kagami's jaw clenched as he watched the bounce of your ass with every roll of Aomine's hips, the slap of skin echoing off the walls.
Aomine, in contrast, was lazily enthralled by your mouth, watching your lips stretched around Kagami's length, cheeks hollowed, head bobbing, your throat working like it was made to take him.
You were a mess, and they were feeding off it—off each other.
Most men would be tense in this kind of scene. Competitive. Jealous. But Aomine just smirked, eyes dragging over Kagami's chest, his arms flexing where they braced above your head, his face twisted in restraint.
"Can't believe how quick you folded," Aomine said, voice rough and low, watching you without shame. "Not even half an hour ago you were mouthing off like we couldn't handle you."
You pulled off Kagami's cock, till his tip pressed on your swollen lips, drool slipping down your chin. "Still can't," you rasped. "I'm doing most of the work."
Kagami groaned, biting back a laugh. "You're unbelievable."
Aomine leaned forward slightly, his hand still gripping your waist. He wasn't looking at you now—his gaze was on Kagami. "That outfit was screaming fuck me. She knew what she was doing."
Kagami narrowed his eyes, bracing harder against the mattress. "What the hell are you staring at?"
Aomine smirked. "The veins in your neck," he murmured. "The way you're about to lose it." He was closer now, breath brushing Kagami's jaw, their tension spiking in the air.
You pulled back from Kagami completely, coughing softly, eyes flicking between them. "Oh, for fuck's sake," you muttered. "Just kiss already."
Kagami glared down at you. "Use your mouth properly."
But Aomine's hand didn't move from Kagami's shoulder. And before either of you could say another word, his fingers threaded between his hair on the nape of his neck.
“Shit—you gonna kiss me?” Kagami joked lightly, but his lips parted as if he anticipated it and Aomine tugged him forward, with a soft nod.
The kiss was soft. Kagami's eyes widened, breath stolen right from his chest. But he didn't pull away. He leaned in, and the tension snapped like a rubber band—sharp and hot. Their mouths moved, tongues brushing like they'd been thinking about it far too long.
You blinked, stunned.
“That was…” You trailed as they broke apart just slightly, still close enough to breathe each other in, eyes locked in something hotter than rivalry now. Then Aomine looked down at you, lips wet and curved.
"You gonna keep watching, or get back to work?" he said lazily. And just like that, Kagami shoved back into your mouth without another word, groaning like he needed it more than air. Aomine's hands were already roaming again, fingers between your legs, pressing against your slick heat like he was claiming the rest of you.
They didn’t need to say much.
That kiss said everything.
It knocked down the last of the tension between them—and you. Aomine finally pulled out with a low growl, his cock slapping against your ass, soaked with your slick. He gripped himself tight, pumping hard, watching you get used like a toy by Kagami.
"Fuck—look at you,” Aomine groaned deep in his chest, hips jerking forward uselessly before he gripped your ass with one hand and came in thick, hot ropes across your back, thighs, and that perfect ass of yours. You moaned around Kagami's cock at the sensation, the mess, the filth of it all.
"Shit—shit—“Kagami groaned, pulling back just in time to spill across your lips, your tongue, your chin. His thighs shook. "Take it—just like that, fuck-" You did. You sat there, panting, covered—mouth open, jaw slack, cum smeared across your skin like a trophy.
The room fell into a heavy silence, just breathing. The hum of the AC. The creak of the bed under shifting weight of three people. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, slow, dramatic, and looked up at the two of them with a raised brow.
"That's it?" you said, voice raspy, mocking. "All that and I still didn't get an orgasm?"
The boys exchanged a glance, smug and dangerous.
Aomine leaned in. "You don't like us, remember?"
"Finish yourself off," Kagami added with a smirk.
You opened your mouth to protest—but Aomine was already between your legs, tongue flicking expertly, and Kagami's fingers curled inside you, drawing gasps from your throat.
Your orgasm hit like a wave, your body trembling as you slumped deeper into the bed.
You missed the moment Kagami stuck his fingers into Aomine's mouth, sucking lazily before they both leaned back, smooshing you between their sweaty bodies.
"You satisfied?" Kagami asked, voice husky.
You smirked through the afterglow. "I don't know. I still don't like you guys that much.”
Aomine grinned, “Then maybe…we just need to try harder.” Hands on your waist, on your neck, in your hair. Warm mouths pressing slow, hungry kisses to your skin—your cheek, your collarbone, the corner of your lips. The real adventure was about to begin.
my wicked tongue, where will it be?
I know if I'm onto you, I'm on to you - haunted, beyoncé
mafia boss!mingi is dirty when he’s desperate and you can’t help that you like to see him act so desperate, begging for your attention.
six foot, tone muscles, tattoos running down his arms and neck, bruises blooming across his skin from fights that he doesn't bother trying to hide.
he never does. there is no will to perform for anyone, to soften himself to make it easier for others to swallow, no.
he wants everyone to know he is exactly who is seems like he is. the type of person everyone is afraid of. you're sure there are whispers of him in the streets, warning of the danger his sight brings.
his reputation precedes him, rooms bend around him and there is always something staining his hands. more often than not, blood.
so he shouldn't look like this.
he shouldn't be kneeling in front of you, at your feet, with an expression so remorseful you're sure even his closest confidants haven't seen it.
he shows up with violence trailing behind him, cut up and bleeding but nonetheless, crawling back to you like some kind of masochist. it if weren't so pathetic, you would almost find it cute how he acted like some sort of lapdog, deprived of your attention.
you can read him like an open book when he gets like this.
you don't say anything, silently flicking through another page in your book.
you can barely make out whats on the pages though as the blood rushes in your ears
he's tracked dirt and blood into your space. his nose is bloodied, more of it drying on his shirt and neck. his posture is bent over, hunched as if he's struggling to find the strength to meet your eyes.
you resist the urge to shudder at the sight of how much there is. you hate blood, you always have despite being able to suppress how sick it makes you.
he knows this and yet he still drags himself to you, stupid mutt.
his chains clink softly against each other as he moves closer, holding you ankle as he presses his cheek against your thigh tenderly. it's pathetic, but your heart does squeeze slightly with something old and worn at the sight.
he's not composed or steady, no he just looks dazed, the same way someone looks dazed after they've seen something they shouldn't have. it's not uncommon to see in his line of work.
he whines under his breath and grips your ankle tighter, finally you bristle at the contact.
"do you think it's really befitting of you to be acting like this, min?"
your voice is calm, but your eyes don't focus on him. they're following the traces of blood, all the way to the crack in the door, where you can see a pair of faces peeking in.
"i can see you."
the shuffling outside stops. the door opens slight, yunho and jongho peaking in.
your husbands bodyguards. this must be a sight for them to see, the big bad wolf whimpering and whining for your attention.
both of them look between the floor and you, and you can sense how tense they are.
jonghos gaze is following the same blood trail, but he refuses to meet your eyes. yunho watching mingi, only briefly meeting your eyes.
"this isn't a free for all. go find something to do. dispose of a body or something. just keep everyone away from here."
they both straighten up, bowing their heads as they leave, both of them casting a last reluctant glance at mingi as the door clicks shut behind them.
there's more silence. you reach out to push a hair from his face, and then go back to doing what you're doing.
he makes a strangled noise, you can't tell if its indignant or hurt.
"i'm sorry baby. for tracking the blood all over your floor."
you stay silent, letting him ramble.
"i thought you were gonna at least look at me." he swallowed, shifting for a moment. "i came here and you're ignoring me."
he sounds angry, as if this is something he doesn't deserve. it's barely controlled. his breathing gets sharp, and his hand moves up your leg,
"you're not even trying." his jaw tightens. you can tell he's just barely holding back.
"you're losing blood all over my carpet, and you're strung up from wherever you came from." you respond lightly. "you need to calm down so you can think clearly."
"i can think clearly, baby. don't test me." he snarls, finally looking up to meet your eyes.
"you know exactly who i am, you choose this, you chose me. and it's just blood."
you know there is no real bite to his words.
you close the book, and it resounds through the room. he balks when he realizes what he's done.
"think about what you say next, song mingi."
you don't know what he though, thinking he could get away with threatening you like that. his breathing is uneven again, slipping as he presses himself into you, ashamed.
"'m sorry, i- i shouldn't have, didn't mean it like that, please please don't push me out, baby. i'll be good, i promise."
you don't interrupt him once. you let him beg.
"shouldn't have raised m voice like that, 'm so sorry, i didn't wanna argue, I jus wanted, no, i just needed to-"
you're tired of it.
you reach a hand down, gently carding it through his hair, and he shuts up almost instantly. you bite back the urge to laugh at how domesticated he seems.
before he can relax into you again, you grab a handful from the back of his head, yanking him up to meet your eyes.
he whimpers loudly. you grin, suddenly finding yourself entertained. you hate to say how lustful it feels, letting him watch you with half lidded eyes.
he doesn't struggle against you, adjusting so he's on his knees as you scoot closer. you pull again, and he starts squirming.
"what are you gonna do about it mings?" there is fake hurt in your voice, and even if he is intelligent enough to recognize it, he's putty in your hands right now. "you really hurt my feelings. gonna apologize to me like a good boy?"
"won't do it again- won't, y/n, please." there's urgency in his voice, and you study him. his face is flushed, and he's pushing up against the couch in a not so subtle manner.
it clicks suddenly when you see a slightly wet patch on his pants.
"you're dirty, mingi." he freezes as you click your tongue, slowly meeting your eyes.
"humping the furniture? really? first of all you ruin my carpet, and now you're humping my furniture. you really can't help yourself." your hand leaves his hair, tracing down his cheekbone. "you're like a dumb puppy. pathetic, keep making messes everywhere."
"baby please-" your thumb presses hard into his bottom lip.
"i don't recall allowed you to speak. open."
he opens up with no shame, letting you look at his teeth. at some point, he traps your thumb between his teeth, and you give him a pointed look. he lets go just as easy, red rising in his ears.
you have to hold back a snicker. you enjoy it.
"i like looking down at you. 's where you like being, isn't it?" he groaned in agreement, shoving your finger back into his mouth and letting him suck. his jaw flexes, teeth scraping against them.
it's almost too easy. he doesn't even have the sense to look ashamed, rather he looks like he wants to beg for more, but is holding onto his pride.
you know how to undo that.
so that exact hand leaves his mouth and finds its way to his throat. he whines about that too, needy.
"i know you want to suck them but you sound so desperate right now."
your fingers trace over his adams apple, earning a shudder from him as you trace patters. you don't stop though until you reach his throat, grabbing some of his chains in your hand.
they're heavy and warm from sitting against mingis skin. you like them. wrap them around your hand.
he watches you nervously.
you yank.
his pupils are blown as he gets closer, even in the low light.
"if you want to really apologize, i figure you should do it the right way, yeah? be a good boy and show me what you can do with that mouth. maybe i'll even forgive you for the carpet."
that gets his attention.
you think he gets the implication from how he dips his head submissively towards your core, hot breath shaky on your thighs.
you release the chains, going back to pet his hair. "that's it. head down. fix it, ok? want you to make me forget all about the carpet."
good boy.
a/n: i would actually do tricks if he was like this bro, full on riding his face all night long like its my job bro.
pairing﹢park seonghwa x fem!reader
genre﹢smut. established relationship, semi-public/public sex, skinny dipping, dom/sub dynamics, seonghwa has baby fever, overstimulation, breeding kink, creampie, praise kink, usage of petnames (my love, my girl, etc), aftercare.
synopsis﹢months before your wedding, your fiancé just can't keep his hands to himself, and who can blame him when his soon-to-be wife is hotter than the sun.
word count﹢2,4k
the sun was doing its best to create an impossible heat to deal with, but honestly, it didn't stand a chance against you. coconut oil on your skin, shimmering under the rays like a trophy someone won and intended to keep polished. the sunglasses perched on your nose gave you that untouchable and cinematic look of the kind of woman who only stays in villas that require a private boat to reach.
SEONGHWA was the architect of this indulgence. your fiancé didn't just love you; he arranged your life. the type of man who skipped the grocery store roses for floor-to-ceiling bouquets and ensured that your lego collection consisted only of the most complex and rare sets. to him, affordable was a word for other people.
the sound of his footsteps on the white tiles was the only thing better than the ocean breeze. he sank into the deckchair beside you, the clink of ice in the cocktail glasses a promise of relief in the hot weather.
"sorry for keeping you waiting, my love," his voice dropping into that smooth, low register that always made your stomach flip. you peeked over the rim of your glasses, watching him lean back. he looked effortless, every bit like the millionaire who could buy the island if he wanted to, much sweeter than the drink in your hand. "i assume you like it here?"
“i love it, hwa." of course, how could you not? a five-star hotel by the seaside, the ocean taking up the entire view, not to mention the pool and its private zone. “thank you so much again, for planning all this.”
the conversation drifted between the wedding plans and the guest list, which seemed to get longer with each passing day. you wanted specific floral arrangements, and he was more than ready to swipe the card and make your most special day unforgettable. seonghwa watched you with a soft smile as he stood up, his silhouette cutting a line against the setting sun, casting a shadow over you.
"i'm going for a dip," setting his glass down with a soft thud. the sun catches the lean muscle of his torso. "care to join me?"
"give me a few minutes," you hummed, eyes closed behind your shades. "i'm still waiting for this oil to absorb. i don't want to be like some jellyfish."
a few minutes passed, and you finally stood and padded over to the jacuzzi — a sunken oasis he’d specifically reserved to ensure that no stray tourists or screaming children would interrupt your peace. seonghwa was already there, leaning back against the dark stone tiles in the center of the pool. his wet hair was pushed back, and his eyes were fixed on you. he’d been patient all afternoon, playing the perfect fiancé, but the way that bikini hugged your curves had been driving him toward a breaking point since lunch.
"come here," his alluring voice promised nothing but trouble. the water was steaming, almost matching the air's temperature, and when you stepped in, the heat was immediate. the moment you were within reach, his hands were on you, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. the greenery surrounding the jacuzzi was a good enough cover, but through the leaves, you could see the faint glow of the bar and the staff still moving about.
"my love," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hands wandered down to the thin strings at your hips. "you look so beautiful like this. sunkissed... and completely mine."
with a light tug, the fabric of your bikini bottoms was gone, floating somewhere near. his fingers took their place, sliding between your thighs, finding your already aching cunt. his mouth moved to your neck, tasting the lingering coconut oil.
"so tense, already," he teased, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "is it the thought of someone seeing you? of a gardener walking past that hedge and seeing exactly what i'm doing to my bride?"
“mmm…” you whimpered, the sound caught in your throat as he turned you around to guide himself to your entrance, forcing you to face him while he pushed himself in. the water acted as the perfect lubricant, letting him slide home with a single slow thrust. you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders, but his hand clamped over your mouth as his eyes cut toward the path behind the greenery.
"shhh," he hissed suddenly, his body going rigid against yours. "someone's coming. stay quiet and don't move a muscle."
your heart hammered against your ribs. the distant voices, probably a security guard or a waiter, echoed, and seonghwa didn't pull out; he stayed buried deep, his hot breath ragged against your shoulder. only when the footsteps faded into the distance did he let out a sigh, his hand removed itself, going to hold your hips as he began to move again.
it wasn't the gentle and romantic rhythm he’d usually go for; it was frantic and filthy. he drove into you with a raw hunger, the water splashing over the sides of the jacuzzi in a messy symphony. the hot water was nothing compared to the fire spreading through your veins. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing every inch of him.
"f-fuck... right here, hwa... faster, please," moaning, your head falling back against his damp shoulder. he was hitting every sensitive spot inside that had you see stars during daytime.
"who am i to deny the love of my life?" he groaned into your skin and you were burning up, and it had nothing to do with the tropical heat. you hugged him tighter, to pull him even deeper, your muffled moans lost to the sound of the bubbling jets.
"that's it, take it all," a silent order to submit, as he groaned, his hands gripping your hips to drive himself in places he has already reached. "you're such a greedy little thing, wanting it right here where anyone could catch us. i'm going to make sure you remember this trip every time you look at the ocean.”
he praised you with every heavy thrust, calling you his perfect, beautiful bride while his hands treated you like something he intended to break and rebuild. all you could taste was him as he tipped your chin up to kiss you one more time, swallowing your final, high-pitched whine as he dived even deeper into your greedy cunt. you didn't know if the salt on your lips was from the splashing water or the tears that fell down your cheeks. your body felt like it was operating at a fever pitch, a molten core of need that only seonghwa could satisfy.
"look at you," he pulled back to look at your flushed face, his hands cupping your cheeks with such terrifying tenderness. "look how well you take me... i can't even look away from you for a second without wanting to ruin you all over again."
you leaned into his touch, your breath coming in shattered gasps. "thank you for... ahh–"
"thank me?" he chuckled, his hips never ceasing their punishing rhythm. "my beautiful girl, i’m the one who should be thanking you. do you have any idea what you do to me? how perfect you’re going to look walking down that aisle? how perfect you’re going to look when you’re carrying my name... and my children?"
the mention of the domestic reality of your future hit you harder than any thrust.
"i want to see you soft and round with my baby," he whispered, his teeth grazing your cheek as he picked up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate. "you’re so perfect, my love. i want a house full of kids who have your eyes. i want to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for a single thing."
"i’ll be the best wife," you sobbed out, your fingers clutching the damp hair at the nape of his neck. you wanted to give him everything: to be the woman of his dreams, the mother of his kids, the partner who matched his every intense whim. "i’ll give you everything, hwa. i promise. just don't stop... please, please don't stop."
"i'm never going to stop," he promised, his voice slightly cracking. "i'm going to spend every day of our marriage reminding you that you belong to me. you’re so pretty when you beg for it. my perfect, and so greedy girl."
he shifted his grip, lifting you higher then slamming you back down so he could claim the very depths of you. he worshipped you with every filthy word and every heavy, deep stroke as he claimed you entirely, leaving no doubt in your mind that you were exactly where you were meant to be: spoiled, loved, and utterly his.
the jacuzzi was no longer enough. the fever in your blood had reached a boiling point that the water couldn't soothe, and the hazy look in your eyes was driving seonghwa insane. he hauled you out of the water, barely giving you a second to catch your breath as he threw a silk robe over you. the walk back to the hotel room, which looked more like a penthouse, was a blur of shadows and the frantic thrum of your heart. the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind you, he didn't even make it to the bedroom.
he pinned you against the cold marble of the kitchen island, the contrast of the chilled stone against your overheated skin making you let out a high-pitched moan.
"i saw you earlier," he rasped, his hands trembling as he spread your legs wide. "on the beach, helping that mother with her baby. the way you held that child... the way you looked so natural and ready for this life."
you couldn't even form words. your brain was static, a mess of white noise and pure sensation. all you could do was nod your head, agreeing with everything he says, even if you couldn’t understand, and whine for him to fill the ache.
"i thought i could wait for the honeymoon. be a gentleman and wait until we said our vows. but i can’t."
seonghwa didn't hold back. he was relentless, maybe even borderline obsessive with the idea of starting a family with you. he filled you there on the counter, then again against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, overlooking the vast sea. he whispered praise into your skin like a prayer: how you were going to be the most amazing mother his children could ever dream of.
"that's it, my love." he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest. "get used to this feeling. i’m going to fill you up every single night until you’re glowing with me."
by the time he finally carried you to the oversized bed, you were completely spent. your hair was a damp, salty mess against the silk pillows, and your skin was covered with sweat, hickeys, and him. you were sprawled out, limbs heavy and twitching, your mind unable to process anything other than the weight of him as he crawled over you one last time.
your moans had turned into soft whimpers, echoing in the quiet penthouse. you were so full — physically, emotionally, and utterly. every time he moved inside you, it felt like he was stitching your souls together, making good on every promise he’d ever whispered.
"my perfect wife," he whispered, brushing a wet strand of hair from your forehead, his gaze softening into something so full of love it hurt. "my beautiful and spoiled girl. you're so full of me, aren't you?"
you could only nod weakly; you were a hot mess, but you knew you’d never felt more cherished. he had spoiled you with jewels and trips, but this was the greatest gift he’d ever given you. driven by a vision of your future together, he changed his movements to chase that final release. with one last groan, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and came inside you with a force that left you both shaking, pinning you to the mattress.
for a long moment, the only sound in the penthouse was the synchronized rhythm of your breathing. then feral intensity in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by a look of profound, almost aching tenderness. he didn't pull away immediately; staying close to pepper your face with soft kisses as the adrenaline began to fade.
"i'm sorry, my love," he whispered, a little regret could be heard as he pecked your lips, "i was... i was far too rough with you. i don't know what came over me. i shouldn't have used you like that."
you reached up, your fingers trembling as you traced the line of his jaw. "don't be sorry," you breathed, eyelashes fluttering. "i trust you more than i trust myself."
true to his nature, he didn't let you stay in the mess for too long; he picked you up in his arms and carried you to the bathroom to help you shower. he washed you himself, and soon, you were smelling like coconut and expensive hibiscus again, wrapped in the fluffiest white robes the hotel provided.
he didn't even bother stripping the bed yet; he simply layered a few plush towels over the center of the mattress so you could collapse back into the pillows. crawling in beside you, pulling you into his side so your head rested on his chest. his heart was still beating a little fast, a steady drum underneath your ear. you looked up at him, a sleepy tugging at your lips.
"you’re actually insane, you know that? i think you lost your mind back there."
"i think i did.” seonghwa let out a soft laugh, his arm tightening around your shoulders. “but you can’t blame me."
"well," you hummed, snuggling deeper into his warmth, "you get a pass for now. but only because i love you so much."
"just for now?" he teased, kissing the top of your head. "i'll have to work extra hard tomorrow to keep that pass, then."
you closed your eyes, the scent of him and the sound of the distant waves finally lulling you toward sleep. you were spoiled, you were exhausted, and you were undeniably full of him — but more than anything, you couldn’t wait to be officially his and have his last name.
HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND, 1 & ONLY DIVA, MY GORJUS WIFE AND PARTNER IN CRIME, MACIE <3
i'm sorry i can't upload it on your birthday because of posting other things BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ! i wish you all the best, i'm so thankful i know you and that we grew close so quickly, i adore you with my heart, mind and soul !! EVERYONE MAKE SURE TO WISH A HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @strhwa ON MAY 8TH !! again I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK <333
tags: power bottom!jongho, edging, jongho is a brat, riding, creampie, bodily fluids, aftercare, loosely proofread
900 sins
you’ve had jongho on his back for what feels like forever, the room quiet except for the hum of cars outside and the wet sounds of your hand.
he’s naked, legs spread, one knee bent while you stroke him slowly, thumb sliding over the head every time you stroke upwards. his cock is heavy in your hand, flushed and leaking over your fingers.
“you’re taking your time tonight,” jongho says calmly as one hand rests behind his head, the other rubbing along your thigh, “not that i’m complaining..”
you squeeze a little harder at the base, pulling a sharp exhale from jongho, hips twitching slightly before he forces himself still. you lean down, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock, sucking the head of him into your mouth. jongho’s fingers flex against your leg, letting out a quiet breath as he watches you.
jongho starts breathing deeper and when his thighs start tensing, you pull off quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
you climb up, straddling his hips and rubbing yourself on his cock, the slick sounds filling the room. he’s thick and warm, the head bumping your clit with every grind.
“you gonna sit on me or keep teasing?” he asks as his free hand comes to your hip, thumb pressing into your skin firmly.
you sink down on him slowly, the stretch burning and pulling a quiet sound from your throat. jongho’s jaw tightens as he tries to look calm, “there you go.. feels better, right?”
you start riding him steadily, hands bracing on his chest, his skin feeling hot under your fingers. you lift and drop slowly, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. every time he bottoms out, the head of him nudges that spot inside you that makes you see stars.
jongho’s hand slides up your slide, pinching your nipple while he watches you. his hips roll up to meet yours as he gets closer, the muscles of his stomach clenching under your hands.
you lift off of him completely right as he’s about to cum, his cock slapping wetly against his stomach, angry red at the tip. jongho lets out a short breath, “cold,” he says dryly, flexing his hips slightly.
you wait a few seconds, watching his cock throb before you slide back down, picking up right where you left off but faster. the slick sounds get louder as your thighs start to burn, sweat rolling down your back.
jongho’s fingers dig into your ass, trying to pull you down harder, “you’re really dragging this out.. gonna make me work for it?”
you clench around him purposefully, his head tipping back into the pillow, eyes closing tightly. you ride him roughly, feeling his cock pulse inside you as he gets closer to the edge again.
you stop again, pulling off him until only the tip of his cock stretches you. jongho stays still, breathing through his nose as he smirks up at you, “third times a charm, or are we going for four?”
you answer by sinking back down on him, bouncing on him harder while one hand slips between your legs, rubbing your clit in tight circles. jongho’s chest heaves while he helps you get closer to the edge, still trying to look unaffected, “you look good like this, baby.. all worked up for me?”
you bring him right to the brink a third time, his cock hard and throbbing against your walls. his hips jerk up sharply, chasing his orgasm, but you lift off of him again. he lets out a low groan, head falling back into the pillow, one hand scrubbing over his face, “why are you so mean tonight?”
you give him a second to relax before sliding down again, riding him without mercy. the bed creaks under you, jongho’s gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he lets out low grunts, the mask of calmness slipping with every thrust.
“‘m close,” he mutters, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, “please.. don’t stop this time.”
you keep the pace, grinding down hard as you feel your own orgasm rushing up on you. jongho cums first, cock pulsing deep inside you as he paints your walls. your thighs shake, riding out his orgasm until you tip over the edge, a shaky moan leaving your lips.
you stay seated on him for a few minutes as both of you come down, bodies twitching. jongho’s hands slide up your back, thumbs pressing into the dip of your back as his eyes rake over you.
you lift off with a soft hiss, his cum leaking down your thighs as you reach for the small towel sitting on the nightstand. you wipe his spent cock gently, cleaning up the mess on his stomach and thighs before you clean yourself quickly, tossing the towel aside.
jongho tugs you down against his chest, arms wrapping around you and stroking slow circles over your lower back. “you okay?” you ask quietly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
“mmhmm,” he murmurs lowly, “just tired.. i think you wrecked me,” he huffs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers still tracing your spine.
the room was filled with loud squelching sounds and a mixture of yours and san's moans as he bullied his cock into your slick walls. you weren't even sure how you had gotten to this point. what was just a normal movie night with sugar-filled snacks and soda turned into a very heated scene that closely resembled the one that was playing, forgotten on the screen of the tv.
"f-fuck, baby, you feel so damn good," san whined as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, muffling his own sounds while yours echoed in his ears. your freshly manicured nails dug into the already red skin of his shoulders, adding to the previously existing marks. you tried to respond to your dark-haired boyfriend, but all coherent thoughts fled from your mind the moment you felt him brush over your sweet spot.
"sannie!" you nearly screamed, back arching off the bed and allowing him to plunge even deeper into your wet walls. tears blurred your vision and pleas of being close fell from your slack lips, but san didn't stop, nor slow down.
"i'm sorry, love, you— nghh! fuck, your pussy is just too good." san breathed onto your skin, lips sucking deep purple and red marks along your neck and shoulder as he continued to fuck his aching cock into your walls, groaning when you tightened around him.
your high was racing up to you, threatening to knock you over the edge at any given moment. the tears that had been sitting in the corner of your eyes broke free as you clung to your feline-eyed boyfriend. when the smooth head of his cock kissed your cervix, you came without warning, body spazzing under san's as incoherent warbles fell from your saliva-slick lips. san gasped out, followed by a pitched whine when your walls tightened around him like a vice, begging him to never leave.
"holy shit," san whined, pulling his face from your neck to take in your fucked out expression, and that was enough to nearly send him over, but he still needed a little more.
moving a shaky hand from his shoulder to his neck, you pulled him down into a sloppy, spit-filled kiss. san's hands tightened on your hips, sure to leave bruises the next morning, but neither of you cared at the given moment. his lips trailed from yours down to your jaw before finding your collarbone, nipping softly at the skin and causing your back to arch again.
"s-san—" your words caught in your throat when he suddenly bit down on your collarbone, almost breaking the skin. a mixture of pain and pleasure coursed through you, and your walls clamped around san's cock, finally tipping him over the edge.
"fuckkk…" san whined as he buried his face in your neck, teeth sinking into your skin once more as he fucked his cum back into your twitching walls.
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ it’s been a rough night. your heart is still recovering from being broken, you need an uber home, your phone is dead, and everyone else has already left the class 1-a yearly reunion. well—everyone except bakugou. he gives you not just a ride home, but a solution to your lonely predicament
── ✶ WORD COUNT. 12.0k words ; give it a chance plssss
── ✶ BEFORE YOU READ. female reader ; pro hero bakugou + pro hero reader ; reader was in class 1-a ; reader has a quirk (she's stretchy - think like elastigirl from the incredibles LOL) ; reader gets her heart broken by an unnamed random guy + has insecurities ; bakugou is silently pining (and quite good at hiding it tbh) ; friends (sort of) to lovers ; cunnilingus ; p in v ; creampie ; morning after ; confessions (sort of. its bakugou ok) ; getting together ; the class 1-a girls are gossips ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ hi my name is riv and i am going thru mental breakdown after mental breakdown about my life but it wont stop me from writing about letting bkg hit
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing.
Sure, years pass. Adulthood kicks in. Lives become busier, more hectic, more demanding. Time is a funny thing—nine years ago, you were sitting in a classroom with these people, learning how to be a hero. Nine years later, you’re sitting in a rented-out bar, sharing a drink with them as they trade hero stories like it’s part of the average day.
Then again, you suppose it is the average day for pros. Wake up, go to work, save people, crack cases, go on patrol, and go to sleep. Repeat.
Adulthood is a bummer. Everything is so different now—you don’t gossip with Toru every day or giggle with Mina in passing periods. You don’t tease Ochako about her rapidly growing crush or share headphones with Kyoka during lunch. You don’t study with Yaomomo or sit in Tsu’s room and have deep discussions about philosophy. Class 1B isn’t there to rival you and your peers. Mister Aizawa isn’t popping around at the oddest moments in that ridiculous sleeping bag.
And then adulthood is nice. Some things never change—Bakugou is yelling about something in the distance like a maniac, while Midoriya rubs his neck sheepishly. Todoroki says something with that deadpan face of his, and that only seems to set the blonde off even more. You can’t help but huff, rolling your eyes fondly.
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded, and fuck if it’s not one hell of a bond—adulthood claiming your lives and free time or not. You’ll find the time to get together like this at least once a year—with someone as good at planning as Yaomomo and someone as persistent and vocal as Iida, everyone makes it to the Class 1-A routine meet-up.
If only you weren’t so fucking devastated at this meet-up, you could have appreciated it properly. But you are, and there’s nothing to do about it now but suck it up—and hey, there’s always next year, right?
That’s what you tell yourself as you robotically hug each girl goodbye. That’s what you tell yourself as you watch your former classmates—turned occasional colleagues—file out of the bar and head off in different directions, dispersing along all the paths life has dragged them down separately.
You stand there for a good second after everyone leaves—you’re the only one left, you’re sure. Alone. As always, you think with a self-deprecating scoff, you’re alone. Even when you’re surrounded by a room full of people, you’re alone.
You should just get an Uber home. It’s late, you have morning patrol, and it’s getting really fucking cold, the night breeze biting at your skin. But you stand there anyway, stiff and unresponsive, because you are, despite trying to shove it all aside for one night, devastated. And so fucking alone.
“The hell are you still standing out here for?” comes a gruff voice from behind you.
You jolt—and that’s how out of it you are, because who the hell sneaks up on you so easily? You’ve honed your fighting abilities and reflexes better than that. You’ve made sure your skills are good enough that you aren’t crept on so easily. So why didn’t you hear Bakugou coming up behind you? You have no clue.
“Bakugou,” you mumble, “why are you still here?”
“Hah?” He looks at you, mildly irritated. “I asked you first, Stretchy. Answer me before you ask me stupid questions.”
Stretchy. Even after all these years, Bakugou calls everyone by those obnoxious nicknames he comes up with instead of their actual names. You’ve noticed a long time ago that he always goes one of two routes when picking his stupid little names: by physical appearance or by quirk. It just so happens he chose to use the latter for you—ever since the day your body stretches out like elastic in front of him for the first time, you’ve been Stretchy. Have been nothing else. Will probably never be anything else.
If you weren’t so emotionally downcast, you might’ve rolled your eyes and snapped back: my name is not Stretchy! But you don’t have it in you. So you just mutter, “I’m getting an Uber.”
“So get it, then,” he grumbles. “The hell are you waiting for? It’s the middle of the fucking night.”
You don’t point out that it’s…kind of sweet, in a blunt, Bakugou sort of way, that he’s concerned about your safety. Or that it’s pointless to be, considering you’re a pro hero too—one who patrols in the middle of the night on a regular basis. But anyone who’s shared years with him, classroom and battlefield alike, knows better than to argue with him over meaningless things if they value their eardrums.
“Yeah, whatever,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to call the damn Uber. You should’ve just driven yourself, but you’d been too exhausted—and, frankly, too sad—to deal with the thirty-minute drive. It’s not like you can’t afford to waste the money, anyway.
You tap your screen once. Then twice. Nothing.
Huh.
You press and hold the power button. Still nothing. You’ve got to be fucking kidding, you think.
As if your week couldn’t have gotten any worse.
First, you get ghosted by your almost-but-not-quite boyfriend, who was never really your boyfriend, but that’s not the important part. The important part is that he almost, just almost, was by anyone’s standards. Then, after he gets you fucking attached, you find out he ghosted you for some other girl with way nicer fucking tits and longer legs than yours (no, you did not stalk that girl’s socials, thank you very much. You just happened to stumble onto it and accidentally…tapped the tagged user. That’s all). Then, you miss out on enjoying the one night you look forward to every year because you can’t pull yourself out of this stupid, heavy funk. And now, finally, your phone is dead. Completely dead. No Uber, no ride home, no immediate access to the ice cream in your freezer to have a good, necessary cry.
And Kaminari has already left, so he can’t charge it with his quirk. Great. Fantastic, even.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Bakugou’s voice cuts through your spiral as he glares at you. “Were you here to be social or be on your damn phone all night? How’s that thing already dead, huh?”
“I wasn’t on my phone,” you shoot back, a little more petulant than intended. “I just…forgot to charge it before I got here.”
He stares at you with what can only be pure, hard judgment. “You people are so poorly prepared for everything, it never fails to piss me off.”
Well. If your week couldn’t get any worse, you now have to have Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, call you an Uber and get you home, which means you have to tell him your address. Which means you will, inevitably, lie awake all night wondering if he’s going to look up your apartment and judge it. Not that you think your place is bad, or that Bakugou is even the type to care about that kind of thing—but your brain is not exactly known for being reasonable once it gets going.
At the same time that you say, “I’ll pay you back if you call me an Uber,” he exhales sharply and snaps, “Well, fucking follow me, then.”
You pause.
“What?” you blink.
He’s already started walking off, and your question only seems to irritate him further. “Exactly what the fuck I said. Follow me.”
You do—only because you have to, if you want to ask him again to get you the damn Uber. “Bakugou, I’ll pay you before the Uber even gets here, okay? You don’t have to worry about your money—”
You hear the sharp beep of a car unlocking, and then a sleek, obnoxiously fancy Porsche lights up from the inside. Bakugou yanks the passenger door open and jerks his chin toward it, already glaring.
“Get in. And don’t talk like I can’t afford a fucking Uber—I’m not so desperate for money that I need you coughing it up that fast, you damn loser.”
“You…what?” You just blink at him, stupidly.
Bakugou looks like he’s just about one minor inconvenience away from exploding. He tips his head back with a long, aggravated groan. “God damn it, Stretchy—I’ve got shit to do in the morning, okay? Get. In. Did you hear me that time? For fuck’s sake, your hearing can’t be that bad.”
“…Why?” you ask, somehow even more stupidly.
You can’t help it—this doesn’t feel like a Bakugou thing to do. And it definitely doesn’t feel like a Bakugou thing to be doing for you of all people.
“Can you just fucking get in the car so I can drive you home and call it a night?” he grits out.
His eye is twitching now, just slightly, and you decide you would actually like to make it home tonight, so you decide not to push your luck. You walk over and get into the car without another word. It’s best not to piss him off to the point where he changes his mind on helping you altogether. That would be rough.
The door slams shut behind you almost immediately after you’re in, and Bakugou is in the driver’s seat just as fast. “Put your seatbelt on,” he mutters, reaching for his own.
He says this as you’re in the process of reaching for it, and you sometimes forget just how unnecessarily annoying Bakugou can be. And bossy. Very, very bossy.
“I am,” you mutter back, rolling your eyes.
”Here,” he only grunts in response, handing you a charger, and you wordlessly take it, plugging in your phone.
”Thanks,” you say quietly. “Good thing you were still there, huh?” You give him a sheepish look.
His only form of reply comes as a flat look. You wither under it.
”What were you still doing there while everyone was gone anyway?” You mumble.
”Taking a phone call,” he mutters. And then, because he’s apparently still as petty as he used to be back in the day, he glances at yours and adds, “Because I keep mine charged.”
You all but pout at his pointed statement, huffing as you start to defend yourself. “Okay, well, I never make this mistake usually. I just—”
You cut yourself off when your phone lights up from charging and turning on, catching your attention at the same time it does Bakugou’s. Well—that was pretty fast, at least. You almost wonder if the five percent he’s managed to get you to will be enough to last you on an Uber ride home. That would be better than a long thirty minutes sitting next to the agitated lump of blonde hair next to you, right?
You can’t entertain the idea for even a second longer than you had it, though. Because Bakugou is already muttering under his breath, “Finally,” before looking at you and saying, “now send me your address so I can type it in.”
”You know, if you were this pressed for time I could’ve just typed the address into your GPS myself,” you say dryly.
”Great idea,” he says just as dryly, “next time, maybe I’ll try that when you talk less. Now gimme the address, idiot.”
Well. You give up on your idea of the Uber and you do. And you watch as he slots his phone into the holder on the dash, your message lighting up the screen—Stretchy. That’s your contact name.
Of course it is. (But then again, it’s a miracle Bakugou even saved your contact at all—you’d always assumed he had the class group chat muted.) You fight the urge to roll your eyes again and just slump back into your seat instead, resigning yourself to your fate for the night as he taps on your message and pulls up your address in his GPS.
The engine hums to life, low and smooth, and the car pulls out onto the road. You sink a little deeper into your seat, letting your head fall back for a second before, against your better judgment, your eyes drift over.
Bakugou drives like he does everything else: so absurdly impressively, it’s actually ridiculous. It’s just driving, and yet he makes it look like it’s something only he can do so well—one hand on the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift, relaxed. His posture is easy, shoulders set, gaze sharp on the road ahead. And it’s just one of those attractive things men do for no reason.
It’s…annoying. How natural he looks. How good he looks.
The streetlights flicker over him in passing streaks, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brows, the way his eyes narrow just a bit when he switches lanes. Bakugou looks so annoyingly good, and you’re helpless to notice it.
Because that’s just the thing—you’ve always noticed it.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought he was attractive back in high school. You definitely did. It was hard not to. He was bulky and muscular and tall with a good face—he even wore baggy pants and a tight-fitted shirt for his hero costume. He did all the right things (without meaning to, of course) to be attractive to the average girl.
But his attitude? Well…that’s another matter.
That had killed the attraction before it could ever be anything more than a passing thought. A surface-level thing. Something you’d notice and immediately shove aside because Bakugou Katsuki was not someone you entertained a crush on unless you were actively trying to make your own life harder. And you definitely didn’t need that, so you never put much thought into it.
And yet, now, years later, watching him drive like this, you’re painfully aware that it’s…still there. That lingering attraction that you undeniably have for him. Persistently so.
You tear your gaze away before you can get caught staring. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s just Bakugou. You’ve known him for over a decade, and you’ve never been affected by him like this, and you won’t start now. Your broken heart and devastating loneliness are getting to you. That’s all.
The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, exactly, and you’re sure Bakugou would prefer it this way, if anything. But still, you feel like it’s too stiff for you to handle, so you do what you’re best at. Awkwardly making small talk to fill in the awkward silence, even if it’ll annoy him.
(If anything, you hope it will.)
You clear your throat. “So.”
He doesn’t look at you. “So?”
“…Busy lately?” you try, immediately regretting it. God, that was lame.
He huffs quietly through his nose. “Yeah. Work doesn’t exactly stop for heroes.”
“Right,” you nod, even though he isn’t looking. “Same.”
Another beat of silence. You glance at him again, just for a second, and immediately regret it when you notice the way his hand shifts slightly on the wheel, forearm flexing.
Holy fuck.
“Your new agency’s…uh. Doing well?” you ask, grasping at anything that sounds remotely normal. Remotely interesting. Bakugou would love talking about himself—right?
“Tch. Obviously,” he mutters. “We’re not half-assing shit over there.”
“Yeah, I figured,” you say quickly. “I’ve heard good things.”
He shoots you a brief sideways glance, like he hardly believes it. “From who?”
“People,” you shrug, already cringing. “Around.”
“Hn,” he grunts. He looks back at the road. “Well, they’re right. I’m gonna be the best agency soon, too—you’d do well to remember that.”
You press your lips together, trying not to smile. God, he’s insufferable. You hum, letting your head rest back. “Kaminari said you’ve been working yourself to death without some sidekicks.”
“Dunno why you’re listening to that idiot,” Bakugou scoffs. He looks a little sulky at the mention of having no sidekicks—like it’s a sore topic. (You’re not surprised in the slightest when Kaminari tells you that no sidekick stays for long after getting a taste of Bakugou’s abrasiveness.) “Dunce-face talks too much.”
“He said you don’t take breaks.”
“I don’t need breaks.”
You snort softly. “Yeah, okay.”
That earns you another glance, longer this time, but the sulkiness is gone, and there’s something almost amused sitting underneath it. Barely there, but it’s there. “Worry about yourself,” he says, turning back to the road. “You’re the one who looks like shit tonight.”
You blink, then scoff. “Wow. Thanks.”
“You know what I mean,” he mutters.
Yeah. You do. You’re sure you looked miserable and stiff as a board all night. No way the girls didn’t notice, but they know you well enough to know you’ll come to them on your own time—and you will. When the time is right, you’re sure you’ll vent away about men and their shittiness and their lack of communication and commitment when you’re feeling up to it.
For now, though, you’ll just sit here and be driven home by Bakugou Katsuki, who seems to know something is up, yet does not comment on it as he does a surprisingly nice thing for you. And for some unknown reason, that makes something in your chest feel just a little less heavy.
The rest of the car ride goes rather smoothly, and you pull up to your apartment in what feels like a surprisingly fast amount of time. Time…doesn’t seem to drag on with Bakugou, even when it’s silent. Of course, he’d actually entertained your small talk when you tried here and there, but you find that there’s almost…comfort in Bakugou’s silence.
He parks in front of the building. And then, he surprises you as he says bluntly, “You've been actin’ weird all night. What’s with you?”
You stiffen, jaw tightening. “Nothing, I don’t know what you’re—”
“That’s bullshit. I’m not fucking stupid,” he cuts in, flat.
“Well, why’s it your business?” you snap, sharper than you mean to.
Bakugou shrugs, like it really doesn’t matter either way. “It’s not. But I drove thirty minutes in the opposite direction for your dumbass, so I’m curious why.”
You huff, looking away toward your apartment building, arms crossing tighter over yourself. “It’s nothing. Just…a shitty week.”
“Tch.” He leans back slightly, still watching you. “Shitty how?”
“Just stuff,” you mutter. “It’s not a big deal.”
He clicks his tongue, clearly not buying it. “Liar.”
You shoot him a look. “Excuse me?”
If there’s one thing that Bakugou is that people tend not to give him credit for, it’s that he’s perceptive. Observant. They make the mistake of thinking that he always rushes right in, charges head-on without an ounce of a plan or a single thought in his brain other than brute forcing his way out of everything. But that’s farther from the truth than anyone would assume. Bakugou is so smart, it just adds to the list of reasons why he’s infuriating.
He’s smart, and he notices things, and he always has a pretty fucking good idea of what he’s talking about.
So when he says, “You’ve been off all night. Quiet—and not your usual type of quiet,” you look at him funny. You never assumed he’d have a good idea of what he’s talking about when it pertains to you.
“Wow. Since when do you know me so well?”
“I know all of you freaks—have to if I’m gonna beat you all and be number one,” he shoots back immediately. Then, after a moment, “You still seein’ that guy Dunce-face was talking about?”
You still. Just for a second. How did…how did he know that’s what was wrong? (And why is Kaminari airing your business out like that? From now on, you’re going to stick to the girls, and that’s it—Kaminari has lost his gossip privileges.) And of course, Bakugou catches the way you stiffen almost immediately, so he catches on that he was right. “Hah. Knew it,” he mutters. “Sparky says the guy’s lame as shit.”
“It’s not—” you start, then exhale sharply. “It’s nothing.”
“That means you’re not seein’ him anymore, I take it,” he says. “So was he a jerk?”
You groan, dropping your head back against the seat. “Can you not?”
“No,” he says, without hesitation. “You’re sitting here acting like shit over some guy?”
“I’m not acting like shit,” you snap, even though you know you are. “And he’s not just some guy, either.”
“You are acting like shit,” he says flatly. “What, you love him or something?”
“No,” you sputter, “we didn’t even know each other like that for it to be love.”
“So then what’s the big deal?”
You look away again, jaw tight. “I don’t know! It’s like…it’s just…” You trail off and sigh. “It’s stupid.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou shrugs. “Probably.”
Your head snaps back toward him in disbelief. (At least now you know there is at least one thing he’s not good at—he can’t comfort people for shit.) “Wow. Thanks, asshole.”
“But you’re clearly stuck on it,” he continues, unfazed. “So it’s not stupid to you. Are you gonna be fine, or are you gonna go up there and spiral all night?”
“Still don’t see how it’s your business,” you grumble.
It’s only silent for a moment before Bakugou grabs his keys and turns the ignition off on his (very fancy) car. His door opens and closes, and before you can even get an idea of what’s happening, he pulls your door open and gestures for you to get out.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“W-what?” you stutter.
“I said, let’s go,” he rolls his eyes, “We’re goin’ up to your place, and you’re gonna give me a bottle of water and somethin’ to snack on. Least you can do for making me drive all this way.”
It’s his way of keeping you company for a bit longer. This much, you know.
Bakugou is a complicated guy. He’s mean and rude and crass and loads of other unpleasant things that people could use to describe him in order to convey that he’s…not easy to get along with. Not even a little.
But he’s a good person at heart. It’s undeniable. People are always safe around Bakugou, even if it costs him his life (though really, it hardly ever does because he’s just that good), and even if it takes every ounce of his blood, sweat, and tears. He does it because it’s in his nature to do so—ingrained in him since the day his quirk was manifested. He’s the best at winning against bad things, and it helps people—imperfectly, sure, and not always in a very heartfelt manner, but as sincerely as it comes.
If he decides to come up and spend time with you for a bit to keep your mind off of your broken heart, it’s not because he pities you or feels this self-righteous sense of justice. He never does what he doesn’t want to do. So he wants to do this—and it’s because in his own, weirdly unexpected way, he cares.
Perhaps it’s not entirely unexpected, though, you suppose—after all, Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life. All of you.
—
When you let him into your apartment, he takes a quick glance around. Lingers over the small trinkets and items you keep as decor, and then marches his way over to the kitchen as he mumbles, “What sorta snacks you got?”
You pull out one of the bags of red, hot, spicy chips from the convenience store that you keep stashed away—they can’t be good for you, but you figure you only live once—and hand them to him. He perks up minimally.
Bakugou likes spicy things. It’s one of the first things you ever learned about him, actually about him as a person and not just him pertaining to the nature of the hero course, and for some reason, it’s a detail you seem to remember.
He grabs the bag and slinks off to your couch while you grab your long-awaited ice cream and slump onto the opposite end of it right after, which isn’t too far, considering your couch is not that large. His feet are thrown over your coffee table, and you don’t care enough to bother with scolding him about how ill-mannered it is.
“So,” he grunts, popping a chip into his mouth. “Why the pity party? He dump you or somethin’?”
“We weren’t together,” you mutter, digging your spoon roughly into your frozen treat. You’re long past the point of wondering if it’s a wise idea to tell Bakugou all your woes—he’s already here, so you figure, why the hell not? “I don’t think it qualifies as a dump.”
“Ah,” he huffs, chewing as he seems to get whatever clarity he was searching for. “So he ran off before things got official, and now you’re sulkin’.”
“I’m not sulking,” you click your teeth—all of which is said through a rather sulky tone, so he only snorts and raises an eyebrow at you. You just respond by glumly taking a spoonful of your ice cream as you add, “And it’s not even like I fell for him that hard, okay? It’s just…the principle of things—he shouldn’t have strung me along like that, and he could’ve just told me instead of disappointing me when things seemed to be going great. And, he definitely never implied that he was seeing other people, so it’s particularly low of him to do all that just so he could see another girl who is clearly so opposite of me, so I’m not even sure I was his type, rather than an easy situationship. Except I didn’t give him what he wanted easily, so I bet that’s why he lost interest so suddenly when he realized he wasn’t going to get what he—”
“Holy fuck,” Bakugou groans, “you sound like the damn nerd with all that mumbling. Okay, so some guy wanted to get in your pants, you didn’t let him, and he got bored. Big deal—just means you picked a fucking loser. So don’t do that next time.”
He says it like it’s so simple. It’s never that simple. Men are so naive.
“Thanks for the stellar advice,” you say sarcastically, shooting him a flat look.
He only smirks, shrugging as he hums, “Yeah, don’t mention it. Don’t get used to it though—I’m not a fuckin’ therapist who solves your shit for you.”
“I’ll try not to depend on you too much,” you roll your eyes. You take another spoonful of your ice cream and sigh tiredly as you slump back against your cushions, and he sighs heavily and throws his head back exasperatedly.
“Look, I know I’m not always the most…fuck, I don’t know the word—”
“Kind? Compassionate? Empathetic? Understanding—”
He shoots you a withering glare, and you huff as you trail off. “Anyway,” he fixes you with a pointed look, “even though I don’t get all bent up outta shape over nonsense like this, I’d get it if you were head over heels for this bastard. But it sounds like you didn’t even like the loser that much, so I’m failing to understand why it matters that bad.”
“Because,” you sigh in exasperation, “I just…I don’t know…I wanted someone to choose me and like what they see, okay? No one ever cares to even bother getting to know me, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason why.”
“You just haven’t set your sights on the right guy yet,” he shrugs, “big fuckin’ deal. You’ll stop being dumb and choose a good one eventually—I’m willing to believe you’re capable of at least that much.”
“They really ought to give you your therapy license,” you say dryly, your face as unimpressed as your tone. “I bet people would pay good money to hear this.”
“I’ll consider it if my agency is a bust,” he snorts, shooting you a sly smirk as he leans back into the couch, one arm slung over the backrest. “Seriously though,” he adds after a second, side-eyeing you, “you’re makin’ this deeper than it is. Some shallow guy bein’ shallow is a stupid reason to get all in your head about shit or whatever.”
You press your lips together, staring down into your melting ice cream. “Well, that’s easy for you to say,” you mutter.
“Hah?” he grunts.
It is easy for someone like Bakugou. Someone who’s always good at everything and knows it. Has enough confidence for two people and then some. You’re certain that if Bakugou actually let women come near him long enough to entertain the idea of a romantic relationship with him, they’d be at his feet the way they are for Todoroki. Women have a thing for men they feel like they can change, can make soften up just for them. He’d be a magnet for the fix-it type of girls if he were actually interested someday, and it only frustrates you further when he talks like your problems are so simple.
“This is how it’s always been for me—even back in high school, it was the same thing.”
Bakugou’s brows knit slightly. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
You stare intently into your pint of ice cream, stabbing the spoon in and out. “Like…with guys. It’s always been like this.”
“That’s bullshit.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“I was there, in case you forgot,” he says, as if that alone settles the matter. “Don’t rewrite shit. You got asked out once by that extra.”
You frown. “That’s not—okay, first of all, that was just so he could try and show off his support gadgets to the agency I did my work study with. It doesn’t count. And second, that’s not my point.”
“Then what is?” he shoots back.
You hesitate, then sigh, dragging your spoon through your ice cream again. “Like…I don’t know!” You gesture with your hand vaguely, “I’m never memorable…or the sort of person that stands out enough for people to be interested, you know? Even Mineta made a list once when we were in school—did you know that? Ranking all the girls. And I was last. Like, dead last for whose tits he’d want to see in order. And I know it’s stupid—it’s Mineta. But some part of me wondered why I was last, and…I just figured maybe when I got older, got more confident, and figured myself out, then it’d be different. But it’s not. It’s just the same thing again—and now I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason why I was last on that list.”
Silence settles heavily between you. Bakugou stares at you incredulously, like you’ve just said something that’s genuinely incomprehensible. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me, right?” He scoffs.
You don’t meet his eyes as you bring your legs up to your chest and hug your arms tightly around your knees. “What?” You frown, sulky and self-conscious.
“You’re tellin’ me you’re still hung up a decade later over that small fry not wantin’ ta take a peek at your tits? Why the fuck would you even want him to see them?”
“I don’t want him to see them,” you defend, huffing. “But like…fuck, c’mon! If the perveiest, creepiest guy you know doesn’t get excited at the thought of seeing you naked, who in their right mind will?”
He looks at you in pure distaste. “I knew you were an idiot, but I thought you weren’t this much of a fucking idiot, Stretchy. Sitting here wanting people to see you naked. Fuckin’ absurd.”
“Don’t be purposely dense,” you snap. You don’t know why it matters so much that Bakugou understands where you’re coming from, but it does. It’s important that he understands. “I’m not…I just…all my life, I’ve never been the one people want. There’s always someone better. Hotter, or smarter, or funnier. Nobody wants me—not even for the wrong reasons. How can I expect anyone to want me for the right ones?”
Bakugou is silent. For a moment, you think he finally understands. Think he’ll finally have an odd moment where he’s compassionate and gentle and you see eye to eye and have a heart-to-heart about your lifelong insecurities and your raging sense of inferiority when it comes to anything outside of your job. (Because at least you can give yourself that much—you’re good at your job.)
But then he says, “You’re so dumb, it physically hurts to watch you sometimes.”
And you bury your face into your knees and just sigh. Why did you have any hope for anything else? Why did you expect Bakugou Katsuki of all people to have empathy for your lack of confidence? The walking epitome of confidence is sitting on your couch, and you had the gall to think he’d even try to understand you.
But then he takes you by surprise.
“You see the shit people say on the internet about you, don’t you? You got fans. They think you’re hot.”
You blink as you lift your head back up. “Well, sure, but—”
Bakugou cuts you off. He looks at you like you’re dumb as he speaks, and you almost wonder if you are with the way he holds so much conviction in that gaze of his. Like he believes wholeheartedly you’re a stupid fucking idiot with stupid fucking thoughts.
“But fucking what? That means you’re clearly not the ugliest girl on the planet. You’re sociable enough that you got plenty of friends, too, and you have talents. You’re half decent enough at hero stuff. You’re tellin’ me you think no one wants you? You have to be pretty air-headed to think no one’s gonna desire you or whatever.”
All things aside regarding the…well, delivery of his statement, it’s a pretty nice statement. Something about the idea that Bakugou believes someone could definitely want you makes your chest feel rather light. It’s kind and comforting in an odd way, despite the rough and borderline mean way of saying it. That’s Bakugou for you, though, you suppose. Always doing good in the least seemingly good way possible.
“You’re being weirdly thoughtful,” you fix him with a look as you stir your ice cream around. You fight back a small smile.
He huffs, throwing another chip in his mouth before he mumbles, “I’m always thoughtful, you loser. I’m fuckin’ awesome, you’re just blind as shit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you smile.
“Just eat your ice cream before it turns into soup,” he grumbles.
You take his advice for once, scooping up another bite just to give your hands something to do. The cold bites at your tongue as you think on his words. You have to be pretty air-headed to think no one’s gonna desire you or whatever. Are you? Are you air-headed to think that? No one has given you a reason to think they do want you—but he seems to say it like he knows it’s true. Like he knows someone wants you exactly in the way you want to be wanted. It eats away at you in your head. Does he know who? Is it someone from your old class? A friend of his? Kirishima, or Sero, or hell…even Todoroki? (You rule out Kaminari rather quickly—you almost pity the guy for how long he’s pined after Jirou.)
You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s already looking at you. You freeze for half a second, catching him eyeing you down, and he doesn’t even bother pretending otherwise. Just watches you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure something out, trying to search for something that he can only find in you.
“What?” you mutter, a little defensive.
“Tch.” He looks away first, shoving another chip into his mouth. “Nothin’.”
You don’t buy that for a second. “You’re staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You literally were.”
“Eat your damn ice cream,” he snaps back, but there’s no real heat in it.
“Why’re you being all weird all of a sudden?” you mutter.
He scoffs. “You’re the one who’s weird. Don’t start projecting.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You roll your eyes as you go back and forth with him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips again, uninvited and almost second nature somehow. It lingers longer than you expect. Who knew it could be so easy to smile in Bakugou’s company? You wonder if the you from high school would be shocked to see this now—hell, you think the you of last week would be shocked to see this, too.
You look back at him, and he’s still staring—softer this time, less like he’s searching for whatever it is he was searching for a moment ago, and more like he’s staring just to stare.
“What?” you ask again, furrowing your brows.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you—looks at you hard and good and…and so full of certainty and conviction like earlier. Certainty for what, you wonder. You have no idea, but it almost feels like something is shifting in your relationship with Bakugou—or perhaps, something that was always there that you never knew of is revealing itself. It makes your stomach twist.
What relationship do you even have with him? Outside of being semi-friendly? You shared a class with him for three years and fought through a dark, heavy disaster side by side. It’s unfair to say you don’t know him that well—he was your friend. That much, you think, is fair to say. Perhaps not your closest friend, nor a lifelong one. But a friend all the same.
So what is it? Why does it feel like there’s something that’s making itself noticeable now, all these years later? What is it exactly? Your head spins as you try to figure it all out, all while he just keeps on fucking staring.
“Nothing,” he mutters finally, but it sounds distracted. It sounds like his mind is elsewhere, and his body is here.
“You’re still staring,” you whisper.
His jaw tightens slightly. “Stop sayin’ that,” he mutters.
“Then stop staring.”
“I was making eye contact, you fucking idiot.”
“I think you were staring.”
“No, the fuck I wasn’t.”
“You’re looking right at me as you say that.”
“'Cause it’s called fucking eye contact—are you dumb or something?”
You stare at him. He stares right back. And then, because you’re you, you break it first—huffing out a quiet laugh and shaking your head. “I see. Are you just now realizing I’m super gorgeous or something?”
“Tch. Weren’t you just going on about how no one seems wowed by you?”
You glare at him. “Low blow. And I said that’s how it seems to be for some reason—I never said I agreed with it. Personally, I think I’m rather delightful, and people should notice it more.”
“Yeah, real charmer,” he mutters.
You bump your knee lightly against his without thinking. “Shut up.”
It’s small. A casual touch, if anything. You didn’t think much of it—in fact, it almost came to you naturally. But sitting on your couch and spilling your heart out and sharing snacks with Bakugou feels so oddly familiar, though, that perhaps your judgment is a little clouded.
He stills at the small touch. Your smile fades a little when you realize it—when you realize he didn’t just brush it off like it’s casual. His gaze drops again, slower this time, to where your knee is pressed against his. And then back up. Did you cross a boundary? Did he find that weird? Is he uncomfortable? Was that a more intimate gesture than you thought it was?
You’re sitting there spiralling in your head as you just watch him, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
He doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward slightly—just enough that the space between you closes so that only a few bare inches remain. Your breath hitches.
“Bakugou—”
“You’ve always been pretty dumb,” he mutters, voice low.
You blink. “What?”
“Exactly what I said,” he closes his eyes and sighs, like he’s tired and conflicted and…and something else. Something else you just can’t decipher, no matter how much you try. “I don’t get how you don’t fucking see it.”
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer. But he does open his eyes—deep and sharp vermillion eyes that are looking at you, and he seems to have made a decision that he’s almost a little hesitant with. Like he’s reluctant to fully go through with it, but still. He’s determined. That much you can tell—you know what a determined Bakugou looks like, and this is it. This is it if you know it, and you know that you know it.
And then he leans in.
He leans right in, pressing his lips to your and kisses you softly. It’s so soft—softer than any touch you’ve ever felt. So careful and considerate, as if you’re a fragile petal that’s on the verge of falling off the stamen, and he’s taking every ounce of willpower to keep you tethered to where you are. Keep you from falling away. Keep you there and whole and pieced together so that even the most delicate of touches doesn’t ruin you.
You almost wonder if he thinks he would—ruin you, that is. You wonder if all that careful consideration is because Bakugou believes you’re a fragile petal that could blow away, and he’s nothing but a harsh, cold wind that would blow you off your balance and carry on like it’s just his nature to do so.
And then he pulls back just as fast as it happened to look at you, brows furrowed slightly like he’s bracing for you to shove him off or yell at him.
Your brain is still catching up. He just kissed you. Bakugou Katsuki just kissed you. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and for once, he actually looks uncertain. Nervous, even—almost disappointed. And it does something weird to your chest.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done th—”
“You just kissed—”
You both speak at the same time. You pause, he does too, and then his jaw tightens. “Yeah. I…that was stupid. Sorry—I…fuck, I don’t know what I was think—”
You don’t know why you do it, but you lean forward and kiss him again. It just happens before you can process it—some invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable force that makes you just do it.
And instantly, without even questioning it, his hand comes up, quick and certain, as it grips lightly at your jaw to steady you so he can kiss you properly.
It’s slower this time. More deliberate. Less like he’s being careful and more like he’s trying to savor it now that he knows that he can. His lips press into yours as if they fit like puzzle pieces, and his tongue slides past your parted mouth to press against your own. Your breath catches, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt without you meaning to.
It’s weird, but it’s not—kissing Bakugou. He’s the last person you ever expected to kiss tonight, maybe even ever, but fuck does it feel like it’s the rightest thing you’ll ever do.
“How the fuck do you think no one wants you?” he grumbles between kisses, like he’s personally insulted by the idea. It’s starting to occur to you that perhaps he is just a little insulted by the idea. “You’re so…so fuckin’ dense.”
“No one has ever made it clear,” you snap, bringing your hands around his neck and tugging on his hair as he kisses you deeper.
He hisses, but it only eggs him on to kiss you harder, more fervently. “You want it clear? Then here the fuck you go.”
He kisses along your jaw. Down your neck. Across your collarbone. When your shirt slips off, you don’t even have the clarity to stop and think about what it is you’re doing—it just feels that natural and right to let him do it. He takes in the sight of your tits in your bra, grabbing a handful of them with large, warm hands as he scoffs.
“These the tits that small fry didn’t wanna see? I’m fuckin’ glad—I’d be pissed as hell if he got to see these.”
He pulls off your bra. Rips it right off your back and makes you gasp as you feel the claps fly clean off somewhere in the distance.
“Hey—”
“Oh, shut up,” he huffs, “it’s a fuckin’ bra. I’ll buy you some more if you’re that pressed over replacing one.”
Before you can even scold him for tearing your undergarments and being so nonchalant about it, his mouth latches onto a nipple, sucking and rolling his tongue over the nub as it hardens under his touch. You gasp, arching into his touch, whining when one of his hands moves to cup your other breast and use his fingers on the neglected nipple.
“Oh my—fuck,” you breathe, your heart rate getting faster as your breaths come out more labored.
Bakugou grins against your tit, still sucking and licking—and when you feel the faintest pressure of teeth around your nipple while his fingers pinch around the other, you let out a sound that you’d be mortified about if your mind wasn’t so stuck in the clouds, hazy and unclear.
He kisses down the valley of your breasts when he finally pulls away—right down your belly and right above the waistband that’s sitting against your skin before he looks up at you for permission. “This okay?” he grunts.
You nod quickly as you breathe heavily.
He gives you an unimpressed look as he raises a brow. “Use your words,” he says firmly, “I know you can—can’t you?”
“Yes,” you whine, “yes, this is okay. J-just…get on with it.”
That satisfies him enough, it seems, because he’s pulling all the cloth that separates your core from him down, revealing your dripping cunt as he lets you kick off the cloth that pools at your ankles.
“Look at you,” he coos, grinning smugly at the sight of your arousal smeared along your folds and your skin. He leans closer to get a better look, and you whine in shame. “Fuck,” he grunts, parting your legs with strong hands along your inner thighs as you try to close them from embarrassment. “Quit that,” he hisses. For whatever reason, you obey. “Fuck, you are so wet.”
“Bakugou,” you whine again, horrified, “what is wrong with you?”
He gives you a deeply bothered look. “Katsuki,” he snaps.
“What?” You furrow your brows. Why is he introducing himself to you as if you’ve never met him before—does this man forget that he and you not only shared a class for three fucking years straight, but you fought a war side by side? Of course, you know his first name is Katsuki—
“For fuck’s sake, Stretchy,” he says in pure exasperation, “you’re so dense, you make rocks seem weightless. Say Katsuki, not Bakugou—s’weird to hear that during sex. That’s my fuckin’ mother’s name, too, y’know.”
“Thank you for that mental image,” you fix him with a glare, “and I’m not denser than a rock—”
He licks a stripe along your pussy to shut you up, and fuck does it work. Bakugou—or…well, Katsuki, you correct in your head—is so good at everything he does, it’s almost infuriating. But you aren’t a liar, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for him being so good at eating you out. It’s like his life depends on it, the way he laps away at your folds, pressing his tongue into your cunt and pulling back away to roll over your clit. It’s so…so fucking good.
It feels good. Feels right. Somehow, it feels like this is natural and like he’s supposed to be there between your thighs. You’d expected yourself to be a bit more self-conscious about him seeing you like this, doing things to you like this, for a bit longer. But you’re not.
Instead, you’re throwing your head back into the couch as you moan, “Katsuki—mmhhh.”
“Yeah?” he grins, so smug and handsome at the same time. Just unfair. “You like that, huh?”
“B-be quiet,” you huff, whimpering when a finger sinks past your folds and stretches you open, “you always talked too much.”
“And you always talked too little,” he counters, “tell me how good you feel and say my name like that again while you do it,” comes his blunt demand.
And he earns what he asks for, of course, because a second finger follows that first, and it makes you whine out his name in response like it’s an inevitable chain of events. He’s pumping his digits into your wet cunt and pressing into your sweet spot like it’s that simple. His mouth closes around your clit, and he sucks, his tongue working some sort of unearthly magic along the bundle of nerves as you practically sob in pleasure.
Good, good, good—everything that Katsuki does is so good. He’s so good at everything, it blows your mind. Literally. You can hardly think as he fucks his fingers into you and builds that familiar pressure up in your lower belly. They’re longer and thicker than your own—and all those years of explosives at his fingertips have really roughened up the skin. They’re calloused and scarred. And they feel amazing when they glide along your walls. The friction is so different when it’s his fingers and not yours—they hit angles and stretch places you never hoped to do so yourself.
Like he can read your mind, he asks, “Feels nice?” with a low voice.
You can barely think, let alone form a proper response. Everything feels too sharp, too overwhelming—your breath catching, your body reacting before your brain can keep up. You roll your hips into his fingers as they thrust into you, grinding down onto his mouth so his tongue can lap away at your clit.
“Yeah—” you manage, voice uneven, “so…so good, Katsuki—”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs. Baby—he just called you baby. And it’s…sweet. He says it oddly sweet and oddly gentle as he kisses your clit and smiles into your thigh when the kisses trail along the insides of them. His fingers are still pressing into that soft, sensitive spot in the back of your walls, still applying pressure exactly where you see white every time, and all the while, he seems to be so unexpectedly happy to be doing it.
You stare down at him, watching him between your legs, and when vermillion eyes intensely stare right back, piercing and calculating and yet so…so soft, you can’t look anymore. Just close your eyes and let it happen as your body starts to creep towards that familiar sensation of euphoria.
“Katsuki,” you whine, voice cracking.
“Jus’ let it happen, sweetheart,” he hums, “gonna cum for me?”
“Yeah,” you whine some more, “yeah—fuck. M’gonna cum.”
“Then do it, baby.”
You do. Katsuki is there to work you through it. Your walls spasm as you fall—no, plummet—off the edge, and he doesn’t hold back for an instant. His fingers are fucking into your tightness, the squelching sound of them gliding against your wet folds invading your very good hearing. His tongue is rolling back and forth against your swollen clit—so unforgiving and ruthless in his pace.
You can feel your back arch off the cushions of your couch, your hips working on their own accord as they move and grind down into his touch. Katsuki devours it all—laps away at your juices and groans at the taste of you. Groans right into your pussy and leaves you shuddering at the vibrations his gruff voice leaves against where you’re most sensitive.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, “driving me crazy here, y’know—sucking my fingers right in, I don’t even have to do much myself.”
When you’re done chasing your high, chest heaving as you catch your breath and slump back against your couch, his mouth doesn’t stop. He just stays there, pressing his lips where he can along your thighs, kissing and sucking into your skin, leaving blossoming marks in his wake while you try to gather some coherence in your mind.
“Fuck,” you say breathlessly. “I…just…yeah. Fuck.”
He snorts. “You’re too easily impressed,” he mutters.
“Yeah, well,” you glare, not meeting his gaze, “it’s not like I’ve ever done…this—” you vaguely gesture at him between your legs, “—to have a proper assessment of your skills.”
He looks at you. Bewildered. “Wait—you’ve never been fucked?”
“I’m not a virgin!” you sputter quickly, “not…not that there’s no reason why I can’t be a virgin—but I’m not, okay? I’ve been fucked.”
“So what is it then?” he raises a brow.
“I’ve never had someone do…this,” you gesture again.
“Eat you out?”
“Why do you have to go and say it like that?” you whine, covering your face with your hands—you’re sure said face is bright red and flushed.
He’s always been so vulgar. Even when you were kids. At least then, he was just vulgar with his language and not the connotations, but right now, he’s being vulgar about everything. And it’s seriously fucking with you right now—in more ways than one, evidently.
Katsuki only snorts, looking at you in mild amusement. “If you can’t say it, you got no business doing it. And you gotta have better standards, too—the fuck do you mean you never been eaten out before?”
“Men are not so giving,” you glare at him, “they’re in it for themselves. You’d know that if you weren’t a man.”
“Well, I am a man,” he shoots back, “and as a man, I know I’m pretty fucking giving. Cause I got standards and shit for my performance, and you should fuck people who have standards. And while you’re at it, you should get some god damn standards yourself, too.”
“I think you should take off your clothes instead of sitting there and lecturing me,” you huff.
To your mild surprise, he stands up and pulls you into his arms, lifting you up easily—seriously, what is he built from?—before mumbling, “Where the fuck is your room?”
You mumble out, “Hall to your left—s’the door on the right at the end.”
In what feels like record time, he’s there, tossing you onto the mattress softly enough that you don’t feel the recoil of impact harshly, but hard enough that you do a little bounce. He chuckles as you glare, easily lifting the black t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. It reveals his bare torso and…shit.
It’s not as though you’ve never seen Katsuki shirtless. Of course, you have. You’ve trained with him and battled alongside him, and more than once has he been shirtless, or even had his shirt burned clean off. It’s nothing new to you that he’s muscular and well-built and so fucking broad—but fuck. He’s really bulked up since you last saw him shirtless. The biceps you can see from his short-sleeved shirt were already proof of that, but seeing him now without it, seeing his pecs and the clear indents of every ab while the broadness of his body is on full display, is just something else, entirely.
And you’re staring. Because how could you not? Of course, you’re staring. You’re only human, no matter how superhuman this society is—you can’t help it that you’re simply in awe as you look at him.
And he seems to notice it instantly, because he gives you a teasing grin as he murmurs, “Likin’ what you’re looking at, huh? Makes sense.”
“Would you be quiet?” you huff. You sit up as he unbuckles his belt, watching as he strips himself of his pants and boxers in one go, easily revealing his erection as if there are no second thoughts.
It must be nice being so easily sure of yourself, you think. Everything about Katsuki’s life seems like it must be so nice. Good quirk. Good intuition. Good looks and an equally good body. Good everything—he must never overthink things. He must never overthink if the person in front of him likes what he has to offer and if it’s good enough to like for longer than one short instance. Of course, it’s good—it’s him.
It must be nice being Bakugou Katsuki, born to be so confident and so great at everything.
At least that’s what you think until he mutters, “Quit starin’, you freak,” with a huff. His ears are pink at the tips, and he doesn’t meet your eyes, and…it’s weirdly adorable that he’s shy.
You smile, endeared as you reach over, grabbing his hand, pulling him down to hover over you in bed, his arms caging you while his nose bumps against yours. You can see his eyes better from here. Closer than you’ve ever seen them. His lashes are darker than the rest of his hair—almost a light brown that flutter so beautifully when he blinks.
You hum, kissing his mouth with a soft peck, there one second and gone the next. He frowns, almost pouts, at how quickly it’s over.
“Don’t get all shy on me now, Blasty,” you murmur.
“I’m never shy, Stretchy,” he shoots back.
Your hand moves between your bodies, hesitantly reaching for his hard, swollen length. There’s a blonde patch of hair between his thighs that is neatly trimmed, and he’s got a small birthmark at his hip bone. As for his cock—it’s…well, it’s big. Thicker than it is long, but no less impressive. You figured it would be. Of course, just like everything else he’s got, he’s blessed to be impressive.
You wrap a hand around his cock, stroking slowly as he shudders and lets out a soft, breathy groan. Your hand barely wraps around the girth of it, fingers just shy of meeting, and you look down to watch your fist slide up and down the length of him. He’s slick with pre cum that dribbles from his tip, twitching a little when you squeeze at the base experimentally as you stroke him.
“S’that even gonna fit?” you gape at the sheer size of him, and that’s all it takes for that minimal shred of shyness to leave him. He has the nerve to look at you smugly—so wholly amused.
“Course it is,” he snorts, smirking slyly. “Got you all nice and prepped, didn’t I? B’sides—isn’t bein’ stretched out and all kinda your thing?”
You give him a dirty look. Your quirk doesn’t work that way, and he knows it, but you suppose it’s naive to expect anything less from Bakugou. Of course, he’d throw in a cheeky, asshole-kind of poke at your meta abilities when he sees fit.
“Be quiet,” you warn.
“If that’s what you want,” he hums, “then you should fuckin’ do something about it.”
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in, kissing him hard and rough, earning a deep, satisfied rumble from his chest as you do. His cock nudges against your inner thigh, grinding against you for a short moment before he stills, jaw gritting tightly as he forces himself to be patient and mutters, “You got a condom?”
“On the pill,” you peck the corner of his lips, “so just fuck me—fuck me, Katsuki.”
That’s all he needs to hear. His tip is nudging against your entrance, sliding along your folds, and gathering the slick that’s practically dripping so he can coat himself in your mess. It’s filthy, and it makes you shudder as you feel the hot, heavy weight of him simply brush against you.
“Fuck,” he groans, “gotta feel you—m’gonna go insane.”
He’s pushing past your folds, sinking inch after agonizing inch so slowly, so carefully, you almost want to hiss that you won’t break. But something stops you—the way he stares between your bodies, that dazed look in his eyes with wide pupils as he watches himself sink into you is enough to force you into submission and be patient.
For him—just for him, you’ll be patient.
“Baby,” he drawls, his voice a low, rough purr, “baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight—god.”
“Fuck, Katsuki,” you whimper. He stretches you out good—fills you up and then some as he presses into all the right spots. “S’so deep—need more, please.”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he presses a soft kiss between your brows before his hips are moving.
It’s slow at first, like he’s testing the waters, and when your head throws back into your pillow as you whine in pleasure, it’s like every worry in his head about hurting you flies out the window. His hips snap faster into you, his thrusts go a little deeper, his movement a little more frenzied. By the time he sets a fluid pace, it’s quick and rough and so fucking good.
“Wanted this for so long,” he grits his teeth, letting out a long moan as you clench around him. “Shit, wanted this for so fuckin’ long you wouldn’t believe—wanted you for so fuckin’ long.”
“More,” you whine, “p-please—give it to me, Kats.”
Oh. Oh, he likes the sound of that—there’s a deep, almost animalistic groan in the back of his throat that erupts before he goes impossibly faster, bullying his cock into your walls and slamming into that soft, sensitive spot he did so easily with his fingers, too. Something in his brain is almost rewired, you think, when he hears the nickname fall from your lips.
Something that makes him bury his face into your neck and nip and bite at the skin hungrily.
“Say that again,” he demands. “Say it.”
“Kats,” you sob, “mmhh—s’good, baby. Feels so good.”
“Yeah? Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this, huh? Like you mean something?”
“No,” you shake your head, “no one.”
“Only me, huh?”
“Only you,” you whimper, nodding along as your hips roll as much as they can into his own, trying to match his movements so he can press even deeper into you.
Katsuki does fuck you like you mean something. No one’s ever really done that. You’ve always had sex just for the sake of sex. It’s never been anything more outside of that—sure, you’ve had your eye on a guy, or two that you wished maybe would look at you as something more than a good fuck. But they don’t make a lasting impression to keep you wanting more. Keep you craving more. Keep you hoping that maybe, just maybe, there could be more.
Somehow, Katsuki makes that possible. He grabs your hips softly, rubs his thumb back and forth like he’s worshipping the skin when he angles you down on his cock for deeper access to your cunt. He kisses your jaw and cheeks with soft, wet pecks instead of just shoving his tongue down your throat. He bites his lips and looks at you with soft, dazed eyes and not the usual dark, lust-filled ones you’re used to.
You never really minded being used. Never minded being more than an easy fuck if it meant you could get something out of it, too. But he makes you feel wanted—and you like being wanted. You like being something worth coming and staying for.
“Fuck, m’close, sweetheart,” he rasps, sweat collecting on his forehead as his pace gets sloppier. The thick head of his cock slams roughly against your walls, and a thumb finds your clit to bring you closer to your peak with harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You can feel it—can feel the slow build of pressure in your belly, that familiarly delicious ache between your thighs as the friction of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy accumulates in every nerve. You’re close too, and Katsuki can tell—it’s so fucking easy for him to read your body. Like he was made to understand it.
“Close too, huh?” he pants, “you almost there?”
“Yes,” you wail, “yes—fuck, yes! Wanna cum.”
“Then do it,” he hums, “cum with me, baby.”
He rolls his hips into you once—then twice, and you feel it snap. That coil in your belly that was tight and waiting to burst. It makes your mind go blank and your lips part, and a cry of his name rings in your own ears loudly. You can feel the way you contract around him, spasming and squeezing and pulling him in as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.
It makes his cock twitch before he tenses and stills—his own orgasm hits him just as hard. Hot, white ropes of his release fill you up, the messy, sloppy pace of his thrusts fucking his load into you as he works you both through your highs.
It’s good—not just because it’s pleasurable, but because you feel important. You feel like only you could give him this, and only you could be the one he wants it from. He leans down and kisses you, slow and messy, drinking in your moans as he pours his own into your mouth. He says your name so pretty when he’s like this—so breathless and soft, you feel like your ears are ringing just listening to the sound of him.
“You’re so good, baby,” he mumbles, “so good for me.”
“K-kats,” you whimper—it’s all you can even say.
“I know,” he moans, “I know, sweetheart.”
And then it’s over. You finish, and so does he, and then it’s just the two of you tangled like that while you both pant and catch your breath. Sweaty skin on sweaty skin, lingering touch on lingering touch. Your fingers weave through his blonde locks, tracing along his scalp and fiddling with the small baby hairs at the nape of his neck. His fingers are wrapped around your hips, digging softly into the plush skin and making home in the warmth of it.
“People want you, dumbass,” he mutters, leaning and kissing your cheek. “You’re just an idiot who doesn’t know how to look.”
“Be in my line of sight next time, and maybe I will,” you mumble.
He laughs as he slumps down next to you, pulling your body into his as he wraps you up with his body and the sheets on your bed—it’s the softest sound you’ve ever heard from him, and fuck, do you want to hear it more.
You wonder, as sleep creeps up on you, if this will all be an odd, weird, crazy dream when you wake up.
—
When you wake up, it is not an odd, weird, crazy dream.
Well, it’s definitely odd and weird and crazy. But it’s not a dream, that’s for sure. A sleeping, clearly bare Katsuki is in your bed, right beside you, and you’re in his arms. He’s holding you close and tight, and there would be no chance of escape if you wanted to leave his embrace (which you don’t really think that you do).
One minute turns into two. Two turns into three. And eventually, after a few agonizing minutes of trying to slowly inch away just enough to get a closer look at his sleeping face, Katsuki says without opening his eyes, “Quit squirming.”
You still. And then, you huff, squirming around just to annoy him.
“Oi!” he glares, opening two sharp, yet sleep-hazed red eyes. “I just said stop.”
“Well, I don’t answer to you,” you scowl. “How long have you been awake?”
“Since you decided to stare at me like a creep.”
“I was not staring,” you say, giving him a scandalized look.
He only grins, giving you a sly look as he yawns and mumbles, “Yeah. Whatever you say, dumbass.” Then he pulls you closer, bringing your cheek to lie on his chest while his chin props itself over the crown of your head. “You okay? From last night, I mean?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “M’fine.”
“Not hurt? Wasn’t too rough?”
“Nope,” you answer easily.
You realize this position might have less to do with the fact that he wants to hold you rather sweetly, and more to do with the fact that he might not really want you to look at his face when he asks his next question.
“You uh…you regret it? Or some shit?”
You pause, taking in the odd, rare moment of…vulnerability in his voice. Like he’s scared to hear your answer but needs to know desperately. You find yourself answering rather honestly when you say, “No. I don’t. Last night was really nice—I liked it.”
“Yeah?” he breathes.
“Yeah,” you mumble.
“Great. Go out with me, then.”
You do a double-take as you pull away and look at him in equal parts disbelief and equal parts irritation. He has the nerve to look rather expectant. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” he huffs. “Go out with me—exactly what I said.”
“You can’t just throw that out there randomly!”
“Randomly?” It’s his turn to be shocked and irritated. “The fuck do you mean? I was balls deep in you last night, and this is random?”
“Yeah b-but…” You sputter, smacking his chest. “First of all, don't say it like that! And second, I had no idea until last night that you even thought I was attractive, let alone likable. Now you want to date me out of the blue?”
“I don’t ask shit for no reason out of the blue,” he grumbles, “of course I think you’re attractive and likable if I’m asking you out. You think I’d waste my time with just anyone?”
“Usually,” you give him a flat look, “when you ask someone out, some sort of confession comes first. You know? Like, hey—I think you’re pretty cool. Or you’re really beautiful. Or even, hey, I think we get along nicely, don’t you? Do you wanna go out sometime?”
Katsuki closes his eyes and sighs exasperatedly. “Hey, loser,” he smiles tightly. It’s rather petty, honestly. “I think you’re cool and beautiful—thought it since we were fuckin’ brats in school. We get along nicely for the most part, too, when you’re not a pain in the ass. Let’s go out.”
“That was a demand, not a question.”
“You are so fuckin’ difficult for no reason,” he groans, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes tiredly. “Holy fuck—you’d say no, or somethin’? That why you need it to be a question?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t…but it’s the principle of things—”
“Fuck your principles,” he mutters, pulling you close and planting his lips onto yours. You melt rather instantly, kissing him right back without hesitation. He grins against your mouth and pulls away, leaving you breathless. “The only damn principle you need to know is that you and I are good for each other. And that means we should go out.”
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing. You think it’s a good thing that you are, because it leads you straight to Bakugou Katsuki.
—
One new message from: ♡ PLUS ULTRA GIRLIES ♡
Mina: sooo can we talk about last night? SOMEONE was def giving us the cold shoulder
Toru: ^^
Kyoka: ^^
Momo: Come on, guys. I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation. We should be ready to listen whenever she’s ready
Ochaco: absolutely!
Tsu: but we do want to hear the reason asap
Mina: yeah it better be good bc that was just mean
Toru: ^^
Kyoka: ^^
You: i promise i’ll tell u everything soon ok? but guys.
You: holy fuck. guys…
You: i slept with bakugou last night
Mina: WHAT?
Toru: WHAT?
Tsu: WHAT?
Kyoka: WHAT?
Momo: WHAT?
Ochako: WHAT?
Mina: I KNEW HE HAD THE HOTS FOR YOU I KNEW IT
Mina: THIS NEEDS TO BE A GROUP CALL RIGHT NOW
You: I CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW HE’S LITERALLY IN FRONT OF ME MAKING BREAKFAST IN MY KITCHEN
Ochako: aw wait that is sooo sweet of him. he’s a great cook too
Toru: proof or it didn’t happen :P
You: [ one attachment ]
Kyoka: HOLY SHIT THAT’S DEFINITELY HIS BACK
Momo: Well…As long as you’re happy!
Mina: LMAOOOOO STOP YAOMOMO
Ochaco: bakugou can be nice when he wants to be!! don’t be so hard on him
Tsu: when has he ever wanted to though…?
Toru: never lol let’s be real
You: he has a soft side OKAY? ochako is right u guys are being way too hard on him
Mina: oh god it begins
Toru: she’s already making excuses for him
Kyoka: the sex was that good huh??
Momo: Make sure you pee so you don’t get a uti ok?
yeah i wrote this in one day. this asshole has taken over my life yet again 6 years later i feel like history always repeats itself
genre: fluff, heavily suggestive at the end, non-idol au, college au, childhood friends to lovers, penpals to friends to lovers, unrequited love that is actually requited, reader is an exchange student at jongho's university, ateez are volleyball players, i know nothing about volleyball, mentions of virgin jongho at the end, first love kind of thing
wc: 8.5k
summary: you and jongho met as children during a letter writing project. years later, you get the chance to meet in person because of a study exchange but you are determined to keep your feelings a secret - after all, how do you tell your best friend you’re in love with him?
a/n: this is my contribution to the alive live collab hosted by @sungbeam! it was such a fun collab where I got to speak and write with such amazing mutuals, ily all ❤️❤️❤️ the last scene of this fic actually took me ages to write, it just wouldn't come together like i wanted, so the nsfw scene has been taken out potentially to be posted as a side fic in the future when the idea is coperating with me 😭😭 i hope you like it anyways!!
thank you to @xomakara for the banner. i legit never make banners for my fics so thank u so much bby <3
masterlist // requests: open
-----------------
To my new friend,
My name is ----. I am 8 years old. I live in England. I like to write stories.
What is your name? I don’t know a lot about South Korea. Where do you live? What do you like to do?
I look forward to your reply.
From,
Your new friend
-
It started because of a school project.
Your Year 3 teacher was friends with someone who taught abroad and they came up with a writing unit that involved sending letters to people hours away in South Korea. You wouldn’t say you were excited about it but you definitely thought it was cool. Countries in Asia felt so far away from where you were right now and the idea that you could communicate with one without the use of technology sounded wonderfully archaic (you’d just learnt that word and used it obnoxiously when you had the chance).
So you wrote your initial letter using the writing frame your teacher gave you. You shared your name, your age, your home town, and your favourite hobby. You asked about Korea, about where they lived, to share something in Korean that you could practice reading or speaking (you didn’t know at the time how different hangul looked from English and that it would take some effort to be able to read it).
You didn’t know that your letter being selected by one person would change so much of your life.
-
To ---
Thank you for your letter.
My name is Jongho. I am 8 years old. I live in Goyang. I like to sing.
Goyang is very pretty. I like the lake here. What is England like? My teacher says it rains.
What do you write?
I wait for your reply.
From,
Jongho
-
You only shared a handful of letters before the writing project came to an end. You remembered holding your opened letters in your hand and frowning at your teacher as you asked, “does that mean I can’t speak to Jongho anymore?”
She’d smiled, happy that you seemed to have made a new friend, and assured you that you could keep communication - “just ask your parents permission to share your home address,” she advised.
Your parents, who had heard you excitedly speak about Jongho since you received the first letter, had smiled with amusement and agreed. They helped you write it down at the bottom of your next letter. You took your time to make sure each letter was clearly written so Jongho wouldn’t get confused and send it to the wrong place.
Two weeks later, a new letter with Korean postal stamps landed on your doormat and, you supposed, that was really the beginning.
Some of your hometown friends kept writing to their penpal but eventually, physical distance became too much. There were bigger worries, the kind that plague the mind of pre-teens, and then the problems of those teenagers that feel like the end of the world.
You had those too, of course.
You worried about whether the pimples on your nose were too obvious and whether your breasts were growing in appropriately because Sabrina already was already a DD while you were barely fitting a B cup. You dated the greasy boys that attended your school and cried into the lap of your friend, Hana, when they inevitably broke your heart.
You held Hana when the same thing happened and punched her girlfriend in the face when she spread a rumour that your friend wore granny panties (because those were incredible embarrassments in secondary school).
You didn’t tell everything to Jongho but you did tell him a lot. Once you hit 13, you became more aware that he was a boy and you were a girl, even if you’d known each other since before that mattered. When you got your first phone at eleven, you’d carefully written your number at the bottom of the page so he could text you. It was only later, when your mum raged at you about the phone bill, that you realised that probably wasn’t as viable as you had originally thought it was.
You didn’t speak in letters any more but you spoke every day on Kakao, which took a lot of translation apps to figure out how to set up an account.
I really need to learn Korean, you told him.
I can teach you, Jongho promised.
You sent each other videos and photos when you were fourteen. You’d sent him a version of yourself you considered perfect, made up with the appropriate lighting. You blushed when he called you pretty. The first selfie Jongho sent you was similar to yours - head angled up to get the right part of jaw, lips pressed together, eyes focused on the image on his phone screen. He was handsome, you’d known that, but you remembered the moment that you thought you actually liked him.
It was snowing in Seoul and he was trying to show you it. He’d spun the camera around his head, giggling his delight. He was bundled up in a massive ski jacket, hood pulled over his head. His eyes were sparkling in reflected light and his cheeks were burnt pink from the brutal winds that came in winter. You’d screenshotted it without even thinking and found yourself, embarrassingly, gazing at the secret photo while your heart beat in your throat.
You didn’t tell him of course, you couldn’t - that was embarrassing.
You didn’t know whether the rules for dating in Korea were the same in England but you knew you couldn’t bear the thought of doing something to ruin this relationship. It was important to you, more so than anything in your life.
I like talking to you, Jongho admitted.
I like talking to you too, you had replied, and then quickly added, even if you tell terrible jokes.
Hana would tease you about your international boyfriend, and you would blush and deny it vehemently. She was the only one that knew though you wished it were true.
“You’re my dream couple,” Hana had joked once. “I ship you.”
You’d groaned and shoved her off the bed in retaliation, even as your cheeks burned and your mind jumped in a hopeful dance.
-
Jongho was pretty sure that he was in love with you by the time he was sixteen.
There wasn’t any big moment or any one thing that truly made him realise. It just was. You were an important part of his life in a way no one else was. You were the first person he messaged when he woke up and the last before he went to sleep. When he ate new food, he’d think about whether you’d like it. When he listened to music, you were the first person he would recommend it to.
His eomma would always get this knowing look on her face when he brought you up. “Oh, she’d like this?” she’d say as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever said.
His appa had taken to calling you that ‘sweet foreign girl’. “Are you going to show that sweet foreign girl?” he’d ask whenever he took a photo. “Make sure you tell her the history, it’s important.”
There had been a girl that lived down the street from him during high school. Peonghwa. She was sweet, he recalled. She would always wait for him on the corner so they could walk to school together. She kissed him once before she’d darted away into her house, and Jongho remembered this sickening feeling that he’d done something wrong.
“Peonghwa-ah kissed me,” he told his eomma.
She hesitated for a moment before humming. “Okay. She’s a good girl.”
“She is,” Jongho agreed.
Eomma eyed him closely. “Did you want her to kiss you?”
He thought about his answer for a moment, debating the curling discomfort in his stomach. “No.”
Eomma pushed. “Because it’s her? Or because you’re thinking of someone else?”
Your face came to mind immediately. You updated your kakao profile picture constantly and he was greedy in how he took them in. The one you had up now was cute - you’d dressed up as a witch for some halloween party. You were all in black with your hair pulled into pigtails. You’d scrunched your nose up as you grinned into the camera.
Jongho had never lied to his eomma and he wasn’t able to start now. “Someone else.”
He’d let Peonghwa down the next day. He told her politely that he was flattered but he didn’t think about her that way. “I like...someone else.”
The first person Jongho actually told about you was Yeosang. The older friend was on the high school volleyball team with him. His phone had buzzed, a message from you and Yeosang had caught the dopey look that crossed his face when he read it.
“You didn’t mention you were dating,” Yeosang mused.
Jongho visibly startled. “Huh?”
“Dating?” his hyung gestured to the phone, still lit with your message, “I mean, I hope you don’t smile like that when you get texts from your eomma.”
Jongho’s ears burned red. “It’s not like that,” he insisted, “we’re just friends.” he paused and then added, “she lives abroad anyway. It’s not like anything is going to happen.”
Yeosang’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape. “Is that why you’ve never dated anyone?”
“Maybe,” Jongho admitted.
Of course, Yeosang told Wooyoung and it got passed around the whole team. His hyungs’ insisted on calling you his girlfriend and when no one was looking, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to actually ask you.
Do you like him? Do you like him? Would you date him? It all felt woefully embarrassing. Jongho had typed it out a few times, let the question sit there before ultimately deleting it.
Instead, he told you - you look pretty. I like talking to you. You make me laugh.
And every reply he got, every moment where you thought of him for even a second, made his heart skip a beat.
Even now, at twenty, it was still the same.
What university do you go to again? You asked.
Yonsei. He replied, why?
My school has an exchange program. Yonsei’s on the list. Should I apply?
Jongho couldn’t breathe, joy and terror and hope all weaving together in the center of his chest to make every inhale unbearable. He floundered trying to answer you, thumbs hitting the wrong letters. How do you say ‘fuck yeah’ in English again?
If you want to. He said.
Do you want me too?
He was honest. I’d love nothing more than to meet you in person.
The word love made him feel sick. Was that the right thing to say? He didn’t know. The wait for your reply felt like millenia, pushing against the fabric of time and space, because in reality, it was only a minute. Still, he watched the three dots like they were a lifeline.
I want to meet you too Jongho. Wish me luck.
-
I’ll meet you in front of Yonhi’s gates.
Roger that.
You sent your agreement and then stood at the door of your dorm room, deciding whether it was appropriate to hide away for the next semester. It had been one thing applying for the exchange program and a completely different thing to be standing in dorms on Korean soil, your closest friend just minutes away from meeting in person. The nerves and excitement had steadily increased as this dream became more of a reality, until just now when it slammed into your chest - made your heart pick up speed and your breath catch in your throat.
You stared at Jongho’s message for a moment longer. It was only natural, you reasoned, to feel anxious. You’d known Jongho for so long, he was practically a second skin, but you didn’t actually know him, right? You didn’t know what he really sounded like. You didn’t know how he really looked under the midday sun. You didn’t know how you fit into life with him in person rather than over the phone.
You’d confessed your uncertainty to your mother, only once, in the hours before you boarded the plane. “What if I’m making a mistake?” What if he doesn’t like me?
Your mum had heard the unspoken question. She smiled in that way that mothers do when they want to reassure you but can’t know for sure. She smoothed her hands over your cheeks like she once did when you were a baby and said, “Then you come home to people who love you in three months. Something tells me you won’t want to though.”
Three months. You only had three months.
Your fingers curled around the door handle and pulled sharply. You’ve got to make the most of it.
On the way, you got lost four times. Yonsei campus was vast, and more often than not, you got distracted staring at unfamiliar ancient architecture and took a wrong turn. Eventually, you got to the gate. You had searched the location and seen the photos, but it was different in person. Your first palace entrance, the gate stretched high in dramatic fashion. The reds and greens that adorned so brightly were clearly part of a restoration project.
And, standing on the other side like something out of a drama, was Jongho.
You recognised him immediately, almost instinctively. You didn’t have the forethought to wonder if that was too fast for someone you’d only seen through photos. You were too distracted, taking in that he looked so much better in person. He was taller than you thought, shoulders broader, head held higher. His nose was curved and his jaw sharp, his lips plump into a pout that you had spent far too much time analysing. When he glanced over, you took notice of the recognition that rose in his dark eyes and the way his smile blossomed so beautifully.
Fuck.
He really was unfairly attractive.
Jongho called your name, his voice slightly deeper in person than over the voice note, and raised a hand to wave. You did the same a second later, trying not to get distracted by the long strides he took to reach you.
When he hugged you, your heart leaped in your chest and you couldn’t stop the way you relaxed into his strong arms. He smelt so good and he held you so tight, he must have felt your heart beating against his. You hesitated a moment before returning the hug, arms folding around his waist and letting yourself enjoy the heat of him pressed against you, just for a moment longer than would be deemed appropriate.
When you parted, his happy grin was so wide that his eyes curled at the edges.
Truly unfairly attractive.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he laughed.
“Neither can I,” you admitted, “I don’t know why they picked me.”
Jongho nudged your shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he scolded, “You studied hard.”
“And now I’m here,” you said.
“And now you’re here,” he echoed, “with me.”
You had to be imagining the way his voice softened at the end there, or reading into the fondness that he gazed at you. You had to be because he glanced away and when he looked back, it was gone, replaced with a friendly edge. It shouldn’t have made your stomach drop as much as it did.
“I was thinking,” Jongho said, “we could get coffee and then I can release you for orientation.”
“How’d you know when my orientation is?” you wondered.
The tips of his ears went pink. “One of my hyungs is a student representative,” he admitted, “I asked him to look after you.”
This time, it was you who nudged him. “Ooh, special treatment already?” you joked.
“Only the best,” Jongho nodded, “for my friend.”
You didn’t like how tight that made your throat, and you swallowed around it determinedly. You linked your arms with his, trying not to notice how firm the muscles were when he hooked his elbow, and glanced out around them, anything to avoid making eye contact. “Lead the way, Jong-oppa,” you ordered. “This jet lag is severe. I’m going to need a litre of coffee.”
-
Jongho could still feel the heat of your hand in the crook of his arm. Your scent of your sweet perfume still lingered, stuck to his clothes where you had touched him. And Jongho felt like he hadn’t been able to breathe properly since he first saw you in person.
Of course, he knew you were pretty and funny and smart in so many ways. He’d spent so long ruminating on your face, on the voice messages you’d left him, on the memes you shared. But it was different in person. It was better.
Your face lit up when he made you laugh. Your accent slipped through so strongly on certain English words and the way Korean - learnt for him - formed on your tongue was mesmerising. You hummed when you drank your coffee and when you tried to find the right words to express yourself, your gaze drifted to the right, as if that could help you focus.
Jongho was enamoured, way more than he thought possible.
When he dropped you off at the orientation meeting zone, he almost didn’t want to let you go. Maybe you didn’t want to go either because you hovered by him as you greeted other foreign exchange students you recognised from previous online zooms you’d had to partake in. There was a small selfish and irrational part of him that wanted to invite you somewhere else - for dinner, for a walk, anything - but he held his self-restraint enough until the representatives approached and San made eye contact with him, beaming as he always did when he saw one of his precious teammates. San always called that on nights of team drinking, hooking one of them - usually Woo or Yeosang - with his strong arms. The outside hitter was a good person, Jongho knew, probably one of the best he knew. There was a reason that he was part of the student representative committee and not just because he was one of the few people he knew that spoke three languages confidently.
“Jongho,” San greeted happily. He clapped his teammate on the back before turning a charming smile onto you. “And I assume this is...” he said your name and then made a show of dramatically bowing as he introduced him, “I’m Choi San. Jongho and I play on the same team.”
You looked a little starry eyed at the sight of the man, and Jongho squashed down on the ball of displeasure that rose within him. It was just San, he reasoned. He was an attentive flirt but he would never - they all knew how Jongho felt about you and San would never betray his trust like that. Still, it twisted him up inside to see how the handsome man made you swoon without much effort. The insecure part of him needlessly compared himself - what did San have that he didn’t? Would you like San more than him? Would you want San over him?
“Charmed,” you said and smiled so prettily, unaware of the anxious and self-deprecating spiraling of his thoughts. That really didn’t help.
“Jong has told us so much about you,” San confessed with a cheeky grin.
“San-hyung,” Jongho’s cheeks turned pink.
Your eyebrows jumped up and you sounded amused when you said, “Did he now?”
“Only good things,” San assured.
“San.” Jongho tried to interrupt, but his hyung was on a roll.
“But I don’t think he truly explained how beautiful you were.”
Jongho snapped. “San.”
You were pink as well. “You told your friends I was beautiful?” you asked, shyly. Your eyes darted to him and away, like you were afraid to settle for too long. Was that good? Jongho hated how uncertain he felt.
It felt like a trap, like whatever he said something could go wrong. Jongho stumbled over his words before eventually saying, “It’s an objective truth,” he muttered.
His chest felt tight. Your eyes sparkled. San looked immensely pleased with himself.
When Jongho had taken his leave, he had been both relieved to escape the combined teasing and disappointed that he couldn’t spend any more time with you. Which was silly, he reasoned firmly, he’d already made plans with you for dinner, but walking away from you after waiting so long felt like it was happening way too soon.
Of course, he couldn’t quite escape the teasing.
Mingi threw the ball at him as soon as he entered the practice room. Jongho cursed in surprise and the taller blocker grinned at him in delight. “How’s your girlfriend?”
Seonghwa rolled his lips to hide his grin and Yunho giggled behind his hand.
Yeosang looked up from a long stretch from the middle of the court. “How is she finding Seoul?”
He had long given up trying to get them to stop calling you that. He chucked the ball back. “She’s good. She says she likes it so far,” he murmured.
“And?” Wooyoung pushed. He was throwing a ball into the air as far as he could and rushing around to catch it. “Did you fall into her arms and declare your love for her?”
Once again, Jongho felt hot. “No, of course not. I-I wouldn’t - that isn’t appropriate, I just...”
“Waaaa,” Hongjoong arched a surprised eyebrow, “How’d you manage to form a sentence in front of her?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted bitterly. He moved to one side of the practice room to drop his bag and shed off his hoodie - reluctant, because it meant he couldn’t smell you as he worked. Pathetic, he mocked himself and frowned down at the fabric like it offended him.
He could feel his teammate’s - his friend’s - eyes on him. He had no doubt that could read his genuine frustration, leading to the pause in teasing. They were good like that. It was one of the reasons they had remained friends for so long - each of his hyungs knew when they could mess around and when things were getting too real. It was why Jongho knew everyone was listening when he continued talking, “I didn’t expect...that seeing her in person would be so different. She was just...”
So beautiful, so smart, so charming, so funny. So much more in person than just in text. Was it possible to fall in love with someone who already had your heart? Because Jongho was pretty sure that was what happened.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Yunho wondered, voice softer, “Means you weren’t imagining your connection.”
Jongho let the hoodie drop on top of his bag and turned around. “Maybe, or maybe it's worse,” he murmured, “She’s even more perfect than I could have imagined.” He licked his lips, “And she’s my friend.”
“A friend you’ve had feelings for since high school,” Seonghwa reminded, “friendship is a good start to a relationship.”
Jongho pressed his lips together and tried not to dwell on that. He knew his older friend was just trying to help him, but he couldn’t bear it, not if it caused things to fall apart. His friendship with you was one of the most important things in his life - the idea of risking it...
Mingi piped in to say, “If he has the balls to do something about it.”
Jongho’s eyes went sharp and Wooyoung threw the ball he had at Mingi’s head with a shout of, “dude, timing.”
Mingi ducked out of the way before it hit him. “What? Let’s be honest, Jong’s going to spend the next three months pining, pretending he doesn’t want to kiss her, and then when she goes back home, none the wiser, he’ll regret it.”
“I don’t want to-”
Mingi waved his hand dismissively. “Ruin anything, I get it dude, I do, but like - come on, not everyone gets this chance with their first and only love. She came here to see you.”
Jongho corrected it immediately. “She came here to study.”
Seonghwa, ever the peacemaker, spoke with reluctant disagreement. “She could have picked anywhere, right? But she picked here. For you.”
For you. God, Jongho’s heart did a traitorious leap at that. He swallowed and found himself tensing as if to turn that soft thought into discomfort. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to not miss your chance, bro,” Mingi said earnestly.
Hongjoong called for attention. “I want to practice,” he insisted, “and while you practice setting, you can decide whether it's worth the risk.”
The captain’s words echoed around Jongho’s head as much as Mingi’s. Worth the risk. Was it? Were you? It seemed so simple when he was thinking about it alone, void of real-life consequences.
Of course, you were worth it. Everything about you, about their relationship, about their history with each other, was worth it.
But it was all that which was at risk should things go south. He could just picture your pretty face, twisted in disgust or pity as you told him “I don’t see you like that”. His nightmarish imagining filled in the aftermaths with distance and tight smiles, low contact becoming unanswered questions.
But the hopeful part of him dreamed. He could see your smile, bright and joyful as when you saw him for the first time, as you told him “I feel the same.” He could imagine being allowed to press his lips to your plump bottom lip, to not have to fight the urge to pull you into a hug; to really know what it felt like to hold your hand tightly in his.
Was it worth the risk? At the end of practice, palms aching and shirt sweat drenched, Jongho had made his decision.
-
When people asked you how you were enjoying your time in South Korea, you were honest when you told them, “I love it.”
You loved the reliable wifi on the subway. You loved how cheap iced coffee was. You loved the call buttons in restaurants so that you didn’t have to try and make awkward eye contact with your server to get more drinks.
You loved your dormmates - Korean and foreign exchange students alike - and how welcome they made you feel. You loved your classes and the chance to build your Korean speaking skills properly. But most of all, the reason why you enjoyed your time so much, you loved your time with Jongho.
Any fears you might have had about your friendship moving from online to the real world was unfounded. Jongho folded you into his life as if you had always been there and you supposed you always had, in some sense. Old jokes and memes became part of everyday conversation. He reminded you to drink water, just now he was pushing a bottle into your hand with a disapproving frown. The names of friends, his teammates, were as familiar to you as you were to them.
When you finally met the volleyball boys, Wooyoung had asked if it was okay to hug you “because I feel like I’ve known you for years. Jongho never shuts up about you.”
“He spoke about you all too,” you had told them, “he really looks up to you all.”
Jongho mock-groaned. “Don’t tell them that.”
Yunho pretended to wipe a tear. “Jong-ah, you look up to us?”
“He has to,” Mingi said, “He’s just a little bear.”
The blond might have been quick witted but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Jongho’s elbow to the stomach.
“Bear?” you arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Why bear?”
“He’s got the strength of a bear,” Hongjoong explained, “one of the best hitters on the team.”
“Plus he looks like a teddy bear,” San added cheekily. He giggled when he got a kick to the back of the ankles in retaliation.
You looked at Jongho’s narrowed eyes and pressed lips, and gasped in delight. “Oh my god, you do look like a teddy bear.”
“See?” San defended himself.
Jongho stuck his bottom lip out. “Please don’t encourage them.”
When you called him baby bear later, he sighed in despair and put an arm around your shoulder. Wooyoung and Mingi made a show of complaining that you were getting special treatment.
“That’s because I actually like her,” Jongho shot back immediately.
Of course, that caused more objections, as intended, but you couldn’t focus on what was being said. No, not when the comfort weight of his arm around your shoulders made you feel warm all over, not when the scent of his perfume - musky with citrus undertones - flooded your senses and made your heart clench with torturous interest.
He’d been doing that more, you had noticed. Finding himself next to you - an arm around your shoulder, a hand brushing yours when you walked together, body angled your way as he listened to you with his undivided attention. It was sweet but perhaps, too much for your poor heart. Every time, he made eye contact with you or he reached for you, you felt yourself melt every time. It was so easy to forget that you were friends and nothing more when he smiled at you like that.
You’d gotten used to saying that. We’re just friends. People had asked, mostly those in your dorm who had caught sight of Jongho dropping you off basically every night. He always did the same thing - hugged you close, wished you a good night, and would stay on the porch until you’d shut the door securely behind you.
Soyeon, one of the student representatives residing in your dorm, had wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Making friends with the locals huh?” she teased.
You’d explained the long story of your friendship and ended it with the familiar assertion of friendliness. “Nothing else,” you’d asserted, “Jongho doesn’t see me that way.”
Soyeon looked more amused than anything. “I’ve been to a few parties with the volleyball boys,” she said, “and I’ve never seen Jongho take even the tiniest interest in anybody. No one night stand rumours, no relationships that can be confirmed, nothing. But you show up? He’s here every night, walking you home, giving you his jackets.”
You glanced down as if guilty. The familiar weight of the jersey sat on your shoulders. Jongho was so much broader than yourself so it hung off your frame, the sleeves over your fingers. You liked wearing you, you’d shyly admit, because it smelt like Jongho. Under the older girl’s clear gaze and unwavering explanation, you felt like you were doing something wrong.
“I was cold,” you explained quietly.
“And our star hitter was only so happy to warm you up,” Soyeon winked.
The clear innuendo made you flush. “We’re friends, nothing else,” you insisted, “this is a friend’s jacket. The jacket of a friend. We’re not, I’m not - we’re friends.”
“Hey, I’m not judging you,” Soyeon put her hands up in defense, “Friends, more than friends, whatever you say.”
She’d walked away, leaving you trembling and nervous and horrifically aware that the way you felt right now was very much not friendly.
When you texted Hana that you might have a crush on Jongho, she sent you back: well yeah, obviously.
That was the thought that lingered with you now, squished between Jongho and Yeosang in the tiny booth of the beef barbecue restaurant just outside of campus. It had become a weekly routine to meet somewhere - a local restaurant, a park with convenience store ramyeon and fried chicken, or hongjoong’s off campus apartment - and just destress after a long week of classes and high expectations. You did enjoy the time, you liked Jongho’s friends a lot and it was a wonderful time to just relax.
But then Jongho would put the first piece of meat on your plate or laugh happily beside your ear, his body shaking against you, and you’d remember that you like-liked him.
God, you felt like a silly school kid. Hopelessly and pathetically overwhelmed by your crush, and Jongho didn’t make it any easier.
See, you knew your friend was handsome, funny, helpful - but it was so different in person. You could see the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, hear the way he formed his words so intelligently, feel how earnest he was in helping you. It was like the idea of him had formed into reality and it was so much better than you could have imagined.
You’d dated before. Your last boyfriend had been an engineering student at your university and told you that “he wasn’t ready for a relationship” before immediately starting to date one of his housemates. Before all the red flags became apparent, he had been handsome - but not like Jongho - and smart - but not like Jongho - and he made you laugh - but not like Jongho.
It was almost pathetic how much you were comparing them and you had this horrible feeling that you’d be looking for Choi Jongho in every man you dated going forward. Fuck.
“Are you okay?” when he ducked his head to speak with you, his breath was warm against your cheek.
You shivered, crossed your legs at the ankles for physical support, and smiled brightly. “Fine. Just thinking about the amount of homework I have to do.”
He rapped on your forehead gently and you tried not to visibly melt at the feeling of his fingertips on your skin. “Nope. No homework thoughts allowed.”
Yunho swept his gaze across the room and then darted back. He lowered his voice when he said, “Don’t look now. The lacrosse girls are out.”
Mingi sat up straighter in interest and Jongho let out a long suffering groan.
You blinked in confusion. “What’s wrong with lacrosse?”
“It’s less the team and more one person in particular,” Seonghwa explained.
San poked Jongho on the shoulder. “Minji has a crush on our baby bear.”
You swallowed your discomfort at the announcement as Jongho batted at San’s hand. “It’s not a crush,” he said, “she just thinks I’m playing hard to get.”
“Are you?” you found yourself asking.
“No,” Jongho’s answer was quick, “No, I’m not interested.”
Your gaze drifts over. Across the room, the girls were still wearing their kit - you vaguely remembered the school’s itinerary email that shared the lacrosse team had a game today - and seemed unaware of the other team nearby.
“Which one’s Minji?” you asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jongho objected as Yeosang answered, “the one on the left. Red hair.”
Ah. The girl in question was laughing at something the teammate across from her said, eyes scrunching at the corners in pure joy. You hated how the sight of her hit you in the chest.
“She’s cute,” you murmured.
“And I’m not interested,” Jongho said firmly. He stabbed one of his chopsticks into a chicken wing as if it personally offended him.
“Soyeon told me about the volleyball boys,” you mentioned. “I didn’t know that you guys were so popular.”
Yunho and Wooyoung grinned. Hongjoong turned pink. Seonghwa coughed into his hand and ducked his head. Yeosang and Mingi gave you an embarrassed grin. Jongho kept his head on the plate in front of him.
“We...have stories,” Yeosang said slowly, “except for Jong. He doesn’t really like that scene.”
“Which adds to his mystery,” Wooyoung added.
“Unfortunately,” Jongho sighed.
You can’t really explain what this information does to you. Curiosity wars with delight and relief. It shouldn’t, it doesn’t really mean anything, but the part of your brain that had already imagined growing old together read it as something important.
You find yourself watching him again, tracing the curve of his jaw and the pretty curve of his nose. You take note of how his lips are angled downwards unhappily and how long he’s been chewing that piece of chicken.
When you reached up, you intended to touch his cheek but panicked that it was too intimate and changed the destination to pat the top of his head. He looked at you in surprise as you smiled and hoped you looked normal. Friendly.
“Aigoo,” you cooed, “I didn’t know my baby bear had an admirer.”
He watched you, eyes wide and round. You told yourself you were imagining the soft edges or the twitch of his head as if he was leaning into you. You told yourself that the ‘my’ didn’t mean anything, that it was innocent. You told yourself that it didn’t mean anything when Jongho just sighed, shoulders slumping, and didn’t immediately try to remove your hands from him, like he did with his other friends.
“Minji can admire all she wants,” he murmured, “she’s not the one I’m interested in.” Before you had a chance to respond - not that you’d have been able to, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth at the intensity of those words - Jongho picked a piece of meat off the grill and held it out to you. “Try this cut. It’s good.”
-
Since Jongho had announced he was going to ask you out, his friends had been intensely invested. Every night, after he’d drop you back to the shared dorm building, he’d get asked the same thing - “so?” - and he’d have to shake his head or avert his gaze.
It was truly embarrassing how terrified he was about taking that step.
He always had an excuse as to why he couldn’t ask. Too much to drink, someone walked passed, you saw someone from your course; his voice had broken and you’d laughed too hard, or -
Yeosang looked unimpressed. “She nearly choked on sweets?”
Jongho hummed and kept his gaze on a loose thread at the end of his shirt. “She ate them too fast,” he murmured, “And I don’t want her to think of a date with me and link that to her near death experience.”
“Yup, I’ll admit, that wasn’t an excuse I had predicted,” San commented.
“Not an excuse,” Jongho challenged, “I just, um, it has to be-”
“Perfect,” Yunho and Mingi finished his sentence with a roll of their eyes.
Jongho flushed. How many times had he really said this? “It’s important,” he insisted, “I just - it’s going to change everything and I...I have to do it right.”
He’d imagined it so many times. That perfect moment. In reality, he knew it couldn’t be possible. Rationality, what he dreamed of was never going to match reality, but there wasn’t anything wrong with wanting it to at least be similar right? To have that one wonderful moment where confessing his feelings for you felt right rather than the most anxiety inducing thing he’s ever done.
“You’re gonna miss your chance,” Wooyoung scolded, “you aren’t the only one who fancies her, you know?”
Jongho froze as his heart leaped horrifically into his throat. “What?”
“I heard it in my dance class,” the libero admitted, “Apparently, Hyunjin already asked her out.”
Jongho felt adrift, like his world had been unended by such a simple revelation. With 5 words, his mind was swirling, his chest tightened by the panic pumping through him.
He knew Hyunjin - he was Wooyoung’s friend of a friend who kept each other company during long rehearsal stretches. They’d spoken a few times at parties to know that Hyunjin was genuinely a nice person, and he wasn’t blind to the man’s attractiveness. He could just imagine the smooth smile that would have made you blush or the charming pick-up lines that would have made you blush.
You didn’t tell him, he thought vaguely, you didn’t tell him about any date.
“What did she say?” Jongho asked, though he didn’t want to hear the answer.
Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrowed as he hesitated. “Jongho...”
Jongho was up so quickly, the sofa pushed backwards on the wooden floor slightly. “I have to go,” he declared.
Hongjoong looked startled with worry. “Jong, are you-”
But the maknae of their group was already heading for the door, stumbling into his shoes and forgetting the keys still in the pocket of his hung jacket. He couldn’t think clearly, not with so much anxiety and dread coursing through his bloodstream. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream or curse himself out for his avoidance. He should have thought - you were wonderful, perfect even, why wouldn’t anyone else see that?
Their team captain looked ready to follow behind but was stopped by Seonghwa’s grip on his elbow. “Let him go,” Hwa sighed, “he’s gotta figure it out himself.”
“Maybe it’ll be the kick up the arse that he needs,” Yeosang murmured hopefully.
Mingi hummed in agreement. “50,000 won that he actually asks her out.”
“50,000 that he martyrs himself.” Yunho shot back.
“Guys,” San shook his head and then leant forward on his knees to add, “50,000 that he does ask her out but he fucks up the first time.”
Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose.
-
Soyeon had been out the night before and had made it clear she wasn’t to be disturbed, which was probably why she looked half asleep and unimpressed in your doorway. You didn’t get the chance to ask her why she was there before she said, “your boyfriend is at the door.”
You didn’t even try to correct her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You’d seen Jongho just an hour or so before, and he’d seen fine. You couldn’t think of a reason as to why he’d be here now, unless - you wondered if there was some kind of emergency, something that had him rushing here.
You muttered a quick apology to the older woman and moved out of your room, down the short hallway and stairs to get to the main door. On the steps, Jongho looked breathless, pink in the cheeks and eyes wide. You desperately scanned him for any signs of injury.
“I need to talk to you,” the words tumbled over his lips. “Alone.”
It sounded serious, terrifyingly so, and you could only nod in stunned agreement. He followed you up the steps quietly and your mind whirled. You jumped from one reason to another wildly - a family member hurt, an argument with the volleyball boys, an issue with the coach, a problem with a professor, or - your heart did a painful lurch - did he know you had feelings for him?
You let him into your dorm room and the door shut behind you with a weight of finality. Jongho hadn’t been in your room before, you realised, and a sense of inadequacy filled you. Your bed wasn’t made, covers crumbled from where you had been laying on him. You hadn’t cracked a window in a while because mosquitos kept getting in and you had a worried moment when you thought the space smelt funny, despite the diffuser you had placed on your desk. There was a pile of dirty clothes falling out of the basket because you hadn’t had time to go to the laundry room and god, yep, that was a pair of your comfortable granny pants sticking out the top.
You shuffled yourself so your body was blocking the view of the mess before you spoke. “What’s wrong, Jong-oppa? Are you okay?”
Jongho’s gaze was steady and his voice was raw when he said, “don’t go out with Hyunjin.”
You startled, surprised. “What?”
“Please,” Jongho begged. “I don’t think I could handle it.”
“Handle?” you repeated faintly.
When Jongho reached for you, you let his hands warm yours without much thought. You’ve never refused his touch and, like always, it made your heart pound in your ears. It was made worse by the way that he was looking at you, a desperate tinge seeping into his gaze. I’m dreaming, you thought, this has to be...
“If you’re going to date anyone, date me,” Jongho stated. His fingers flexed around yours. “Please.”
“Jongho...”
“It’s your choice. You can say no, fuck, I promise I won’t make it weird.”
“Jongho.”
“I just...please don’t date Hyunjin. The idea of him getting to hold your hand or kiss you o-or -”
“Jong,” you said his name louder, more forcefully. You had to hear it properly, you needed to be sure. But when he looked up at you like that, it couldn’t be anything else, right? “You want to go on a date with me?”
“I want to take you on as many dates as you’d let me,” he confessed.
Your voice shook. “Where?”
“Huh?” Jongho blinked.
You elaborated, “Where are you going to take me on our date?”
“You...you want to?”
The corner of your lips twitched up into a smile. “Do you want me to say no?”
“No,” Jongho said quickly, “but um, I didn’t expect you to actually say yes. Are you sure?”
“Probably the most sure I’ve been about anything,” you admitted.
Jongho shuffled closer, until the tops of his socks bumped against your house slippers. You noticed how much taller he was like this, looking down at you with such warmth. His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. “Can I kiss you?”
You shuddered a breath. It was insane how such a sweet question made you fall for him all over again. “Fuck yeah.”
The first touch of lips was soft, a gentle touch with an unsteady breath. It was a moment of stepping over that boundary, of the line between friendship and more being crossed. Jongho was so careful with you and you leant into him fully, eyes fluttering closed.
The second kiss was firmer, more assured. You shaped his lips the way you liked and your free hand splayed across the center of his chest to feel his heart beating against your palm. Jongho’s nose bumped against yours as he let you guide him, show him what you wanted, and obliged happily.
The third kiss was molten. It burned your skin as he took control, pressing in closer and when he licked into your mouth, you sighed in contentment. Your hands stretched until they could intertwine in Jongho’s hair, gripping tight enough to make him curse. He rocked forward instinctively and you could feel him, the bulge in his jogging bottoms a delicious sign of how much he was into this, into you. It gave you that pleasant fuzzy feeling at the back of your head and, driven by that feeling, you let one hand drift lower to feel him in your palm.
“Ah, shit,” Jongho twitched in your hold before rearing back. He looked even more attractive like this - pink cheeks, eyes blackened and lips swollen. You rubbed your thumb against the seam, only stopped when a hand grabbed at your wrist, panicked in how it stilled your movements.
“Wait, I...I’ve never...” his voice warbled, insecurity seeping in.
You didn’t want him to feel that way, embarrassed around you, but you couldn’t stop the disbelief that crossed your face. Could you really be blamed? Choi Jongho was a gorgeous man, a popular athlete; you knew he had the attention of others in the university. Had he really never... “Like, at all?”
Jongho pursed his lips and diverted his gaze to somewhere over your shoulder. “I’ve never been interested in anyone,” he said, “no one but you.”
If it were possible for you to love him more, you did at that moment. You pushed yourself up on tip toes to press a firm kiss to his lips and you grip on his clothed dick - mournfully because fuck, he felt so good - lessened. “We don’t have to do anything,” you murmured, “kissing is enough. Being with you is enough.”
Jongho’s expression was unreadable but you knew that meant he was thinking, debating his opinions and weighing the best response. He always did that when it was something important and you knew - your feelings, your relationship and anywhere it went - was incredibly important to him.
Eventually, he let out a low sigh. “Show me,” he asked, voice rougher than it was before, “show me how to make you feel good.”
You felt it in your stomach, the words and the earnest way he said them. “Are you sure?”
Jongho’s fingers released your wrist, stepping closer into your hold. One hand came to cup your jaw, stroking at the skin there until your eyes fluttered. “Show me,” he repeated.
Who were you to deny him?
“Strip,” you ordered, voice trembling. “And get on the bed.”
Later, under the thin bedsheets on your too small bed, you laid half on top of Jongho’s broad chest. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, and listened to the beating of his heart against your cheek. It was the most content you had ever felt, safe and secure in his arms. Jongho traced ticklish patterns along the curve of your back, fingers dipping low to trace bite marks that he’d littered your thighs and hips with. You shivered and nudged your nose affectionately into his pec.
You looked up when his trail stalled and frowned as Jongho’s eyebrows furrowed together, as a thought came thundering back to him. “What about Hyunjin?”
You tilted your head. “What about him?”
“He asked you out.”
Oh, right. Yeah. Jongho had come to you, looking so panicked, so desperate with love once hidden pouring into his words. You had been focusing on more important things, you reasoned.
You shook your head. “He didn’t. Hyunjin asked me to help him with his English language assignment.”
“Oh.”
“Who told you that he did?” you wondered.
“Wooyoung,” Jongho admitted.
You huffed a laugh. In the short time you’d known his volleyball friends, Wooyoung was friends with everyone and thus, the person who seemed to know everything. He was also a terrible gossip and had more than once shared the most dramatic version of the story he’d heard. “Really?”
“He was really convincing,” Jongho defended himself.
You didn’t hide your smile. “Besides,even if Hyunjin had asked me out, I would have said no.”
Relief danced in Jongho’s eyes as he tried to hide it behind feigned nonchalance. “Oh? Why? He’s a good guy.”
“Well yeah, he’s smart and gorgeous,” you agreed and snorted in laughter when Jongho looked down at you with a deadpan disappointment. “But, see I already have feelings for somebody else.”
Jongho’s hold tightened around you, possessive in a way that made your toes curl. “Yeah?”
You hummed. “Yeah, we’ve known each other for years,” you murmured, “and he’s the best person I know.”
“And the most handsome?” Jongho teased. Another time, you might have rolled your eyes, pretended to feel nauseous and tell him nothing of the sort.
It was different now though.
You reached up to cup his cheek, caressing the soft skin under his pretty eyes. “He’s beautiful,” you admitted and delighted in the way that Jongho went pink and grinned shyly, gums on display.
“Funny, I have someone like that,” he said. He angled his head to press a sweet kiss to your palm. “I’ve been in love with her for most of my life, to be honest.”
God, the word love made your stomach drop in the best way. “That’s a long time.”
“Yeah, but she’ll always be worth the wait,” he said, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rearing up to kiss him again.
-----------------
a/n: thank you so much for reading!! pls check out the works of the other writers in the collab :)
req. mingi and dry humping. thats it. or like just cumming from a pussyjob and then riding him/overstim n teasing him about cumming early
warnings: nsfw 18+, switch!mg, switch!reader, sub/dom dynamics, pussyjob, teasing, petnames (baby, angel, good girl etc.) riding, creampie
wc. 1.1k
an. a req i loved writing :3 hope this matched your needs anonie! tysm for requesting me! + this also works as a 500 follower special! tysm to all my dollies for supporting me!! enjoy <3 not proofread! taglist: @sablewardapocalypse @joongnoodle @matznana @fixonjade @kisssan
There were a few favourite ways for you to wake up to a new day. this morning in bed was definitely up there for the past week or so.
you had spun in your sleep, twisting around against your awaking boyfriend, mingi. a thing to note about mingi, is that he just can't get enough of you, and is always hungry for more. so what started innocently enough as him hugging you close, turned into something full of other undertones.
awake now, you sat on top of mingis bulky body, the skin on skin contact making your head spin so early in the day. in swift motions you both had discarded your clothes, now laid here in your own little world, both vulnerably naked; and desperate for something more.
"shit baby.. just like that"
a sharp breath escaped mingis parted lips, eyelashes fluttering as he ever so tried to keep his eyes open. he didn't want to miss seeing the way your wet pussy glided against his throbbing hardness. the way your slick left a trail on the length of it, clamping down above him like an snug envelope. his hands laid on your hips, massaging the warm flesh as you moved back and forth, on a mission to your orgasm.
you hadn't let mingi in yet, but you knew he loved it like this. slow, teasing, pushing limits.
"such a good girl baby, theeere you go, use me"
a warm breath loomed over yours, mingis eager mouth attacking yours with pure hunger and need to be close. your hands tugged on the roots of his hair, pulling on the black strands as if to ground yourself. you felt yourself drawing close, feeling the heat of mingis body radiating as your hips moved in their own pace.
"min- 'm so close baby" you muttered against his lips.
suddenly, you felt a familiar shudder against you, mingis mouth falling open against yours, making your eyes flutter open. to your surprise, the man before you was a shaking mess, fat ropes of cum laid against his lower stomach, cheeks burning red as he leaned forward to you to hide.
"baby-" you started, hand running down his sticky chest. with a shake of his head, mingi peaked his eyes open to meet yours.
" 'm so sorry angel.. it was just all too much and i needed you so bad-"
you scanned him for a moment, the poor man before you almost shivering. as his eyes met yours, those big brown boba eyes clashing against your gaze, you felt a shift inside you. waisting little to no time, you let your other hand curl around his cock, moving up and down, twisting. mingi flinched to the touch, sensitivity burning in his body.
"ah angel- too much-" you looked at him with a slight chuckle.
"i thought you said you needed me so bad?" your tone dripping of teasing, mingis gaze dropping from yours as he started to ease into it again slowly, hardening against your grip. you tightened around him suddenly, making a louder moan tear out of his lungs, eyes meeting yours again in a hot flash.
"i can do more" his voice spoke, hands gripping the light sheets as you nodded with a sly smirk.
rising up, you aligned his thick tip against your opening, gliding it in circles against it, letting mingi writhe against you in anticipation. it looked like he was fighting against all urges to push upwards, let himself glide into you with that familiar ease. but this wasn't about him.
slowly, you started to ease down on his length, letting yourself feel it all. all the thickness, all the warmth, all the veins pushing up against your sweet spots. your mouth hung open, fingernails digging into the flesh of mingis shoulder as you made your way.
"holy shit-" was all mingi could muster, head falling forward at the overwhelming sensation. as you had made it on mostly, you started to move in teasing grinds against him.
"don't tell me you're gonna cum again, aren't you baby?" mingis cheeks glared a deeper shade of pink, ears burning as you leaned close to speak to him. your one hand laid on his shoulder, the other now on his perked nipple, twisting the swollen bud as mingis squirmed and whined under your touch.
"n-no, i can hold it i promise" mingis voice came out in a broken slur, cut off by a whimper as you moved your hips teasingly slowly up on his cock.
quickly you moved back into your previous pattern, grinding yourself back and forth, letting mingis abdomen hit against your clit as you moved. the sensation was building decently fast, especially with your previous orgasm falling short. as you went down a tad deeper than before, you felt yourself tighten around him, mingis skin twitching to the touch.
"you promise you won't cum again? hm? you can do that for me?"
mingi takes a moment, brain slow from the overstimulation, but nods slowly. you take it all in, slowing your movements for a second to watch him. the morning rays of sun painted his tan skin in gold, his black hair strands messed up, brown eyes with blown pupils, plump bottom lip shivering. you felt yourself clench at the sight, drawing out a noise from both you and mingi.
" 'm gonna cum first 'kay? you got that?" you spoke, picking up speed again. mingis head thrashed around as he chanted yes's in a haze of pleasure.
both hands against his toned chest, you let yourself move in precise movements, making sure to hit that special soft spongy spot inside you. mingis hands had left the bedspread by now, fingers tight against your hipbones again, not guiding; but keeping you going. he leaned forward to you, mouth landing on your exposed neck, sucking down on the skin, peppering down dark marks.
"shittt mingi-" you felt your peak nearing, the sensations around you sucking you into a blissful tornado. hands more urgent against you, tongue licking down the marks left behind, mingis skin burns against you.
"cum for me baby, please" he whispered against you neck, followed by a light whimper. his noises drive you overboard, the pure vocal stimuli making your brain turn into mush.
your thighs shake, only mingis hands keeping you open as you clamp down on his cock, your release creaming all around it. your head flew forward, laying down on his firm shoulder as your orgasm whipped through you, your hips still moving slowly. mingis thumb circled a comforting pattern into the skin of your thigh as you felt yourself falling from your peak.
you were so lost in your own emotional roller coaster, you hadn't even noticed the wamth seeping inside your pussy, only registering it as you rose to move off mingi.
"min?" you asked with a raised brow. rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled slightly.
"- it was after you, i promise!" you smiled with a light laugh. as you sat down next to him, you spoke;
SUMMARY: how being in a relationship with grumpy hongjoong looks like
AUTHOR’S NOTES: first time writing a hc!! lowkey kinda nervous!! sorry if this is kinda short though ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა howeverrr i added a few scenarios soo enjoy <33!
MASTERLIST
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who thinks you’re cute all the time. Honestly, nobody else would survive annoying him the way you do; you could steal his jackets, interrupt him while he’s working in the studio to show him something silly, or even stick Sanrio stickers on his belongings, and he still lets you get away with all of it. Although he complains about it the entire time and he’d tell you to stop, the second you stop bothering him, he starts wondering why it’s suddenly quiet.
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who cannot handle it when you’re pouting at him during arguments. Sure, he’ll act to stay annoyed for a couple of minutes, but once he notices you go quiet or your expression shifts, he’ll fold immediately. He’ll say that your pout is “manipulative” and “unfair” cause he loses every time.
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who insists that he’s “not jealous” while acting incredibly jealous. If someone gets too friendly with you, he’ll appear beside you out of nowhere. For example:
Ateez were performing at the MMA awards, while you were backstage, looking at your boyfriend, Hongjoong, on the TV with the rest of the staff. After finishing performing, they finally went backstage, heading their way to the dressing room. That’s where he noticed you standing near the snack table, laughing at something one of the male dancers was saying.
At first, he didn’t care much about it, until the guy touched your arm. Hongjoong stopped walking, which made the other members curious.
Wooyoung was the first one to notice it, “Uh oh.”
“Someone’s mad,” San nudged Hongjoong’s arm while smirking.
“I’m not mad,” Hongjoong replied–too quickly.
A minute later, you finally spotted him and smiled brightly. “Joongie!”
The second you walked over, Hongjoong’s expression softened, though his jaw was slightly tightened.
“Are you…okay?” you asked him.
“Y-yeah, I’m perfectly fine, totally normal,” he stuttered while smiling awkwardly.
Wooyoung suddenly walked by the two of you while whispering, “He’s jealous.”
“I did not,” Hongjoong stated.
You stifled your laugh, covering your mouth, “You’re jealous because I talked to one of the dancers?”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes, “I’m not jealous,” he said. “I just think that guy should stop talking to you, he even made you laugh!”
You stared at him for a few seconds before laughing hysterically, to which Hongjoong looked offended. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Mhmm, sure,” you looked up at him, crossing your arms in disbelief.
“Whatever, let’s go,” he wrapped his arm around your waist, signaling to go somewhere else. There was a moment of silence, until, “Did he ask for your number?”
“Hongjoong!”
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who compliments you in a weird, mean way but is actually affectionate. “You're ridiculous.”” You’re so dramatic.” meanwhile hes looking at you with sparkles in his eyes.
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who loves it when you play with his hands while he’s working in the studio. He’ll be focused on producing something while you absentmindedly trace over his rings or fingers, even though he gets distracted easily, but he secretly finds it calming.
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who acts annoyed when you tease him too much, but he secretly loves hearing you laugh at him. Another scenario:
You were lying on the couch with your head resting on Hongjoong's chest. While you were scrolling through his album photos, you found an old pre-debut photo of Hongjoong, and it was a truly devastating one.
“Oh my god,” you couldn’t stop giggling at the picture.
Hongjoong took a peek at his phone in your hand and quickly noticed it, “Delete it.”
“The hair–” you wheezed.
“It was the vibe of the time.”
“Those pants!”
“Everyone was dressing badly!”
You laughed even harder, nearly falling sideways.
“You’re evil,” he huffed, looking annoyed.
Your laughter filled the entire room, a bright, loud, and completely uncontrollable. Honjoong felt his irritation slowly melting into fondness, which only made this worse.
“Stop laughing,” he said with a stoic tone.
“I can’t it’s too funny–” you pointed at the photo
Your words were cut off by his lips crashing into yours just to stop you from laughing. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” you tilted your head.
Hongjoong blinked once, “No?” he replied. He sighed when he realized he couldn’t defend himself anymore, “You were being annoying.”
“And your solution was kissing me?” You furrowed your eyebrows.
“You stopped laughing, didn’t you?”
You gasped dramatically, “Oh well, you do have a point.”
✶⋆.˚ GRUMPY!HONGJOONG who couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Whenever you’re yapping about your day or whatever tea you got about your friends, he couldn’t stop looking at your eyes until he lost focus. It would go like this:
The two of you were sitting in his studio late at night as soft music quietly played in the background while you rambled about everything that happened that day. You had been talking for nearly fifteen minutes straight, nonstop. Not that Hongjoong was complaining, though.
“And then she dared to tell me that I was being dramatic?” you said, while pointing at yourself in disbelief. “Like? Be serious right now.”
Hongjoong nodded slowly from beside you, “Mhm.”
“But wait, it gets worse,” you continued.
However, he wasn't actually processing every single word coming out of your mouth anymore. At some point during your rambling, Hongjoong got distracted by your eyes.
The way your eyes lit up whenever you got excited as you told stories about your day, and the little pout you made without realizing it while you complained, he always thought to himself how lucky he was to have someone as pretty as you.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You narrowed your eyes.
“Hm?”
“You’re not even listening,” you crossed your arms, feeling disappointed.
“I am,” he replied.
“Then what did I just say?” you asked.
“Sorry,” he admitted finally. “You’re distracting me.”
Your eyebrows lifted, “Me?”
“You’re just really pretty, okay? That’s why I can’t focus,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath.
You smiled at his sudden confession, “That’s actually adorable, Joongie!”
“Oh, shut up,” he groaned, pulling his beanie lower to cover his face while you kept laughing beside him.
summary: you and zayne make the most of your time in the northern territories.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, vaginal fingering, masturbation, oral sex, hand job, p in v, praise kink, loss of virginity, historical au, entwined kites continuation
wc: 9.7k
a/n: this is kinda late but zayne was so scrumptiously perfect in it that i had to! i hope you enjoy!! <3
also on ao3!
“Are you making it a habit to lounge on every roof we come across?”
You shift, head poking over the edge of the snow-laden roof to find Zayne peering up at you. He raises his brows, eyes twinkling with amusement when you simply sprawl over the roof a little more, perched on the rafters contentedly.
“They are quite comfortable,” you say, fingers gliding through the snow, pushing it towards the edge, watching as it falls, snow dusting over Zayne’s hair delicately.
He huffs out a soft laugh, brushing the snow from his hair, his hand reaching out for you soon after.
“Be that as it may be,” Zayne murmurs, “I should not wish for you to become ill, my beloved. It is too cold. Come down, won’t you?”
You hum, sitting up and letting your legs dangle over the edge. Zayne’s warm fingers slip through yours, holding tightly before he tugs gently, stepping closer when you slide off of the tiles of the roof, his arms wrapping around your waist to catch you.
“You’ve become more comfortable saying that,” you tease airily, flushing lightly when his hands smooth over your robes, brushing the snow from the thick, woven fabric. “Am I truly that precious?”
“You still doubt that?” he sighs, his hands reaching for yours once he’s satisfied with your robes. “We flew a kite together, did we not? The Lady of Anlan should know by now how she is worth to me.”
Pouting, you lean into him, eyes fluttering shut when he cups your hands with his, squeezing and rubbing to warm your chill-ridden hands. Zayne mutters something under his breath but you can’t catch it with the way the wind picks up around you, howling loudly.
It’d only been two days since you’d arrived in the Northern territories, winter having already set in whilst you had made your journey here from Anlan. You thought you’d be staying in some sort of lavish inn, but when the hours had passed and you’d travelled deeper into the North, Zayne had informed you that this territory was also his – a generous gift provided to him by the Imperial Court.
Zayne’s efforts during the war must have been second to none, given the fact that this mansion was almost the same size as the one in Anlan, erected atop a snow-covered clearing, deep into the mountains. You’d never seen anything so beautiful. Anlan’s spring was often windy, the air laden with the scent of blossoming flowers and ripe fruit. The air here though, was crisp and so startlingly fresh that every time you took a breath, you were sure you could taste the snow on your tongue.
“Stop moving.”
Zayne’s voice is low in your ear as he pulls you inside the warmed quarters, his brows knitted together as he pulls gloves onto your hands, the fine garment patterned with different colors of layered cashmere.
“I’m fine,” you insist, trying to pull your hands free only to receive a stern look from Zayne, his fingers lacing with yours. “I won’t fall ill, I am much stronger than you think me to be.”
“Any self-respecting husband would not allow his wife to catch her death,” he replies just as stubbornly, a smile pulling at his lips as you tug him through the hallways, towards your shared quarters.
The maids have a penchant for staring, you’ve realized. Unlike Anlan, the maids here seem more brazen, emboldened by the harshness of the cold. Still, they hadn’t bothered you and Zayne, hadn’t done anything in particular other than stare when they could, so you let them.
There’s a bath drawn for you behind the patterned screen the moment you step inside. Your gaze darts to Zayne’s, fingers tightening in his grasp, refusing to let him go when he moves towards the fire.
Your cheeks flush lightly as you pull at his robes, tugging him down to your height. “Would– would you like to join me?” you ask, feigning innocence as your fingers splay against his chest, eyes lighting up when you feel the stuttered beat of his heart through the fabric. You lean into him, voice lowering, “you were right, my lord. I am quite cold… perhaps you ought to keep me warm.”
Zayne’s brows shoot up in surprise, a noise rumbling low in his throat. His hand slips over yours, pulling it away slowly.
“Is that so?” he murmurs, his head lowering, nose brushing against yours. “I thought you were well? You said you would not fall ill.”
Your eyes narrow when you see the mirth in his eyes. “I– I might!” you sputter, glancing around to watch the last of the maids filter out of your quarters with a polite bow. “They say body heat is the best remedy for–”
He interrupts with you an amused huff, his hands moving to stroke your sides. You frown when he shakes his head, tugging the gloves off irritably before moving begrudgingly when he pushes at your back with an insistent touch.
“The bath water was drawn from the springs nearby,” Zayne says, standing behind you when you flop down onto a daybed. “It is said to be blessed by the gods.”
“The gods?” you echo, face twisting with discomfort when you feel a twinge of pain from pulling out the ornate hair pins buried firmly in your hair.
“Yes,” he replies, his ministrations gentle as he brushes away your hands, beginning to pull out the pins himself. “The gods are said to dwell in the mountains nearby. We are quite close to them, so naturally it has been thought that the springs that come from them are also blessed.”
“I think I may be blessed,” you sigh dazedly, eyes drooping shut every now and then as Zayne runs his fingers through your hair, soothing away the tangles and knots. Your head lolls back when he strokes your hair, bleary eyes blinking up at him as you smile sleepily.
Your gaze flickers to his lips, breath hitching when his fingers smooth over your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jaw. You’d thought that Zayne would have kissed you by now, but he had become strangely artful in avoiding your advances. Perhaps he wasn’t ready yet for such a relationship… perhaps his assessment of you had changed… the very thought is brushed away as soon as it comes, your distracted mind now latching onto the soft, fleeting press of his lips against your forehead.
“Indeed,” Zayne whispers, voice deep and lilting, his lips skimming over your skin to kiss your cheek. “You must be if I have been led to you.” He smiles against your cheek. “The gods have been particularly generous.”
His words have you swallowing harshly – a weak attempt to dispel the rapidly swelling lump in your throat.
“You… you think I am a blessing from the gods?”
Zayne hums, his head tilting as he stares down at you. “Yes,” he says bluntly, his brows furrowing as though concerned by the breathlessness present in your voice. “You may very well be more auspicious than my jade seal.”
“Have you lost your mind?” you hiss, moving up onto your knees, leaning towards him. “If someone were to hear,” you lower your voice further, “not to mention relay such words to the Imperial Court of all things–”
“Then I would be glad,” he retorts, his hands cupping your cheeks once more, head dipping to let his nose brush against yours. “The Lady of Anlan holds a revered position within my heart, after all.”
A desperate, violent shudder racks through your body and you reach for his robes roughly. Zayne’s eyes widen in surprise, and you can hear the way his breath stutters, his lips parting. They look so terribly inviting – pink and unblemished – and you can’t resist the way your head tilts just enough to–
He pulls away.
“You always do that!” you protest, throwing your hands up as frustration sparks in your eyes. “You cannot just say such things and not expect to want something from you.” Your voice dips into something demanding, back straightening as you stand. “Kiss me, Zayne.”
“We… we mustn’t,” Zayne says, sounding hoarse. He distances himself, hands clasping behind his back, cheeks faintly dusted with a light shade of pink.
“And why is that?” you ask testily, stepping towards him. “You had me sit in your lap, Zayne. You said that I was near and dear to your heart. You–” it’s embarrassing the way your voice wavers, “you brought me here so we could watch the aurora.”
“I know,” he rasps, looking stricken. “I did all of those things because I wanted to. And now, I cannot help but think I may overwhelm you.”
“Overwhelm me?”
“There are many things I want from you,” he murmurs, reaching for you, his arms slipping around your waist. Your breath hitches when he nudges his nose into your cheek before he nuzzles closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Terrible, wicked things,” Zayne whispers, “I cannot stop my mind from wandering when it comes to you. Every thought is consumed by your presence.”
You stand, completely and utterly frozen. The depth of his words leave you reeling, your fingers twitching at your sides helplessly. You had had passing romances before, when you were younger and naive and easily enraptured by a handsome smile, but this– Zayne has your heart lurching and racing unsteadily, the blood in your veins blistering newly with an unfamiliar sense of longing.
He lifts his head a few moments later, warm, calloused hands sliding over your cheeks with a gentle caress. Zayne mutters your name – softly, slowly, ardently – every syllable rolling from his tongue like the sweet nectar from flowering jasmines.
“Zayne–” you choke out desperately, “I–”
A knock on the door of your chambers interrupts you, an attendant’s voice filtering through the crevices to request Zayne’s presence elsewhere. You begin to shake your head, an irritated noise leaving you when he begins to pull away once more.
“I shall accompany you,” you say, still slightly breathless and frazzled, “and perhaps then we might finish this conversation.”
“Later,” he promises, giving your hands one final squeeze. “You are still cold to the touch. Go and bathe, if you wait any longer the bath will have cooled.”
You huff out an irritated breath. “You aren’t being very agreeable.”
“No,” Zayne agrees, a small smile pulling at his lips, “I suppose not.”
When the attendant calls for him again, you sigh, pushing at his chest lightly. “Go then. But I will be waiting for you.”
Your eyes widen when he suddenly moves, hands settling against his chest when Zayne spins you around, crowding you in against the wall. Lips parting in confusion, you suck in a sharp, stuttered breath when his hand slides over the nape of your neck to cup the back of your head.
“You tempt me too much.”
And then he’s kissing you, lips pressing against yours feverishly. You stiffen, just for one startled moment, before you’re drawing him closer, fingers curling into his robes. Zayne groans, his body shifting to press flush against yours until the hardness of the wall digs into your back.
Zayne kisses you like he’s been starved, soft, pillowy lips slotting over yours again and again until your head spins. You can’t move with the way he’s cornered you, can’t breathe with the way he’s kissing you. It doesn’t matter, you think hazily, managing to wrap your arms around his neck, dazed eyes fluttering open when he draws away, panting heavily.
His forehead rests against yours, and the heat of his body does nothing but set you alight. Leaning in, you capture his lips once more. It’s slower this time as you tilt your head, guiding the kiss until he’s tipping your head back to deepen the kiss, tongue brushing against yours fleetingly. You sigh into his mouth, fingers slipping into his hair when Zayne breaks away to trail heated kisses down the length of your neck, his hands squeezing at your waist.
“I must go,” he rasps between kisses, his thumb digging into the underside of your jaw to feel your unrestrained, racing pulse. You jolt at the scrape of Zayne’s teeth over your skin, his tongue following soon after, soothing the bruised skin. “I… I really must go, my beloved.”
“Then go,” you murmur dazedly, any sense of urgency lost on you as your back arches, head tilting to offer up more of your neck. “I said– ah– I would wait.”
He hums, mirroring your languidness as his hands move deftly, pulling your robes apart until he’s able to see the curve of your body through the thin slip of your undergarments. His jaw works, a muscle in his temple fluttering as he stares.
“You are welcome to stay,” you whisper, biting your lip. “After all, I am in need and is it not a Lord’s duty to take care of his wife? To cherish her?” You move, letting your robes fall from your shoulders, the heavy fabric pooling at your feet.
Zayne swallows, his hand coming to cover the lower half of his face. You smile faintly, your hands brushing against your breasts, drawing his attention to your hardened nipples. The low hiss he lets out is barely audible and you whine softly, batting your lashes.
“You may very well drive me to madness,” he mutters, reaching towards you, letting his thumb brush the underside of one of your clothed breasts before his hand jerks back like he’s been scalded.
A soft laugh escapes you and you step closer until it's you that’s crowding him, breasts squishing against his robes. “Perhaps touching me more… thoroughly would alleviate such an ailment?”
“I know what you are doing,” Zayne scoffs amusedly, shaking his head, “have you employed such tactics before?”
You smile, eyes twinkling. “Only on handsome, royal lords who are exceedingly stubborn.”
“Is that so?” Zayne’s voice deepens, his nose brushing yours. “The thought does displease me.”
You raise your brows, eyes sparking with mirth. The hint of jealousy in his voice has nothing but hot arousal swirling in your stomach, your thighs clenching together involuntarily. Your smile grows wider when you spy the restless flex of his fingers by his side.
“That will not do,” you murmur, reaching for his hand. “I am your wife, after all.”
Blinking up at him innocently, you guide his hand under the hem of your undergarments, between your thighs until his palm presses against where you want him. Zayne’s breath hitches, his brows furrowing when he feels the heat of your bare pussy, his lashes fluttering uncertainly.
“You…” Zayne sounds choked, “you are this aroused?”
“Mhm,” you watch him carefully, a soft gasp leaving you when his fingers move suddenly, slipping through your damp, puffy folds.
You try to keep your eyes open but it’s difficult with the way he’s taken to exploring you, lithe fingers gliding and rubbing, pressing and caressing. His fingers circle your clit experimentally, his brows raising minutely with interest when your hips jerk towards him.
“Here, then,” he whispers, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours. “Is this where you need me, my beloved? Or perhaps…” Zayne trails off, his fingers moving until they prod against your fluttering hole, “here?”
“Y– yes,” you whimper, shoving your face into his chest as your hips rock against his palm, clit catching along his calloused skin. “Yes, anywhere, just– just please touch me!”
“How desperate you’ve become,” he clicks his tongue, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Have I reduced my wife to begging?” He lets out a heavy sigh, lips pressing against your ear. “How unbecoming of the Lady of Anlan.”
A needy whine leaves you, your hazy eyes finding his as he circles your clit faster, the pads of his fingers brushing over the swollen bud. You try to speak but the words are stuck in your throat, a moan sounding through the chambers instead. Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, you blink blearily when you see a smile playing on Zayne’s lips.
“I– nghh– suppose you are enjoying this, husband,” you grit out, panting against his mouth when he kisses you roughly.
“I am giving you what you want, am I not?” Zayne rasps, a finger pushing against your clenching pussy once more, gently easing it in. “I am abandoning my duties for you, my beloved.”
You paw at his robes, eyes widening when he slips another finger inside, beginning to thrust them in and out of your pussy lazily.
“Zayne–”
“Do you think they can hear us?” he asks, lips dragging over your neck once more. “The debauched noises that you are making? Perhaps that is why they have not called for me… because they know that I must stay to satisfy my insatiable little wife.”
You manage a poor attempt at a scoff. “I am not insatiable! I simply wanted you to–”
“Bed you?” Zayne interrupts, his arm winding around your waist when your knees buckle as his fingers curl and thrust into you harder.
“Ah– fuck–,” you mewl, stumbling backwards as he walks you towards the wall, pressing you against it once more. Your eyes roll back when he bites your neck, chest heaving uncontrollably as his lithe digits crook further inside of you.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against your throat, thumb finding your slippery clit. “Is that what you want, love? For me to bed you? To take you until you know nothing but me?” He groans when your hand slides down to grip his wrist, desperately trying to deepen the press of his fingers into your leaking cunt.
You nod jerkily, faintly embarrassed by how wet you are, thighs dripping with your slick and Zayne’s knuckles coated with it.
“P– please,” you gasp, rocking up onto the tips of your toes to kiss him sloppily. “You have teased– ngh– me enough have you not?”
“I had no such intentions,” Zayne whispers, tugging your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips capturing yours in a feverish kiss, one that leaves you gasping for air. “I… I was waiting,” he admits softly, brushing the strands of hair clinging to your sweaty skin, his fingers never slowing their pace. “I thought perhaps after seeing the aurora it would be more,” he trails off, flushing pink, “romantic.”
“Romantic,” you echo breathlessly, nodding dazedly as he fucks his fingers in and out of your aching pussy, his fingers finally brushing right where you need him, the ministration making your eyes roll back. “Right– fuck– of course.”
“Alas, you could not wait so now here we are,” he rumbles, thumb brushing over your lower lip as he watches you intently. “The Lord of Anlan with his fingers inside of his desperate, lovely wife’s cunt.”
You shoot him a scandalous look, unused to such words from a man who is usually so stern and composed and above using such language.
“I spent years at military camps,” Zayne explains when he sees your expression, his breath hot against your forehead. “Naturally, stories become abundant and imaginations begin to wander.”
“Did– ahhh– did you ever take a lover?” you ask, brows furrowing irritably at the thought.
“Never,” he sighs, his hand moving to cup one of your breasts through the thin undergarment, squeezing. “You are the first, my beloved.”
Zayne smiles when he sees the shock flickering across your face, continuing to squeeze your breast, his thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple with ease. He lowers his head without warning soon after, mouth latching onto your breast through the fabric. You moan loudly, fingers sliding through his hair as he sucks, tongue flicking against your nipple, his fingers slipping from the hold of your clinging cunt to press against your swollen clit.
“I–” you choke out, toes curling against the soft rug underneath you. “I– ah! am going to cum!”
“Then cum,” Zayne says softly, guiding his fingers back into your fluttering cunt with ease, curling them before he plunges them into you at an unforgiving pace. “I should like to watch my sweet wife come undone.” His mouth finds its way to your other breast, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flicking and teeth scraping lightly, just enough to have you seeing stars behind your closed lids.
You pull at his hair roughly drawing a wince from Zayne, but he doesn’t seem to mind when you do it again, instead mouthing at your clothed breast, his fingers scissoring inside of you when he feels you clench around him uncontrollably.
“Show me,” he murmurs hoarsely, “show me how I make you feel. Fall apart for me, love. Let me see what I have reduced you to.”
You can’t think straight, not with the way he’s taken to whispering into your ear, filth and sweet nothings pouring from his mouth as he fucks your cunt with his fingers and plays with your swollen clit. You try to peel your eyes open to watch him but it’s too difficult with how close you are, with how good it feels to have his fingers inside of you, reaching places that you never could.
“Let me hear you,” Zayne coaxes, his voice low and soothing. “You feel so lovely around me, my beloved. My sweet wife.” He kisses your cheek delicately and then your mouth, huffing amusedly when a ragged moan tears its way out of your throat. “That’s it, love. Just like that. Cum for me.”
You don’t need further instruction, squeaking when he pinches your nipple, thighs trembling violently and legs shaking as you fall into him. The force of your orgasm isn’t like anything you’ve experienced – so violent, so consuming that you can barely feel the stroke of his hand on your hair.
“Good girl,” Zayne whispers, kissing your cheek as his fingers slow their movements, slipping out of your pussy carefully.
You whimper when he rubs your clit gently, drawing out the last few aftershocks that rack through your body. Breathily heavily, you use Zayne’s arms to steady yourself, shivering when he kisses your forehead. Just when you tilt your head, you catch the movement of his arm, jaw slackening with disbelief as you watch his fingers disappear into his mouth. Your throat feels uncomfortably dry when Zayne sucks his fingers slowly – the very same ones that you had made a mess on earlier – cleaning them thoroughly while he stares down at you.
“Oh,” you breathe out, staring blankly when he licks his lips.
A surprised yelp escapes you when he picks you up suddenly, your arms wrapping around his neck as he walks behind the partitioning screen, setting you back onto your feet. He helps you into the bath and by some miracle it’s still hot, steam curling from the surface as you undo your ruined undergarment and sink down into the heated bath.
“You won’t join me?” you ask poutily, nuzzling into his palm when his thumb strokes over the curve of your cheek.
“I’m afraid you have made me avoid my duties for long enough,” Zayne sighs, shaking his head. “We may not be at war but there are still certain things I must look after as the lord of this territory.”
“That was hardly my fault,” you protest, although you’re unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face before you lean over the edge of the bath and kiss him sweetly.
“No,” he muses, standing up to straighten his dark robes, “I suppose I cannot blame you for befitting your role as the Lady of Anlan.”
You watch him quietly, stifling a laugh when he shifts uncomfortably, catching his narrowed gaze. He drops a fleeting kiss to your forehead before he turns to leave, his hair swaying prettily.
“And when you come back,” you call out teasingly, sitting up in the bath, “will you do all those terrible, wicked things to me, Zayne?”
He pauses mid-stride, glancing back at you. You don’t miss the way his gaze drops – just for a moment – to take in the swell of your bare breasts before he turns, striding towards the doors.
“Yes.”
–
“Where is it?”
You grumble under your breath, rifling through your garments and robes that had been brought here, shoving your head into the cabinet to try and find the offending garment.
You were sure you had brought it, especially following the knowing glances your maids had shot you, their giggles soft as they had helped you pack. A few more frantic rummages later, you find what you’re looking for, the sheer, silk nightgown nearly slipping out of your hands.
Zayne had to be returning soon, you were sure of it. At least an hour had passed since you had bathed, the lanterns outside glittering prettily in the growing darkness of the night. Shedding your robes, you slip into the nightgown, adjusting the straps before smoothing your hands over the thin garment.
It left little to the imagination, similar to your undergarments, although the fit was far more flattering. You crawl onto the bed, positioning yourself carefully, trying to channel an air of grace as you wait for Zayne to return.
But when the hours pass and Zayne is nowhere in sight, you groan, slumping back against the pillows. There’s a dull ache in your shoulders from trying to stay upright in that awkward position, although it’s nothing compared to the ache between your thighs.
You squirm, still aroused even after the bath, pussy clenching longingly as you feel the phantom brush of his fingers against your skin. Glancing at the door, you will for him to come striding through the doors, eyes narrowing in concentration. The doors stay stubbornly shut, unbending against your will and you huff out a breath, unable to wait any longer, hand disappearing under the hem of your nightgown.
You’re already wet, slick beginning to drip through your folds as you slide your fingers between them, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. The press of your fingers against your clit is enough to take the edge off for now, hips bucking when a thrill of pleasure shoots down your spine.
It’s already warm inside your chambers, but when the image of Zayne’s face materializes behind your eyes, you feel hot. Arousal curls around your body – heady and unforgiving – drawing a soft whine from your lips as you rub at your clit desperately. It’s nothing compared to Zayne’s fingers though, his lithe digits knowing as they had explored you despite his inexperience.
Even so, the thought of Zayne being all yours has a moan escaping you, your pussy clenching as you slip two fingers inside, beginning to pump them in and out. They don’t reach as deep, don’t satisfy you the way Zayne’s had.
“Z– Zayne,” you whisper, cheeks flushing with slight mortification at being so wanton.
But when your clit pulses, throbbing for attention, you whimper and move your fingers, letting them slip back up to rub at the swollen bud feverishly.
“Zayne,” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut. “Zayne… ah– I need you.”
“I see you have begun without me, my beloved.”
You shriek, flailing as you sit up, pulling your hand free from between your thighs. He stands at the edge of the bed, somehow looking like a heavenly vision, his hair loose and flowing over his shoulders, the black robes a stark contrast against his pale skin.
“Zayne, you’re here,” you laugh breathlessly, brushing your hair out of your face, “I… I was waiting for you.”
“Wearing that?” he murmurs, gaze dark as it travels over your body hungrily. “You truly have no shame, love.”
“Shame?” you echo indignantly, crossing your arms over your chest. “You did not have any shame when you were sucking my breasts through my undergarments!”
Zayne hums, his head tilting as he watches the way your thighs squeeze together. Your arms drop, the mattress dipping under your weight as you crawl towards him, settling near the edge of the bed.
“You need not stop on my account,” Zayne says finally, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. “I want to watch you. May I?”
“You… you want to watch?”
“Yes.” Zayne’s voice is soft when he answers, a pretty flush of pink sitting high on his cheeks, the tips of his ears reddened.
His request has heat pooling low in your stomach, your fingers tightening into the blankets before you nod slowly, moving to sit back against the pillows, spreading your thighs for him.
Zayne inhales sharply when he sees you, nightgown pulled up to your hips, pussy spread open for him.
“Only if I can watch you,” you whisper, biting your lip as you let your fingers drift over your puffy folds.
You half-expect him to protest, but you receive a curt nod instead, your eyes widening as you watch him shed his robes and silks, breath catching when you finally see him bare.
A few scars litter his muscled chest and abdomen, similar to the ones streaking across his forearms. You swallow harshly as you follow the lines of his body, gaze dipping down to find his cock already hard. It’s longer than you’ve ever seen and thick too, pre-cum glistening at the tip as it bobs gently, struggling with its own weight.
“I do not think it kind of you to hide something like this from me,” you manage out, unable to look away from his fat cock, your fingers beginning to move against your own will, rubbing at your clit.
“My body?” Zayne murmurs, his hand wrapping around his cock as he begins to stroke his length, pace lazy and relaxed. “The opportunity never arose.”
You whimper softly, hips beginning to roll as your fingers move, circling your clit faster, hazy eyes watching as Zayne’s hand tightens around his cock, the muscles in his forearm and bicep flexing with every stroke.
“You look beautiful like this,” he whispers hoarsely, watching as you squeeze your breast through the nightgown. “Spread open and wanton for me to gaze upon.”
“Only for you,” you mewl, thrusting your fingers inside your aching cunt with a needy moan. “I need your fingers, Zayne,” you gasp, beginning to rub at your clit with your other hand, trying to spread your legs open wider, “mine– nghh– do not reach deep enough.”
“I am too weak to resist you,” Zayne groans, stepping forward, his fingers brushing yours aside as he sinks two digits inside of you without pretense.
Your toes curl, hands pawing at his thighs before you find his cock, fingers greedily curling around the fat length. “I like it,” you murmur, hips rocking into his hand as you stroke him uncoordinatedly, “your cock.” Your eyes light up when it twitches, gasping softly when a glob of pre-cum beads at the tip, rolling down the side of his cock.
You surge forward without thinking, tongue dragging up along the length of his cock to catch the glob, lashes fluttering at the heady taste that spreads over your tongue. Zayne’s moan startles you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stares down at you.
“I thought you were innocent,” he rasps, pushing your hand away when you reach for his heavy balls with interest. “I thought you were sweet, my beloved. But it seems as though…” Zayne trails off, leaning over you as he quickens his pace, fucking his fingers in and out of you, his eyes glinting when you cry out, thumb pressing hard onto your clit, “my wife is a temptress.”
“Then– ahh– fuck– you ought to be glad I am wed to you, Zayne.”
A low snarl tears its way out of his throat. “Eternally, love.”
You squeal when he drives his fingers into you roughly, the snap of his wrist audible before he’s kissing you eagerly. Your noises are muffled by his mouth, Zayne’s lips searing as he kisses you, his hand sliding up to settle around your throat loosely. He licks into your mouth the moment your lips part, stroking and taking until you’re left dazed and breathless.
“I wish to taste you,” he mutters gruffly, his nose brushing against yours as he kisses you again. “Will you let me, my sweet?”
“Yes,” you slur, nodding and whining at the loss of his fingers, “I need you, Zayne.”
As though he’s been waiting for this very moment, Zayne drops to his knees, guiding your legs over his shoulders. Your fingers slide into his hair when he kisses your thighs, cleaning the slick smeared over your skin messily with a broken groan.
“Are– are you sure?” you squeak out, thighs trembling when his hot breath fans over your fluttering cunt. “You need not– Zayne!”
His name leaves you in a wail, your elbows giving out underneath you when he buries his face into your pussy. Your back arches, toes curling as you try and cling onto something – his hair, the sheets, anything – eyes rolling back when his tongue glides through your warm folds.
“You taste divine,” he rasps, thumbing apart your folds, his lips pursing before he spits down onto your messy cunt. “Like the finest nectar.” A low groan escapes him as he presses his face into your pussy again, the bridge of his nose shoved against your clit, his tongue lapping at the velvety skin of your pussy before his lips move, suctioning around your clit.
Your hands slam against the bed, hips bucking uncontrollably as your inhibitions are pushed aside with every movement of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands around your thighs.
“You– oh– you said you did not take a lover,” you whisper dazedly, fingers fisting his hair to pull, one of your hands moving to press his face harder into your throbbing pussy, head tipping back when he moans. “How did you learn such things, Zayne? Your tongue– fuck!”
“The Imperial Library holds a great wealth of information,” Zayne murmurs, kissing your clit gently, drawing back to watch the pitiful clench of your pussy around nothing. “And a royal education covers… many things.” He glances up at you, the lower half of his face shining with your arousal, your cheeks flushing when he smiles up at you tenderly. “I only want the best for my wife.”
“The best,” you echo, mouth dropping open when he spits once more, spreading it all over your cunt as though it were something normal, “of course.”
“Are you not pleased with my efforts, my beloved?” he whispers, his voice lilting as he laps at your pussy, tongue prodding against the fluttering hole.
“Quite ahhh– the contrary, dear husband.”
It is wicked, you realize, the way he’s able to draw such debauched noises from you, to have your body moving so wantonly to his ministrations. The coil of pleasure in your lower stomach keeps winding tighter and tighter, your breathing growing more violently ragged, thighs squeezing around his head.
Your legs jerk when he presses his tongue into your pussy suddenly, eyes flying open in a panic to find him watching you, always watching, his tongue beginning to fuck in and out of your cunt.
“Oh my–” you whimper, sweat beading over your skin, your body shaking as he holds you down by your hips, rising up to shove his face between your thighs deeper as though trying to force his tongue in further. “Zayne– Zayne!”
“Are you close?” he asks, words slurred with how his tongue is still buried into your cunt. “Hm? Will you cum for me once more? Fall apart on my tongue, my sweet?”
You let out a strangled noise in response, trying to grab for his hand, guiding it to your clit. Zayne understands immediately, his fingers beginning to rub in quick, tight circles while his tongue works into you, his free hand sliding up over your chest, long fingers pressing into your mouth.
Your lashes flutter at the unexpected intrusion, but you suck before you can stop yourself, grasping his wrist as you let your tongue swirl over the digits, hips rolling to meet his mouth. Zayne grunts when your thighs tighten around his head involuntarily, feet slipping over his back until his mouth finds its way back to your clit.
The harsh suck he delivers to the throbbing bud of nerves sets you alight, a hoarse scream echoing through your chambers as your back arches off of the bed, your teeth sinking into his fingers as you writhe on the bed. You can vaguely hear Zayne’s wince and a slight tug has you releasing his fingers in a daze.
“If anyone is driving another to madness, it is you,” you mumble, refusing to look at him when he kisses your cheek, your body hot with embarrassment.
“There is no reason to be shy,” Zayne whispers, smiling against your sweat-slick skin, his hands rubbing over your sides and back when you curl up.
“No reason to be shy?” you retort, swatting his chest. “Everyone must have heard!”
“It is snowing,” he soothes, his fingers adjusting your nightgown, “the wind is deafening and no one is stationed outside our chambers, my beloved. You may be as loud as you wish.”
“That is not the issue!”
“You were not concerned with propriety earlier,” Zayne counters, his eyes shining when you sputter.
“Propriety is one of my greatest concerns,” you say indignantly. “I am extremely passionate about propriety, Zayne.”
He laughs, pulling you up into his lap, your eyes widening when you feel the brush of his cock against your thighs. “Is that why you infiltrated my home?” he asks, his arms wrapping around you to draw you closer to his chest. “Hm? Is that why you scale walls and–”
You surge forward, shutting him up with a kiss, mewling when he sighs into your mouth. His hands can’t seem to sit still, wandering over your body but never straying as he deepens the kiss, fingers tangling into your hair.
“Be quiet,” you whisper, your hand slipping between your bodies to grasp his cock, still hot and hard.
“As you wish, my love,” Zayne murmurs, his head tipping back when you begin to stroke his cock.
You follow the length of his neck, down his muscled chest and abdomen, biting your lip as his cock twitches in your hand. Leaning forward, you kiss his neck delicately, smiling when you hear his breath hitch.
When you squeeze his cock, drawing out a spurt of pre-cum, a whine slips free from Zayne, his eyes fluttered shut and cheeks darkening in color. You click your tongue, teeth scraping over his neck in chastisement when he whines again, glancing up to find his teeth buried into his lower lip in an attempt to muffle the sound.
“Are you have a hard time staying quiet?” you ask teasingly, your free hand reaching down to cup his throbbing balls, smiling when his abdomen tenses and his hips buck. “It is almost as though you are… desperate, Zayne.”
“Gods,” he groans, his hand cupping the back of your head when you kiss his neck again, your breasts pressed against his chest through the sheer, silk fabric. “How is one to stay quiet when his wife plays with his cock?”
“You do make such pretty noises,” you coo, smiling up at him when he glances down at you with half-lidded eyes.
Not looking away, you let your tongue loll out, spit dripping lewdly from the tip of it, coating the head of his cock. Zayne moans, his fingers tightening around your hips as he pants, his forehead pressing against yours heavily.
“That’s it,” you murmur when Zayne whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut when you pump his cock faster, taking in the unbidden pleasure flickering across his face. “You’re doing so well, my love.”
“You– hahhh– you are using my own words against me.”
“And you are enjoying it,” you muse, spitting down onto his cock again, your pussy clenching when his cock throbs and leaks with heavy globs of pre-cum.
It coats your hand, his cock slick with his own arousal and your spit, leaking over your knuckles and down to his balls, staining the sheets below you. His cock twitches and you can feel his thighs tremble beneath you, the press of his fingers into your flesh becoming almost painful.
“You’re making such a mess, Zayne,” you sigh, kissing him sweetly, mewling when he whines into your mouth. “How unbecoming of a royal lord.”
“You– ahh– are wicked,” he rumbles, inhaling sharply when you squeeze his fat cock hard. “Such a wicked wife.”
A contented hum leaves you, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you lick and suck, your hips rolling with need as you continue to play with his cock, your thumb swiping over the head of it. Zayne groans loudly, lurching into you as your wrist twists, dragging your hand along the length of his thick, hot cock.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his hand finding yours, trying to slow your movements. “You ought to stop.”
“Why?” you pout, teeth scraping along his jaw roughly, tongue laving over the fine stubble that lays across his skin. “Do you not wish to cum?”
“Not like this,” Zayne rasps, a ragged gasp leaving him when you massage his balls eagerly, letting them sit in your hand as you rub your thumb over the silken skin. “My beloved– hahh– I… I wish to be inside of you.”
You blink up at him, hands settling on his shoulders when he moves you, laying you down onto your back. Zayne’s fingers move deftly, rucking your nightgown up until it’s up over your head, his hands smoothing over your waist and hips.
You squirm on the bed, swallowing nervously when he settles between your thighs, his cock brushing against you briefly. He pauses when he sees your conflicted expression, his hands reaching for yours, fingers lacing together tightly.
“Do you wish to stop?” he murmurs gently.
“No,” you say, shaking your head, heart thudding in your chest. “I just… I… I like you a lot,” you mumble, biting your lip. “I did not think you would feel so affectionate towards someone like me.”
“You saved me,” Zayne says, his words sincere. “It was you that delivered the keepsake. Without you, everything would have been lost.”
Your lower lip trembles for a moment, your fingers slipping over his chest tentatively before your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down towards you. Zayne’s lips find yours, soft and sweet as he kisses you, his long hair brushing along your skin.
“The gods have blessed me with your presence,” he continues, lips drifting over your jaw to place a gentle kiss to your fluttering pulse. “Do not doubt my affection towards you, my beloved. I–” he clears his throat, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, muttering your name. “I love you.”
“Oh.”
The air is punched out of your lungs as you register his words, gaze flickering as Zayne presses himself closer, like he can’t bear the thought of being kept away from you. Your stomach flips when he kisses your neck, arms tightening around his neck whilst your heart beats so violently that you can hear it in your ears.
“I…” you stare up at him when he draws back, eyes fluttering shut when he strokes his hands over your hair and down the sides of your cheeks. “I love you too, Zayne.”
He lets out a heavy breath, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips. You smile back, allowing yourself to let out a shaky laugh when he kisses your forehead.
“Then I shall be yours,” Zayne whispers, his hands finding your hips, squeezing gently, “for as long as you wish to have me.”
You watch hazily as he grasps his cock, sliding it through your folds before he presses the head against you, his hips moving forward minutely. You bite back a whine when the head of his cock slips inside, already having begun to stretch you. Zayne groans, his heady gaze watching as your pussy stretches around the thickness of his cock, his brows drawn together as he rocks his hips forward.
“It–” you gasp, hand reaching for his blindly, your fingers entwining together, “it is too big, Zayne.”
Zayne growls, spurred on by your words as he thrusts experimentally, burying more of his fat cock inside of you. “And yet you take me so well, my love. Look at how well we fit.”
You glance down, watching with dazed eyes as his cock disappears into your pussy, inch by inch, gasping when you clench around him and realize how utterly full you are.
“Sucking my cock in so greedily, hm?” he murmurs, shifting his hips until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you, massaging your waist as your walls flutter around his fat length, trying to accommodate him. “What a pretty, greedy little cunt.”
You whimper, words failing you as he draws his hips back, his hazel-green eyes watching your every expression intently.
“Feels– nghhh– good, Zayne,” you hiccup, nails digging into his broad shoulders, eyes rolling back when he drops some of his weight down onto you, his chest pressed firmly against yours.
“You’re so tight,” he groans, his hand sliding over your hair to hold you in place as he begins to snap his hips harder. “So warm– fuck– entirely and utterly perfect.”
“For you,” you cry out, feeling the bed sway with every thrust. “Only– only ever for you.”
That seems to encourage Zayne more than anything, his lips pressing against your ear as he snarls deep and rough, his thrusts beginning to grow quicker. You think you may very well be seeing the aurora, let alone stars as he grips your hips, drawing back before lowering his head, mouth latching onto your breasts.
You shake when he thumbs and pinches at one of your nipples, hands flying to his hair as his tongue swirls around an areola, flicking against your hardened nipple without abandon. The dark, coarse hair at the base of his cock scratches along your clit with every thrust, his balls slapping against your ass rapidly, the lewd noises erupting through your chambers.
“I want you– oh– forever,” you slur out, cock-drunk and warm under his affectionate motions, a dopey smile spreading across your lips as he kisses your cheek. “May I have you forever, Zayne?”
“May the gods have mercy,” Zayne mutters under his breath, nodding against your cheek, a disbelieving laugh slipping out of him. “Yes, my beloved,” he replies, thrusting hard, burying his cock inside of you, a groan leaving him when your pussy clenches desperately around his throbbing, fat cock, “you may have me forever.”
A satisfied coo leaves you at his answer, your legs tightening around his hips as he rocks his hips, finding an unforgiving rhythm that has you whining uncontrollably. He muffles your noises with a rough kiss, hissing when your nails rake down his back.
“That’s it,” he rasps in between kisses, fingers cupping your jaw to hold your head still, spit leaking from the corners of your mouths. “Mark me, my sweet. Make me yours, forever. Show me what I mean to you.”
In a sudden surge of boldness, you push at Zayne’s chest, shoving until he moves, falling onto his back. You’re crawling atop him before he can protest, relishing in his broken, hoarse moan as you sink down on his cock, rolling your hips without abandon.
“Gods– are you trying to kill me?” Zayne murmurs, his voice strained as you shift, shins coming to rest across his thighs as you place your hands on his chest, using him as support to let your hips rise and fall.
“I… I want you,” you slur, mewling when his hands move to squeeze your breasts, his nimble fingers toying with your nipples as you ride him. “Zayne– nghhh!! I want you, I want you, I want you!”
You jerk in his lap when his hand comes down on your ass, arms wrapping around his neck when he sits up, crushing his mouth to yours. It’s filthy and so terribly unbecoming for a royal lord and lady to be acting in such a way – so lewdly, so uninhibited.
“Then have me,” he says roughly, hands clamping onto your hips before he’s guiding your movements, dropping you down onto his cock before lifting you and repeating the motion. “Fuck– have me, my sweet. Take my cock, that’s it, good girl… take everything I give you.”
You pant against his mouth, clinging to him, hands lost in his long tresses, pulling at his soft hair as you lick into his mouth messily, letting him jerk you up and down on his impossibly thick cock.
It’s all so overwhelming, especially with the way his cock is hitting exactly where you need him, against that sensitive spot that has you moaning loudly.
“It’s too much,” you whine, face pressed into the crook of his neck, the pleasure in your stomach growing with every press of his cock inside of your dripping cunt. “Zayne, I– I’m close!”
“So am I,” Zayne whispers, an arm wrapping around your waist, his biceps flexing with every motion. “You’ve done so well for me, my beloved. Let go, hm? Cum on my cock like a good girl.”
You pull back to look into his eyes, stomach swirling in a shy, flustered daze when you see the warmth in his eyes and the soft smile that plays on his lips.
“I love you,” you mumble, hips rolling to meet every press of his cock inside of you, your brows furrowing as you watch his eyes flutter shut. “I love you, Zayne.”
“Forgive me.”
Your mouth opens to ask whatever for, but he’s moving you onto your back, hands finding yours, squeezing tightly as his hips pound into you. A sharp scream tears its way out of your throat, your knuckles whitening as you hold his hands, eyes rolling back when he buries himself to the hilt with a particularly harsh thrust.
“Cum,” Zayne snaps lowly, his lips pressing against your cheek. “Cum for me, my sweet wife. Cum on my cock and I shall make you mine in every possible way.”
You don’t need any more encouragement, body thrashing under his when his fingers rub against your clit in one brief circle, the coil of pleasure snapping as you cry out and moan. Zayne groans at the sight, his hips stuttering when your pussy clenches hard, stubbornly keeping him inside.
“My beloved, we mustn’t–” Zayne gasps, his head falling forward as a long-drawn groan leaves him, his cock twitching inside of you.
You mewl, squirming when he spills inside of you, hot, thick cum flooding your pussy as your walls continue to flutter around his fat cock, the grip on his hands loosening. Zayne pants, his head falling against your shoulder, hair sticking to his back and arms, his breathing ragged.
His softening cock slips out of you a few moments later and Zayne manages to draw himself off of you, both of you exchanging dumbstruck glances when you notice his thick cum leaking out of you slowly.
“I…” Zayne swallows, brushing his hands over your aching thighs gently, “was not intending on an heir so soon.”
You flush, thighs squeezing shut. “Perhaps it will not take?”
You poke your stomach with mild interest, squealing when Zayne drapes himself over you, arms wrapping around his neck as he peppers kisses all over your face.
“And if it does?” he murmurs, nuzzling into your cheek.
“If it does,” you sigh, cupping his cheeks, thumbs stroking over his skin tenderly, “I should expect my husband to take the utmost care of me.”
“Naturally,” Zayne smiles, his lips soft as he kisses you, a hand smoothing over your stomach.
You run your fingers through his hair when he shifts, biting your lip when he kisses your stomach. He glances up at you, and you smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes. You yawn as the heady, lustful atmosphere fades, replaced by something slow and syrupy in the aftermath of your intimacy, enough to have your eyes drooping shut sleepily.
But perhaps the wind was never as deafening as Zayne thought because something loud thumps against the doors to your quarters, a flurry of hushed whispers following before someone mutters something about keys.
Your eyes snap open, mortified, while Zayne pulls himself off of you, tripping over his discarded robes before he’s grabbing at them and draping the thick robes over you. You try and sit up, to make yourself look at least a measure more presentable, Zayne cursing under his breath as he finds a new set of robes, pulling them over his body.
“My Lord! My Lady! Do not fret! We have heard your distress–”
A group of maids and guards alike stumble into your chambers, their panicked expressions fading as they digest the scene before them – Zayne leaning against a wall awkwardly, you sprawled over the bed, sheets rumpled and an utter mess and you engulfed in Zayne’s robes no less.
“We are perfectly well,” Zayne manages out, pinching the bridge of his nose irately.
You smile wanly at them, your hands moving belatedly to smooth down your tousled hair.
“Perfectly well,” a maid echoes, staring between the two of you before she’s ushering everyone else out of the chambers, her head poking inside before she shuts the doors. “I shall have a bath drawn. Would you perhaps like some tea? Cake? Sweet tea? I seem to recall we had–”
You bury your face into the pillows.
Zayne sighs aggrievedly. “Please leave us.”
–
The new novel is delivered to you past midday.
You stare down at the title, rolling your eyes irritably. “The Cold Lord’s Boundless Affection: The Thrilling Sequel?” you scoff, beginning to flip through the pages agitatedly, skimming through the passages. “Why is a sequel needed? The first two were already bad enough.”
“Now, now,” Zayne murmurs, his lips brushing over your forehead as you squirm in his lap uncomfortably, “you mustn't be so easily vexed, my beloved.”
“You should be more concerned about this,” you hiss, waving the novel in his face. “This– this is a farce!” You scan a passage, finger pressing against the page roughly. “Upon noticing his wife’s distress,” you read aloud, “the cold lord swept her into his arms with such affection that she began to swoon.” You shake your head vehemently. “That is simply untrue!”
Zayne smiles up at you, his hand rubbing against your stomach. “Is it?” he asks, feigning confusion as his brows furrow, “I do seem to recall some swooning on your part.”
“I did not swoon, dear husband,” you grouse, tossing the book aside as you shift in his lap once more, trying to ease the dull ache permeating through your lower back. “If anything I was in charge of the situation and you were the one overcome with emotion.”
He laughs at that, his body shaking beneath yours and you huff out a breath, feeling warm with your own feelings of affection as he kisses your cheek.
“In any case,” Zayne says, helping you stand as you sway unsteadily on your aching feet, “my affection towards you is boundless, is it not?”
“Is that why you have given me another child?” you mumble, staring down at your swollen stomach, rubbing your hand over it gently. “I cannot do with another set of twins, Zayne.”
“You did this all on your own, my lovely wife,” Zayne muses, his hand pressing over yours, eyes shining when he feels the baby kick gently. You smile faintly, leaning back into his chest, head tipping back as he dips his head, kissing you. “Was it not you who stormed into my chambers and demanded another?”
You huff out a breath, chasing after his lips when he tries to pull back, tugging him down to kiss him deeper.
“I hardly demanded,” you whisper against his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he cups your cheeks, calloused fingers stroking over your skin soothingly. “I very cordially requested that you take care of me, Zayne. You took it upon yourself to bend me over your desk.”
He hums, lowering his head to whisper into your ear. “You were wearing my favorite nightgown, my beloved. One might have been inclined to think that his wife may have been tempting him.”
You bite back a whine, pressing your face into his chest to breathe him in. “I cannot fit in it anymore,” you mumble sullenly, playing with his robes.
“And yet you look as radiant as ever,” Zayne whispers, his fingers sliding under your chin to tip your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. He smiles when he sees you pout, kissing you gently.
You sigh when he rubs your stomach again through your robes, the tension in your shoulders beginning to bleed out slowly. It’s short-lived however, the sound of a maid’s alarmed shriek making you jolt as a blur of color rushes past you.
“Young Master! Young Miss!”
Blinking owlishly, you watch as your twins – only four – laugh and run away from their maids and tutors, darting through the middle of the courtyard and behind pillars and trees.
“Again?” you sigh exasperatedly, unable to stop the fond expression spreading across your face as your children wave at you both, their little heads poking out from behind a statue, chubby cheeks rosy and eyes glittering with mischief.
Zayne smiles, his arms wrapping around you carefully, holding you tighter against him.
“They seem to take after their mother, no?”
You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You encourage them too much.”
A soft wince escapes you when the pain in your lower back worsens, your hand flying to your swollen stomach when you feel a strangely familiar wave of pressure beginning to press downwards.
“Zayne, I think…” you trail off, sucking in a sharp breath of air as you stagger, clinging to his arm tightly.
Concern flickers across his face, his hands moving to keep you upright as you gasp, feeling something wet rushing between your thighs until you glance down to find a small puddle of water at your feet.
You blink up at Zayne, watching as his composure wavers when he sees your dampened robes. The slight tinge of pallor to his skin and look of panic flaring through his eyes would make you laugh if not for the rapid waves of pain currently racking through your body.
You smile bemusedly, feeling the baby kick with renewed vigor.