˙⋆✮ pairing/s: single parent!yunho x headmistress!reader
˙⋆✮ in which: following his daughter's expulsion & many failed attempts to reach you, yunho finally corners you at the school's fundraiser to try & change your mind, & ease his daughter's punishment.
˙⋆✮ genre/s: smut
˙⋆✮ warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), semi-drunk sex (yunho's more intoxicated than reader). cum eating, creampie, multiple orgasms, breast play. power struggle.
˙⋆✮ word count: 2.9k
˙⋆✮ author's note: finally came up with something for the first time in FOREVERRRR, & it felt goodddd. hope you guys enjoy reading. xoxo.
Much of the evening progressed without so much as a hiccup. Wallets were opened, donations were made, agreements between parents and faculty were reached. All but one enjoyed the evening. Most of his time was spent watching from the wings, as he nursed a running trend of glasses of bourbon that he swiped from the trays of passing waiters. To anybody who noticed, his off-putting demeanour casted a shadow on the night’s festivities. Every effort to speak to her was thwarted. Having surrounded herself with the company of attending parents at all times. When the opportunity finally presented itself, he wasted no time. Availed at the bar, just herself and the hopes of finding some semblance of joy at the bottom of her glass to quell the night’s monotony, she sat, enfeebled. She disliked nights like these. When faculty would be forced to feign more interest than they have and cosy up to the parents of students who reigned hell on campus, just to get them to crack open their cheque books and raise funds for a school-related cause. You’d swear it wasn’t for the benefit of their spawn with how potent their reluctance was. Yunho’s daughter was no exception. Frankly, the faculty was relieved to catch wind of her expulsion. Having spent the past week ignoring his calls and now hiding behind other parents most of the night, she knew what was to come when he took the empty seat beside her and ordered a bourbon neat.
“Headmistress,” he announced, voice saturnine and shouldering burden, “are you forgetting someone?” Gaze searing into the side of her face, he exasperated.
Defeated, her shoulders slumped as she sighed. “I’m trying to,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Admin has been dodging my calls.”
“Under my instruction,” she downed the last of her wine and took her purse. “Have yourself a pleasant night, Mr. Jeong.”
With haste, he finished what was left of his bourbon, eyes focused on her shrinking figure as she disappeared into the sea of bodies. Quick on his feet, he trailed behind her as she quietly slipped away from the scene. The ambience of the night was disturbed by the sound of their oddly paced footsteps on the corridor cobblestone. One practiced and precise, calm as a bare footstep, the other hurried and heavy, with a ghastly echo. Once he caught up to her, he fell into pace.
“Can we talk, please?” his voice was laced with a tone meant to appeal to her maternal senses.
“We have nothing to discuss. My decision is final,” voice flat and mind made up.
“Expulsion?” he exclaimed. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“Extreme?” she parroted. “Hazing a faculty member is a serious offence! Expulsion is a slap on the wrist compared to the case Ms. Lee would’ve made in the court of law.”
“I understand that, but—”
“No, you don’t!” she reprimanded. “Dayeon is 18. She could be tried as an adult, and the last thing I need is the press picketing at our gates because I chose to protect an assailant.”
He followed right behind as she opened the door to her office and entered. It was warm and quiet. The aroma of bergamot and rosewood wafted in the air, pacifying those whose feelings ran high. She sat down and turned on the air conditioner. Its rumbling cut through the stiff silence. He stood before her desk, hovering, tall like an ancient sentinel. Jaw taut and strained, a single vein ran right in the middle of his forehead. The seventeen years of stress, raising an overprivileged child, had finally culminated. He had given her all that money could buy but nothing could get her to fall in line. Being the lone parent of a teenaged girl was no easy task, but he took it with stride. But no matter the amount of counselling, reasoning, nothing could ever appeal to the senses of a career bully. And the headmistress knew this. Five years of watching her tyranny run amok, with no signs of slowing down, it was just a matter of time.
From the top drawer of her desk, she pulled out an iPad and proceeded to locate the footage of Ms. Lee’s assault. As the footage played out, one could see the distress that haunted him from behind his eyes. A side to his daughter he’d always tried to keep at bay. Dayeon had cornered Ms. Lee after school hours, somewhere she believed the cameras weren’t watching. For a solid minute, she had the junior teacher’s ponytail wrapped around her fist, as she tugged violently. To think it all begun with a poor grade... The seniors were given 1 free pass per semester, where teachers condoned them if they failed. It wasn’t even a legislated rule, rather a faux agreement between faculty and students; anything to avoid being confronted by their parents. However, Ms. Lee was different. Hailing from an honest, small town, she enacted her homegrown values on campus. She believed in merit. Something Dayeon did not take to kindly to. How does a parent react when presented with evidence of their spawn’s misdeeds?
“Yunho,” she quietly sought for his attention, but his eyes remained glued to the screen, “there’s nothing I could’ve done. Ms. Lee threatened a lawsuit. This was the only way I could protect Dayeon from serious repercussions. You’re well-connected. You could buy her a new life elsewh—”
The iPad fell on the desk, thundering crash reverberated through the rustic office. “No!” he stridently protested. “No, I want her here. I—” The legs of the chair ground against the wooden floorboards as he abruptly stood up. One hand on his hip, the other running through his ashening hair as his options were nowhere to be found. “What can I do? Help me out here. Maybe there’s something on Ms. Lee we can use—”
“No,” voice shrill and potent with shock. “I’m not throwing my staff under the bus for a tyrant that’s been running me ragged for 5 years.”
And it was true. He knew it. From her first day, Dayeon had had the entire campus in the palm of her hands. Detention, week after week. Numerous suspensions. And the headmistress was always sure to soften the blow, but there was only so much she could do for a child who had a Machiavellian approach to life.
The air grew hot and thick, impossible to breathe. Suddenly, his tie felt too tight and was constricting airflow to his head. He removed his tie and jacket, laying them down on the chair. Nowhere yet everywhere, he paced back and forth, breath uneven and hefty. The headmistress just remained silent, watched as he unravelled before her. Her eyes followed when he circled the desk and halted behind her chair, hands rested upon her rigid and burdened shoulders. Chewing the inside of her mouth, the proximity was unnerving. He gently massaged her shoulders with a practiced precision she, oddly, appreciated.
“Help me out, please?” he said so softly, she nearly missed it.
She fought his grip, but he wouldn’t budge. “I–I can’t. My hands are tied.”
He spun the chair around, just in time to catch the nixing behind her eyes before it was replaced with a much more neutral look. The ghost of his touch lingered on even after he had long removed his hands. On his knees, down on his luck and to her field of vision; just a shell of the self-assured man he was an hour before.
“You’re the headmistress,” he mumbled, “you can do anything.”
“Not this time,” she whispered back.
He gently stroked her legs as his hands snuck up her dress, caressing the bare skin of her thighs. She squirmed in her seat but kept in place by the weight of his body. The gap between them continued to shrink, as he inched close enough for his bourbon breath to give her second-hand intoxication.
“Come on,” he begged, drawing the attention away from his fingers that tugged onto the hems of her underwear. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”
In a blur of events that followed, the next thing she felt was a cool breeze that brushed past her exposed core. Unsure how it had happened so quickly, he gave her no time to protest. Both her legs on his shoulders and his face buried between her thighs, the heat inviting him, all she felt was the slick accost of his tongue between her folds in one long stroke. He hummed against her cunt. She jolted in her seat. He planted soft kisses all over. Gently, he sucked on her bud. Tongue teasing and flicking. A breathless moan fell from her lips. She bit down on her lip to lull her voice but failed dismally. Knuckles white with the effort to hold onto her seat. His fingers dug so deep into her skin, sure to leave imprints.
“Yunho...” she whimpered, feverishly. “This isn’t right...”
Face bright with humiliation, she secretly enjoyed this side of him she’d never seen before; the hopeless and helpless behemoth, who had all bowing at his feet, now kneeling before hers. He lapped up all her wetness, relishing the sweet taste of her release, as she relieved herself into his waiting mouth. Back arched against the chair, legs quaking as he peppered the inside of her thighs with sloppy kisses.
Rising to his feet from between her thighs, “If it’s so wrong, then you wouldn’t have cum,” he refuted in a flat tone.
The erection in his slacks stared her right in the eyes, challenging her averted gaze. Between the tent in front of her and his aloof glower, she didn’t know where to look. By her hand, he brought her up to her feet and hoisted her onto the desk. In a feverish sequence of events, their lips found one another. A mélange of cum and bourbon on his tongue, the tang left her stomach fluttering and wanting more to taste for herself. Teeth clashed and tongues clasped, their kiss left her gasping. But he didn’t care. He went in for more. Her hands undid every button of his dress shirt, falling to the ground. The flimsy fabric that clung so loosely onto her body was pulled over her head, revealing her alerted nipples that craved his touch. Hands focussed with only a single goal in mind, she undid his belt. As she unzipped his slacks and desperately dragged them down, they pooled at his feet. His taut, throbbing cock sprung out, leaking, with cum smearing against her thigh.
He dragged her closer to the edge of the desk. One leg held up while his free hand guided his cock to her sopping cunt. He ran the tip right through her folds, gathering up all her slick. She broke their kiss. Both watched as he lined himself up. Tight and in need of being filled, she took a deep breath as he eased himself inside of her. But as he continued to stretch her open, she moaned into his mouth until he bottomed her out.
“Hold on tight,” he said with a hushed voice.
Breasts to pecs, her arms were snaked firmly over his shoulders. He held up her legs from behind her knees and pinned her against the bookcase behind them. Both hands holding onto the shelves, he slowly pulled out and thrusted back into her. She held onto the shelves above her head as he repeatedly drove into cunt. He grunted in her ear. As she watched the muscles of his arms and shoulders flex, working to hold up her weight, she couldn’t help the meek cries that fell from her lips. At this angle, he found it easier to reach her cervix. It was as though he was ripping her open from the inside. Never had she ever felt this exposed. She felt herself grow tighter around him. Her orgasm was afoot. His thrusts were growing strenuous. The growing wetness of her core couldn’t be contained as drops of cum fell to the wooded floors. One of the shelves she held onto broke, catching her by surprise. But that wasn’t enough to stop him.
“I’ll replace that,” he said between heavy breaths, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
They giggled and moved on from the mishap. Straddling him, he sat in her chair, big enough to give her the needed leg room. With one hand holding up her hair, and the other firm on his shoulder for support, she ground against him, her sensitive nub rubbed against his pubic hair. Muttering profanities under her breath. Her rhythm was consistent, so was her breathing. His hands massaged her breasts, fingers squeezing her erect nipples. Her bud throbbed with a vengeance as it continued to graze him.
“I don’t know where I went wrong with Dayeon,” he admitted as he watched her, pleasing herself on his cock.
“You’re a good dad, Yu,” she found her words between a state of consciousness and delirious conquest for sexual ruin. “But kids are kids. They do whatever they want.”
“You really think I’m a good dad, or are you just saying that?”
She moaned loudly as she ground faster against him, chasing an inevitable orgasm that awaited her a few short strokes away. “You are a good dad, but you’re also giving me the best fuck of my life. So, I’ll say whatever you want to hear.”
Tracing the curvature of her waist until he found her soft bum, he guided her rhythm, while his lips found a home on her nipples. Teeth nibbling and tongue teasing. She dipped down to meet his lips, hungry, needing to exploit the fullest extent of their intimacy. The squelching between her thighs, as another orgasmic wave washed over her, grew louder, subduing the rumbling of the air conditioner, and their ragged breathing. He painted her walls with copious amounts of cum, his cock jerked sporadically inside her. As she continued to grind against him, their lower torsos were smeared in white.
His hold around her waist tightened as he rose to his feet. Astride, he carried her to the desk and laid her down. Held open by the thighs, he cocked his hips back and slammed back into her stuffed cunt. A thundering clap rang through the room, leaving the headmistress breathless and unable to control her voice. She bit down on her finger to snuff the softened sobbing, whilst he had his way with her. Blest tears flowed from her eyes, and pooled in her ears, leaving a dried silhouette on her temples. Yet with such a spectacle laid before him, his eyes only saw her breasts and tummy ripple with every pounding. Her body welcomed his.
“Reverse the expulsion,” he grunted.
“I– Ah–” she lost her words when she felt him thrust with more force. “Ah– I– I can’t,” was all she managed, throat dried out and voice coarse.
He held her in place by the hips, then drove even deeper. A strained whimper fell from her mouth as she struggled in his unrelenting hold. Knuckles white as snow, she gripped onto the edge of the desk. Their moans and groans echoed in the acoustic office.
“Reverse the expulsion, y/n,” he insisted more assertively than before.
“T-Two-week suspension,” she said with a defeated stutter, making him slow down just a bit. “One month of community service, and a handwritten apology to Ms. Lee.”
Her toes curled as she felt herself lock around him, body shaking as she drowned in the ecstasy. Worn and over the night already, she laid there patiently as she watched him chase his own high. Strokes erratic and less intentional, she could tell he was near. Right through the astray strands covering his eyes, she watched as his eyes rolled back and doll lips fell to an ‘O’. His hands dropped from her hips, onto the desk. They remained in their respective positions until he stepped back to make space between their bodies.
Roolie and received, the silence encouraged their respective thoughts to roam freely. So high on their sin, they barely noticed the approving smiles that each wore. They got dressed, standing just a few inches apart, and groomed themselves back to normal. Yunho looked in the mirror as he raked his hands through his hair and fixed his tie.
Turning to meet her eyes, he proceeded to fix her hair that had fallen out of place, “I know you did not sign up for this, you made that clear long ago,” his voice low and pleading, “but a little compassion could go a long way.”
“It’s not that I lack compassion. If I start playing favourites, the board will start sniffing. You saw how abysmal her grade 7 marks were. No private school within a 25-kilometre radius would’ve enrolled her.”
“And I thank you for that. For everything you’ve done to protect her,” he affirmed. “I’ll get Dayeon the help that she needs. I promise, I’ll never let things get this far again. Even if I have to ship her off to boarding school.”
“Let’s relax on that, yeah?” she removed his hand from her head and brushed her hair herself. “But seriously, if this snowballs and the board finds out she’s my daughter, my career is done. No school will ever hire me.”
He nodded, cognisant of the consequences that laid ahead should their daughter incite another incident. There was only so much that the headmistress could do administratively, but the rest was up to him. While childrearing is no cakewalk, they had an agreement, and he was failing to keep up his end of the deal. He raises the child he had always wanted, and she could go on to live her life, pursue a career in education, and ensure her enrolment into best schools in the region.
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if you aren't tagged and want to play pls play im nervous i'm starting a tag game LOL excuse the fact that im tagging 1000 people (super big apologies bc some ppl aren't my moots but i Want to be moots) i wanna read everyone's work!!! no presh tho ☝🏻 @everyonewooeverywhere @chimivx @bananayuyu @wyngigi @yuyusbabygirl @rainyjeno @minjoongsgirlie @hhlix @strrykais @hyunjiiza @m1rotics @mulloey @sangis-puppy @jeonginsleftcheek @hyunsvngs / @yestodayys @crimsonbubble
my wip for this fine wednesday is some of 3comp3 🕺
“Who has which room?” Sana asks loudly, speaking over everyone in the midst of conversation.
“We were waiting for you to decide, princess,” Seonghwa replies, voice smooth, a snarky remark hidden behind a beautiful smile. Your lips curl upward when you see him, stood tall next to his boyfriend, Seonghwa’s open shirt matched Hongjoong’s shorts.
“Jongin and I have the master,” San says, “There’s five other bedrooms, one has a pull-out futon.”
“Assuming I’m on the futon,” Yunho immediately adds, his voice flat, “Since I’m the only single one here.”
Your eyes flicker between the two, heart thumping against your chest, stomach feeling sick at hearing him say he’s single.
“You would have been fucked if you brought a date,” San smiles sheepishly, “But I’m sure no one will mind if you crash their room, maybe one of the girlies are out of commission for sexual activity and it won’t matter.”
Jongin smacks his chest with a disgusted look, but San giggles to himself. You look around the room and all the girls fall quiet, all the guys stay quiet, too used to San and his remarks to feed him a reaction.
“He can room with you and Mingi,” Jihyo nudges your shoulder from beside you, “Duh. You guys are super close, anyways, just kick him out when you wanna fuck.”
“We aren’t twenty years old, Ji,” you muster, “We can go a few days without fucking.”
You look up at Mingi and you can tell he’s teetering on the edge of losing his shit. You turn to Yunho and he looks like that’s the last thing he wants. Seeing his face, the clear dislike of the idea, imagining the thoughts racing through his mind, all of it combined makes you slap a smile on your face, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll take him.”
“Hope you left the hitachi at home,” Jihyo whispers in your ear, winking. You nudge her back, forcing the smile to stay on your face— no one has any idea of what you’ve gone through the last few days. What happened. What started it in the first place.
“Perfect!” San claps his hands together, “That was easy. Go unpack your shit and then we can go to the beach.”
Mingi is at your side as soon as everyone takes a step toward the staircase, voice a low growl in your ear, “Why did you do that?”
You whisper back, “It’ll be fine.”
You didn’t know if it would be fine.
“Three bedrooms on the second floor, two on the top, master is on the main floor. You guys can figure out which rooms yourselves,” San says from the base of the steps as you all make your way up, your shoes hitting the hardwood in chorus, everyone dragging their belongings behind them.
Yunho stays close behind you and Mingi as you check each room in search of yours, taking in the detail of the hallways, where the bathrooms were. The paintings on the walls, tables with vases, starfish, framed pictures of small sayings of wordplays with the word beach, you made sure to take in everything, let it fill you with ease, you were on vacation.
You wouldn’t let Yunho ruin it.
On the third floor, Jihyo and Jongho peeled off into a room at the beginning of the hallway, a bathroom and two closets between you as yours lived at the end. A queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall that pulled out to a bed, the room was decently sized. Cozy, with its balcony attached, white covering the walls, the bedspread and couch a pale blue.
Mingi threw your suitcase onto the bed as Yunho threw his duffle bag onto the couch. The air was tense, heavy, you could hear conversation downstairs, Jihyo and Jongho unpacking just down the hall. There was no sound coming from your room other than zippers sliding and clothes being shuffled.
You stood opposite Mingi on either side of the bed as he sorted through the suitcase, zeroed in on his hands as he separated the clothes you were hanging from the ones going into drawers. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you stood focused, yet thinking of nothing as your ears rang, buzzing beneath the heaviness of silence.
What was he thinking right now?
Your eyes flickered to him as he pulled clothes out of his duffel bag, folding them along the couch, laying out the clothes he was hanging up, keeping his toiletries separate. Your gaze fell on his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath the linen he wore, the length of his legs stretching to the floor beneath him, bare feet pressed against hardwood, stepping to the side to fold another tee along the cushion.
You turn your attention back to Mingi, shaking off the discomfort as you grab the clothes to hang up, heading for the closet next to the couch. You lay the clothes over the armrest, hanging up tops, Mingi’s favorite pair of nice shorts, the dress you brought to wear to the club on Saturday. You think that’s the only time you were going out all weekend other than to small shops around the town.
The last shirt you had to hang, one of Mingi’s, you knew you grabbed it from the stack of clothes on the bed, but it wasn’t splayed out on the couch beside you. Brows furrowed, you turned on your heel to check the bed, just for Yunho to be stood at your side, holding the shirt out for you while he had his own stack of clothes folded over his forearm.
You swallowed, avoiding his eye, “Thanks.”
Grabbing the shirt from his hand, your fingers brushed against each other, the feeling of his skin on yours no matter how small immediately sent a jolt of electricity up your forearm, into your shoulder. You were quick to hang up the last shirt, moving out of his way, back to where Mingi was before the dresser.
While he laid folded clothes, pajamas, boxers and panties into separate drawers, you grabbed your bikinis, his swim shorts, cover-ups and the singular bra you brought to help him. The room still silent, suffocating with everything left unsaid, you began laying out your toiletries along the top of the dresser.
You could feel his eyes. Lifting your gaze, meeting his stare through the mirror, you shuffled to the side as he sauntered up next to you, throwing his own clothes into the rest of the empty drawers.
God, is this what the rest of the week was gonna be like? If so, fuck that, he can sleep on the couch. Downstairs. Far away from you and Mingi so you can enjoy this room and its balcony all to yourself.
“Hey!” Tzuyu gleamed, knocking on the doorframe at the same time as she spoke. You jumped a foot in the air, hand clasping your chest, a gasp escaping your chest. She giggles, long brown hair in a braid over one shoulder, bikini already on her body. “Yeosang and I are going to the liquor store before we head down to the beach, want anything?”
“Uh,” you glance up at Mingi, trying to find words, “Tequila, beer, some kind of seltzer to sip on. The usual shit.”
She nods, “Same beer as always, right?”
“Please,” Mingi nods back, giving her a smile that she would never know wasn’t real.
Your stomach fucking aches. You could push your pain aside, but when it comes to Mingi, seeing him hurt in real time, you could feel it as if he shared it with you. Your jaw locks, you could not go the whole week like this.
Tzuyu peeks her head back in, “You should get ready, we’ll be back in ten.”
“Got it,” you smile, and when she bounces out of your room again, it drops. You needed to do something. You rack your brain as you zip the suitcase closed, shoving it beneath the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
Yunho was pretending. He was forcing a mindset on himself, ignoring his feelings for you and Mingi, he was putting on a show that he didn’t mean. In his head, he was protecting himself, or maybe he was protecting you two from getting hurt, of what could go wrong in the future.
You glance up at Mingi who stood leaned up against the dresser, on his phone. You glance over at Yunho who sits on the couch, on his phone. Just because he was acting like he doesn’t love you, doesn’t mean that he believes it.
Your eyes land on Mingi again, holding them there. He looks up from his phone, meeting your stare.
Your lips curve upward. I’m gonna do something crazy.
He pops an eyebrow, lips crinkling. Oh no.
Your smile grows, eyes flashing something dangerous. You gotta trust me on this one.
Mingi nods, face still wary. I always trust you.
You push yourself up off the bed to the dresser, opening one of the drawers, pulling out one of your bikinis from the bottom. You should really thank Jihyo for even putting it in your mind that you should wear one of your college bikinis— so small and skimpy it could barely be considered anything other than string, you funneled confidence into your veins. You wouldn’t care about how you looked after a drink or two, anyways.
Your eyes meet Mingi’s through the mirror, bikini in your hands. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
Mingi shoots you a silent laugh. You’re fucking nuts.
You stick your tongue out. You love it.
Mingi licks his lips. I love you, and that bikini.
🥇 make a new post! 🥈 post any wip from your drafts (anything— an idea, a concept, one sentence or 1000 words, whatever you want to share) 🥉tag 5 people!!!
tace this is SUCH a good idea for a tag game, ily <3 tagging: @yuyusbabygirl @pyeongstarr and anyone else who wants to join <3
a little something that might come out one day below the cut:
~~~~~~~~~~
"Of course." Her voice was soft and she was combing through her purse, but you bolted. There was little time to waste, none really. And you'd never been trained on stealthy escape.
"Just give me two minutes, I promise it'll be fine." His voice followed you out the doors, into the wide alley.
"Huh?" Spinning and eyeing the emptiness around you, you felt eyes must be in every wall and trash can.
"Are you really going to play dumb?" It was all you'd thought to do, and you wanted to nod.
"I don't know what you're talking about." You hoped the lines around your eyes looked genuine enough.
He sighed deeply, arms crossed, back against the rough brown wall as the door finally shut. "You're not in any danger because of me. Well, not danger to do with, you know, your little gift."
"I-" Hasty words wanted to leave you, but you quashed them at their base.
"Why the hell you're here, I don't know, but I can't imagine you'll be around for long. You'll find the Keepers and leave us all, toiling away at our boring, meaningless lives..."
"You sound insane. And I don't know why you followed me out here, but please don't follow me further. My roommate, I'm sure he'd make quick work of you-"
"A boyfriend? He's gonna beat me up?"
"You- just don't, you're making a fool of yourself."
You turned and walked, keeping legs steady, keeping pace at medium. Running, stumbling, any of it would draw undue attention. You simply needed to escape the city walls, to just try for it, to forgo all the needed planning.
Your heart clenched. Many a friend will grace your path, and with them, guidance of the utmost value. The book, the book, the damn book, how could any of this be right-
"I know what you are. I just don't know where you keep your iron."
His words smacked your heart, and your mind seized.
"Are you some kind of fucking test?!" Your voice was far louder, grittier than you'd meant it to be.
"Maybe," was all he said, eyebrows flicking in amusement. Without a second thought you took off running, feet burning, boots blistering the heels you pounded into the pavement below.
🥇 make a new post! 🥈 post any wip from your drafts (anything— an idea, a concept, one sentence or 1000 words, whatever you want to share) 🥉tag 5 people!!!
@anybody who wants to join
—————
˙⋆✮ in which: yunho's whole world comes crashing down on him when someone from his wife's past sheds light on a missing person's-turned-homicide case from 15 years ago. as the truth begins to unravel before your eyes, so does your devotion to your husband. but he doesn't give you much of an option, as he enacts every bit of his vows.
well × 3... i finally finished my first fic in 8 months, although it took me two weeks to write proofreading & editing now. will be out sometime this week lovies 🩷🫵🏽
》 plot: you're mad at your boyfriend, and he is willing to do anything to make it up to you.
》 content: older jongho (40s), reader in her mid 20s, divorcee jongho with emotional baggage (yikes), scared of commitment (oof girl get out of there), established couple, cunnilingus, clit play, cum play, penetration, lying cowgirl, jongho big bawlz agenda, reader gets called baby a lottt
》 playlist: yes baby- madison beer
a/n: I'm not back. just felt like writing something. I still don't want to have much of a presence on here. I appreciate your feedback in advance.
You stormed up the stairs with great difficulty; the kitten heels you were once so excited to wear tonight soon made you regret ever buying them in the first place. Your heart hammered against your chest, the cosmopolitans from earlier burning through your veins and throwing off your balance.
You slammed the bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed, chest still rising in ragged, hot breaths. If Jongho had any sense, he’d leave you here to fume and sleep on the couch for the night. You didn’t want to see his face, not after the stunt he pulled. The thought of sleeping alone in the big bed gave you brief comfort until you heard his steady footsteps climbing the stairs.
The door creaked open. He slipped in quietly, his eyes searching for yours, but you kept your gaze fixed on the floor. He lingered at the threshold before you and let out a slow sigh. You braced for the usual. His irritatingly calm lectures about how you were overreacting and being overly sensitive, how you’ve made a scene over nothing, and whatever bullshit he could spew to divert the issue back to you. But instead, he crossed the room and sank to his knees. You could feel his fingertips softly brushing against your ankle as he gently unbuckled the straps on your heels.
You kicked his hands off you before turning your body away from him. “I can do it myself. I don’t need your help.” You said, your voice sharp like knives.
He sighed again, finally growing tired of your attitude. “When are you going to stop acting like a child?”
Your head whipped around. “A child?!” you spat. “When are you going to start acting like a grown-ass man?”
Jongho huffed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m not the one throwing a tantrum over semantics. Seriously, Y/N, you’ve been acting like a brat all night and embarrassing me in front of all my work friends.”
You rolled your eyes at the mention of them, those men who couldn’t keep their eyes off you, whispering and smirking about the younger woman on his arm. You already knew what they were thinking. A young, twenty-something woman getting involved with a wealthy man in his 40s? There was no way you were safe from rumors. “Oh, please. You were embarrassed by me the second we walked in.”
Jongho furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”
You sat up, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “You introduced me as your girlfriend. Do you know how humiliating that sounds?”
He blinked at you, genuine confusion marking his features. “Well, aren’t you my girlfriend?”
You could feel the heat rising to your ears, ready to explode. “We’ve been together four years, Jongho. We live together. You’ve met my parents. I’m your emergency contact. ‘Girlfriend’ sounds so juvenile, so temporary, like a fling. People hear that and think we’re not serious, and I hate it. After everything, don’t you think I deserve to be called something more…mature? Partner, significant other, fiancé—”
You stopped yourself, cheeks burning as you felt Jongho’s wide eyes on you. You quickly looked away, cursing yourself for bringing up the F word. You knew Jongho was married before you met him. The divorce was messy, and it had done its damage. He never said it out loud, but you could tell his views on marriage had changed. Any time the topic came up, he’d shy away from it.
“That’s what this is about?” He said, “You want to get married?”
Your throat tightened. You’d imagined it countless times: walking toward him in a white dress, hearing him call you his wife. But suddenly the fantasy felt too heavy to admit.
“I don’t know,” you muttered. “I just don’t want people thinking I’m some college kid screwing her professor. Don’t you want us to be married one day?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand brushed your ankle again. You watched as he slipped the heels from your swollen feet, lining them neatly to the side. “Your feet are so red,” he murmured, frowning as he rubbed the sore skin.
You yanked your leg back, anger flaring again. “You always change the subject whenever we talk about this.”
His face tightened with guilt. He hated having this conversation. He loved you, of course, he did. You had brought him back to life. Picked him back up and gave him a new purpose. He was forever grateful to you for that. But for the time being, he thought he was done with married life. Jongho struggled with commitment. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt he’d curse you both if he proposed to you. Why ruin a good thing, anyway? What difference would marriage bring? You were together now, and that was all that mattered. But of course, he couldn’t tell you that. However, he still wanted to be honest.
“Oh, Y/N,” he said softly, running a hand along your leg reassuringly. “I love you. You know I’m serious about us. I just…I need time. Ten years of marriage…it changes you. I don’t know if I can give you the answer you want right now. But if it’s about what I call you, partner works. I can do that.”
You remained quiet, unsatisfied with his response. Why was this so hard for him? Was marrying you really that terrifying? Did he have that little faith in what you two had built these past few years?
His hand squeezed gently at your thigh, pulling you from your thoughts. “Hey,” he said, voice low, almost pleading. “Please don’t be upset about this.”
When you didn’t respond, he leaned closer. Goosebumps prickled along your skin as his warm lips grazed your knee, then pressed another kiss, and another, each one drifting higher. You kept your gaze fixed on the ceiling, determined to ignore his gentle touches.
“My beloved…my darling…my muse…” he murmured between kisses, his mouth pausing at the soft skin of your inner thigh. Your chest rose in a shaky breath, but you forced yourself to stay composed, refusing to give in so easily, even as your core twitched at his touch.
Each word tugged at your restraint, pushing you closer to surrender. “Y-you’re not listening to me..” Your breathing got heavier, and despite your efforts to hide it, Jongho noticed.
Giving up, you looked down at him, and the sight made your chest ache. Even with the faint wrinkles around his eyes and the etched lines at the corner of his mouth, he still had this cheeky, boyish charm that never failed to drive you crazy.
“...jongho, please, I’m not in the-”
His other hand pressed against your thigh, coaxing it open as he gently spread you apart. He never looked down. His gaze stayed locked on yours as his fingers tugged your dress higher, the fabric pooling at your waist.
His head dipped, lips brushing the inside of your thigh with another lingering kiss, but his eyes never strayed. That steady stare made your pulse quicken more than the warmth of his mouth ever could.
“…my baby…my sweetheart…” he whispered against your soft skin. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he kissed you slowly again, and again. “Whatever you want,” he breathed, “I’ll call you whatever you want me to.”
He traced his finger over your clothed slit, stopping exactly where your nub waited for him. He moved them in agonizingly slow circles, forcing you to bite back a moan. You knew what he was doing. It was the classic Jongho move- touching you in ways he knew you liked, making you feel so good to the point that you forget you were ever mad at him. Each time, you tried your hardest to resist, but even now, your brain was fighting with your hips.
Without thinking, you finally lost yourself, inching your hips closer to him and widening your legs ever so slightly. Jongho cracked a sly smile, pleased by how your body never denies him. His finger was now soaked with your juices, and he stayed focused on the wet patch staining your fabric.
As he pressed just the right pressure onto your clit, your head fell back past your shoulders, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. “Baby…I want you to call me baby.”
You could hear him chuckling. “Baby,” he spoke softly, almost like he was pouting, “you’re so wet…what are we gonna do about this, hmm?”
Jongho hooked a finger around your panties and pushed them to the side. His hot breath fanned over your exposed skin, making you buck your hips in anticipation. He pressed his hand on your thigh, locking you in place. “Hold on, baby, I just wanna look at it…”
Four years together, and you still felt shy in moments like this. “Jjongie, please,” you whined, cheeks burning from his gaze. Jongho ignored your sweet pleas. His fingers spread your puffy lips open ever so gently, watching your juices spill in awe. He massaged them slowly and with expert care, forcing a soft mewl out from your lips. You quivered once his tongue made contact, licking you in long, achingly slow drags that tested your patience.
Just then, he pressed his thumb to your needy clit, pulling it taut as he worked his tongue faster inside of you. “Yes..y-yes..” you moaned, your voice getting shakier. You rested back on your elbows, watching him in awe as he devoured you.
Jongho wanted to take his time with you. He could eat you out for hours just to make it up to you. It’s like he needed you to know how much you meant to him, especially since he was no good at expressing it to you in words during times like this. His lips found your now swollen nub, and he latched onto it tightly and sucked. You gasped at the suction, your hands reaching down to grab at his soft hair while anticipation filled your stomach.
“You treat my pussy so good,” You blurted as you dissolved into pleasure. Jongho hummed at the comment, pressing soft kisses to your tender skin. He lifted his head once he was done, locking eyes with you. His lips glistened with your wet juices, a bit of drool dripping down to his chin. You chucked, reaching a hand out and wiping it away with the pad of your thumb. Jongho turned his head to kiss the side of your hand.
“Come here,” You whispered with need laced in your voice. He obeyed and leaned in, leaving a trail of kisses from your lower stomach up to your nipples, finally meeting your lips. You eagerly licked his lips, tasting yourself on him. Caressing his strong arms, you moaned, feeling the contrast of their softness and firmness. He pulled you closer, embracing you tightly, and you melted into his chest.
Jongho shifted, lying back against the headboard, and pulled you into his lap. Your back rested against his warm chest as he nipped at your neck. He dragged his thick cock over your slit, and you reached down, grasping his length, pumping and rubbing him against your clit.
"Fuck, baby,” he hissed, enjoying the sight of your tiny hand around his big cock. You guided him into your entrance, watching as he filled you. A gasp escaped your lips at the stretch, and you paused to adjust.
You kissed him deeply, biting his lower lip as you rolled your hips. Jongho responded by spreading your thighs, opening you wide. He held onto your thighs and thrust his hips, fucking you hard and deep, making you dizzy with pleasure.
Throughout the night, you cried out his name over and over again. Jongho was determined to fuck you until you broke, and it seemed he was going to get what he wanted. “You’re so loud, baby,” He teased. “Like my cock this much?”
He could feel you getting closer. Your pussy clamped around him so tight, it would be seconds before you met your release. As your climax approached, you felt his fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to look at him. He crashed his lips onto yours, growling, “Yes, baby, cream on it, I need it."
Your breath hitched as you came. Your juices mixed and flowed down your leg. “Jongho!” you cried. He held your hips, slowly moving you up and down his length, milking every drop.
Breathing raggedly, he stared down at your joined bodies as your cum leaked, dripping down his big balls. He chuckled, swirling his fingers through the mixture and rubbing it on your clit. “You came so much. I guess you're not mad anymore?”
to my followers, my mooties, my friends, writers reading this… please never stop writing. good, bad, mediocre, questionable, entirely unreadable, works of pure art, masterpieces. on google docs, in your phone notes, in a notebook, on your math homework (just me?), on a napkin, the inside of an empty tissue box… please never stop writing. even when you can’t get the words out. just try. please. i beg of you. let it be bad. let it be something you want to rip to shreds and burn before anyone else catches wind that you’ve written it… never stop. never ever. we writers are needed now more than ever. your voice matters. YOUR voice matters.
i will never stress this enough. please don't be concerned with the metrics. it doesn't matter if you got 2107 notes or 38 notes, just write. some of us actually appreciate the effort that goes into your craft. KEEP WRITING! 🫵🏽🩷
MINOR DO NOT INTERACT.
Pairing: non-idol!Park Seonghwa x afab!Reader
Word count: 2.3k
Genre: Exploring themes of power exchange, surrender, and devotion within a dominant/submissive (D/S) relationship. Features explicit roleplay and praise kink. Dom!Seonghwa, sub!Reader.
Please note: This content is for mature audiences due to explicit sexual themes. It contains elements of a dominant/submissive (D/S) relationship, dirty talk, and a mommy/little dynamic. Petnames are love, angel, my love, mommy hwa. The narrative explores themes of surrender and finding pleasure in a power exchange. Reader discretion is advised. Again, Mommy Hwa.
A/N: A part two of mommy hwa? Happy 500 by the way.
The soft glow of the television was the only light in the living room, casting a warm hue over the worn-in couch. The movie’s score swelled and faded into a background hum as you nestled deeper into the familiar comfort of your husband’s lap. You were curled on your side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. His arm was a steady weight around your shoulders, a silent promise of security.
The day had been long, and the peace of the evening was a heavy blanket that pulled you towards sleep. Your breathing grew slow and even, and you could feel yourself beginning to drift, the movie’s plot slipping from your mind. You felt a soft touch, a feather-light press of his lips to the nape of your neck. It was a kiss so tender, you thought you might have imagined it. But then another followed, and another, each one a whisper of affection. His hand, which had been resting on your arm, began to move, his thumb circling slow, hypnotic patterns on your skin. The gentle rhythm was lulling, an anchor in the sleepy sea you were floating on.
Just as you were about to slip into full sleep, his hand moved lower, slipping under the hem of your pajama shorts. A soft breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid past your skin, then found the elastic of your undergarments. A sudden, unexpected warmth replaced the sleepiness. His touch was light and exploring, and a shock of surprise, then pure sensation, rippled through you as his fingers found your core. He began to circle, the movement slow and deliberate. A soft, surprised moan escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't contain. The feeling was a strange, intoxicating mix of pleasure and confusion.
“L-love…” you breathed out, a soft question that barely made a sound.
Seonghwa’s mouth was in your ear, his voice a low, soothing whisper that made a thrill run through you.
“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s me.”
The words were a permission, a gentle surrender to the feeling he was creating. Your body, already a slave to his touch, responded without thought. Your soft whimpers turned into a low, breathless moan as the pleasure intensified. His fingers continued to move, and as the feeling built, a new word, a new name, tumbled from your lips.
“M-mommy...” you whimpered, the name a raw, undeniable confession of your need for his care, his control, his complete and utter love.
You whimpered the name again, your body arching into his hand. The sound was a raw, unfiltered confession of your need, and it was a name he was more than happy to answer to. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, melodic purr that vibrated through your entire being.
“Yes, my love? Does my angel need something from me?”
His thumb never stopped its slow, hypnotic circling, a silent promise that he was listening, that he was there to fulfill your every desire. The question was a gentle command, a permission to ask for exactly what you wanted. His body, a warm, solid wall behind you, shifted just slightly to let you feel his own growing hardness against your back. He was telling you with his body and his voice that he was all yours, completely at your service. You whimpered, a soft, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated need. Your body arched into his hand, a silent but desperate answer. You couldn’t form words; all you could do was feel, and what you felt was a raw, aching want that only he could satisfy. He answered your wordless plea with a low groan, his fingers moving from the hypnotic circles to a more direct, purposeful rhythm. The change was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core. You gasped, your hips pressing back against his hand, instinctively begging for more. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his work, the low rumble of his voice a promise of the pleasure to come.
“Good girl,” he whispered, a possessive delight in his tone. “That’s what Mommy likes to see.”
The sensation grew, a fire spreading from your center to every part of your being. You could feel yourself unraveling, losing control in the most exquisite way. Your head fell back against his chest, your hands gripping his arm, your body trembling with a mixture of surrender and anticipation. His movements intensified, a relentless rhythm that pushed you to the brink. A cry escaped your lips, a long, drawn-out sound of pure release. Your body convulsed against his hand, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in a shattering, beautiful storm. He held you tightly, his thumb never leaving your sensitive skin, absorbing every last tremor. When the tremors finally subsided, you were left breathless and spent, a soft, sated sigh escaping your lips. He pulled back, his hand lingering for a moment before he wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you into a firm, loving embrace.
The movie’s credits rolled silently on the screen, a quiet contrast to the storm that had just passed. He was just your husband again, and you were his wife, in the comfortable embrace of your living room, but something had fundamentally shifted. The warmth of his body was a soothing comfort, and you melted against him, your head resting on his shoulder. You felt a wave of exhaustion and a lingering, raw need all at once. The world felt distant, the only reality was the feel of his arms around you.
“I-I need you, Seonghwa. Please, momm-” you whimpered, your voice thick with emotion.
The names tumbled from your lips, a confused but honest reflection of the man who held you. He shifted, pulling you tighter against his chest, his thumb stroking your arm in a slow, calming rhythm. He didn’t answer to his own name, but instead, his voice was a low, melodic rumble that filled the quiet space between you.
“Need me? What do you want from mommy, love?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm.
His question was a compass, guiding you back to the role you had just so willingly embraced. He was giving you a choice, a chance to fully surrender. He was waiting for you to tell him exactly what your heart desired.
You took a shaky breath, your voice a desperate whisper.
“You, please. Inside me,” you pleaded, the words a raw, unfiltered confession of your need. “Your fault why I’m needy—” you added, a final, breathless accusation.
He silenced you with a soft kiss to the forehead, his hand gently cupping the back of your head.
“Alright alright.” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “No need to yap. Mommy’s going to give you what you want.”
He shifted you on the couch, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He was no longer the teasing lover from moments ago, but a focused, loving force of nature. He moved with a practiced ease, and a moment later, the first, blissful touch of him filling you was a deep, satisfying groan that you felt in your very soul. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in as close as humanly possible, trying to become one with him. He began to move, a slow, perfect rhythm that was all his own. The world outside the soft light of the TV and the warmth of the couch ceased to exist. You were a symphony of moans and gasps, your body a testament to the love and passion he was pouring into you. He leaned down, his lips close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.
“Such a good girl, my love.” he whispered, his words a soft, perfect prayer. “Always tell your mommy what you want.”
And you did.
The world outside the soft circle of the couch and the warm glow of the television ceased to exist. You were a symphony of soft gasps and shudders, your body still trembling from the raw, powerful release. He held you tightly, his arms a strong, loving shield, his own breathing ragged against your neck.
He didn’t speak, but his touch was a conversation, a silent promise that you were safe, loved, and completely his. When the trembling finally eased down and your breathing returned to a slow, steady rhythm, he gently pulled away. His eyes, dark with a lingering passion, were soft and full of a profound tenderness. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your forehead, his lips lingering.
“My love,” he murmured, his voice a low, melodic rumble, “look at you. You’re exhausted.”
He moved with a quiet, careful grace, pulling you into a firm, effortless lift. You were a willing weight in his arms as he carried you from the living room, the flickering light of the television the only witness to the intimate world you had just shared. He carried you to the bedroom and gently laid you on the bed, the soft blankets cool against your flushed skin. He knelt beside the bed, his hand softly brushing the hair from your face. You reached for his hand, holding on to it like a lifeline.
“Stay with me,” you whispered, your voice a small, raw plea.
He smiled, a soft, loving curve of his lips. He slipped out of his clothes and slid into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. The feel of his naked body against yours was a profound comfort, a final reaffirmation of your intimacy. He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your head.
“Of course, my angel,” he said, his voice a sleepy purr. “Mommy is right here. Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”
The soft morning light crept through the window blinds, but Seonghwa wasn’t waking to the sun. He felt a gentle, persistent pouncing on his hips, a rhythmic up-and-down motion that was both arousing and confusing. His body, still half-asleep, felt the undeniable presence of his cock, warm and heavy, buried deep inside something. The sensation was a slow burn, pulling him from the depths of sleep.
He cracked one eye open, the world a blurry wash of light and color. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to what his body already knew. His wife, his love, was bouncing on his cock. She was wide awake, her head thrown back, her hair a wild, beautiful halo around her. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of pure, blissful concentration as she pleasured herself, her hips a slow, deliberate rhythm on his. The soft, breathless moans that escaped her lips were a symphony of desire, a sweet sound that was made even sweeter when she whimpered his name. A soft, groggy smile touched his lips. He let out a low chuckle, his voice thick with sleep.
“What a sight,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
You didn’t stop, your rhythm unbroken, your head still thrown back in ecstasy. He watched you, a slow fire building in his gut. You couldn’t get enough of him, not even in your sleep, and that thought was a potent aphrodisiac.
“Can’t get enough of me, yeah?” he added, the playful taunt a final nail in the coffin of his sleepiness.
He lifted his arms, his hands meeting your hips. With a quick, powerful thrust, he bucked upward, taking you by surprise. You gasped, your eyes flying open, the slow, unhurried rhythm of your pleasure shattered. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, his pace becoming a fast, relentless assault. He was a force of nature, a passionate storm that was going to consume you. Your moans turned into breathless cries, each one a desperate plea for a release that was coming too fast. He drove into you, again and again, his gaze locked on your face, a satisfied smile on his lips. He was the one in control now.
The sudden, powerful shift in pace stole the air from your lungs. Your moan turned into a strangled gasp as he drove into you, again and again, with a relentless, breathtaking force. The steady, self-controlled rhythm you had found was shattered, replaced by his powerful, demanding pace. Your back arched, your hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders, your legs numbing as you desperately balance yourself on him. He leaned in, his chest pressing against yours, his lips brushing against your ear.
“Mommy’s going to show you how it’s done, angel,” he growled, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “You came up here to get what you wanted, didn’t you? So don’t be shy.”
With a single, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body a heavy, welcome weight on top of yours. He pushed into you, each thrust a perfect, searing fire that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you. You could no longer form words. Your moans were a symphony of surrender, a desperate plea for more, and he answered them with a fierce, adoring intensity. The world was a blur of sensation. The soft sheets, the morning light, the feel of his skin against yours—it all melted into a single, overwhelming moment. The climax, when it came, was a powerful, shuddering storm. You cried out his name, your body a living testament to the sheer pleasure he had just unleashed. He held you tightly, his arms a strong, loving shield, his own body convulsing with his own release.
When the trembling finally lessened, he collapsed against you, his weight a heavy, comforting presence. He was still inside you, but the furious, demanding rhythm had given way to a slow, tender pulse. He kissed your forehead, then your temple, and then your eyelids, his lips lingering on your skin.
“See?” he murmured, his voice now soft and sleepy. “Told you. You couldn’t get enough of me.”
warnings: MDNI, not much smut but a lot of terrible angst
a/n: this part is rough, the argument at the end is pretty bad (please only read if you're in the right headspace <3)
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Present
It was finally Sunday morning, finally March. The frigid winter had given way to the normal desert spring; windy, chaotic, temperatures fluctuating day to day with such unpredictability that you never knew what clothes to bring with you to work. Some days the midnight walk back home was still frigid; others it was almost humid or close to hot.
You reached left to find San's leg beside you in bed, his glasses on as he read a book, having already eaten breakfast, hit the gym, and showered. Your sleep schedule was being messed with, having so many morning meetings for your musical; it was almost eleven, he informed you, when you'd asked what time it was. You were exhausted and elated, thinking back on the crazy week you'd had with Tina, having forgotten your anger at her as soon as your first rehearsal with your lead actress had begun. The two of you loved her, hit it off immediately; she was bright, punchy, exactly the sort of girl you were looking for. In the huge rehearsal room in the back of the Willow Theater, your wide-eyed dreams were coming true.
But you still had to work, as the advance of the manuscript wasn't set to come through for a few weeks, and even then, you weren't sure you'd lessen your hours at all. This was one lucky win, after all, and while you certainly hoped it would lead to more publications, more plays, more financial success, you knew how terribly unlikely that way. You found your week of work challenging, your body tired, but then a part of you loved it, too; you'd told all your coworkers about the musical, even your boss, and everyone was as tremendously excited as you were.
"I always find the stars, don't I," your boss Julie sighed, one hand on your shoulder and one on Tina's as she perused the dressing room and chatted with everyone. She'd been present more than ever since the huge and unexpected fight you'd helped break up, doing all she could to avoid that happening again. It was certainly bad press for the bar, the kind of news that traveled mouth to mouth, faster than in the newspapers. She didn't want the place devolving into the kind of bars that already existed down the street, the kind your regular customers came here to avoid.
The week had been full of adrenaline, of new experience and of old, and the mixture of familiarity and strangeness, the sheer amount of work you had done, was absolutely wrecking you.
"I'm fucking exhausted," you yawned next to him, slumping your head into his lap and curling into a ball under the covers.
"You can sleep more, it's early for you," he said, absentmindedly running a hand through your hair as he continued reading.
"I can't," you sighed, but tried anyway, closing down your eyes and sighing deeply, trying to calm your body.
It was getting harder, though, to be totally calm with him. After that strange moment last Monday when he'd said 'I love you' as he came, you couldn't stop waiting for the moment when he'd bring it up in conversation, when you'd have to face the reality that it did actually happen. You pushed yourself to forget about it entirely, but for some reason, you couldn't; there were so many other moments with him that had lost their luster in your memories, so much that had come and gone, that you'd maybe never remember again. You hoped you were only stuck on it because it had happened so recently; time would slowly wash it free from you, and you could go back to how things were, no longer thinking of the discomfort you felt.
But something told you it would never go away. It was nagging, and you knew it must be nagging at him too. Of course it was.
"I seriously can't," you sighed and pushed yourself up, the dull ache of slight sleep depravation greeting you. Your whole body felt like an old bike in need of fixing; joints cracked, your legs didn't move as they should, your muscles cramped from dehydration. San passed you a glass of water from his nightstand and you gulped at it, taking it all down in a few swallows. The scene felt domestic in its simplicity, the familiarity of his bedroom, the way he knew how thirsty you always were first thing in the morning. It was beginning to feel like a real relationship; there was ebb and flow, but there was also the steady knowledge that you were his, and he was yours, and this sort of ownership of each other was supposed to mean something.
But did it mean anything to you? You stared at him blankly a moment, before grabbing your phone from the night stand, opening it to a text from your twin.
[10:06am]: you're coming to visit soonish, right? I think next week would be a good time for me and mom still
"I gotta call my mom, I'm gonna go to the living room," you said, and San nodded and got up with you, walking to sit on the opposite side of the couch from where you'd sat yourself. You hadn't said it to invite him, but suddenly you felt like you couldn't tell him to leave. Couples shared everything, right? It wasn't strange at all for him to be here while you called one of your parents. You shot off your text to Micah quickly, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself.
[11:03am]: Yeah, I'm gonna call mom now
"Hey sweetie, how are you?" your mom answered, her voice sounding weak and drained.
"Hey, I'm good, I'm sorry I haven't called in a while. How are you doing? How's dad?" you replied, trying in earnest to maintain a positive tone.
The line hung silent for a moment as you heard clanking, your mom clearly in the middle of something.
"Sorry, there are so many dishes to do," she replied, sounding like she'd finally taken you off speaker phone. "Things are going around here, same as always."
"Dad's doing okay?"
"Well, as good as can be expected at this point, I guess."
"What do you mean, at this point?" you asked.
It had been a long time since you'd had such a frank conversation about this, and it was clear that your direct questions were making her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to this from you, from anyone; Micah only knew the extent of your Dad's condition due to her proximity and frequent visits, not due to your mom's openness. She'd never been open about your dad's situation, claiming it was what he'd asked of her from the day of diagnosis. She said his own sense of self couldn't handle it, that it was somewhat of an ego problem. A difficulty in accepting his true life, a wish to cover it up.
"It's just been a bit rough is all, it's been over twenty years now since everything, you know, started."
"But there never was a real time frame for it, was there?" San's eyes finally shot over at your question, no longer able to keep himself focused on his book.
"Well, they said because of how early it had started that they had no real way of knowing, but it's seemed recently that because of his symptoms he might be entering what could be officially diagnosed as late stage Parkinson's."
"Oh my god." Your breath left you, eyes going wide and body rigid as you tried to process what she'd just said. You'd never been close with him, that was the thing, never much cared for his personality if you were honest, but it was the disease, that's what he and your mom always said: the disease made him that way. Irritable, inconsistent, prone to putting down every single little thing you or Micah spoke about. How was that supposed to lead to a close, loving relationship? And yet those two words, late stage, made your heart drop.
"So-sorry," you stammered, "I don't know what to say, I wasn't expecting you to say that."
"It's alright honey, there's nothing really to say." Your mom was silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath.
"Well I called cause I wanted to ask if I could come visit next Sunday and Monday," you finally said.
"Oh that would be lovely, just the two days?" she asked. Her voice was immediately bright, but in a way that seemed a bit forced. Maybe it was because of the length of the visit; normally you stayed for longer, if you could, but now you had meetings and rehearsals at the theater, and you couldn't exactly take days off from this new venture.
"Yeah, I- you know that musical Tina and I had been working on? Well it got picked up by a theater here, and so we have rehearsals and meetings and stuff, I would stay longer but I've got a rehearsal Tuesday morning that I can't miss."
"Oh that's wonderful news! I- I can't believe it, I'm so excited for you! What theater is it?" Her voice was now more genuinely alive with excitement, sounding almost nothing like the woman who had answered the phone, and you wondered for a moment if sharing this was even a good thing, or if it would be like a slap in the face to both her and your dad, your success overshadowing the ever declining nature of his condition.
"The Willow-"
"Yes, I've heard of it! How exciting!"
You swallowed a lump in your throat. San was staring at you hard, reading in your tone and body language that you were anything but excited to be sharing this news or suggesting this trip. Why you felt that, he couldn't tell. He knew bits and pieces about your family, knew their names at least, knew that your dad had this serious disease that you seemed to never speak of or worry over. He figured at first that it was all in your head, but then he worried it wasn't there at all, that you simply ignored it so well that you didn't think of it most of the time.
He couldn't imagine being that way with his own family. Sure, none of them were sick, none of them were struggling, so he didn't really know in truth how he'd react. But even he kept his weekly calls with his mom, played games with his brother, maintained a bond while living half way across the world; if his parents lived as close as yours, he'd almost surely be there multiple weekends a month.
He had tried to keep this feeling at bay, for so long. Coming to the US had forced him to question his ways, lessen his tendency to judge; it was part of the reason he liked being here, that he'd stayed after college. It had made an obvious change in him, a change that he appreciated, one he felt made him a better person. Yet he couldn't stop himself from wondering about your own family bonds, questioning why he so rarely heard about them, why once when he looked at your phone over your shoulder he saw that you hadn't messaged your mom in nearly a month. He loved you, he was almost obsessed if he was honest with himself, but that was because of your art, your playfulness, your freedom and ambition. It was your face, your body, the way you were with him, the way you let him be possessive and forceful and give into his every desire...
But one day he wanted to settle down; yes that day would probably be far in the future, and as a man he could push it to no end, but even at twenty-seven he was thinking it.
Were you really the kind of girl he wanted to be with, longterm?
"Yeah, it's crazy," you sighed in response to your mom's excitement, not knowing how to feel. You really didn't need her approval, it was major success you craved, but you couldn't deny that it felt good to hear the joy in her. Maybe it was just that she'd spent so much of her life beaten down by work and taking care of your father; either way, her tone of voice was brightening your spirits a little. "So I can come next Sunday and Monday, right? That works for you guys?"
"Yes of course sweetie, I'm so excited you're coming. Oh! Do you still have that collection of Tony Hillerman books I gave you? I was wanting to read The Dark Wind again," she said.
"Oh I think so, I'll look for it later," you said, stifling a yawn.
"Are you not at home?" she asked.
"Oh- no."
"Are you at Tina's? I'd love to say hi, I haven't heard her voice in ages," she said, sighing wistfully.
"Oh, I'm not at Tina's," you said, bracing for the question you knew was coming.
"Where are you then?"
"I'm at my fr-" friend's place, it could have so easily slipped out, but San's stare was piercing and reminded you how utterly inaccurate that was. "Favorite male human's apartment," you finished your sentence, clunkily.
"What do you mean sweetie?" your mom chuckled. "Are you saying you have a boyfriend?"
"Uh, yes, I have a boyfriend," you sighed, wishing this hadn't come out this way, and not sure why you were wishing it.
"Oh darling, that's exciting news too! Your musical is being put on, a new boyfriend, oh you should bring him! If he can come, we'd love to meet him!" Her voice was now piercing in its brightness, so much that you pulled the phone away from your ear, enough that San could hear every word she'd said. He raised his eyebrows in amusement, his mouth curling up in a trepidatious smile. But your face stayed stony, your breaths quickening; this was one of those moments your mother was pretending everything was normal, everything was okay with your family. And it really never had been, not just because of your Dad's sickness, but because of mental health issues that ran through all of you, grandparents that had died in tragic ways, a whole string of strangeness that was passed down every generation and lead to the distance between you all now.
You didn't grow up in a culture that valued family, and you didn't grow up in a family who knew how to create that value for themselves.
"I'll have to see Mom, he works a normal job and everything, he might not be able," you sighed.
"Oh please do ask him though! Is he there, right now?"
You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration, knowing she would demand an answer now, in her own special way. It wouldn't be forceful, but it would play on the guilt you felt, the guilt you deserved to carry for having so abandoned them and sharing none of this shiny life you lived. That was the point, after all, of having children, wasn't it? To get to live through them in a sense, so see reflections of your own youth and growing pains in all that they went through, and be able to know that you reached a later stage in your story, and you were okay, and they would be okay, too. Even if nothing went to plan, even if they made millions of bumbling mistakes along the way, they would be okay.
"I'll ask him, give me a second," you said, muting the call and placing your phone down on the couch beside you.
"You wanna meet them?" you asked San immediately.
"You sure you want to go on this trip?"
"Don't, please," you whispered, shaking your head, your eyes squeezing shut again. "I promised Micah I'd go, I've barely been this last year, I'm a terrible fucking daughter and I know I need to go regardless of how I feel-"
"Why do you hate visiting so much?" he cut you off, eyebrows knit together in judgement. He couldn't help it.
"Because my family is dysfunctional as hell and it's depressing!"
"You don't think every family is that way?" he asked.
"Oh fuck off, you don't have a parent who has a severe chronic health condition, you have no idea how hard it is to watch someone wither away and fold in on themselves and watch someone else desperately abandon their life just to take care of them! You have no clue what I went through as a kid." Your words were sharp, biting, and there were no tears that accompanied them, only this fiery anger that made you suddenly uncomfortably warm.
"You've never told me about it," he said finally, softer.
"It's nothing I want to talk about," you said, sighing and staring at the phone beside you. "Do you want to come and meet them?"
"Do you want me to meet them?"
"It's- it's not that I don't want them to meet you, it's that- my family is strange, Sannie, I don't know how to explain it. It might be a really uncomfortable two days."
"Your mom sounds excited," he said, crossing his arms gently.
"She gets that way, I don't know," you shrugged.
"I'd love to meet them, if you want me to."
You sighed, nodding. "You can take the day off work?"
"I'm sure, it's no biggie." You stared at him, nothing behind your eyes. You hadn't planned for this possibility, hadn't even considered the chance that he'd be coming with you. As you thought about the train ride, about sleeping in your parent's living room, another body there sounded like possibly the worst addition to an already claustrophobic two days; how though, could you say that? With a quick sigh you picked up your phone again, unmuting the call.
"He can come Mom."
"Oh sweetie, that's great!" she said, completely full of excitement.
"Oh there you are!" You heard Micah's voice behind you, coming from inside the small station, echoing off the concrete walls through the open entryway. "I thought you guys would be waiting inside for me."
"Oh no, sorry," you chuckled, turning and meeting her open arms with your own, pulling her tight into a hug.
"How are you?" she asked into your hair, her voice muffled.
"I'm good, how are you?" you asked as you pulled away, staring into the face that was a reflection of your own. You were identical, scarily so, but now that you were older your hair and piercings and clothing told you apart easily. San, however, was struck by the similarity; it had been a long time since a new person in your life had met her, and as San looked between you both with a look of bewilderment, your twin chuckled.
"I'm good, is this San?" she asked turning to him, smiling in the very endearing way you always envied. You were positive you could never look so welcoming or trustworthy; it didn't really need to matter to you, but it always had. Micah was far better with people, she had to be for her work, and though you knew it wasn't true, you couldn't help feeling like she was a better person than you for it.
"Yes, it is," San answered, standing stiffer than you'd ever seen him and sticking his hand out with great formality. "It's very nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too," Micah replied, shaking his hand, and you chuckled at the interaction happening in front of you.
"What?" your twin asked, turning to you.
"You both are just being kinda funny right now, sorry," you replied with a smile.
"Well I've never met a partner of yours before, sorry," Micah laughed, rolling her eyes a bit before grabbing your arm and beginning to walk you in the direction of her car.
Easy small talk followed between all three of you, and in the short drive to your parent's apartment all was well, the air free of awkward pauses, the weather mild and pleasant as it welcomed you home. Micah parked one street down, the neighborhood never easy to park in as a guest. Most of the complexes had parking behind or beneath, but street parking was limited, the blocks small and narrow in this older part of the city.
"Mom's a bit wound up today, just so you know," Micah said as she punched in the code to the front door, pushing it open and holding it for you both. "She's all frazzled cause you guys are coming and she didn't feel like she had cleaned enough. I told her it was fine, but, you know." You nodded at her in complete understanding, knowing just what state your mother must currently be in. "Our place isn't exactly fancy, it's pretty small and shabby," Micah said to San, and there was a hint of shame in her voice that always accompanied your words too, when you spoke of your family.
"That's fine, I don't mind," San replied. His arm fell around your shoulder as you all entered the elevator, squeezing you to try and be reassuring. There was a marked stiffness to your body now that you'd entered this building, and your hand grasped the handle of your bag so hard your knuckles were almost turning white. He sat in an apprehensive calmness as the elevator rose, not sure why you were so nervous, and not sure if he should be, too.
"You're here! Oh sweetie, it's so good to see you!" Your mom threw her arms around you as soon as the door swung open, and Micah slipped in behind her, going to sit beside your dad in the living room. "And this must be San, how lovely to meet you young man," your mom sighed, reaching up to hug him too.
"Oh mom, I don't know if-" You watched in slight horror as he awkwardly hugged her, your mom seemingly unaware of just how strange this whole interaction might feel to him. You shot an apologetic look his way, but he only shrugged and smiled at you, covering his discomfort as well as he could.
"Come on in, I was just brewing some chamomile, do you like herbal tea San?"
"Uh, yes, yes I do," he said, nodding his head and bowing slightly, his muscle memory kicking in. He wanted to show your parents respect, wanted them to see what a good and upstanding man he was. But he wasn't entirely sure how to do that; he should have asked you further, he realized, what your parents were like, instead of assuming like he always did that it would be easy to figure them out on the spot.
"Hi Dad," you said as you made your way over, his wheelchair parked next to the couch Micah was sitting on, the two in the middle of some light conversation.
"Hey kid," he replied, reaching out a shaky hand towards yours, his muscles spasming involuntarily as you held onto it. This had happened before, you'd seen him shaky, but it was clearly much more severe now, his weakness showing through more obviously, and his desperation for escape from it, too. He never had been affectionate, not until his body started to fail him did he start reaching out his hand for a slight squeeze, and as you stared at his face all you saw was a weak old man, not a father with two young daughters, not someone who had a life and goals and everything else that keeps that sparkle alive in the eyes. It sent a chill through you, recognizing the pain in his hunched form, and the steely serene gaze he always wore that hid everything inside so well.
"This is my boyfriend, San," you said, tilting your head in the direction of San as he stepped up beside you.
"Hello, son, how are you?" your dad asked, not reaching out a hand this time, only nodding his head.
"I'm good, and you?" San asked, nodding too.
"I'm fine, I'm good," he replied, smiling for a second, before it fell. There was a tense quietness, only filled by your mother's rambling and fretting, and soon enough tea was served and then sandwiches for lunch, and your mom's chatter filled the empty air in a way the rest of you were thankful for.
She wanted to know everything; how work was, how Tina was, what was happening with the musical, with any other projects you were working on. You'd written another song for the bar recently; one that Bibi performed, one that had been meant for the musical but never quite fit anywhere. You'd slightly changed the lyrics for Bibi; both San and your twin looked shocked when you told them all, it not being something you'd shared with them yet.
It was hard to feel normal as the day wore on. You and San and your mom went for a short walk after lunch, to the nearby park you spent so many days as a kid, and the walking and being outside at least gave your mind something to cling to, other than the feeling of awkwardness that was following you endlessly. You somehow made it to dinner without saying many more words to anyone; you and San helped in the kitchen, and following your mom's orders came easily enough to you both.
"So, how long have you two been dating?" your mom asked once everyone had settled down, digging into the simple dinner of tacos and beans and calabacitas, a staple in your family for many years.
"Two months-" you said.
"About a-" San said, at the same time.
You both looked at each other, disappointment written all over San's face, your own stuck in stillness as the last thing you wanted was to show emotion around your family. About what? Was he about to say it had been a year, that the whole time you'd been seeing each other was dating? It was, you supposed, even if it had been casual. You kicked yourself internally for the answer that had so easily fallen off your lips, embarrassed in every way by it.
"Wow, you two already seem so comfortable with each other, like it had been much longer," you mom said, smiling. "Must be meant to be, if you're already so close."
You blinked your eyes at her, not quite registering if she was trying to imply anything by the statement.
"I know you're young, but if you ever need wedding planning advice-"
"Mom, jesus christ," you sighed, setting down your fork and putting your face in your hands.
"I'm not trying to push anything-"
"Mom, we're 23, I don't think she should be thinking about that right now," Micah piped up, jumping to your defense. "No offense San, I don't mean you wouldn't be a good person to marry, or anything like that. Just that we're quite young."
"Oh, yeah, no worries-"
"Hey I'm not trying to pressure you! You two just seem so good together, and how old are you San? Are you thinking about getting married soon?"
"Mom don't ask him that, you just met this morning," you groaned, trying to not fall into the anger that was bubbling up inside you.
"It's a fair thing to think about kid, your mother is only being rational," your dad finally added, speaking as firmly as he could.
"I don't even know if I ever want to get married, I've never even talked about it with you two! Where is this all coming from?!" you asked, tone sharper, anger evident.
"I wasn't trying trying to upset you, sweetie," your mom sighed, her throat taught with frustration. It was her sullen face you stared at, shaking your head in confusion and exasperation, before you finally drew your gaze over to San. His face was stony, his cheeks flushed slightly in the yellow light of the room; his eyes looked glassy, and you saw him blink away tears, and you looked in confusion at his reaction, unsure why he was so affected by what had just been said.
This argument was nothing out of the ordinary; it wasn't harsh or crazy, wasn't scary or nasty, it was just frustrating, confusing, another one of those moments where you felt like these people who had raised you really didn't know you at all. The rest of dinner passed in much more silence, Micah doing her best to make conversation, your mom falling back into it easily but still harboring that tension in her neck that your outburst had brought on. Your dad said no further words, and neither did you; San sat stoic, nodding along to the conversation in front of him and adding a 'yes' or 'mmhm' where it was needed. But everything felt dour, heavy, and you wished to run away tonight, wished that you were heading back home and didn't have to deal with another twenty-four hours of this same bullshit.
Your mom blew up an air mattress for Micah in the living room, and after a movie was watched, pajamas were changed into and teeth were brushed, everyone settled down for the night. Your parents retired to their room, and Micah slumped onto her mattress beside the couch, busy in her phone as she replied to messages. You and San laid on the couch in silence, cuddled up together as San also replied to his missed messages of the day. But you just stared at the wall in front of you, at the few pieces of art that had always decorated these walls, the color you'd been familiar with as long as you could remember.
It wasn't a comforting sight. And San's arms around you weren't comforting either, and you couldn't understand why, feeling like you really were just ill in the head and blowing everything out of proportion, way too fucking sensitive for your own good. You couldn't handle yourself when your mom asked a very predictable question, couldn't keep yourself from snapping in a way that had seemed to make San sad, or worried, or maybe just embarrassed that he was even with you. Your mind spun on that fact for minutes, and when he readjusted behind you, shutting off his phone and settling in for sleep, it felt like nothing but his body's attempt to push you away.
You followed that feeling; slumping onto the mattress you cuddled up beside your twin, taking the phone from her hand and turning it off for her. Things had been weird and tense for a while now, more than a year probably, but you couldn't remember exactly, and when you were together it never mattered. This was how you slept as kids; your heads beside each other, your left arm linked with her right arm, your breathing syncing to the pace of her's. San laid confused on the couch, staring into the openness of the room and feeling uncomfortable too, in his own way. He wasn't sure why you'd left, why you'd said you'd only been together two months, or why you'd blown up at your mother so severely over such a simple question. His own boss had been asking him that for months, and of course his parents always had; to him it seemed preposterous that the conversation had never come up between you and your parents, or that you'd have such a severe reaction when it did.
"You okay?" Micah whispered to you, her hand squeezing your arm where they met.
"Yeah," you sighed, the truth of how you felt evident in your tone.
"Things okay between you and that guy," she asked, voice still so low you could barely hear her.
"I think so, I don't know," you sighed again, frustrated that she could pick up on the tension so easily. You knew it wasn't because of some remarkable sensitivity she had; it was obvious how tense you and San had been since the dinner conversation, and you were unable to make yourself be normal with him no matter how embarrassing it all felt.
"Can I say something completely deranged and disgusting?" she whispered, already chuckling to herself.
"Okay," you smiled into the dark room, steeling yourself. She leaned in closer, her mouth a mere centimeter from your ear and her hand coming up to cover it. She spoke so lowly, you weren't positive you heard her right.
"Do you ever wonder if people wanna fuck both of us? You know that whole obsession with twins people have?"
You did your best not to burst into loud laughter, covering your mouth and stifling yourself into just the rapid breathing and silent chuckling you could manage. You pushed on her side, hard, jostling her around a bit as you bit your lip and struggled to stay quiet. She rarely said things so frank, but when she did it was always hilarious beyond words, making you unbelievably happy.
"You're insane," you whispered back, when you'd finally gotten ahold of yourself. "But yes I've thought that too, of course I have."
You both fell into another fit of silent giggles before they turned to deep yawns, and before you realized it you had fallen asleep, far earlier than you usually did.
You were all woken by your mother's frantic movements in the kitchen; something had happened with your dad in the night, you couldn't quite tell, but there was grumbling and fretting and an insistence that you all stay right where you were and get more sleep while she dealt with the situation.
You couldn't fall asleep again, that ability seeming to have slowly left you these past few weeks. You'd always been a pretty solid sleeper, always able to get more if you needed it after some random sound had woken you. Your roommates all had very different schedules from you, and you lived in a cramped and large apartment building in the middle of downtown, you were used to noise. But recently it was almost like your brain didn't want you to sleep. You felt like you always had to be on guard, waiting, read to pounce; like there was some sort of simmering disaster that you always needed to be prepared for.
The day was strange, and you decided to leave earlier than planned, right after lunch, and show San around your elementary school campus instead of spend any more time in your parent's place. Goodbyes were quick, but sweet; you were proud of yourself for at least coming, even if the visit hadn't quite gone so well. There was clearly something else happening with your dad, and you couldn't help feeling frustrated at your mom for practically insisting San came too, for if your dad had some sort of medical issue he found embarrassing, having a stranger in the house would only have made it that much worse, you were sure.
But leaving the house didn't alleviate the stress you could feel on San. You walked hand in hand around the playground you'd spent so many hours on, but his hand felt cold in yours, and his grip weak; you felt like you were dragging conversation out of him, like he really had no desire to be with you at all.
"Do you want to go to the train station?" you asked.
"Our train doesn't leave for three more hours though, right?" he replied, eyes forward.
"There might be an earlier one we can catch," you said, staring at him. He was silent, his head not moving, almost as if he hadn't heard you. "You clearly don't want to be here anymore, I just thought maybe you'd like to go home."
Again, he didn't move. Your heart rate quickened, your insides like molten lava as they rolled in anxiety. There was something horrible about this posture he had; one of the worst traits of his masculinity, that ability to go completely emotionless when he wanted to, to cut anyone out who was trying to see in. But he'd never done this with you before, he'd never needed to. And you could feel the significance of it, shaking you right to the depths of your soul. You didn't have the bandwidth to deal with this; the two days with your family had already stressed you enough, and tomorrow you had an early rehearsal, an important one, and needed to be in the right headspace for.
"Let's go," he finally said, standing up and picking up both of your bags, not giving you a hand to hold onto. You followed him without saying a word, then led the way back through your parent's neighborhood, down the street that led to the station.
"It's like a twenty minute walk, I can take my bag," you said, slowing down and sticking out your hand.
"No, I'll carry it," he said, his face and tone detached, as he barreled past you. You stood, tears forming in your eyes as you watched his quick, sharp steps, knowing another terrible fight was coming, and not knowing how to stop it. At the end of the block he finally turned around, and seeing your crossed arms and still legs, gave you a patronizing look of distain. You stood still for a moment, staring each other down half a block away, before you finally found your legs again and walked past him, not saying a word all the way to the station, walking ahead as fast as you could and not caring if he was having trouble keeping track of you.
Near the station it was packed, but you both managed to find your way through to your platform, sitting in silence on a bench just inside the entryway. There was no earlier train for you to catch, so instead you went and grabbed some chicken tenders and fries from the chicken shop down the street and sat in silence eating, not even enjoying the fried food.
On the train, you were silent too; San stowed your bags, and he grabbed them down too and carried them to his place, and the two of you found yourself in his apartment almost as if accidentally, confused and tired and utterly drained.
"Talk to me," you said, standing by his front door with crossed arms, adrenaline wracking through you.
"I'm pissed," he grumbled.
"Yeah, I can tell," you snapped, glued to your spot.
"Don't get that way," he sighed, tossing your bags in his room, slipping of his shoes and walking your way to put them in his front closet.
"Tell me what the hell is going on then," you said, trying to calm yourself. "You obviously hated the trip, and I- I don't know, I said something that upset you, my family said something? It- I- you didn't have to come, I told you it would be weird-"
"It was no biggie-"
"It wasn't! Oh my fucking god, will you stop fucking saying that every time you do something for somebody else! It's not no big deal, you hate it but you do it anyway! Just fucking say that it's awful, god, stop fucking lying!!"
"Stop yelling," he muttered, walking from you to the kitchen to start making himself a cup of tea.
"TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE FUCKING THINKING!!" you screamed, arms stretched out wide in desperation.
"I really fucking hate you sometimes," he snapped, his back to you, hands gripping the edge of the counter in front of him.
"Oh, okay," you squeaked, the tears coming fast, wracking through you along with the worst panic you'd felt in a while, making your body shudder.
"You- no, you don't want to hear this- I- this needs to be said another time, not tonight, you need to go home-"
"Just fucking say it now, I'm not leaving till you've said it," you snapped.
"I'm- I can't believe you told them we've been dating two months!" he yelled, turning to you, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest in a unconscious show of strength and determination. "We've been seeing each other for more than a year, and I've taken you on a trip with me for god's sake, and it's such a slap in the face to be sitting there in front of your parents and have you downplaying the significance of this relationship, and then to say you don't even want to get married someday? And that you've never spoken about it with them, I mean what sort of things do you guys even talk about? How are you their child and you've never discussed such important thing-"
"Just because I don't treat my parents like you treat yours, doesn't mean I'm an asshole!" you screamed, wiping furiously at the tears racing down your cheeks.
"But what about how I feel, do you ever fucking think about how it makes me look? My girlfriend doesn't even want to get married someday? Why am I even dating her then?!"
"Are you out of your mind, what the hell are you saying right now?!" you cried, utterly perplexed by this line of questioning pouring out of him.
"I want to get married someday, I want to find a partner for life, I- I'm not just dating to fuck around and mess with someone else's feelings-"
"You think that's why I'm dating you, just to torture you!?"
"Feels like it-"
"Fuck you, fuck you for putting all of your judgements on me, I've never wanted to get married or have kids and that's my fucking right! And if you really thought I'd want those things, you are incredibly fucking stupid. I asked for this to be casual from the start! And you fucking agreed to it, why did you agree to it, why, Sannie, why?! IF YOU DIDN'T WANT THIS SORT OF RELATIONSHIP YOU SHOULD HAVE FUCKING LEFT ME ALONE!"
Finally your sobs were full body heaves, and you crumpled to the ground and held your head in your hands, crying into your palms and making your whole face wet.
"Stop, just stop, please," San said, tears springing in his eyes as he took in the reality of the scene in front of him. He had hoped coming back home would make things feel more normal again; he had hoped the striking anger and resentment he felt was a product of being in such cramped quarters with your family, and absorbing the dysfunctional air of you all. But now it was clear that his resentment was strong, and staying with him, and wasn't going away. And your screaming, your words, were doing nothing but watering the earth it grew upon.
You tried in vain to stop the tears. But there was nothing that could stop this sort of breakdown; you sobbed and sobbed, almost forgetting where you were, the cold hard ground feeling welcoming in it's stability.
"Why did you lead me on for so long if you never really wanted something serious with me?" His voice was closer, he had moved to standing against he wall beside you, but he did lean down, didn't comfort you, as much as his physical body willed him to. His brain was too powerful in this moment, and he was finally seeing everything more clearly; he'd let a physical and spiritual connection with you overpower his rational mind this whole time, and it had gotten him nowhere but this sick, sad moment.
"Cause I'm a terrible person, San, don't you get it?! I abandoned my poor sick dad, abandoned my mom who has to take care of him and my twin who has to take care of her, I came out here to the city and I spend my days dancing on a fucking stage and writing and doing dumb shit with my friends and with you and never calling, never texting, locking them out and pretending like my life is fine and normal while they all suffer over there, and I don't give a fuck about them, I don't think about them, all the bullshit of living in a one bedroom apartment with four people and a disabled father-"
"No, stop it," he snapped, mentally exhausted by your hard-to-follow tirade, and emotionally overwhelmed by the state of you crumpled on his floor.
"I'm just answering your question," you squeaked, finally pushing yourself up and looking at him with bloodshot eyes and a terribly flushed face.
"No, you're doing what you always do, making me feel bad for you so that I won't say what I need to say," he spat. "You always fucking do this, you always pity yourself and make it about you and pretend like you're this terrible person who just can't help doing the shit she does. You have complete control over yourself, you're a fucking adult, and you choose to be this way, and that's wrong, and I'm so fucking done with dealing with it." Tears continued to fall as you stared at him, utterly disturbed by the severe and angry man before you. "You- you have fucked me over so completely this last year, god, every single one of my friends and my brother told me I was wrong about you and I kept fucking believing that they were wrong because I loved you!"
His voice had quickly spiked to a scary volume, and you flinched in reaction, terrified by the dark look in his eyes, eyes that were now trained on you, filling with tears and despair.
"I fucking loved you from the day I met you and I did so much for you and you just shit all over me!"
"San." Your voice was pleading and pathetic.
"Get the fuck out of here, I don't want to see you right now," he snapped, walking quickly to his room and grabbing your bag, plunking down beside you without an ounce of care or tenderness.
"But Sannie, please let me-"
"No, I'm over this shit, I have work in the morning and I skipped my call with mom and my gaming night with Jongho to go on this trip with you and you couldn't even cuddle with me when we slept, you're fucking cruel, you know that? You won't even fucking tell me that you love me! I've thrown my life away for you and you've given me nothing!"
He spat the last word with such venom that you swore you felt your heart crack, the soft interior bleeding out from the damage. Shakily you stood, grabbing your bag from beside you and walking the few steps to his door quickly, opening it and then slamming it shut once you were outside. You were determined not to cry any longer in his presence, even in his building, on the off chance that he could still hear you through the walls. In the reflection of the elevator doors you took in your puffy eyes and swollen lips, and wiped all the remaining snot and tears away as best as you could. The elevator was uncharateristically empty, but once you reached the lobby it seemed like everyone had just hit the gym after work, the room swimming with people grabbing water from the water station and making small chatter. The man at the front desk looked up and nodded at you, before catching the state of your appearance, and looking concerned. You smiled in a way you hoped assuaged him, making quickly for the front doors.
You needed the comfort of your own space, needed to be where no one could judge you, see you, comment on your appearance. The sobs wanted to come again, being outside and exposed to the sounds of the street and the feeling of the air was unravelling the quick knot you'd put around your breaking heart, and soon you couldn't stop the tears, your legs growing ever weaker as you tried to push on and avoid looking pathetic to anyone who passed.
A huge group of people were up ahead, and suddenly you couldn't face them, couldn't deal with another moment of this horrible feeling and no one around you to help. You ducked down a random side street, realizing it was an alley; dumpsters and the back entrances of business greeted you, a man further down the way reaching for a doorknob and jostling it. He spotted you and took off running, grabbing the loose waist of his pants to keep them from falling and leaving you alone in the unkempt gravel road, sounds from the perpendicular busy streets pouring in gently.
You collapsed to the ground, back against a dumpster as you reached for your phone.
"Hey, hey," she answered.
"Titi," you managed, your voice breaking.
"What's wrong, are you okay?" she asked immediately.
also, y/n is just so damn evil man. she exists in a state of perpetual victimhood. she knows she's cruel, she knows she needs help, but doesn't wanna be held accountable nor take the steps to better herself. instead she just sucks san into the abyss that is her life.
good for san tho, about time my boy put his foot down 👏🏽
summary : You're the soft, innocent girl who only ever had one vanilla experience—with no idea what real filth could feel like. That is, until you end up rooming with your best friend’s older brother, Mingi. A pervert with a teasing mouth and no self-restraint when it comes to your cute sleep dresses and breathy little moans. He takes it slow, then ruins you completely—making you beg, cry, squirt, and ride him until you’re too dumb to think. But he still makes you breakfast after, calling you his princess in between filthy whispers.
genre : smut
warning(s) : Slight somnophilia vibes (consensual, implied history), Innocent but perverted reader, Best friend’s older brother, Roommate AU, Pussy slapping / squirting, Spanking (lots of it), Orgasm denial + overstimulation, Crying during sex (pleasure), Dirty talk / praise / teasing, Light dumbification, Reader wears cute sleep dresses, Mutual pining masked as lust, Fluffy aftercare with continued filth. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : This might be the last fic I uploaded this month, or maybe I'm gonna take some rest for a while😮💨
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut🪐
It wasn’t the first night you walked into the shared kitchen in one of your tiny little sleep dresses—but this one had lace trim that swayed with every step and straps thin enough to slip off your shoulder. You weren’t even trying to be sexy. That was the worst part. You were just… comfortable.
And Mingi was already sitting at the counter, hoodie pulled halfway down his arms, curls messy from sleep. His eyes trailed up from your bare legs to the way the fabric clung to your hips. Silent. But you felt him staring.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, padding across the tile barefoot, opening the fridge for a water bottle.
“Not really,” his voice came low. Rough. “You?”
You shrugged, turning around to face him, and leaned back against the fridge—completely unaware of how the thin fabric stretched across your chest. “Kinda warm tonight.”
Mingi didn’t say anything at first. He just kept looking at you, jaw ticking like he was holding something back.
It’d been two months since you moved in. Your best friend’s brother had offered the extra room when you said you needed a place. You trusted him. You knew he was older, a bit… different from the boys you’d dated before, but he never did anything to make you uncomfortable.
Until lately.
Lately, he lingered.
Watched.
“You always wear stuff like that to bed?” he finally asked, voice lower now.
You blinked. “Huh?”
“That little dress.” His eyes dropped to your thighs, where the hem rested dangerously high. “You walk around in that, knowing I’m home?”
You laughed a little. Nervous. “It’s not that short…”
Mingi stood up slowly, towering. The way he walked around the counter felt too quiet, too smooth, until he was right in front of you—so close you had to tilt your chin up just to keep eye contact.
“You’re either real clueless,” he murmured, reaching one hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “or you want me to stare.”
Your breath hitched. “Mingi…”
He smiled—lazy, dark, dangerous. “You ever been fucked right?”
You froze.
Your voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ve… only been with one guy. It wasn’t like that.”
Mingi groaned. “Figures.” He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Bet you’ve never had someone stretch this cute little pussy open, make you cry, huh?”
Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t answer.
“You’d let me ruin you?” he muttered, voice thick. “Make you drool all over this kitchen counter?”
That was it. That was the moment something snapped. You nodded—tiny, trembling—and whispered:
“...Please.”
Mingi didn’t wait for you to say more. The second that quiet please left your lips, his hand was on your waist, dragging you flush against him like he’d been holding back for too long. You gasped when you felt how hard he already was—thick and pressed against your stomach through his sweats.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
It wasn’t soft or shy or sweet like your ex used to kiss. Mingi kissed like he wanted to eat every breath from your lungs. Tongue in your mouth, lips moving against yours with filthy hunger, like he needed to claim you before you could change your mind.
Your little whimper was swallowed by his mouth.
He gripped your hips, pulling you closer until your thin sleep dress rode higher up your thighs. His hands were so big—touching too much, yet not enough. One slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric, and he groaned into your mouth. “Fuck… you’ve been hiding this from me all this time?”
“I didn’t know you looked at me like that,” you mumbled breathlessly between kisses, hands fisting into his hoodie.
He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, pupils blown wide. “I’ve been looking at you every fucking night, bunny. You walking around in these tiny little dresses, all innocent and sweet, acting like you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to me.”
You whimpered at the pet name—bunny—and it only made him grin darker.
“Not gonna fuck you for the first time in the kitchen,” he muttered, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward the hallway. “Not when I’ve waited this long. My room. Now.”
You followed, dizzy and needy, barely noticing how your thighs brushed together with every step.
His room smelled like him—clean laundry and something warm, masculine. It was bigger than yours by far, and the bed looked like it could swallow you whole. He didn’t even turn on the light—just kicked the door shut and pushed you gently until you fell back onto the mattress.
You sat there, wide-eyed and flushed, legs folded under you.
Mingi’s hoodie was already coming off, revealing bare skin and toned arms as he stepped closer. “Take it off,” he ordered softly, nodding at your sleep dress. “Wanna see all of you.”
Your fingers trembled a little as you reached for the straps, slowly pulling them down one by one. The fabric slid down your chest… then over your waist… pooling around your hips before you pulled it off completely.
You sat there naked, knees pressed together, heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it.
Mingi’s gaze dragged over you—slow, heavy, drinking in everything. “Fuck, baby… you’re gonna be the death of me.”
He dropped to his knees between your legs and pushed them apart gently, licking his lips.
“You ever been eaten out, sweetheart?”
You shook your head, shy. “No…”
His grin was wicked. “Good. You’ll remember your first.”
“Lie back for me,” Mingi murmured, guiding your shoulders until you were sprawled across his sheets—legs parted, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths.
He kissed up the inside of your thigh first. Slow. Teasing. You whimpered when his nose brushed close to where you were already wet, and he groaned low in his throat.
“Shit… you’re already dripping.”
Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as his breath ghosted over your folds. And then—his tongue. One long, slow lick up your slit that had your hips jerking off the bed.
“Oh—Mingi—!”
“Yeah, baby?” he mumbled against your pussy, voice already wrecked. “Sensitive little thing, huh? Gonna cry just from my mouth?”
You shook your head, biting your lip, but the way your thighs trembled said otherwise.
Mingi didn’t tease for long. He licked you open and flat-out devoured you—his tongue dragging through every inch of you, dipping into your hole, circling your clit until your back arched off the bed. His grip on your thighs kept you spread, even as you twisted, even when you whimpered, “Mingi, I— I think I’m gonna—!”
He didn’t stop.
He growled into you, “Give it to me, bunny. Wanna taste how cute you cum.”
Your thighs shook. Your stomach tensed. And just as you hit the edge, his tongue flattened against your clit—and then slap—
His palm smacked against your dripping pussy. Just once. Light. Experimental.
You screamed.
Not from pain. From how violently your orgasm hit. It tore through you in messy, uncontrollable waves—and then you felt it. That hot rush, the release, the wet spray that soaked his mouth and chin and dripped down your thighs.
“Oh—oh my God—!”
You were trembling, toes curled, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white.
Mingi pulled back just enough to see the mess—lips wet, eyes blown out with shock and arousal. “Fuck, baby… you just squirted.”
You were still catching your breath, wide-eyed and teary, lips parted. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
He laughed. Dark. Proud. “Don’t apologize.” He leaned up, licking your slick from his fingers. “I’m making you do that again.”
Still trembling from the mess he’d pulled out of you, you tried to close your legs—but Mingi’s grip was firm.
“Ah, ah. Not done yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravelly and way too calm for someone who just got squirted on. “Still so sensitive... what, already crying?” he cooed as his fingers brushed your soaked clit.
You whimpered, legs kicking at the overwhelming touch. “I-It’s too much, Mingi—!”
But he just grinned, licking his lips. “Mm… I think you can give me one more. You got another one in this pretty pussy, right?”
You were too dazed to answer, and that only made him laugh—low and dark.
Then came his fingers. Two of them, thick and slow, sliding into you while his thumb pressed on your clit. He watched you with hungry eyes as your back arched again, moaning out broken little gasps.
And when you got close—that sweet, tense twist in your belly coming back—he stopped.
Pulled his hand back entirely.
You blinked in confusion, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a soft whine. “W-Why’d you stop…”
Mingi leaned down, nose brushing yours, smirking. “You think I’m gonna let you cum that easy, bunny? After that messy little squirt? Nah. I wanna watch you fall apart first.”
You squirmed under him, legs rubbing together for friction, whining softly as he started teasing again—light flicks over your clit with the very tip of his tongue.
Then fingers. Just pressing at your entrance, not pushing in.
You were twitching, gasping. “Please, Mingi, wanna cum… I wanna—wanna feel it again…”
He let out a low hum, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Such a needy little baby. One good orgasm and now you can’t even speak right?”
“Mingi—please!”
He slapped your pussy again. Sharp. Hot. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make your whole body jolt.
“Say it better, sweetheart. Use your words. What do you want?”
You sniffled, eyes glassy. “Wanna cum… wanna feel your fingers, your tongue, anything— please, Mingi, I’ll be good—”
“Shit.” He sucked a breath through his teeth, finally sliding two fingers in again, pumping hard. “You’re too fucking cute when you beg.”
This time—he let you cum.
And you screamed, all messy and twitching, a moaning little thing with your back off the bed and your thighs trembling around his head. You sobbed through it, babbling nonsense, fingers gripping the sheets as your slick dripped down his wrist.
But Mingi didn’t stop.
He kept going.
Sloppy thrusts. No rhythm. Just filthy, greedy, overstimulating pleasure while you whimpered, “T-Too much—gonna break, Mingi—ah, ah—!”
“Oh, baby…” he groaned, tongue dragging up your soaked folds one more time. “You’re already broken.”
He’d barely given you time to catch your breath before pulling you into his lap—legs trembling, lips parted with a dazed little pout as you straddled his hips.
“C’mere, baby,” Mingi said, voice low and wrecked, “Wanna see you ride this cock. Wanna watch those pretty tits bounce while I ruin that dumb little head of yours.”
Your hands pressed against his chest for balance, thighs already shaky as you lined yourself up—his cock thick and heavy against your folds. He didn’t even help. Just laid back with that smug, perverted smirk on his face like he had all the time in the world.
“You gonna do it all by yourself, sweetheart?” he teased, thumb brushing your lip. “Show me how bad you want it.”
You whimpered, biting down on his thumb, and slowly sank down.
“Oh fuck—”
Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry as he filled you up, inch by inch, stretching you so deep it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes fluttered shut, the burn so good, the pressure perfect—and when you finally sat flush against his hips, you were already shaking.
Mingi hissed through his teeth, staring up at you with that hungry look. “Shit, baby, look at you—taking all of me like that… Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”
You whimpered, hips rolling instinctively. “Mingi… s’too big…”
He grabbed your waist, dragging you up just enough before letting you drop back down. “Nah, baby. You’re made for this. For me. Show me how you fuck.”
So you moved.
Bounced.
Slow at first, thighs burning from the stretch, your tits jiggling with every drop. And Mingi? He looked feral. One hand behind his head, the other lazily cupping your breast, watching it bounce with a low groan.
“Fuck… fuck, look at you,” he growled, thrusting up once to meet you and make you yelp. “Look how cute you are—riding my cock like it’s the only thing that matters.”
You cried out, little sobs slipping past your lips as you bounced harder, sloppier, the sounds of your slick echoing in the room.
“Am I makin’ you dumb, bunny?” he grinned, pulling on your waist to make you slam down harder. “You’re mumblin’ again…”
“I—ahh—feels s’good, Mingi, too good—dizzy—!”
“Yeah? You gonna cum on this cock?” he grunted, thrusting up to meet you again, fast and deep. “Gonna soak me like a filthy little slut?”
You nodded frantically, sobbing now, fingers clawing at his chest. “Please—please, wanna cum, please, please—!”
“Then cum.”
He sat up, mouth sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as you shattered—screaming, spasming around him, thighs locking up as you came so hard your whole body convulsed. Mingi groaned, holding you down on his cock, watching you lose your mind on top of him.
“Shit… You’re my favorite fucking toy now.”
Your thighs were quaking, tears running down your flushed cheeks, but you didn’t stop riding him. Not even when your head dropped back and your voice cracked from all the soft, incoherent sobs spilling out of your lips.
“S-s’too much—Mingi, f-fuck—can’t—!”
“Oh, but you can, baby.” His voice was wrecked with hunger, obsessed with the way you looked losing your mind on his cock. “You’re so cute when you cry like this. Makes me wanna keep you stuffed and full forever.”
He grabbed both of your tits, squeezing them roughly as he thrusted up into you hard enough to make you scream.
You sobbed, nails digging into his chest, your thighs trembling violently as the pleasure got too sharp, too deep, but he wasn’t letting up.
“Mingi—! Gonna cum again—!”
He grinned, lazy and smug. “Yeah? Show me.”
You came with a sob, body locking up as you spasmed around him, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you collapsed forward on his chest.
But he wasn’t done.
Not even close.
“Turn around.”
Your hazy, tear-streaked eyes blinked at him. “H-huh?”
Mingi didn’t wait—he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so your ass was in the air, your face buried in the mattress. You were so sensitive, so wrecked, and you felt him line back up without missing a beat.
Then—
SMACK!
You yelped.
“God, this ass is too fucking perfect,” he groaned, giving your cheek another hard slap. “Could stare at it all day.”
“M-Mingi—!”
SMACK!
“Say thank you.”
You whined, face burning. “T-thank you…”
“That’s my girl.” He slammed into you without mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust.
Your scream was muffled by the sheets, fists grabbing at the blankets as he pounded into you from behind—relentless, filthy, insatiable.
He grabbed your hair, yanking your head up. “Let me hear you beg again. C’mon, say you love this cock.”
You hiccupped on a moan, body trembling like crazy. “L-love it—love your cock, Mingi—please, more, please!”
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, thrusting faster, the sound of your skin slapping echoing in the room. “I’m gonna make you squirt again. Gonna spank you while you cry on my dick.”
SMACK!
You screamed.
SMACK!
Tears spilled down again, body burning from both pleasure and pain as you felt yourself losing it all over again.
“I—I’m gonna—!”
“Do it. Squirt for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”
You cried out, body convulsing as you exploded, the gush of your release soaking his cock and thighs as you collapsed forward, babbling nothing but broken moans and needy whines.
And Mingi? He kept fucking you through it, whispering filthy things in your ear while he used your soft, fucked-out body like it was his personal toy.
Your legs gave out underneath you, dropping you in a trembling, sticky heap on the bed. Your thighs glistened with slick and spit, your chest rising and falling as soft hiccupy sobs slipped from your lips. Mingi had just pulled out, thick and hard and soaked in everything you’d given him—again.
But he hadn’t finished.
Not yet.
You peeked up at him through heavy lashes, eyes glassy and lips glossy with drool, a faint little whimper catching in your throat. Your body ached, pussy twitching with need, and your brain was too fogged up to think straight—but the emptiness was too much.
“M-Mingi…” Your voice cracked.
He stood at the edge of the bed, stroking himself slowly, watching you fall apart with a low, smug chuckle. “Look at you,” he teased. “Cute little thing, still crying. Didn’t I just make you squirt all over me?”
You shook your head, sniffled, and crawled to the edge of the bed on shaky hands and knees. “I-it’s not enough…” you whimpered, blinking up at him with big watery eyes.
“Oh?” He tilted his head. “You still want more, baby?”
You nodded, sniffling again, reaching out with both hands to grab at his thighs, pressing your cheek against the base of his cock like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Please… please cum inside me… I w-want it so bad, Mingi, want you to ruin me…”
He groaned, grip tightening around his shaft.
“Been so good, haven’t I?” you mumbled, voice all cracked and wet and soft. “Let you use me however you wanted… I d-did everything—so please, fill me up…”
Tears ran down your flushed cheeks as your voice dropped even more—sweet and whiny and broken. “Don’t wanna be empty anymore…”
“Fuck—” He hissed through his teeth, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at you, trembling and begging and so fucking perfect.
He grabbed you, hard, lifting you up with ease and laying you on your back again, legs spread wide and shaking. “You wanna be full, baby?” he growled, lining himself up. “I’ll make sure you never feel empty again.”
You gasped when he slammed back inside you, and a sob broke out of your throat.
“Th-thank you—thank you, Mingi—!”
He groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pounding into you with feverish need, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other held your hip steady. “Crying while you thank me? Shit, baby, you’re gonna kill me…”
You were blabbering now, voice high and pitchy, clinging to his back as he drove you into the mattress. “Feels so good—so deep—Mingi, I’m gonna break—!”
“You’re already broken, sweetheart.” He kissed your temple, whispering like a lover even as he fucked you like a demon. “And you’re so fucking cute like this. So desperate, so messy, all mine right now…”
And when he finally came—hard, with a deep groan and his face buried in your neck—you cried out again, feeling the heat flood your core, your hands clawing at him as your body twitched through the aftershocks.
Still gasping, still trembling, still mumbling barely-there thank-yous.
And Mingi just held you, sweaty and breathless, as if he was never letting you go.
You didn’t even realize you were still leaking around him until he shifted his hips, still buried deep in your swollen, overstretched walls. Mingi’s hand rubbed soothing circles into your back, his lips brushing over your forehead in soft little kisses. You felt so warm—so full—your breath slowing, your heartbeat steadying under the weight of his body.
But his cock was still inside you.
Still thick, twitching every now and then.
And he was hardening again.
You mumbled something incoherent, more like a dreamy hum than actual words, nuzzling into his neck.
“…You awake, baby?” Mingi whispered, voice hoarse, raspy with exhaustion.
You nodded sleepily, cheeks sticky with dried tears and your thighs aching deliciously. “Mmhm… still inside…”
“Still warm,” he groaned, grinding his hips just enough to feel your pussy clench. “Fuck… you’re hugging me so tight, baby. You gonna let me use you one more time?”
A sleepy whimper slipped out, and your fingers curled into his back. “T-too much…”
“Just one more,” he murmured, voice sweet but filthy. “You’re already so full, might as well keep stuffing you, yeah?”
He rolled his hips again, deeper this time, and you gasped—tired, overstimulated, but already soaking all over again. “Mingi… I can’t—”
“You can,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple. “You’re doing so good, baby. So pretty, even when you’re crying… my cute little roommate.”
He slowly started thrusting, every movement gentle but deep, dragging out the squelch of his cum between your legs with each slow stroke.
You whimpered, head tilting back, your legs falling open for him like instinct. “Ngh… f-feels good…”
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Just let me fuck you through it, baby. Let me feel your cute little pussy milk me dry.”
You moaned louder this time, slurred words spilling from your lips in breathy little gasps. “So deep—Mingi, y-you’re still so big, why’s it still so big…”
He chuckled softly, eyes dark as he stared down at your fucked-out face. “Because you’re too cute, baby. Can’t help myself…”
He kept going, slow and thick and messy, not even bothering to pull out as his cum dripped down between your cheeks, mixing with your slick and his spit. You blinked up at him, dazed and broken and glowing all at once.
And when he finally came again with a quiet, shuddering groan, you whimpered at the warmth flooding you for the second time.
“…Mingi…” you breathed out, nearly incoherent. “Y-you’re gonna break me…”
“You’re already broken, sweetheart,” he murmured, laying soft kisses along your collarbone as he rutted lazily into you a few more times before stilling.
“But fuck, baby… I’ve never seen anything as pretty as you falling apart.”
The sunlight was barely peeking through the blinds when you stirred, your legs twitching from the dull ache between them. You were wrapped up in warmth—Mingi's chest against your back, his heavy arm draped around your waist, and his cock still lazily nestled against your ass, soft but twitching with every slow breath.
“Mingi…” you whispered sleepily, voice hoarse and sweet.
He groaned low, nuzzling into your neck. “Morning already?”
You giggled softly, your body sore in all the right places. “My thighs hurt…”
He kissed your shoulder. “Good. That means I fucked you right.”
You turned your face toward him, cheeks hot, eyes still puffy from last night’s cute little crying fits. “Pervert.”
“Your pervert.” He smirked, biting playfully at your earlobe. “And you loved it.”
You hummed. “I did…”
There was a beat of silence, and then you sighed. “But I’m sticky. We’re gross.”
“Guess we should clean up, huh?” he whispered, voice already heavy with mischief.
Before you could protest, he rolled you both out of bed and scooped you up bridal-style, your sleep dress barely hanging on your shoulders. You squealed, arms flying around his neck.
“Mingi—!”
“I said we’re showering. Gotta make sure my baby is squeaky clean.”
He kicked the bathroom door open and sat you on the cold counter, standing between your legs with his hands on your bare thighs. He just stared at you for a second—at the messed-up lace, the little bruises, the faint red handprints he’d left behind.
And then, “You gonna let me clean you with my tongue again, baby?”
You blinked at him, lips parting.
“…You’re hopeless.”
But when you opened your legs for him again, you both knew you didn’t mean it.
Mingi turned the shower on, steam curling into the room as the water heated up. While it warmed, he leaned down and kissed you—slow and deep, his tongue lazily exploring your mouth while his big hands slid under your sleep dress, dragging it up and off your body.
“Still so cute even when you’re wrecked,” he murmured, voice low and thick with sleep and lust. “Wanna fuck you all over again.”
Your body twitched at his words, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I’m still sore…”
“I’ll be gentle,” he said—though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.
He picked you up again and stepped into the shower with you, water cascading over both your bodies, his arms strong and steady around you. You let out a shaky breath as the warmth soothed your aching muscles, but your comfort didn’t last long.
Mingi pinned your back to the slick wall tiles, water running down his broad shoulders as he grabbed your thighs and hoisted them around his waist. His cock was already hard again, flushed and throbbing against your core.
“Y-you said gentle,” you mumbled, flushed and wide-eyed.
“I said I’ll try,” he corrected, smirking. “But you’re too damn addicting, baby. Can’t help it.”
You whined as he rubbed his cockhead along your folds, spreading his cum and your slick from the night before. “Mingi… I—”
“You’re always so wet for me,” he groaned. “Still leaking, baby? God, look at you…”
He pushed in slow—just the tip—and your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parting in a soft moan as your head thunked back against the tile. The heat of the water, the steam, his body against yours—it was all too much and not enough.
“F-fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, gripping your thighs tighter. “Even after everything I did last night…”
You gasped as he slid in deeper, your arms locking around his neck. “M-Mingi… ah—nghh—s-still sore…”
“I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing your cheek. “But you can take it. You always do. My good girl.”
His hips began to move, slowly at first—just enough for you to feel the stretch all over again. You whimpered into his shoulder, legs trembling, but your pussy clenched around him greedily.
“Making those cute noises again…” he muttered, voice almost desperate. “Say something for me, baby.”
“F-feels good,” you managed, your voice slurred, high and breathy. “So big—s-stretching me again…”
“You’re dripping,” he whispered against your ear. “Fucking leaking around me, and I’m not even moving fast yet.”
You let out a sob, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. “Please—Mingi—feels too good—don’t stop—”
And he didn’t.
He began thrusting harder, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing in the shower, water spraying off his back while he fucked you raw against the tile. You whimpered, moaned, your head rolling as he hit that same deep, sweet spot over and over until your body was convulsing in his arms.
“Cum for me,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you fall apart again.”
And you did—your eyes rolled back, your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your whole body shaking as you came hard around him. And right after, with a strangled groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you again.
For the fourth time.
You both panted, clinging to each other as the water kept pouring over you. Mingi kissed your temple softly.
“I should get a gold medal for this,” he muttered playfully.
You mumbled into his shoulder, barely coherent. “Mm… just feed me breakfast…”
He grinned. “After I eat you for breakfast again.”
After the shower, your legs barely held you up, so Mingi wrapped you in a towel and carried you straight to the kitchen like you weighed nothing. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts now—still damp and clinging to your soft curves, the hem brushing your thighs with every step you took.
Mingi was shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair still damp and messy. And the way his eyes kept dropping to your bare legs as he cooked? That hungry look never left.
“You know,” he muttered, flipping the pancakes in the pan, “I could bend you over this counter right now. Bet your pussy’s still twitching from the shower.”
You whimpered into your glass of juice, squirming in the stool you sat on. “Mingi…”
“What? I’m just saying,” he smirked, setting the plate down in front of you. “You looked so cute, all dumb and crying on my cock. How am I supposed to not talk about it?”
You pouted, hiding your red face behind your fork. “You’re so dirty…”
“And you love it,” he whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You love when I talk to you like that, don’t you? Gettin’ all shy now, but you were begging me to spank your pussy five minutes ago.”
Your thighs clenched automatically, eyes fluttering. “That was… different…”
He kissed your temple and slid into the stool beside you. “Nah. You’re just my pretty little pillow princess who gets shy after being ruined.”
You shoved his arm playfully, cheeks hot. “Eat your pancake, pervert.”
But your voice was so soft, your smile too wide—because you did love it. Every filthy word, every dirty look he gave you like you were his favorite thing to ruin.
Mingi leaned on his elbow, watching you eat with that same smirk tugging at his lips.
“After this… I’m putting you back in bed,” he murmured lowly. “And you’re gonna sit on my cock nice and slow while I kiss you. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum without moving my hips.”
You choked on your juice.
He patted your back, completely unbothered. “Careful, baby. Can’t have you dying before I ruin you again.”
summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?
warnings: this series contains smut. minors do not interact
everyone better read moot's series & enjoy it or else... 🫵🏽
this was so worth coming out of my hiatus. i love realistic characters. their flaws & pros laid out in the open. i loved & hated them, equal parts. reading this this past week has been such an experience. couldn't thug it out any longer, i cried at some point hey. 🥲🩷
warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (f receiving), brief fingering, rough sex, sad sex, kinda dub con so pls be careful <3
a/n: I feel like some of y'all might love and some of y'all might hate this part 😭 necessary for the story though, lmk your thoughts <3
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Three Weeks Later
You woke to complete darkness, warmth radiating in from all around you. The sheets beneath your arms were cotton, thin, and the blanket above was frayed at the edge, the loose stitching brushing against your neck as you yawned and shook, not remembering where you were but somehow aware enough to know not to make any huge movements.
You rubbed your eyes, feeling the remnants of dried tears; they felt like little diamond crystals, stabbing, so you pulled your hands away, groaning. Soon, a body next to you shifted, and then an alarm blared and all three of you whined in frustration, no one even close to ready for the morning ahead.
You’d woken in Tina and Maya’s bed, just like that morning two weeks ago, tears still staining your cheeks, anxiety still lancing through you at the thought of simply being awake. That morning had been horrible; attending a rehearsal after such an emotionally draining two days at your parents and that nasty fight with San had been an absolute nightmare, but even worse, you just couldn’t seem to get San’s words out of your head in the weeks since. They were becoming almost a self-destructing mantra: You’ve given me nothing. You’re fucking cruel, you know that?
It took days for you to realize that he’d never actually said he was completely done; but you didn’t need him to say it to know it was true; there had been no call from him asking you to talk it over, begging you to come and see him and make up. He was avoiding you, just like you’d avoided him for so long; it felt sick to be on the other side now, unable to reach over the chasm that stood wide between you.
You hadn’t even tried to reach, hadn’t sent a text or called; Tina and Maya backed you up, saying it wasn’t fair of him to so personally attack you after such a trying two days. Tina knew the way being around your family completely destabilized you, and Maya felt perturbed by the way he’d blamed you entirely for his own unhappiness in the relationship, clearly never having communicated to you what he really wanted.
They both agreed: if he was after marrying someone, he shouldn’t have ever seriously dated you. Still young, somewhat chaotic in the way you lived, you were so very far off from having a life that could involve that sort of stability and normalcy. And, they both reminded you, he had slept with you the first night you’d met. Their pontification led to one conclusion; in their minds he was in denial about what he actually wanted, probably stuck on some expectation set forth by his parents. He’d obviously liked having a casual, passionate, downright sex crazed relationship with you. Why else would he have stayed for so long?
But their words didn’t help that horrible feeling of brokenness go away. Your chest ached every day, missing his touch, missing when his words were sweet and gentle or when he teased and prodded. You missed watching musicals with him; after so long together, you were struggling to still find ones you hadn’t seen, which had led to watching older and older movies, or really obscure ones, often fascinating and hilarious in their absurdity. There was no one else you could imagine watching such things with; even Tina wasn’t that into musicals, despite having written one with you. Besides, you’d never really want to start that tradition over with someone new. It was yours and his, something shared between you in the privacy of his apartment, and you longed to keep the memory of it there, in that beautiful, hazy place that would always remain soft on it’s edges in your memory, no matter what had transpired.
San, in your mind, had become sharp and hard; the look on his face while he stood above you and spit venom, that wouldn’t leave. You were mad, you hated him, how dare he fucking speak to me like that; but you wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms at every turn, to let him whisper naughty things in your ear while his fingers worked you open, those precious moments that always alleviated the growing fear and anxiety that you felt about life.
It was so hard after a stressful day of work, or a challenging and overwhelming day of rehearsals at the theater, to go home to your empty room. Your own hands, your vibrator, that gorgeous, sleek, fancy black one he’d gifted you, it could only do so much. Slowly you were realizing, it wasn’t just the physical feeling of him, it wasn’t just that he split you open and knew exactly how to make you come undone; it was the smell of his sweat soaked skin, the low chuckle as he watched you overwhelmed by your pleasure, the kisses on your cheeks and forehead and nose. From day one he had broken you open, he had snaked his way far into your heart with so little effort, because he was perfect, and kind, and just the kind of person you’d always dreamed would come along and love you.
It brought immediate tears to your eyes every time you thought of it; you spent many nights curled up in your friend’s bed, and they graciously cared for you like a child of their own, bringing you food and tea and giving you massages, not forcing you to talk out your feelings, which you clearly wanted to hide. It started to feel pathetic, like you really were a child and incapable of taking care of yourself; you vowed today you would finally go home, sleep in your own bed, and deal with the fallout of your own stupid decisions once and for all.
“I can’t do this today,” Tina whined from the floor, refusing to stand as you and Maya hurriedly threw on clothes and tried to wake yourselves.
“Babe, come on,” Maya sighed, throwing some jeans Tina’s direction, and Tina didn’t react at all, just rubbing at her eyes and groaning into herself.
“We can’t be late, not after yesterday’s rehearsal,” you added, body on complete auto pilot as you ignored the pounding pain in your head and the ever present ache in your chest.
“I know, I know,” Tina grumbled, brushing her hair out of her face and stretching.
“It was one hiccup, you guys are doing great otherwise, don’t let it worry you,” Maya said beside you, grabbing onto your upper arm reassuringly, to get your attention.
“I know, I’ll be fine, I promise,” you said, seeing the worry in her eyes. She really was being too sweet, you thought, letting you sleep here in between her and her girlfriend, not having a moment to herself at home in weeks. You couldn’t keep doing this; it was embarrassing how reliant on others you were for relief from your psychic pain, and the fact that you were made you think hard about your family and all the potential diagnoses that surely awaited your future.
You were an artist, after all. Mental illness ran the gamut of your kind.
In low spirits, you and Tina set off for the train station, managing to stop at a coffee shop along the way and get some much needed caffeine for Tina’s aching head. There was nothing you could do about yours, no caffeine or other drugs that could take care of it; you really had become a terrible sleeper, and every bit of stress that was piling up was not helping. You needed rehearsal today to go well, just to keep you sane; with your personal life falling to shambles, you needed some sort of anchor to cling to, any sign that you were headed in the right direction, and not a complete idiot.
“Ah girls, glad you’re here a bit early,” the manager of the theater, Mike, said as you walked into the large rehearsal room in the back. It was strangely empty, no chairs set out save for Mike’s at his desk in the corner, as he typed away furiously at the laptop in front of him. He always referred to you that way, girls, a remnant of his old-fashioned ways, which mostly didn’t bother you except when he was condescending. Friend of the owner, the two had gone to school together and formed this partnership. He’d already struck you as a bit incompetent, but it hadn’t mattered up to this point, you’d barely needed to speak to him.
“Rehearsals have been postponed for a little while, sorry I couldn’t get ahold of you this morning already, things have just been crazy around here,” he continued, looking around the empty room as if it were bustling with activity. “Mark’s feeling a bit unsure about the project, and he had another offer too, so he’s in meetings about it now. We’ll let you know once he’s made his decision.”
You and Tina stood frozen, shocked, eyebrows turned down in a look of disgust.
“So when have they been postponed until? Is there a set date? When do we next need to come?” Your arms were crossed as you spit out the questions in quick succession, utterly taken aback by what he’d just said, and completely confused by it, too.
“There’s no set date yet girls, I apologize, but like I said we will let you know once Mark’s made his decision and all.”
“So- so we- there’s nothing else for us to do? What about Jose?” you asked, beginning to stumble over your words because of your shock.
“Mr. Garcia will be reassigned to a new project if that’s what Mark feels is best,” Mike said, giving you a stern look and drawing out the first two words of his sentence, as if you’d so disrespected your director by using his first name.
“Okay, we’ll leave then, thanks,” Tina said beside you, smiling sarcastically in the man’s direction before grabbing your arm and stalking out of the room, dragging you with her.
“That guy is such a dick, what the fuck,” Tina spat once you’d exited the building, walking towards the train station now with all the energy she’d lacked before coming.
“Wait, shouldn’t we stay and see if Jose is coming or- or- I’m so fucking confused, we didn’t hear anything about this and-“
“Babe, it’s pretty clear to me that Mark Smith is an asshole who has been using us as a place holder this whole time. Sounds like another shinier project is upon him and he has no problem chucking us to the side for it,” she sighed, slowing down as you stopped moving entirely.
“I just- I don’t know what to do.” You stood shaking, the spring sunshine making the air hot and dry, your pants and button up feeling uncomfortably binding.
“Let’s go home and reconvene there, we can email Millie and ask her if she knows anything, maybe get some more sleep today-“
“No, I’ve spent way too much time at y’all’s place these past two weeks, let me go home and I’ll email Millie, and I’ll let you know what she says. You don’t need to worry about it,” you said, finally moving again and linking your arm with hers.
“We don’t mind you being there with us, we like it,” she said, resting her head on top of yours for a moment.
“I know but I need to take care of myself and actually get my shit together,” you chuckled, a small line of tears forming in your eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a downer.”
“That conversation with San sounded downright traumatizing, honestly,” she said, and hearing his name made your entire body jolt, his face appearing to you in all it’s vivid beauty.
“It was,” you sighed, taking a deep breath and blinking your eyes to push back the tears threatening to fall. The two words tasted rancid as they swept across your tongue; your body knew how ridiculous they were, and how much everything he’d said was true. The train ride back home was short, and once you’d made it up to the sidewalk you’d hugged and parted ways, finally heading to the place you’d dreaded being, the place you’d been avoiding for weeks.
Your room, quiet and frozen, greeted you. You’d barely moved a thing in here, the same pile of laundry in the corner, your comforter crumpled halfway onto the floor, bits of makeup strewn about your desk that you didn’t even remember playing with. You started writing out an email to your literary agent as soon as you’d shut the door, but words wouldn’t come to you, and you realized you just needed to know if she had known anything about this, and hadn’t warned you ahead of time. You called her, she’d always said you could in an emergency, but you got no answer. Setting your phone on your desk you looked around, knowing you should clean up, shower, finally start the journey towards getting your life back on track.
But you couldn’t find the motivation in you anywhere. Every part of you longed to rest, to collapse, to do nothing after you’d been running for so long. You started gathering your laundry but even a pair of pants felt hard to lift; the idea of braving the sometimes chaotic laundry room on the first floor of your building sounded absolutely rancid, and after making your bed you justified to yourself that you’d at least done something good for the day. You changed into pajama shorts and a tiny tank top, the apartment getting hot enough that you wished for relief from it, but the swamp coolers hadn’t been turned on yet and would’t be for another week or two.
You pulled out your laptop, clicking on the document you’d started a month ago, another random idea for a play that had come to you. If your current musical was going to fall through then you might as well put energy into the next project, possibly the one that could be the big break, the brilliant debut, the kickstarter of your career.
The document was duller than you remembered, just two pages of dialogue between undeveloped characters, and the feeling that you weren’t any good at this at all washed over you. You slapped your laptop shut, almost throwing it to the floor; you stopped yourself, took a breath, and pulled it open again, searching for the downloaded file of Rocky Horror.
This was why art was made, to comfort in times of need; this was your major time of need, escape necessary, so you sat back and watched the whole thing, snacking absentmindedly on an old bag of popcorn you’d found in the pantry, sipping at your water and swaying side to side, all the songs a familiar friend getting you through another few minutes.
After Rocky Horror it was onto Chicago, then Cabaret, and before you knew it most of the day had passed you by, your stomach rumbling in anger as you finally closed your laptop and sighed, your brain feeling fried beyond the point of recovery.
It had been a long time since you’d spent so many hours just rotting, it wasn’t in your nature; you liked to create, and consuming and creating could never coexist, they needed to be separated and each held with care, especially creating. But sometimes you didn’t have it in you anymore; not when the world was giving you signs that you’d never succeed and that maybe all this talent would really take you no where.
“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome,” you sung quietly to yourself as you hastily threw together a sandwich for dinner, a bag of frozen vegetables steaming in the microwave.
“Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret,” your roommate Steph finished, brushing past you to grab something out of the pantry. “Did you watch that today?”
“Yeah,” you smiled.
“Such a good musical,” she said, sliding her back pack around to her front to throw a granola bar inside.
“You heading to work?” you asked.
“Yeah, they’ve got me closing this whole week,” she said, zipping up the bag again.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” you said, opening the microwave as it beeped.
“It’s all good, my manager said I should be getting a raise at the end of the month. And what’s a little sleep depravation, eh?” she chuckled, walking towards the front of the door in her always nonchalant manner.
“I hope it’s chill tonight,” you called after her, and she shouted her thanks back as she opened then shut the door, locking it.
“You wanna watch with us tonight? We’re finally starting Crash Landing on You,” your other two roommates asked from the couch, fumbling with their own dinners as they pulled up the Netflix account you all shared.
“Oh, uh- yeah, just give me a sec,” you answered, putting away all the ingredients you’d pulled out and dumping the bag of veggies on your plate beside your sandwich. The moisture made one side of the bread soggy, but you didn’t care; more TV and distraction sounded just like the thing you needed, and you were actually getting some food in you, which was pretty remarkable.
But only a minute after sitting down your phone in your pocket rang, making you jump; you rarely turned on your ringer, but you had earlier after calling Millie, in case she called back right away. Now she had, finally, and when you looked at her contact name flashing on your screen you sighed deeply.
“Fuck, sorry, I really need to take this, it’s work stuff,” you told your roommates, grabbing your plate of food and slinking into your room to answer.
“Hey, did you get my message?” you asked immediately, not waiting for formalities, too anxious to get right to it.
“Yes, and I’m so sorry, I didn’t have reception all day because the wind here has been crazy and it’s messing with the lines- anyway, what all were you told this morning?” Her voice was higher pitched than you’d expected, a slight drawl to it, and she sounded so kind and motherly coming through the phone that you wanted to cry.
“Just that our rehearsals are postponed indefinitely, that the owner is reconsidering if he wants to put it on,” you sighed.
“Okay well whoever told you that was just trying to save face, Mark Smith is actually under investigation right now for both fraud and sexual harassment charges, so his assets are frozen and the whole theater is about to be under surveillance, basically everything is coming to a screeching halt.”
“Oh my god,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe. It was not something you’d expected at all; a theater owner committing fraud? Especially one with such a huge, successful, profitable business?
“There’s no way anything is being put on this year at the Willow, I’m anticipating he’s going to step down very soon and new ownership will step in, obviously the theater itself is such an institution and there’s no way it will disappear, but I have no idea what the future holds in terms of your project. If it does get put on, I’m sure it won’t be until next year,” she said, her disappointment obvious.
“Oh.” The word left your lips, followed by a deep sigh, and then a sense of utter emptiness.
“I’m so sorry, this is such bullshit, you two made an incredible story that I know people out there want to see and this greedy, predatory man has taken that chance from you,” she said, worked up and fretting. “Y’all don’t deserve this, you have written something incredible, I’m just so sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”
“It’s okay, thanks for calling me back,” you said, voice distant and flat.
“Please know this isn’t the end, we can send your musical off to other theaters too and I have no doubt someone else will want it. They might even be scrambling to pick up these shows that are being ditched by the Willow, there might be tons of competition for it. I have no doubt something will come of it, I’m just so sorry again.”
“I- I don’t really know what to say. Just, thank you, thanks for always having been so supportive of me,” you said, eyes snaking over to the uneaten plate of food sitting now on your desk.
“Of course, I really believe in you, you know- Oh, god I need to go, sorry, my nephew is crying and calling for me,” she said.
“No worries, have a good night,” you replied.
“You too, talk to you soon,” she signed off with equal parts professionalism and genuine care, hanging up the call herself. You sat down on the floor, tossed your phone beside you and held your knees, before a huge ripple of regret and angst and sadness came washing through you, like a giant wave threatening to drown you until your very last breath.
Everything was falling apart; your family, San, now the musical, and there was nothing in the world that could convince you of the potential for an okay future. It was one moment in your life, you were a version of yourself you’d never be again, a girl with huge dreams and a shattered heart, a library’s worth of stories taking up the space in your mind and threatening to drive you mad if you couldn’t somehow tell them all. But even if rationally you knew this would be a vocation of life, that it would take time for you to build up your craft and really start making something of it, the failure of your play felt like the universe’s sign that this all was a vain attempt to make something of yourself when you really should just lie down and let life run it’s normal course.
It wasn’t even that the play had been bad; it was a stupid, circumstantial reason that blocked you, so you couldn’t even get back to work on the musical, tweak and perfect it, as a way of guaranteeing it’s success. You had done all you could, worked tirelessly and started ruining your health in the process, but this was just life, you realized, the hard, uncomfortable truth; there was no knowing what the future held, and no guarantee of any positive outcome.
You couldn’t accept it. You’d been told if you just worked hard enough, success would come; you’d slaved over schoolwork as a kid, even if math and science hadn’t come easily to you, because you were ambitious and determined to make something of yourself, knowing that learning to work hard would be an invaluable skill as an adult. You’d certainly absorbed the endless sense of needing to be productive; you were disciplined with your writing, having studied the craft and worked yourself to the bone, writing songs, stories, making short films and music videos with your friends during your one year in college. It was far too expensive, though, to keep going; you dropped out with a promise to your parent’s of your new four-year plan: you’d either become a published novelist, or a published playwright. Now here you were, four years later, never having finished a book, and still yet to see any play you’d written actually being performed anywhere.
Being so low was derailing your ability to be rational; you shook, thinking of the one person who could make everything better, who could help you forget the disappointment and get back to working. One night with him had always been enough to flip a switch in you; it was a shot in the dark, but you opened your phone and clicked on his contact, calling him.
“Hey.” His voice was low, quiet, and immediately your tears came again, as you laid on the floor and cradled the phone to your ear.
“Sannie,” you whispered, all you could manage to get out. It was obvious you were crying; why else, in the end, would you be calling him? San shook in his own panic, having worried endlessly over the last two weeks about the state you were in. He couldn’t help it, no matter how angry he was, no matter what lines had been crossed that had solidified his decision once and for all; you were his baby, his girl, and if you were hurting he would move mountains to make the pain go away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sighing.
“The m-musical, it’s- it’s not happening,” you sobbed, voice breaking on nearly every word.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” he replied, voice tight with emotion.
“Please- please come here, I need you, I miss you-“ you cut yourself off with a wail, covering your face with your free hand.
“I miss you too,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes too. “But- but I can’t-“
“Please, Sannie, please, I need you,” you choked out, and all he could do was sigh heavily through the phone, the sounds of your tears affecting him in so many ways that he wished he could stop.
“You-“ he sighed again, pounding a fist against his bedroom door in front of him, and you heard it through the phone, the physical manifestation of all he anger you were causing. “Just- stop crying, I’ll be there soon.”
The call ended abruptly, but you couldn’t move the phone from your ear, couldn’t do anything. You laid still, a statue, staring blankly at the wall beneath your desk as tears continued streaming, a sense of foreboding taking ahold of your guts. Time lost all meaning; you ceased to remember that you even existed, ceased to remember you were alive, until the knock came at your front door and your roommates jokingly argued about who had to answer it, thinking it was a random neighbor about to complain about some minor inconvenience, or ask if they could borrow a key to the laundry room.
You jetted from the room before either could meet him, waving them off as you padded your way to the door. You let him in without a word, grabbing his arm and leading him to your bedroom to looks of bewilderment from the two people on the couch. They’d never met him, only heard about him in passing; neither of them knew about the fight, about the musical, about anything, really.
“I’m sorry-“
“Shh, don’t talk,” he cut you off, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug, low around your waist. He was overcome with a feverish need to hold your body as close to his as he could; he leaned down into you, your beating hearts pressed together in agony. “Come here,” he said, tapping at your thigh to tell you to jump, and you did, right up into his arms with your legs cradled around his hips, shoving your face in his neck.
You stayed there, clinging to him as he rocked back and forth, for a long time. There was an immediate feeling of relief, so sparkly and intoxicating that you felt light-headed, but the shakiness in his arms and breaths was disconcerting. You already began to feel stupid for calling; just the littlest bit of distance from your anxiety had given you that clarity, but he was here now, and he was holding you as tightly as his muscled arms could, and there was nothing else to do but be.
You had created this moment; the tears falling from your eyes were yours, the tension wracking through him, too, the shaky, nervous energy that filled the room. You both wanted to run from it, wanted it to leave; you buried your head further into his neck, your soft breath fanning over the tears there and sending a wave of shivering pleasure through him. Your close to barren body in his hands again was making his cock twitch; he truly could not control himself in these situations, and had been stupid to think otherwise. The room was stuffy with the late spring heat but made worse by your sweating, panting bodies, and soon he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you one more time, had to let himself take one last thing from you.
He walked forward, and set you both slowly down on your bed; his lips met yours quickly, the kiss deep and aggressive, his hips grinding into you already. There would be no staying grounded now, not when the wet warmth of your tongue was in his mouth again, when your hands were snaking under his shirt and grasping at the taught muscles of his abdomen. This was all muscle memory, by now; so easy to fall into, this familiar pattern of grasping and groaning that felt so perfectly right, so intensely satiating that he couldn’t believe this would be the last time. He’d take, get all he wanted, all he needed to hold him over through the painful mourning period; there was little more thought of you, just of himself, his needs.
And your brain wasn’t faring any better; the whiplash of such devastation followed by intense elation was overwhelming, leaving you in an almost transient state of desperate need and confusion. You could have seen this coming, you should have; you two couldn’t get together and just talk, just cry, just hold each other. It always came to this; this was what you did, tear at each other in absolute joy, intoxicated by the extremity of the feelings and too distracted to recognize all the ways it could blow up in your face.
His mouth hot on yours, he reached down between your legs suddenly; you were hardly wet, almost like your body didn’t know to prepare you, didn’t have the energy. He ripped your shorts off and shoved his face between your legs, licking a slow stripe up your slit and sucking hard on your clit, before pulling back and spitting on you, roughly rutting two fingers inside and making you yelp. Your eyes were closed; you couldn’t bare to watch him, something within you saying to check out, to go elsewhere, to think of that first time he went down on you and you passed out so effortlessly, waking more rested than you’d ever expect after a crazed night.
Satisfied you could take him, he pulled his own shorts off frantically and lined himself up, plunging inside of you with little care, hooking your legs over his shoulders, making your cunt even tighter against him. It was almost painful for you, but pleasing all the same; you began to moan, to babble random words and bring your hands to your face, holding your forehead like a fainting Disney princess. The dramatics almost started to piss him off; he drilled harder, face going red with lust and anger, your bed frame knocking against the wall with every thrust.
“Sannie, sannie,” you whined, because it was too much and you wanted this to be slower, to be comforting, to be something different altogether. You had checked out to a faraway mental place, one that you fell into easily with him, but he seemed either oblivious or unbothered by it, not checking in with you, not slowing or observing or in any other way showing that he cared.
“Baby, be quiet,” he grumbled, keeping his voice low, not thinking of your roommates in the next room, but of how tired he was of yelling, how much he wished to never do it again.
“But- you’re-“
“Stop,” he spat, bringing an arm around your leg and placing his hand over your mouth, forcing you to breath out your nose. Your hands grabbed for his wrist but he was so much stronger than you, and really you didn’t want to have to push him away, really you wanted this closeness and intimacy, as harsh as it was. At least it was something, at least he had come and had given you this distraction, no matter how overwhelmed you were, or how wrong this whole scene was.
You should have hated this feeling, barely being able to breath, but instead it finally unlocked the final door of the distant hall you were in, and suddenly you fell so deep in your mind that you didn’t care anymore, that you just writhed beneath him and let the weight and thickness of his cock envelop your mind, feeling like you were only a hole to be filled, to be used.
That drop finally let your body give into him, and suddenly his thrusts were even deeper, and you cunt wetter, and every bit of fight or sound that had pissed him off was gone. You were letting him do as he pleased, completely and totally; it had never been this severe, never had you gone so far from him while being so close. A part of his brain protested, but his cock couldn’t have loved it more; you were squeezing down on him, legs shaking as you came for what seemed like minutes, before he pulled out and flipped you over, shoving your face into the rough plane of your comforter.
He slammed into you with reckless abandon. This was all he needed, to be happy forever; cock buried so deep he could swear you’d be internally bruised, your soft whimpers of pure pleasure, brain so gone that there was no way on earth you were faking the sounds. He held your ass up high, and you left it there for him, not caring how your neck ached, not thinking of how badly it hurt when he grabbed your hair and yanked your head up. He liked seeing your body bob back and forth with every harsh thrust; liked the strain of droll dropping from your mouth, your flushed cheeks and messy hair, your stuttering breaths. He was sure he’d never fucked anyone this hard, there was something close to dark about it; you both were there, some dark and scary place, but you loved it, felt at home, felt complete in knowing it existed. To visit together, spurred on by each other, felt otherworldly; so completely perfect, two people ruining each other, never ceasing, never giving up, only pushing and pushing until everything between you snapped.
He came, hard, shocked by the pleasure he was feeling; he couldn’t even tell if you’d come again, or if you had been the entire time, you cunt so tight and shaky and your breathy whines still coming out the same. He didn’t pull out, but slumped on top of you; again you were suffocated, pressed into the bed by his much larger body, the heat and sweat so heavy that you very nearly passed out. Your breathing slowed noticeably, as he clung to you and held you there, your chest hardly moving at all. He pulled out and sat up with a sudden pang of fear, flipping you over and touching your face, leaning his ear down to your slack mouth to listen for any sign of breath.
It was there, but it was weak. “Baby,” he whispered, tapping at your cheek, his face inches from yours as he held your slack body. The post orgasm drop in endorphins was hitting him, and suddenly he saw so much more clearly how truly exhausted you looked, how your eyes were baggy and your skin pale, how you looked thinner than he remembered you to be, especially when you’d first met. “Baby, wake up,” he whispered again, more urgent, tears asking to come. You blinked and moaned something hard to make out, but at least the sense of air flushing through your lungs had him breathing slow in relief.
“What?”
“I’m fine,” you answered finally, taking a deep breath and then coughing, nearly chocking on it.
“You look exhausted.” His voice was low and gruff, as he wiped at tears and snot that were drying on your face.
“So what,” you replied.
“No, no.” He emphasized the last word, his body going rigid as he held you. You felt a palpable shift of energy in the room, and as your mind was coming back to you now, you thought it a good idea to move away from him. Carefully you sat yourself up, scooting off his lap and back on your bed until you hit the wall, pulling your knees up to your face. His cum was dripping out of you, and was getting all over your thick comforter that you hated to clean, but you couldn’t care. All that seemed to matter was looking at him with pathetic eyes and trying to get through the next five seconds.
“I’m- fucking hell, I can’t believe that happened.” He was shaking with anger, his eyebrows so low you wanted to laugh.
“Go rage out somewhere else,” you whispered, wiping hair and tears from your face.
“I can’t believe you-“
“I can’t believe you, putting a fucking hand over my mouth so I couldn’t breathe-“
“You wouldn’t shut the fuck up!” As hard as he’d tried to stop it, the anger had boiled up inside him, only a few snide remarks from you enough kindling to last him a lifetime.
“You’re such a fucking man, why do you always have to yell-“ You slumped down onto your side, shaking as you clung to yourself, curled up in a ball.
“You’re the asshole here, just fucking stop it,” he snapped, shushing himself a little. He was pissed by what you said, pissed every time you called him a man and made it sound like a dirty, undesirable thing. But he couldn’t deny that he did have this temper that sometimes got the best of him, and sometimes he’d yell, or hit things, when he really wished he didn’t. He just never could understand how his parents always seemed to avoid it; to him they were too emotionless, forcing themselves to be like robots, to always react perfectly, to never take a single step the wrong way. He couldn’t be like that, it didn’t seem like really living; but he also didn’t want to be someone who unnecessarily argued, who didn’t say how they truly felt, who didn’t communicate at least somewhat affectively.
“Baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for yelling,” he said, reaching over to you again and running a hand over your hair. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here, you just called me and you were crying and I just can’t say no to you, not when you’re like that, not ever, really-“ He sucked in a quick breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m really sorry I let myself be so out of control just now, I shouldn’t have done that, I said I was done, and I meant it, and I shouldn’t go back on that decision if I’m really sure.”
Tears were falling, you barely realized until the comforter beneath your head was getting wet.
“I love you, and I want everything to work out for you, and it hurts me to know that the musical got canceled, or whatever it was, I’m so fucking sorry, if there was some way I could change that you know I would in a heartbeat, I’d do fucking anything for you.” His breathing was finally evening out, the adrenaline that was wracking through him earlier starting to wear off. This was the emotion that was good, not the anger; finally being honest, even if it felt like being cut open by a knife. If the words felt like that leaving his body, he couldn’t imagine what they felt like entering yours. But he couldn’t care about that anymore. He needed to just say it. “I love you so much, but I have to let you go.” It took several moments to realize the words had been said in Spanish.
You sobbed into your hands, nodding the only way you could respond or communicate anything. You’d known he didn’t want to see you anymore, it was already clear, but him laying it out so frankly was devastating, your already cracked heart feeling like it was being stepped on, and beaten, and throw aside. What you were left with was a hollowness, an empty barren wasteland of nothing that made your mind finally relax, followed by your body, the energy in the room following suit.
You both sat in silence as the waves of changing emotion hit you; San’s hand was in your hair, then rubbing your back, and neither of you even noticed the half naked forms of the other; the sex was gone, was not thought of, only the intenseness of the emotion filled your minds. You did love him, you loved him with ever fiber of your being and could still not fully accept it; he was too perfect, that’s how you’d felt early on, and you felt it now too, not thinking of his face or his body or his bank account, not thinking of the apartment or trips or dinners, but of the heart of gold that sat there in his chest, one so wholly caring and compassionate, so utterly and perfectly human.
You’d never meet someone like this again. There would never be another San, never be someone who swept you off your feet so effortlessly, who understood you so well. This was the end of the world; you might as well die and start again, let your soul carry on into the universe and experience another brilliant flash of a life. It had been a short ride, but one punctuated by the kind of experience you knew everyone wished for; lustful and loving, enthralling and unnerving, completely intoxicating in all it’s insane glory. No one told you just how hard the come down was, but you should have known; one can only fly so high for so long, before the tides of life try to balance themselves. You’d gotten all the love you deserved, all that you’d get for life. There was nothing more to do, but lay down and let the pain and sorrow wash you free of every horrible decision you’d made along the way.
“You’re going to be okay,” San said, pulling your slack body up to a sitting position, facing him. He grabbed your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t get to just roll over and give up, you have too much talent for that. You are going to make it. You’re only twenty-three. Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself.”
You nodded, eyes stuck on his as you took in every word. They were echoing around in the hollowness of your body, but you tried with all your might to look genuine and fine. Though you couldn’t hide it, your angst wasn’t holding him to the spot anymore. The sex had left a sour taste in his mouth, so had the arguing, and by now his body wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room and go run to his gym, to go sprint on the treadmill until his legs gave out beneath him.
“Take care,” he said, hugging you, placing one last kiss on your cheek, before getting up. He quickly pulled his shorts on, then walked out of the room in a flash; his absence couldn’t be a shock to your system when your mind and chest had gone completely silent, so you just slumped down on your bed again, and stared at the wall, and thought of nothing.
“I just can’t get out of bed Titi, I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
You sighed shallowly, pulling the phone away from your ear and trying to ignore the pressure in your bladder.
“I know the cancellation was frustrating, but you’ve been through stuff like this before, and you’ve always managed to keep going and be okay. I’ve never seen you so disappointed that you couldn’t work.” She was outside, taking a break just to call you, forcing herself out into the stuffy, miserable summer air. The sun had barely set; it was almost nine, and you’d called out late, forgetting what time it was and delusional believing you would magically feel up and ready to go, any minute.
“But. The breakup.” Your voice was flat, and you couldn’t be bothered even with full sentences. You sat curled in the same spot as last night, having not moved an inch.
“I thought you were feeling better about it though, said you were ready to be home and all. Did something else happen?”
“He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
“Yes, and?” She already knew that, it was clear from the conversation you’d sobbed to her about.
“He was here last night.”
“What? Why?”
“I called him.”
She groaned your name through the phone, sighing.
“Just say it, Ti.”
“What did you think was gonna come of that?”
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, ashamed.
“The first night you’re not with me and Maya, and that’s what you do.”
“God, you make me sound like a fucking child.”
“Well you’re acting like one.”
The words slipped out easily, and almost caused a sense of feeling to invade your mind and body. You felt the light twinges of what could have been anger, but it didn’t manifest fully, leaving you in seconds.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, I think I’m crazy,” you sighed.
“You’re not crazy, you’re just upset and overwhelmed and traumatized.”
“It was just a breakup,” you chuckled.
“And you’re obviously traumatized by it. You need to recover. You need to take care of yourself. You need to take time to process it and reflect on what was so devastating about it all.”
“I know that already, it’s cause no one is every gonna love me again.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“What if it is? It’s always a possibility.”
Tina sighed deeply, pulling her phone away from her ear to check the time with a sigh.
“I have to go back in, and this conversation is going nowhere. Go eat some damn food and let yourself rest, and just stop- we’ve been running ourselves into the ground with the musical, we need to take a step back and stop overworking ourselves.” She let out a huge sigh, finally voicing the words that had been on the tip of her tongue for weeks. She, like you, had ignored any feelings of exhaustion in the shadow of all the excitement and accomplishment, but as soon as that manager had dismissed you so disrespectfully, it had all clicked in place in her mind. You were driving yourself into absolute burnout, and she was right there too, but she knew better, she knew what it took to take care of her mind. Everyone joked about how last minute she sometimes run, how she tended to show up slightly late to everything; sure, it could be seen as rude or thoughtless, but really it was because she was always making sure she had her mind right, that she checked in with herself, that she didn’t adhere to other people’s schedules if they were going to drive her mad.
She’d gotten out of the habit, working on this project with you. No doubt she was proud of the work, but she was exhausted, and over it, if she was honest.
She, you, no one ever liked the summer here. It was miserably hot, and miserably dry, and spending any time outside was an absolute nightmare. Tina ducked back in to the air-conditioned hallway of the bar with a sigh of relief. And you stayed in, not just that night but for many to come, the need to avoid the heat driving your depression deeper, adding to it; it felt like months went by and you only saw the bar or your room, and you suddenly became a terrible texter, and someone who emails her agent back a week later, who forgets her mother’s birthday, who forgets to eat or drink or sometimes even sleep.
A whole new play sprung out of you. You hardly remembered writing it; it was always in fits of rage, when you brain was trying to break free of the numbness, trying to desperately process and understand everything that had happened over a nearly fifteen month period. You reduced hours at work, only usually there three days a week; Saturdays had gotten pretty crazy, the bar’s success and popularity reaching higher highs than you ever could have predicted. You didn’t think to worry about dipping into savings; you were in survival mode, not caring what came next, not caring who you were or what was good or bad. There was relief in not caring, if you were honest; sitting in the shower for hours and letting the warm water hit you, dissociating so much that you lost entire days without knowing how, it was all an escape.
It took a long time to think of possibly changing. You, after all, had built space between yourself and others, and your friends respected your space, your family was far away, and the almost rigid way you’d gone back to just focusing on work didn’t concern anyone. Tina could see it in your eyes, every single day she wished to call out and relight the sparkle that had once lived within you. But she knew you’d been there for her in a similar state, years over, never judging her, so she didn’t judge you either, just watched with concern, with care, and with a respectful distance.
“I don’t know what to do,” you said to her one day, sat in the dressing room and lathering on white face paint for the newest group number.
“What do you mean, the paint looks great,” she said, trying not to make any expression that might crease her’s as it dried.
“No- my depression. I don’t know what to do. I think I’m stuck like this.”
“You aren’t stuck,” she said, reaching out a hand and grabbing yours, squeezing it slightly. Tears rolled down your face suddenly, tears that turned to sobs even as you tried to contain them. The paint was ruined, would have to be removed and redone; Tina’s was smudged too as she held you, and cried too, and let the need to help you finally rush through her.
san & y/n are so damaged, i don't even know where to begin. while san was well within his rights to call out her behaviour, he needs to fucking look in the mirror. whatever expectations his parents have of him, have bled into the relationship. operating purely based on assumptions but lashing at her for not meeting said expectations, even tho she was honest about her own... dick move. i'll go as far as to say that he's manipulative. he uses his ability to speak freely about his feelings as a weapon to deepen her silence, not encourage honesty, bc she already sucks at voicing her own opinions. the more silent she is, the more he's "justified" to react how he does. not to mention his lack of self-restraint. this is the second time he crosses sexual boundaries. then he says he can't stay away from her when she's sad. the gall & gumption of it all.
i don't know who i hate more between the two. rant over.
warnings: MDNI, not much smut but a lot of terrible angst
a/n: this part is rough, the argument at the end is pretty bad (please only read if you're in the right headspace <3)
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Present
It was finally Sunday morning, finally March. The frigid winter had given way to the normal desert spring; windy, chaotic, temperatures fluctuating day to day with such unpredictability that you never knew what clothes to bring with you to work. Some days the midnight walk back home was still frigid; others it was almost humid or close to hot.
You reached left to find San's leg beside you in bed, his glasses on as he read a book, having already eaten breakfast, hit the gym, and showered. Your sleep schedule was being messed with, having so many morning meetings for your musical; it was almost eleven, he informed you, when you'd asked what time it was. You were exhausted and elated, thinking back on the crazy week you'd had with Tina, having forgotten your anger at her as soon as your first rehearsal with your lead actress had begun. The two of you loved her, hit it off immediately; she was bright, punchy, exactly the sort of girl you were looking for. In the huge rehearsal room in the back of the Willow Theater, your wide-eyed dreams were coming true.
But you still had to work, as the advance of the manuscript wasn't set to come through for a few weeks, and even then, you weren't sure you'd lessen your hours at all. This was one lucky win, after all, and while you certainly hoped it would lead to more publications, more plays, more financial success, you knew how terribly unlikely that way. You found your week of work challenging, your body tired, but then a part of you loved it, too; you'd told all your coworkers about the musical, even your boss, and everyone was as tremendously excited as you were.
"I always find the stars, don't I," your boss Julie sighed, one hand on your shoulder and one on Tina's as she perused the dressing room and chatted with everyone. She'd been present more than ever since the huge and unexpected fight you'd helped break up, doing all she could to avoid that happening again. It was certainly bad press for the bar, the kind of news that traveled mouth to mouth, faster than in the newspapers. She didn't want the place devolving into the kind of bars that already existed down the street, the kind your regular customers came here to avoid.
The week had been full of adrenaline, of new experience and of old, and the mixture of familiarity and strangeness, the sheer amount of work you had done, was absolutely wrecking you.
"I'm fucking exhausted," you yawned next to him, slumping your head into his lap and curling into a ball under the covers.
"You can sleep more, it's early for you," he said, absentmindedly running a hand through your hair as he continued reading.
"I can't," you sighed, but tried anyway, closing down your eyes and sighing deeply, trying to calm your body.
It was getting harder, though, to be totally calm with him. After that strange moment last Monday when he'd said 'I love you' as he came, you couldn't stop waiting for the moment when he'd bring it up in conversation, when you'd have to face the reality that it did actually happen. You pushed yourself to forget about it entirely, but for some reason, you couldn't; there were so many other moments with him that had lost their luster in your memories, so much that had come and gone, that you'd maybe never remember again. You hoped you were only stuck on it because it had happened so recently; time would slowly wash it free from you, and you could go back to how things were, no longer thinking of the discomfort you felt.
But something told you it would never go away. It was nagging, and you knew it must be nagging at him too. Of course it was.
"I seriously can't," you sighed and pushed yourself up, the dull ache of slight sleep depravation greeting you. Your whole body felt like an old bike in need of fixing; joints cracked, your legs didn't move as they should, your muscles cramped from dehydration. San passed you a glass of water from his nightstand and you gulped at it, taking it all down in a few swallows. The scene felt domestic in its simplicity, the familiarity of his bedroom, the way he knew how thirsty you always were first thing in the morning. It was beginning to feel like a real relationship; there was ebb and flow, but there was also the steady knowledge that you were his, and he was yours, and this sort of ownership of each other was supposed to mean something.
But did it mean anything to you? You stared at him blankly a moment, before grabbing your phone from the night stand, opening it to a text from your twin.
[10:06am]: you're coming to visit soonish, right? I think next week would be a good time for me and mom still
"I gotta call my mom, I'm gonna go to the living room," you said, and San nodded and got up with you, walking to sit on the opposite side of the couch from where you'd sat yourself. You hadn't said it to invite him, but suddenly you felt like you couldn't tell him to leave. Couples shared everything, right? It wasn't strange at all for him to be here while you called one of your parents. You shot off your text to Micah quickly, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself.
[11:03am]: Yeah, I'm gonna call mom now
"Hey sweetie, how are you?" your mom answered, her voice sounding weak and drained.
"Hey, I'm good, I'm sorry I haven't called in a while. How are you doing? How's dad?" you replied, trying in earnest to maintain a positive tone.
The line hung silent for a moment as you heard clanking, your mom clearly in the middle of something.
"Sorry, there are so many dishes to do," she replied, sounding like she'd finally taken you off speaker phone. "Things are going around here, same as always."
"Dad's doing okay?"
"Well, as good as can be expected at this point, I guess."
"What do you mean, at this point?" you asked.
It had been a long time since you'd had such a frank conversation about this, and it was clear that your direct questions were making her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to this from you, from anyone; Micah only knew the extent of your Dad's condition due to her proximity and frequent visits, not due to your mom's openness. She'd never been open about your dad's situation, claiming it was what he'd asked of her from the day of diagnosis. She said his own sense of self couldn't handle it, that it was somewhat of an ego problem. A difficulty in accepting his true life, a wish to cover it up.
"It's just been a bit rough is all, it's been over twenty years now since everything, you know, started."
"But there never was a real time frame for it, was there?" San's eyes finally shot over at your question, no longer able to keep himself focused on his book.
"Well, they said because of how early it had started that they had no real way of knowing, but it's seemed recently that because of his symptoms he might be entering what could be officially diagnosed as late stage Parkinson's."
"Oh my god." Your breath left you, eyes going wide and body rigid as you tried to process what she'd just said. You'd never been close with him, that was the thing, never much cared for his personality if you were honest, but it was the disease, that's what he and your mom always said: the disease made him that way. Irritable, inconsistent, prone to putting down every single little thing you or Micah spoke about. How was that supposed to lead to a close, loving relationship? And yet those two words, late stage, made your heart drop.
"So-sorry," you stammered, "I don't know what to say, I wasn't expecting you to say that."
"It's alright honey, there's nothing really to say." Your mom was silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath.
"Well I called cause I wanted to ask if I could come visit next Sunday and Monday," you finally said.
"Oh that would be lovely, just the two days?" she asked. Her voice was immediately bright, but in a way that seemed a bit forced. Maybe it was because of the length of the visit; normally you stayed for longer, if you could, but now you had meetings and rehearsals at the theater, and you couldn't exactly take days off from this new venture.
"Yeah, I- you know that musical Tina and I had been working on? Well it got picked up by a theater here, and so we have rehearsals and meetings and stuff, I would stay longer but I've got a rehearsal Tuesday morning that I can't miss."
"Oh that's wonderful news! I- I can't believe it, I'm so excited for you! What theater is it?" Her voice was now more genuinely alive with excitement, sounding almost nothing like the woman who had answered the phone, and you wondered for a moment if sharing this was even a good thing, or if it would be like a slap in the face to both her and your dad, your success overshadowing the ever declining nature of his condition.
"The Willow-"
"Yes, I've heard of it! How exciting!"
You swallowed a lump in your throat. San was staring at you hard, reading in your tone and body language that you were anything but excited to be sharing this news or suggesting this trip. Why you felt that, he couldn't tell. He knew bits and pieces about your family, knew their names at least, knew that your dad had this serious disease that you seemed to never speak of or worry over. He figured at first that it was all in your head, but then he worried it wasn't there at all, that you simply ignored it so well that you didn't think of it most of the time.
He couldn't imagine being that way with his own family. Sure, none of them were sick, none of them were struggling, so he didn't really know in truth how he'd react. But even he kept his weekly calls with his mom, played games with his brother, maintained a bond while living half way across the world; if his parents lived as close as yours, he'd almost surely be there multiple weekends a month.
He had tried to keep this feeling at bay, for so long. Coming to the US had forced him to question his ways, lessen his tendency to judge; it was part of the reason he liked being here, that he'd stayed after college. It had made an obvious change in him, a change that he appreciated, one he felt made him a better person. Yet he couldn't stop himself from wondering about your own family bonds, questioning why he so rarely heard about them, why once when he looked at your phone over your shoulder he saw that you hadn't messaged your mom in nearly a month. He loved you, he was almost obsessed if he was honest with himself, but that was because of your art, your playfulness, your freedom and ambition. It was your face, your body, the way you were with him, the way you let him be possessive and forceful and give into his every desire...
But one day he wanted to settle down; yes that day would probably be far in the future, and as a man he could push it to no end, but even at twenty-seven he was thinking it.
Were you really the kind of girl he wanted to be with, longterm?
"Yeah, it's crazy," you sighed in response to your mom's excitement, not knowing how to feel. You really didn't need her approval, it was major success you craved, but you couldn't deny that it felt good to hear the joy in her. Maybe it was just that she'd spent so much of her life beaten down by work and taking care of your father; either way, her tone of voice was brightening your spirits a little. "So I can come next Sunday and Monday, right? That works for you guys?"
"Yes of course sweetie, I'm so excited you're coming. Oh! Do you still have that collection of Tony Hillerman books I gave you? I was wanting to read The Dark Wind again," she said.
"Oh I think so, I'll look for it later," you said, stifling a yawn.
"Are you not at home?" she asked.
"Oh- no."
"Are you at Tina's? I'd love to say hi, I haven't heard her voice in ages," she said, sighing wistfully.
"Oh, I'm not at Tina's," you said, bracing for the question you knew was coming.
"Where are you then?"
"I'm at my fr-" friend's place, it could have so easily slipped out, but San's stare was piercing and reminded you how utterly inaccurate that was. "Favorite male human's apartment," you finished your sentence, clunkily.
"What do you mean sweetie?" your mom chuckled. "Are you saying you have a boyfriend?"
"Uh, yes, I have a boyfriend," you sighed, wishing this hadn't come out this way, and not sure why you were wishing it.
"Oh darling, that's exciting news too! Your musical is being put on, a new boyfriend, oh you should bring him! If he can come, we'd love to meet him!" Her voice was now piercing in its brightness, so much that you pulled the phone away from your ear, enough that San could hear every word she'd said. He raised his eyebrows in amusement, his mouth curling up in a trepidatious smile. But your face stayed stony, your breaths quickening; this was one of those moments your mother was pretending everything was normal, everything was okay with your family. And it really never had been, not just because of your Dad's sickness, but because of mental health issues that ran through all of you, grandparents that had died in tragic ways, a whole string of strangeness that was passed down every generation and lead to the distance between you all now.
You didn't grow up in a culture that valued family, and you didn't grow up in a family who knew how to create that value for themselves.
"I'll have to see Mom, he works a normal job and everything, he might not be able," you sighed.
"Oh please do ask him though! Is he there, right now?"
You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration, knowing she would demand an answer now, in her own special way. It wouldn't be forceful, but it would play on the guilt you felt, the guilt you deserved to carry for having so abandoned them and sharing none of this shiny life you lived. That was the point, after all, of having children, wasn't it? To get to live through them in a sense, so see reflections of your own youth and growing pains in all that they went through, and be able to know that you reached a later stage in your story, and you were okay, and they would be okay, too. Even if nothing went to plan, even if they made millions of bumbling mistakes along the way, they would be okay.
"I'll ask him, give me a second," you said, muting the call and placing your phone down on the couch beside you.
"You wanna meet them?" you asked San immediately.
"You sure you want to go on this trip?"
"Don't, please," you whispered, shaking your head, your eyes squeezing shut again. "I promised Micah I'd go, I've barely been this last year, I'm a terrible fucking daughter and I know I need to go regardless of how I feel-"
"Why do you hate visiting so much?" he cut you off, eyebrows knit together in judgement. He couldn't help it.
"Because my family is dysfunctional as hell and it's depressing!"
"You don't think every family is that way?" he asked.
"Oh fuck off, you don't have a parent who has a severe chronic health condition, you have no idea how hard it is to watch someone wither away and fold in on themselves and watch someone else desperately abandon their life just to take care of them! You have no clue what I went through as a kid." Your words were sharp, biting, and there were no tears that accompanied them, only this fiery anger that made you suddenly uncomfortably warm.
"You've never told me about it," he said finally, softer.
"It's nothing I want to talk about," you said, sighing and staring at the phone beside you. "Do you want to come and meet them?"
"Do you want me to meet them?"
"It's- it's not that I don't want them to meet you, it's that- my family is strange, Sannie, I don't know how to explain it. It might be a really uncomfortable two days."
"Your mom sounds excited," he said, crossing his arms gently.
"She gets that way, I don't know," you shrugged.
"I'd love to meet them, if you want me to."
You sighed, nodding. "You can take the day off work?"
"I'm sure, it's no biggie." You stared at him, nothing behind your eyes. You hadn't planned for this possibility, hadn't even considered the chance that he'd be coming with you. As you thought about the train ride, about sleeping in your parent's living room, another body there sounded like possibly the worst addition to an already claustrophobic two days; how though, could you say that? With a quick sigh you picked up your phone again, unmuting the call.
"He can come Mom."
"Oh sweetie, that's great!" she said, completely full of excitement.
"Oh there you are!" You heard Micah's voice behind you, coming from inside the small station, echoing off the concrete walls through the open entryway. "I thought you guys would be waiting inside for me."
"Oh no, sorry," you chuckled, turning and meeting her open arms with your own, pulling her tight into a hug.
"How are you?" she asked into your hair, her voice muffled.
"I'm good, how are you?" you asked as you pulled away, staring into the face that was a reflection of your own. You were identical, scarily so, but now that you were older your hair and piercings and clothing told you apart easily. San, however, was struck by the similarity; it had been a long time since a new person in your life had met her, and as San looked between you both with a look of bewilderment, your twin chuckled.
"I'm good, is this San?" she asked turning to him, smiling in the very endearing way you always envied. You were positive you could never look so welcoming or trustworthy; it didn't really need to matter to you, but it always had. Micah was far better with people, she had to be for her work, and though you knew it wasn't true, you couldn't help feeling like she was a better person than you for it.
"Yes, it is," San answered, standing stiffer than you'd ever seen him and sticking his hand out with great formality. "It's very nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too," Micah replied, shaking his hand, and you chuckled at the interaction happening in front of you.
"What?" your twin asked, turning to you.
"You both are just being kinda funny right now, sorry," you replied with a smile.
"Well I've never met a partner of yours before, sorry," Micah laughed, rolling her eyes a bit before grabbing your arm and beginning to walk you in the direction of her car.
Easy small talk followed between all three of you, and in the short drive to your parent's apartment all was well, the air free of awkward pauses, the weather mild and pleasant as it welcomed you home. Micah parked one street down, the neighborhood never easy to park in as a guest. Most of the complexes had parking behind or beneath, but street parking was limited, the blocks small and narrow in this older part of the city.
"Mom's a bit wound up today, just so you know," Micah said as she punched in the code to the front door, pushing it open and holding it for you both. "She's all frazzled cause you guys are coming and she didn't feel like she had cleaned enough. I told her it was fine, but, you know." You nodded at her in complete understanding, knowing just what state your mother must currently be in. "Our place isn't exactly fancy, it's pretty small and shabby," Micah said to San, and there was a hint of shame in her voice that always accompanied your words too, when you spoke of your family.
"That's fine, I don't mind," San replied. His arm fell around your shoulder as you all entered the elevator, squeezing you to try and be reassuring. There was a marked stiffness to your body now that you'd entered this building, and your hand grasped the handle of your bag so hard your knuckles were almost turning white. He sat in an apprehensive calmness as the elevator rose, not sure why you were so nervous, and not sure if he should be, too.
"You're here! Oh sweetie, it's so good to see you!" Your mom threw her arms around you as soon as the door swung open, and Micah slipped in behind her, going to sit beside your dad in the living room. "And this must be San, how lovely to meet you young man," your mom sighed, reaching up to hug him too.
"Oh mom, I don't know if-" You watched in slight horror as he awkwardly hugged her, your mom seemingly unaware of just how strange this whole interaction might feel to him. You shot an apologetic look his way, but he only shrugged and smiled at you, covering his discomfort as well as he could.
"Come on in, I was just brewing some chamomile, do you like herbal tea San?"
"Uh, yes, yes I do," he said, nodding his head and bowing slightly, his muscle memory kicking in. He wanted to show your parents respect, wanted them to see what a good and upstanding man he was. But he wasn't entirely sure how to do that; he should have asked you further, he realized, what your parents were like, instead of assuming like he always did that it would be easy to figure them out on the spot.
"Hi Dad," you said as you made your way over, his wheelchair parked next to the couch Micah was sitting on, the two in the middle of some light conversation.
"Hey kid," he replied, reaching out a shaky hand towards yours, his muscles spasming involuntarily as you held onto it. This had happened before, you'd seen him shaky, but it was clearly much more severe now, his weakness showing through more obviously, and his desperation for escape from it, too. He never had been affectionate, not until his body started to fail him did he start reaching out his hand for a slight squeeze, and as you stared at his face all you saw was a weak old man, not a father with two young daughters, not someone who had a life and goals and everything else that keeps that sparkle alive in the eyes. It sent a chill through you, recognizing the pain in his hunched form, and the steely serene gaze he always wore that hid everything inside so well.
"This is my boyfriend, San," you said, tilting your head in the direction of San as he stepped up beside you.
"Hello, son, how are you?" your dad asked, not reaching out a hand this time, only nodding his head.
"I'm good, and you?" San asked, nodding too.
"I'm fine, I'm good," he replied, smiling for a second, before it fell. There was a tense quietness, only filled by your mother's rambling and fretting, and soon enough tea was served and then sandwiches for lunch, and your mom's chatter filled the empty air in a way the rest of you were thankful for.
She wanted to know everything; how work was, how Tina was, what was happening with the musical, with any other projects you were working on. You'd written another song for the bar recently; one that Bibi performed, one that had been meant for the musical but never quite fit anywhere. You'd slightly changed the lyrics for Bibi; both San and your twin looked shocked when you told them all, it not being something you'd shared with them yet.
It was hard to feel normal as the day wore on. You and San and your mom went for a short walk after lunch, to the nearby park you spent so many days as a kid, and the walking and being outside at least gave your mind something to cling to, other than the feeling of awkwardness that was following you endlessly. You somehow made it to dinner without saying many more words to anyone; you and San helped in the kitchen, and following your mom's orders came easily enough to you both.
"So, how long have you two been dating?" your mom asked once everyone had settled down, digging into the simple dinner of tacos and beans and calabacitas, a staple in your family for many years.
"Two months-" you said.
"About a-" San said, at the same time.
You both looked at each other, disappointment written all over San's face, your own stuck in stillness as the last thing you wanted was to show emotion around your family. About what? Was he about to say it had been a year, that the whole time you'd been seeing each other was dating? It was, you supposed, even if it had been casual. You kicked yourself internally for the answer that had so easily fallen off your lips, embarrassed in every way by it.
"Wow, you two already seem so comfortable with each other, like it had been much longer," you mom said, smiling. "Must be meant to be, if you're already so close."
You blinked your eyes at her, not quite registering if she was trying to imply anything by the statement.
"I know you're young, but if you ever need wedding planning advice-"
"Mom, jesus christ," you sighed, setting down your fork and putting your face in your hands.
"I'm not trying to push anything-"
"Mom, we're 23, I don't think she should be thinking about that right now," Micah piped up, jumping to your defense. "No offense San, I don't mean you wouldn't be a good person to marry, or anything like that. Just that we're quite young."
"Oh, yeah, no worries-"
"Hey I'm not trying to pressure you! You two just seem so good together, and how old are you San? Are you thinking about getting married soon?"
"Mom don't ask him that, you just met this morning," you groaned, trying to not fall into the anger that was bubbling up inside you.
"It's a fair thing to think about kid, your mother is only being rational," your dad finally added, speaking as firmly as he could.
"I don't even know if I ever want to get married, I've never even talked about it with you two! Where is this all coming from?!" you asked, tone sharper, anger evident.
"I wasn't trying trying to upset you, sweetie," your mom sighed, her throat taught with frustration. It was her sullen face you stared at, shaking your head in confusion and exasperation, before you finally drew your gaze over to San. His face was stony, his cheeks flushed slightly in the yellow light of the room; his eyes looked glassy, and you saw him blink away tears, and you looked in confusion at his reaction, unsure why he was so affected by what had just been said.
This argument was nothing out of the ordinary; it wasn't harsh or crazy, wasn't scary or nasty, it was just frustrating, confusing, another one of those moments where you felt like these people who had raised you really didn't know you at all. The rest of dinner passed in much more silence, Micah doing her best to make conversation, your mom falling back into it easily but still harboring that tension in her neck that your outburst had brought on. Your dad said no further words, and neither did you; San sat stoic, nodding along to the conversation in front of him and adding a 'yes' or 'mmhm' where it was needed. But everything felt dour, heavy, and you wished to run away tonight, wished that you were heading back home and didn't have to deal with another twenty-four hours of this same bullshit.
Your mom blew up an air mattress for Micah in the living room, and after a movie was watched, pajamas were changed into and teeth were brushed, everyone settled down for the night. Your parents retired to their room, and Micah slumped onto her mattress beside the couch, busy in her phone as she replied to messages. You and San laid on the couch in silence, cuddled up together as San also replied to his missed messages of the day. But you just stared at the wall in front of you, at the few pieces of art that had always decorated these walls, the color you'd been familiar with as long as you could remember.
It wasn't a comforting sight. And San's arms around you weren't comforting either, and you couldn't understand why, feeling like you really were just ill in the head and blowing everything out of proportion, way too fucking sensitive for your own good. You couldn't handle yourself when your mom asked a very predictable question, couldn't keep yourself from snapping in a way that had seemed to make San sad, or worried, or maybe just embarrassed that he was even with you. Your mind spun on that fact for minutes, and when he readjusted behind you, shutting off his phone and settling in for sleep, it felt like nothing but his body's attempt to push you away.
You followed that feeling; slumping onto the mattress you cuddled up beside your twin, taking the phone from her hand and turning it off for her. Things had been weird and tense for a while now, more than a year probably, but you couldn't remember exactly, and when you were together it never mattered. This was how you slept as kids; your heads beside each other, your left arm linked with her right arm, your breathing syncing to the pace of her's. San laid confused on the couch, staring into the openness of the room and feeling uncomfortable too, in his own way. He wasn't sure why you'd left, why you'd said you'd only been together two months, or why you'd blown up at your mother so severely over such a simple question. His own boss had been asking him that for months, and of course his parents always had; to him it seemed preposterous that the conversation had never come up between you and your parents, or that you'd have such a severe reaction when it did.
"You okay?" Micah whispered to you, her hand squeezing your arm where they met.
"Yeah," you sighed, the truth of how you felt evident in your tone.
"Things okay between you and that guy," she asked, voice still so low you could barely hear her.
"I think so, I don't know," you sighed again, frustrated that she could pick up on the tension so easily. You knew it wasn't because of some remarkable sensitivity she had; it was obvious how tense you and San had been since the dinner conversation, and you were unable to make yourself be normal with him no matter how embarrassing it all felt.
"Can I say something completely deranged and disgusting?" she whispered, already chuckling to herself.
"Okay," you smiled into the dark room, steeling yourself. She leaned in closer, her mouth a mere centimeter from your ear and her hand coming up to cover it. She spoke so lowly, you weren't positive you heard her right.
"Do you ever wonder if people wanna fuck both of us? You know that whole obsession with twins people have?"
You did your best not to burst into loud laughter, covering your mouth and stifling yourself into just the rapid breathing and silent chuckling you could manage. You pushed on her side, hard, jostling her around a bit as you bit your lip and struggled to stay quiet. She rarely said things so frank, but when she did it was always hilarious beyond words, making you unbelievably happy.
"You're insane," you whispered back, when you'd finally gotten ahold of yourself. "But yes I've thought that too, of course I have."
You both fell into another fit of silent giggles before they turned to deep yawns, and before you realized it you had fallen asleep, far earlier than you usually did.
You were all woken by your mother's frantic movements in the kitchen; something had happened with your dad in the night, you couldn't quite tell, but there was grumbling and fretting and an insistence that you all stay right where you were and get more sleep while she dealt with the situation.
You couldn't fall asleep again, that ability seeming to have slowly left you these past few weeks. You'd always been a pretty solid sleeper, always able to get more if you needed it after some random sound had woken you. Your roommates all had very different schedules from you, and you lived in a cramped and large apartment building in the middle of downtown, you were used to noise. But recently it was almost like your brain didn't want you to sleep. You felt like you always had to be on guard, waiting, read to pounce; like there was some sort of simmering disaster that you always needed to be prepared for.
The day was strange, and you decided to leave earlier than planned, right after lunch, and show San around your elementary school campus instead of spend any more time in your parent's place. Goodbyes were quick, but sweet; you were proud of yourself for at least coming, even if the visit hadn't quite gone so well. There was clearly something else happening with your dad, and you couldn't help feeling frustrated at your mom for practically insisting San came too, for if your dad had some sort of medical issue he found embarrassing, having a stranger in the house would only have made it that much worse, you were sure.
But leaving the house didn't alleviate the stress you could feel on San. You walked hand in hand around the playground you'd spent so many hours on, but his hand felt cold in yours, and his grip weak; you felt like you were dragging conversation out of him, like he really had no desire to be with you at all.
"Do you want to go to the train station?" you asked.
"Our train doesn't leave for three more hours though, right?" he replied, eyes forward.
"There might be an earlier one we can catch," you said, staring at him. He was silent, his head not moving, almost as if he hadn't heard you. "You clearly don't want to be here anymore, I just thought maybe you'd like to go home."
Again, he didn't move. Your heart rate quickened, your insides like molten lava as they rolled in anxiety. There was something horrible about this posture he had; one of the worst traits of his masculinity, that ability to go completely emotionless when he wanted to, to cut anyone out who was trying to see in. But he'd never done this with you before, he'd never needed to. And you could feel the significance of it, shaking you right to the depths of your soul. You didn't have the bandwidth to deal with this; the two days with your family had already stressed you enough, and tomorrow you had an early rehearsal, an important one, and needed to be in the right headspace for.
"Let's go," he finally said, standing up and picking up both of your bags, not giving you a hand to hold onto. You followed him without saying a word, then led the way back through your parent's neighborhood, down the street that led to the station.
"It's like a twenty minute walk, I can take my bag," you said, slowing down and sticking out your hand.
"No, I'll carry it," he said, his face and tone detached, as he barreled past you. You stood, tears forming in your eyes as you watched his quick, sharp steps, knowing another terrible fight was coming, and not knowing how to stop it. At the end of the block he finally turned around, and seeing your crossed arms and still legs, gave you a patronizing look of distain. You stood still for a moment, staring each other down half a block away, before you finally found your legs again and walked past him, not saying a word all the way to the station, walking ahead as fast as you could and not caring if he was having trouble keeping track of you.
Near the station it was packed, but you both managed to find your way through to your platform, sitting in silence on a bench just inside the entryway. There was no earlier train for you to catch, so instead you went and grabbed some chicken tenders and fries from the chicken shop down the street and sat in silence eating, not even enjoying the fried food.
On the train, you were silent too; San stowed your bags, and he grabbed them down too and carried them to his place, and the two of you found yourself in his apartment almost as if accidentally, confused and tired and utterly drained.
"Talk to me," you said, standing by his front door with crossed arms, adrenaline wracking through you.
"I'm pissed," he grumbled.
"Yeah, I can tell," you snapped, glued to your spot.
"Don't get that way," he sighed, tossing your bags in his room, slipping of his shoes and walking your way to put them in his front closet.
"Tell me what the hell is going on then," you said, trying to calm yourself. "You obviously hated the trip, and I- I don't know, I said something that upset you, my family said something? It- I- you didn't have to come, I told you it would be weird-"
"It was no biggie-"
"It wasn't! Oh my fucking god, will you stop fucking saying that every time you do something for somebody else! It's not no big deal, you hate it but you do it anyway! Just fucking say that it's awful, god, stop fucking lying!!"
"Stop yelling," he muttered, walking from you to the kitchen to start making himself a cup of tea.
"TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE FUCKING THINKING!!" you screamed, arms stretched out wide in desperation.
"I really fucking hate you sometimes," he snapped, his back to you, hands gripping the edge of the counter in front of him.
"Oh, okay," you squeaked, the tears coming fast, wracking through you along with the worst panic you'd felt in a while, making your body shudder.
"You- no, you don't want to hear this- I- this needs to be said another time, not tonight, you need to go home-"
"Just fucking say it now, I'm not leaving till you've said it," you snapped.
"I'm- I can't believe you told them we've been dating two months!" he yelled, turning to you, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest in a unconscious show of strength and determination. "We've been seeing each other for more than a year, and I've taken you on a trip with me for god's sake, and it's such a slap in the face to be sitting there in front of your parents and have you downplaying the significance of this relationship, and then to say you don't even want to get married someday? And that you've never spoken about it with them, I mean what sort of things do you guys even talk about? How are you their child and you've never discussed such important thing-"
"Just because I don't treat my parents like you treat yours, doesn't mean I'm an asshole!" you screamed, wiping furiously at the tears racing down your cheeks.
"But what about how I feel, do you ever fucking think about how it makes me look? My girlfriend doesn't even want to get married someday? Why am I even dating her then?!"
"Are you out of your mind, what the hell are you saying right now?!" you cried, utterly perplexed by this line of questioning pouring out of him.
"I want to get married someday, I want to find a partner for life, I- I'm not just dating to fuck around and mess with someone else's feelings-"
"You think that's why I'm dating you, just to torture you!?"
"Feels like it-"
"Fuck you, fuck you for putting all of your judgements on me, I've never wanted to get married or have kids and that's my fucking right! And if you really thought I'd want those things, you are incredibly fucking stupid. I asked for this to be casual from the start! And you fucking agreed to it, why did you agree to it, why, Sannie, why?! IF YOU DIDN'T WANT THIS SORT OF RELATIONSHIP YOU SHOULD HAVE FUCKING LEFT ME ALONE!"
Finally your sobs were full body heaves, and you crumpled to the ground and held your head in your hands, crying into your palms and making your whole face wet.
"Stop, just stop, please," San said, tears springing in his eyes as he took in the reality of the scene in front of him. He had hoped coming back home would make things feel more normal again; he had hoped the striking anger and resentment he felt was a product of being in such cramped quarters with your family, and absorbing the dysfunctional air of you all. But now it was clear that his resentment was strong, and staying with him, and wasn't going away. And your screaming, your words, were doing nothing but watering the earth it grew upon.
You tried in vain to stop the tears. But there was nothing that could stop this sort of breakdown; you sobbed and sobbed, almost forgetting where you were, the cold hard ground feeling welcoming in it's stability.
"Why did you lead me on for so long if you never really wanted something serious with me?" His voice was closer, he had moved to standing against he wall beside you, but he did lean down, didn't comfort you, as much as his physical body willed him to. His brain was too powerful in this moment, and he was finally seeing everything more clearly; he'd let a physical and spiritual connection with you overpower his rational mind this whole time, and it had gotten him nowhere but this sick, sad moment.
"Cause I'm a terrible person, San, don't you get it?! I abandoned my poor sick dad, abandoned my mom who has to take care of him and my twin who has to take care of her, I came out here to the city and I spend my days dancing on a fucking stage and writing and doing dumb shit with my friends and with you and never calling, never texting, locking them out and pretending like my life is fine and normal while they all suffer over there, and I don't give a fuck about them, I don't think about them, all the bullshit of living in a one bedroom apartment with four people and a disabled father-"
"No, stop it," he snapped, mentally exhausted by your hard-to-follow tirade, and emotionally overwhelmed by the state of you crumpled on his floor.
"I'm just answering your question," you squeaked, finally pushing yourself up and looking at him with bloodshot eyes and a terribly flushed face.
"No, you're doing what you always do, making me feel bad for you so that I won't say what I need to say," he spat. "You always fucking do this, you always pity yourself and make it about you and pretend like you're this terrible person who just can't help doing the shit she does. You have complete control over yourself, you're a fucking adult, and you choose to be this way, and that's wrong, and I'm so fucking done with dealing with it." Tears continued to fall as you stared at him, utterly disturbed by the severe and angry man before you. "You- you have fucked me over so completely this last year, god, every single one of my friends and my brother told me I was wrong about you and I kept fucking believing that they were wrong because I loved you!"
His voice had quickly spiked to a scary volume, and you flinched in reaction, terrified by the dark look in his eyes, eyes that were now trained on you, filling with tears and despair.
"I fucking loved you from the day I met you and I did so much for you and you just shit all over me!"
"San." Your voice was pleading and pathetic.
"Get the fuck out of here, I don't want to see you right now," he snapped, walking quickly to his room and grabbing your bag, plunking down beside you without an ounce of care or tenderness.
"But Sannie, please let me-"
"No, I'm over this shit, I have work in the morning and I skipped my call with mom and my gaming night with Jongho to go on this trip with you and you couldn't even cuddle with me when we slept, you're fucking cruel, you know that? You won't even fucking tell me that you love me! I've thrown my life away for you and you've given me nothing!"
He spat the last word with such venom that you swore you felt your heart crack, the soft interior bleeding out from the damage. Shakily you stood, grabbing your bag from beside you and walking the few steps to his door quickly, opening it and then slamming it shut once you were outside. You were determined not to cry any longer in his presence, even in his building, on the off chance that he could still hear you through the walls. In the reflection of the elevator doors you took in your puffy eyes and swollen lips, and wiped all the remaining snot and tears away as best as you could. The elevator was uncharateristically empty, but once you reached the lobby it seemed like everyone had just hit the gym after work, the room swimming with people grabbing water from the water station and making small chatter. The man at the front desk looked up and nodded at you, before catching the state of your appearance, and looking concerned. You smiled in a way you hoped assuaged him, making quickly for the front doors.
You needed the comfort of your own space, needed to be where no one could judge you, see you, comment on your appearance. The sobs wanted to come again, being outside and exposed to the sounds of the street and the feeling of the air was unravelling the quick knot you'd put around your breaking heart, and soon you couldn't stop the tears, your legs growing ever weaker as you tried to push on and avoid looking pathetic to anyone who passed.
A huge group of people were up ahead, and suddenly you couldn't face them, couldn't deal with another moment of this horrible feeling and no one around you to help. You ducked down a random side street, realizing it was an alley; dumpsters and the back entrances of business greeted you, a man further down the way reaching for a doorknob and jostling it. He spotted you and took off running, grabbing the loose waist of his pants to keep them from falling and leaving you alone in the unkempt gravel road, sounds from the perpendicular busy streets pouring in gently.
You collapsed to the ground, back against a dumpster as you reached for your phone.
"Hey, hey," she answered.
"Titi," you managed, your voice breaking.
"What's wrong, are you okay?" she asked immediately.
also, y/n is just so damn evil man. she exists in a state of perpetual victimhood. she knows she's cruel, she knows she needs help, but doesn't wanna be held accountable nor take the steps to better herself. instead she just sucks san into the abyss that is her life.
good for san tho, about time my boy put his foot down 👏🏽
Thanks to some anons that I can't answer because this is the app from hell, it has come to my attention that people think Mingi is... too clingy with Ateez. They think he's always bothering them and dragging them down. And that Ateez must be secretly fed up with him and can't wait to get rid of him
... are we following the same group? 😅
Any time he has a break from schedules, Mingi either keeps to himself or hangs out w BBT and his friends outside of Ateez
As a matter of fact, Ateez have complained that Mingi doesn't hang out with them, that he always says no when they invite him out, to the point that they have begrudgingly stopped asking
Do you know how serious it has to be for Ateez to bring it up on camera in an official Ateez video? It goes against all media training, against all fanservice, it breaks the illusion that "8 Makes One Team" all the time, on and off camera
Ateez didn't make a huge deal out of it, of course, because they are media trained at the end of the day. But they still brought it up, they still drew attention to something that contradicts the narrative that "we are always together and we love it ❤"
If there's one thing Ateez are fed up with, is that Mingi tends to isolate himself from the rest of the group
I think Mingi does his best to keep his private life separate from his public persona and work life. Unfortunately, Ateez belong to the second category. Of course he loves them, of course he wants their attention (they all want each other's attention all the time and get loudly jealous when they don't have it). But also, when he has a break from work, he wants an actual break from anything related to work
Even the fact that he hangs out with BBT so much surprised me tbh. But then I realized that unless they're filming something, he's far less likely to be recognized when he walks around with BBT, wearing beanies to hide his hair, glasses to hide his eyes and big coats
But with Ateez, they're always taking artsy pictures of each other for their social media, they're always posing, they always have bodyguards and managers around, they're always visibly Ateez. They're not really hanging out with each other, they're still working. And the chances of being recognized and stopped by fans skyrocket
When he's with BBT or other friends, Mingi gets to choose whether he wants to be seen or not. And I think that's so important for him
Sometimes it really feels like this fanbase has created a version of Mingi that they can dump all of their negativity on without a second thought
Yunho is the communal boyfriend, Seonghwa is Mother, Wooyoung/Yeosang the communal girlfriends
Mingi is the scapegoat people dump all their most unflattering thoughts on
San is adorably clingy - Mingi is annoying
Hongjoong is adorably possessive - Mingi is pathetic
(especially in his interactions with Yunho, y'all need to chill; they're both masters at fanservice, Mingi knows what he's doing, stop treating him like he's some pathetic idiot)
Yeosang is an adorable airhead - Mingi is stupid
Seonghwa is always taking care of the others - Mingi's nurturing nature is completely ignored, even though Seonghwa himself said Mingi takes care of him
It's like people always see him in the worst possible light. And when something is undeniably positive about him, they just straight up ignore it
You get what I'm saying? 😤
(this is absolutely no hate to the anons ❤ they are Mingi lovers and were just reporting the mean opinions they read/heard online ❤)
requests are welcome here, but read this before sliding into my asks, please & thank you. 💋
☁️ if there's something i don't feel comfortable with writing, i'll reject the request.
☁️ i work an 8-to-4, so that means i'm strapped for time. if you feel like i'm taking too long to write, you're more than welcome to retract. just slip into my asks & tell me which request is yours.
☁️ be precise & succint. the less vague, the better. this is your story & i wanna see it through.
☁️ please do not rush me, i don't like half-assing. stories deserve effort. 🫶🏽
hey sweetie pies 🩷. my name is marti, she/her. i'm 23 y.o and a gemini (gemini☀️, leo↑, leo🌙), intp too. i work as a data engineer & i write as a hobby, amongst others, like knitting, baking & gardening. i like being active, so i occasionally play sports (shot put, netball), frequently weight lift & go hiking once a month. but i also like anime, kdramas, & binge-watching shows like vampire diaries, gossip girl, schitt's creek, peaky blinders, grace & frankie, svu & cold case.
˚ʚ ⌞ W H A T I W R I T E ⌝ ɞ˚
this is a primarily nsfw blog, so MINORS DNI/DNF. i don't necessarily have a fixed criterion for what i do write. it's just vibes. but i will not write:
can you do a yunho reader thigh riding where shes his gf
Missed You | j.yunho
Pairing: Idol!Yunho x Nonceleb!Reader
Genre: Smut/Fluff (MDNI) - mostly smut, very little fluff but still a main theme.
Requested: Yes
w.c. 3.5k
Warnings: Thigh riding, established relationship, praise, slight degradation (nothing in a hateful way), size kink if you squint, namecalling, pet names, humping, I think that's it? If you notice any potentially triggering content not listed here please let me know.
A/N: Hello lovelies ~ it feels so good to be back. I haven't written in a while but after browsing some of the amazing fanfic writers here it really made me miss it. Thank you to anon for my very first request! Also, this is poorly edited so please don't mind any errors. I will likely edit it in the future if I find any.
Please excuse my rusty skills as well, I promise I'll get better!
Requests: Open ~ please see the guidelines for requesting here.
5 months.
For 5 months, your gorgeous golden retriever boyfriend had been gone on tour, and you were expected to endure a meal with him and the members. They’d landed just hours ago and were no doubt exhausted, but Yunho looked as unfairly beautiful as ever. There were shadows under his eyes and he definitely seemed to be craving home, but the moment he’d spotted you when you walked into the restaurant…god. His tongue had slid over his lower lip, likely thinking about the way you taste, long fingers raking down his pants as if to stop the tingling spreading through him. He was wearing casual clothes, just a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but nothing could hide the art of his figure. Tall and lean, toned where it counts. His broad shoulders, his chest and stomach that you loved peppering with kisses. And those thighs.
You’d never really considered how sexy a man’s thighs were until you’d met Jeong Yunho. Muscular and thick, perfect for sitting on when he was in the mood to game for hours. Fine with you—was there anything more fun than teasing your lanky gamer boyfriend in the middle of a match? Squirming in his lap, making him fumble the controller and lose until you were bent in half, said boyfriend sinking into you?
Dinner.
Dinner dinner dinner.
You were proud of the boys and knew this was important, so despite wanting to jump his bones, you kept yourself in check and listened to the bickering between Woo and Jongho, beginning to wonder if Seonghwa had opted to dye his hair white to hide the grey caused by his children.
You were about to scold them yourself to give the poor Captain and His Wife™ a break, but a warm hand sliding up your thigh made the words die in your throat in an embarrassingly high pitched sound. You coughed to cover it up—thank god for Woo as no one was paying attention to you—and glanced up at Yunho.
“I missed you baby,” he hummed, low enough that only you could hear. His pretty lips formed a smirk that wasn’t as sweet as his words. You smiled up at him, placing your smaller hand on top of his and squeezing, silently begging him to leave you the fuck alone before you drag him to the bathroom.
“Missed you too,” you reply, making a visible effort to turn back to the conversation you weren’t part of.
You’d hoped he was just being coy, teasing you a bit, but he apparently wasn’t satisfied with your reaction as his hand slipped inward. He wasn’t far above your knee, but it didn’t matter, making you clamp your legs together and grip his wrist beneath the table. The smug bastard smiled, hiding it in his glass as he took a sip of water.
It was irritating, the mere fact that his large hand spanned much of your upper leg making you squirm. It was far too easy for him to rile you up, while he managed to maintain composure most of the time. You bit the inside of your cheek and released his wrist, your own hand moving to his lap. Yunho stiffened a bit, but that was it. You spread your fingers over his thigh, squeezing once before gently moving your hand side to side.
When he turned to San and casually asked about next week’s practice schedule, it felt like a slap to the face.
You’ve been dating for 3 years. You’ve fucked countless times on many, many surfaces. But when your fingers slid toward his crotch and found his cock already fully erect, you tore your hand away as though it had burned you. The bickering had died down, so to hide the flush on your face you took a sip of water. Yunho hadn’t even flinched, still conversing, unbothered, and wearing that cocky little grin.
You almost felt guilty about the buzz you felt as everyone began to say goodbye, promising to rest before work started up again next week. You could’ve sworn Yunho was purposefully talkative tonight, as you knew damn well he didn’t care whether or not Yeosang’s apartment had more than one elevator. By the time he was willing to humor you, you were all but vibrating next to the company’s black SUV, the driver waiting much more patiently than you.
Yunho had the audacity to ask if you were ready to go, his warm hand sliding over the small of your back. You nodded so quickly you were almost dizzy.
The SUV was quite tall, and you were…quite not. So when he opened the door for you, you prepared to climb inside ungracefully, but your boyfriend placed both hands on your hips and lifted you into the vehicle. You had no time to react, as he was climbing in after you. You prepared to shuffle across the seat to give him space, but he easily caught your wrist and yanked you across his lap. One hand gathered both of your wrists, the other resting calmly over your ass. You both glanced over at the same time to make sure the divider was closed.
“Someone’s horny,” he chuckled warmly, the hand on your ass moving in a slow circle. You frowned, tugging your wrists out of his grasp so you could sit up. Your hands found his shoulders and you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him but not letting your full weight rest against his cock just yet.
“Jeong fucking Yunho—I have been waiting 5 months for you and not just so you can grope me in a restaurant,” you grumble, fisting his hoodie.
“Technically speaking, all I did was touch your thigh. You, however, grabbed my—”
You shut him up with a kiss, mushing your mouth against his so hard you could feel your teeth pressing the inside of your lips. Yunho’s large hands found your waist, squeezing, trying to pull you down against his aching groin. You resist by using your knees, the grunt of irritation escaping him making you laugh.
“What’s funny?” Yunho asked, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. The shock made you gasp, and he used the opportunity to buck off of the seat of the car, hips meeting the plush underside of your ass.
Unwilling to let him win whatever the hell this was, you moved a knee between you, coming dangerously close to his clothed cock.
“Nothing, just my desperate boy acting like a dog,” you hum breathlessly. “All worked up, trying to call me out as the slut here.”
“You fucking—” Yunho grumbled. He wrapped both arms around you, crushing you against his chest and leaving you no choice but to straddle him again. This time, he hugged you tight; you could hardly breathe as he rutted against you so hard that it made you squeak.
You wanted to do more than pitifully submit, but you thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a dress, as each dry thrust pushed his cock right against your clothed clit. It was shameful how needy you felt, already able to feel a second heartbeat between your legs, the familiar ache as your cunt woke up from its 5 month hibernation.
“Thought about you every night,” Yunho groaned, his breath coming out in pants as he did all he could to create friction between your bodies. “You have no idea, baby. ‘m gonna fuck you until we pass out.”
“Yeah?” you manage to weakly spit out, your fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. You knew you should do more, give more, but your head was spinning, mouth dry from moments of contact after so long.
“Yeah. You’re gonna make those sounds for me, just like you did over the phone. Want you to say my name,” he says, his head falling back against the seat. “Fucking pillows…nothing looks as pretty as you.”
“P-Pillows?” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him, his hips still working against your body. He licks his lips, eyes squinted as he looks over your face, nodding.
“Mm.”
“You…you fucked a pillow?”
“Mhm. ‘s soft and I can hold it down just like you, pretend it’s my girl taking me so good,” he rambles, not an ounce of shame in his tone.
Fuck.
You’d used fingers and toys, nothing doing what he could do for you. You assumed he used his hand—knew it, actually, based on the sparse dirty phone calls you’d managed to have. But the idea of Yunho, your gigantic boyfriend, desperately fucking against a pillow because it reminds him of you…it did something to you, woke something up that you were not proud of. You wanted to see it.
“Gonna hurt you…”
“H-huh?” you stammer, your cheeks flushing red despite your current state as you were caught daydreaming about Yunho and the poor pillow.
“It’s gonna hurt, baby. Need you wet,” he breathes. He reaches his hand between you, catching you off guard as he swipes beneath your panties, rubbing the sticky wetness of your cunt. You let out a broken moan, your hole clenching around nothing like muscle memory as you think of those long fingers pumping into you.
“I’m wet Yuyu,” you say, silently praying he gives you something, even just a finger to the first knuckle. But Yunho shakes his head, hands settled on your hips.
“Not enough…I’m telling you it’s going to hurt. Need you to cum first.”
“When we get home—”
“Now, y/n,” he says. His voice isn’t mean, not even commanding like it can be, but it still sends a shiver down your spine.
“O-Okay,” you mumble shyly, glancing back as if the driver might decide to open the divider. He didn’t, probably knowing better. “Use your fingers.”
“No,” Yunho mumbles. He easily manipulates your body until you’re perched atop one thigh. “Like this. Love it when you ride me.”
You exhale, situating yourself until your cunt is pressed against his jeans. Your hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, and you meet his eyes as you begin to move, grinding against his leg. Yunho’s mouth opens, a gasped curse leaving his mouth as you lick your lips.
“Faster baby,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you as you rut against him, “want you desperate. Want you to whine.”
“Fuck,” you say to no one, rolling your hips forward. Yunho grips the seat on either side of you both, fingers twitching like he wants to grab you and move you himself. But he just watches, licking his lips and nodding as you drive yourself to the edge on his thigh.
You feel him flex, the hardened muscle beneath you offering a firmness that makes you shudder. There’s a hotness between your legs as your juices coat his thigh, creating a wet patch on his jeans. After so many months, you’re sensitive, but unfamiliar with the movement as you struggle to hit the mark.
You falter, pausing to catch your breath.
“Don’t stop, baby,” Yunho says, his voice almost a whine. Your head falls forward on his shoulder, shame making your face warm.
“It’s been a while,” you mumble. “Sorry, yu.”
“Want me to help? Hm? Need me to make you feel good?” he whispers, lips catching your cheek. You nod weakly, fisting his hoodie again as his warm hands move to your waist, squeezing once before he begins to move you. Your body is like putty to him, and he grinds you down against his thigh like a doll.
“How’s that feel?” he asks, burying his face against your hair. You nod, unable to say much. He does it just right, somehow knowing your body better than you do.
Yunho reaches between you, hooking his thumb into the front of your panties and tugging them to the side. You gasp as your bare clit makes contact with his jeans, able to feel just how much you’d soaked through them. The thought makes you buck against him, catching the friction yourself with a choked gasp.
“That’s it, baby,” Yunho says, one hand going back to the seat while the other keeps your panties pulled to the side. “Like that. Let me see you use me to make that pretty cunt wet.”
“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, your hips beginning to move in a steady rhythm. He hums in approval, biting his lower lip hard as he watches you carefully. You groan and wrap both arms around his shoulders, squeezing your eyes closed as you grind hard against his thigh. The scent of his cologne is stronger now that he’s sweating, the smell making you dizzy and needy. You lower your head to his throat and kiss him there, tasting the saltiness of his skin while your tongue leaves a wet trail.
“There she is,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. You whimper and mouth at his skin, nipping and sucking as you work yourself to destruction on him. He groans as you latch onto his pulse point, using his free hand to grip your hair and pull you off of him.
“Be good,” he chuckles softly. You bite your lower lip, eyes wide and brows tight, hands moving up to scratch gently at the nape of his neck.
All it takes is a few seconds of you staring at him like that, still rutting helplessly against his thigh, needing to mark him up. Yunho sighs and leans back to get his hands between you, grabbing both his hoodie and shirt and tugging them over his head. His chest and stomach are revealed, your hands immediately palming at his skin. He nods and runs his thumb over your lower lip.
“Go ahead baby,” he hums. “Nothing above my collar bones, yeah?”
You nod obediently and kiss him softly, his lips plush and warm as always. You want to cry at the sensation of coming home, despite the fact that you were currently humping your hot boyfriend’s thigh during the longest car ride to your apartment ever.
You go for his shoulders first, you bite down and get your hips back into rhythm, relishing in his hiss of pain. Your teeth leave marks as you let go, breath hot against his skin.
Your nails leave half moon crescents as they work with your teeth, leaving a trail of love bites over the expanse of his chest. You’ve momentarily forgotten the goal here, though Yunho has no trouble reminding you. When you go in to kiss him again, he catches a fistful of your hair once more.
“You don’t want my cock going in like this,” he murmurs, free hand gently smacking your thigh. “Running out of time, babygirl.”
“I’m wet, Yunho,” you whine, bouncing in irritation. “Jus’ wanna kiss you. I can take it.”
Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, eyes trailing over your form where you’ve paused your movement.
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Since when can you not take his cock? He was huge, sure, but it’s not like you’ll break.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much?” he repeats, his hand slipping between you again. You try not to react as his thumb goes beneath your sticky panties, easily sliding over your swollen clit.
“All of it,” you scoff, unsure of what he was saying. Yunho smiles.
“No, I mean how much? How long can you take it? I’m not gonna stop, baby,” he says roughly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Gonna fuck you until you can’t move…still gonna fuck you until you ask me to stop.”
You pause at this, licking your lips and jolting at the heat sprouting from between your thighs.
“I-I can take it still,” you mumble, grinding down against his hand. He moves it, tugging your panties again, the cooled wetness of his jeans making you shiver.
“I’m gonna take my fill, baby,” he says, watching you move against his thigh. “Been practicing. Edging myself for months. Gotta make sure I use that pretty pussy until it’s wrecked and full of my cum.”
You squeak, your brain trying to think of a good response to that. Yunho chuckles and lifts his knee, making you involuntarily buck against him.
“You gonna shut up now and make sure you can do that for me? Get that little cunt wet enough so I can use it as much as I need to?”
“Y-yes,” you stammer. His dark eyes drop to see the result of your grinding, the wetness beneath you.
“Good girl,” Yunho nods. “Come on. Harder baby, need you to make a mess on my jeans.”
You do as he asks, grinding hard against his thigh, biting your lower lip as he alternates, flexing and relaxing the muscle beneath you. You move your hand to his and push it away, tugging your panties aside in one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other, looking down with parted lips because holy shit—you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet.
He feels so fucking good, there’s so much more you need from him, want to do for him, but you promised you’d cum. So you rub and grind and clench your teeth until you’re mumbling incoherently, much to his delight.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl. So fucking pretty and stupid when she gets desperate, can’t understand a word you’re saying,” he says, hands finding your waist. You sob and begin clumsily rutting against him, no rhythm whatsoever, just desperation and chasing physical sensations. Yunho loves to see it, coaxing you over the edge the closer you get.
“That all you’ve been thinking about, baby? All your holes getting stuffed? Bet you miss waking me up with my cock in your throat.”
You whimper and nod, eyes shut tight as your orgasm remains just out of reach. You need him to do it, to finish you off, you’re not sure what that would be, just that you want him to help.
“M-More yu, gimme more,” you whine softly, mouth open like a dog as you pant.
“More? More what? I haven’t given you anything, babygirl,” he chuckles. You’re not in the mood to play with words, but Yunho suddenly grabs your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. You feel the burn of tears as you squirm and rut, his eyes full of satisfaction.
“You still gonna ask for more when I’m stuffed inside you?” he asks roughly. You nod eagerly, but Yunho only smirks.
“Knew you would, baby. Such a fucking slut for me. I tell you to ride me and here you are, too needy to realize we would’ve been home half an hour ago.”
“H-Huh?” you mumble out, that knot in your stomach untwisting. “F-Fuck, ‘m… g-gonna—”
“Gonna what? Ruin my jeans with your pretty pussy? All so I can get my cock inside as soon as I get you home?”
“Yunho,” you sob, a gasp on your lips as you begin to cum, eyes squeezing shut.
You ride out one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, mouth open, nothing coming out but pitiful squeaks and choked sobs. Yunho watches, lip caught between his teeth, holding you tight as you briefly leave this plane of existence in his arms.
“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes when you finally open your eyes, releasing a mixture between a cry and a sigh. “My good girl. I’m the luckiest man on this planet, baby.”
You choose to breathe rather than respond, but he’s fine with that, hugging you to his bare chest and cupping the back of your head.
“I love you so much, you know that?” he says, words muffled as he speaks against your hair. “Can’t wait to get you home. Gonna show you how much I missed you.”
He runs his fingers through your damp hair. You know you look wrecked already, and you’ll be shocked if you last more than one round tonight. But you’ll try for him.
“M-Missed you too, yuyu,” you weakly reply. “Why…why aren’t we home?”
Yunho laughs, brushing your hair back to kiss your temple.
“Arranged for us to ride around for a bit beforehand. Figured one of us would cave at the restaurant,” he admits. You look up at him, the stupid boyish grin on his face making you smile.
“I love you,” you huff. He leans down, lips soft and unhurried against yours for what feels like the first time that night. He tastes no different, feels no different than he did 5 months ago, and it livens you up a bit, much to his amusement.
