summary: in which the plug across the hall is exactly what you need
warning: use of weed, dry humping
genre: smut, fluff
pairing: plug yeosang x gender neutral reader
word count: 6.9k
masterlist
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Chicago had a way of chewing people up and spitting them back out looking a little more tired each day, and tonight, you felt like the city had gnawed straight through you. Your office badge was still clipped crooked to your blazer, your shoulders sore from eight hours of filing forms your dad swore would “build character,” and your brain half melted from listening to Mr. Henderson mispronounce your name every single day since you started. By the time you reached your apartment floor, the hallway’s flickering light felt like a personal attack as you muttered a curse under your breath and shifted your bag higher on your shoulder just in time to notice movement across the hall.
Yeosang’s door was cracked open, the faint curl of smoke slipping out like it was bored of being kept inside. His voice drifted out next, low and unhurried, the kind of voice that always sounded like it belonged at 2 am no matter what time it actually was. “yeah…. same price next week. Text before you come.” The guy he was talking to, a wiry kid in an oversized Bulls jacket, nodded fast, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was afraid to touch anything in Yeosang’s place.
Yeosang walked him out, one hand lazily braced on the doorframe, blonde hair messy like he’d run his fingers through it more than once during the evening. A deal. Obviously. Not that you were surprised. In this building, the walls carried information better than the mail service ever did. You weren’t trying to stare… but Yeosang had that effect. Calm. Too pretty for the kind of trouble he sold. And just as the customer darted past you toward the elevator, his eyes lifted. “Hey,” he said, that soft curl at the corner of his mouth growing the second he really took you in. “Rough day?”
Your key dangled uselessly in your fingers. “How’d you guess?” His gaze skimmed over your rumpled blazer, your dead eyed office stare, the hand still gripping your bag like it had personally offended you. “You look like you need a nap… or a drink,” he said, stepping fully into the doorway now. “Maybe both.” Behind you, your best friend Hongjoong must’ve heard voices, because your apartment door cracked open just long enough for him to peek out, clock Yeosang, and silently vanish back inside without a word. The hallway suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Buzzing with an energy that had nothing to do with the dying overhead light.
Yeosang tilted his head, hair falling into his eyes. “You eating dinner? Or did Mr. Henderson keep you chained to that desk again?” A quiet laugh slipped out of you. “Feels like it.” And because he always did this, always, he stepped just a little closer, enough that you could smell his cologne, subtle and smoky, woven with something earthy. Enough that your pulse gave itself away.
“Mm,” he hummed, brows lifting. “Welcome home then.” He said it like it meant something. Like you hadn’t been thinking about him since Thursday.
Like your dad wouldn’t throw a fit if he knew you were talking to him.bLike he knew exactly what he did to you. Before he could say anything else, he shifted back toward his doorway, but not before giving you one last slow sweep of his glance, head to toe, toe to head, old as sin and twice as tempting. “You need anything,” he added, voice softer now, almost private. “Just knock.” And with that, the door clicked shut.
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Your apartment always smelled faintly like fabric dye, incense, and whatever creative chaos Hongjoong had gotten himself into that day. Tonight it hit you the moment you stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a soft click, an attempt at being quiet that fooled absolutely no one. Hongjoong was perched on the couch, knees tucked up, sketchbook open on his lap and pencil balanced behind his ear. He didn’t even pretend to be subtle about pausing mid sketch to stare at you. “You dumped Trevor two weeks ago,” he said in that tone he reserved specifically for when he was ready to be annoying. “And you still haven’t given in yet.”
Your bag hit the floor with a thud. “Oh my god, I just walked in.”
“Mhm.” He flipped a page in his sketchbook, not looking down once. “And you’re glowing.”
“I am not.”
“You are. You walked in here looking like someone smiled at you in a way that should be illegal.”
Heat crept traitorously up your neck. “It was just Yeosang.”
“Exactly.” Hongjoong closed his sketchbook with a soft thwap, turning fully toward you. His grin was devious, warm, and irritatingly accurate. “You want him. You’ve wanted him since the day we moved in.” You groaned and dragged a hand over your face. “I’m not talking about this.”
“Oh, you are,” he said, standing and crossing his arms like a tiny, fashionable interrogator. “Because you are free, single, hot, and living across the hall from a fae looking stoner prince and questionable employment choices. And you have not made a move.”
“I’m not making a move on the guy my dad would immediately arrest.”
Hongjoong scoffed. “Your dad would arrest the sun if it looked at you wrong. That’s not a real reason.”
“He deals…”
“He draws. He listens to dubstep. He helps Mrs. Rivera bring her groceries upstairs. And he always, always looks at you like you’re about to ruin his life in the best possible way.”
Your stomach dipped. Because that wasn’t untrue. “And,” Hongjoong added, waving his pencil like a wand, “you keep pretending you two don’t flirt every single time you see each other.”
“We don’t flirt,” you muttered weakly and he gave you a look that said you were absolutely delusional. “Sweetheart. He smiles at you like that. Every time. Meanwhile, he barely remembers my name.”
“That’s because you called him Yolanda for the first month.”
Hongjoong waved that away. “Irrelevant. What matters is you’re into him, he’s into you, and now that Trevor the Cheater is gone? You have no reason not to go for it.” You exhaled, long and slow, collapsing onto the couch beside him. “I’m not… scared,” you said quietly. “Just… cautious.”
“Yeah,” he said, nudging your shoulder affectionately. “But sometimes the fun stuff lives exactly where your caution stops.” You shot him a look and he grinned like a gremlin who’d just won an argument he absolutely planned to revisit later. “You want Yeosang,” he said again, softer now. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t.”
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Chicago nights had their own rhythm, sirens somewhere in the distance, trains humming through the dark, the occasional burst of laughter from the bar on the corner. By the time midnight rolled around, your apartment had settled into a sleepy hush. Hongjoong was knocked out cold on the couch, limbs tangled in a blanket he definitely stole from your room, sketchbook open on his chest like a shield. Poor guy never made it to bed when he got into one of his design spirals. You sighed and picked up the overstuffed trash bag he swore he’d take out in five minutes, and slipped into the hallway wearing nothing but a tank top and pajama shorts. Comfortable. Innocent. Dangerous, if the wrong pair of eyes landed on you.
The elevator was broken again, so you took the stairs. The stairwell was quiet, lit by that moody orange security bulb that always made you feel like you were passing through a crime documentary reenactment. You pushed open the back door toward the dumpster and nearly collided with Yeosang. He was standing under the dim alley light, breath fogging faintly in the chilly air. Black hoodie unzipped. But he wasn’t alone. Three others clustered near him, two guys you vaguely recognized as neighbors from the second floor, and a girl hanging off his arm like she’d been born there. She had glossy lips, a tiny skirt, and nails painted the same dark shade as Yeosang’s. Her hand was on his bicep, fingers tracing little circles like she owned the access.
Yeosang didn’t exactly welcome it, but he didn’t seem bothered either. He had that half distracted look he wore during deals, polite enough not to piss anyone off, detached enough to keep boundaries intact. The second he saw you, though….. His posture shifted. His attention snapped. And the girl’s hand? Ignored like she’d suddenly turned invisible. “Careful,” he said, taking a half step forward so you didn’t actually bump into him. His voice dipped lower, softer, something unmistakably warm in it. “Didn’t expect you to be out this late.”
Your fingers tightened around the trash bag. “Hongjoong fell asleep on the couch again.”
Yeosang’s mouth twitched. “Yeah? Sounds like him.” One of the guys glanced between you and Yeosang, eyebrows lifting like he’d just witnessed a plot twist as the girl tugged at his arm again, trying to pull his attention back to her but Yeosang didn’t even look her way. “Cold out here,” he said to you, eyes dragging, slowly, deliberately over your bare legs before flicking back up. “You should’ve put on a jacket.”
The girl finally snapped her gum. “Yeo…”
“Yeosang,” he corrected absently, still looking at you. Like you were the only one standing in that alley. You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the thin strap of your tank top slipping off your shoulder. He noticed, you knew he did, because his jaw flexed just once. “What’re you doing down here?” you asked, trying for casual and failing miserably. He nodded toward the trio behind him. “Seeing some people out. Nothing exciting.” It was almost laughable how blatantly he’d checked out of their conversation the moment you appeared. One of the guys even nudged the girl with a smirk like, tough luck.
Yeosang took another small step closer, like he couldn’t help it. “You need help with that?” he asked, chin dipping toward the trash bag in your hand. “No, I got it.” He hummed. soft, amused and definitely flirting. “Didn’t say you didn’t. Just asked if you wanted help.” Your heart stuttered as behind him, the girl huffed dramatically, folding her arms when she realized his attention wasn’t returning. “Anyway,” he murmured, brushing a bit of hair from his face, “didn’t expect to run into you.” His tone made it sound a whole lot like, glad I did.
The trash bag barely weighed anything, but Yeosang plucked it out of your hand like it offended him, fingers brushing your knuckles in a way that shot heat straight up your arm. He didn’t say anything about the touch, he just gave you that lazy, unreadable glance before turning and tossing the bag effortlessly into the dumpster as the girl called his name again, sharper this time, but he didn’t even look back. Instead, he lifted his chin at the group, a wordless, go on, and the two guys immediately started drifting toward the street. The girl lingered, clearly irritated, but after a beat she scoffed and followed them.
By the time you pushed the building door open, Yeosang was already falling into step behind you, hands in his pockets, steps unhurried like he had all the time in the world. Inside, the hallway’s quiet hum wrapped around the two of you. He walked just close enough that you could feel his warmth at your side, close enough that your pulse betrayed you. He waited until you were halfway down the hall before speaking. “Haven’t seen Trevor around,” he said, voice steady but threaded with something darker. “Did the building luck out and lose him, or….”
You snorted under your breath. “You really didn’t like him, huh?”
Yeosang’s expression sharpened for a moment, jaw tightening, lips pressing into a line that told you he’d been holding back a long list of opinions. “He was loud,” he said. “And rude. And fake nice to Hongjoong. And he looked at you like you were furniture.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t frown. He just stated it like a fact he’d been cataloguing for months as you slowed your steps, turning your head slightly. “Well… I broke up with him.”
Yeosang stopped walking. His boots went still on the hallway carpet. His breath caught just slightly. And when you turned fully to face him, his eyes were already on you. “Yeah?” he asked quietly and you could only nod. For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Like his brain had just short circuited on one simple phrase, you broke up with him. Because now? Now you were single. Now the thing he’d been quietly wanting since the day you and Hongjoong moved in, messy arms full of boxes, your laugh echoing down this same hallway, was suddenly not off limits.
He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd you. Just enough that you felt the charge between you tighten into something unmistakable. “Why’d you dump him?” he asked, voice low making you swallow. “He cheated on me.” Silence enveloped around you. Not empty silence, charged silence. Hot silence. The kind that felt like a fuse had just been lit between you as Yeosang’s jaw flexed once and his eyes lowered, then lifted again, slower this time, heavier. “Figures,” he murmured. “He never deserved you.” His voice wasn’t jealous. It wasn’t angry. It was protective. Possessive in a way he wasn’t even trying to hide. And underneath it all, there was this steady hum of restraint, like he was two steps away from saying something he’d been holding back for way too long.
He took another half step toward you, bleached blonde hair falling into his eyes, breath brushing your cheek. “You okay?” he asked. Not out of politeness. Not out of habit. But like he genuinely cared. Like he’d been caring this whole time. Your fingers tightened on the doorknob, the cool metal grounding you just enough to keep your voice steady. But Yeosang’s eyes, soft, intent, right there, made honesty slip out far too easily. “No…” you said quietly. “I mean… I’m fine with the whole Trevor thing. It’s not like I thought I was going to marry him or was in love with him. But…” A breath left you. Slow and heavy. “It’s my dad. My job. It almost feels like it’s… suffocating.”
Yeosang didn’t look away for even a second. He wasn’t doing that polite nod people do when they’re pretending to listen. He was actually listening. Every word, every pause, every little crack in your voice. And that alone nearly undid you. He shifted his weight, stepping just an inch closer, enough that the air between you warmed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I get that.” His gaze swept over your face once, slow and thoughtful before he asked, almost too casually, “You ever smoke before?”
The look you gave him was half disbelief, half are you insane, because… Your father is literally a cop. Your father has lectured you more times than you can count about staying away from people like that. And people like that was standing three inches from you with his eyes softening in a way that made your pulse skip. “Yeo…” you said, warning in your tone and his lips curled into a slow, sinful smile. The kind that said he knew exactly what he was doing. The kind that made your knees feel like unreliable furniture. “Come on,” he said gently, voice dipping low again. Sometimes you forgot just how deep his voice could get. “I got just the thing to make that pretty head of yours relax.”
Your breath stalled. Pretty head. Relax. His voice wrapping around the words like warm smoke. He wasn’t teasing you, not really. He wasn’t being reckless or pushy, either. He was offering. Like he wanted to give you something he thought you deserved. He angled his head slightly as he looked at you through his lashes. “You trust me?” he asked, barely above a whisper and your heartbeat answered before you did.
You didn’t even have time to second guess yourself. One soft, “yeah” under your breath, and Yeosang was already pushing off the wall, opening his door with a quiet click, waiting for you to step inside first like he’d been imagining this moment far longer than he’d ever admit. His apartment felt like stepping into someone’s brain, someone chaotic, talented, messy in the way artists always are, and somehow still effortlessly cool. Warm, dim lighting. EDM music humming low from an old stereo in the corner, something moody and atmospheric. The TV was mounted on the wall playing anime on mute, subtitles dancing across the screen. And then the details that made your breath catch…. A record player on a shelf with a stack of vinyl beside it. A worn couch with a dark throw blanket tossed over the back.
A sketchbook left open on the coffee table, sitting next to a rolling tray full of papers, a grinder, and the unmistakable scent of something you’d never admit smelled… kind of nice. You’d never been inside his apartment before, and it was exactly him. Warm. Loner. Unexpectedly soft around the edges. Your eyes drifted to the open sketchbook first. On the page, charcoal lines, quick strokes, something half finished but unmistakably intimate. Shoulders. A throat. The curve of a jaw. Someone he’d been studying carefully.
Yeosang saw where you were looking but didn’t comment. He just smiled that quiet, knowing smile and walked past you, fingers brushing the stereo to turn the music down a notch. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, nodding at the couch. “Ignore the mess.” There wasn’t really a mess. Just signs of a life lived late at night, records, loose drawings, sleeves of snacks, a hoodie draped over the arm of the sofa, a katana on the wall that you were hoping was decorative but… with Yeosang? Hard to tell.
Your gaze drifted again to the sketchbook. You couldn’t help it. “That one’s… rough,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t done.”
“It’s good,” you murmured, taking a seat on the couch.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice warm, like your opinion actually meant something as he dropped onto the couch beside you, not too close, not too far. Close enough you could feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough the faint scent of smoke and sandalwood tugged at you as he nodded toward the rolling tray. “Alright,” he said lightly, “let’s get you out of that headspace before you implode.”
You blinked. “Implode?”
“You looked five seconds from it in the hallway.” He gave you a small smirk. “Figured I’d help.” He picked up the grinder. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, voice dipping low once more, almost careful now. “No pressure. No expectations. Just… letting you breathe a little.” And the way he said it, calm, patient, like he’d never push you farther than you wanted to go, made something in your chest unwind. You nodded and his smile softened as he set to work. Slow movements. Confident hands. The soft scrape of metal. The quiet rustle of paper. And every now and then, he glanced at you. Small, secretive looks that landed like sparks. “You can put on whatever you want,” he murmured, nodding at the remote. “Or leave the anime. Either way.”
You flicked your eyes to the TV, some battle scene frozen mid frame on mute, and breathed out a tiny laugh. He liked the sound of it. You could tell by the way his fingers slowed. “Relax,” he whispered. “You’re safe here.” He worked with a slow, practiced ease, palming the leaf paper, fingers moving with that calm confidence that made you wonder how many nights he’d spent right here, doing exactly this. The blunt took shape under his hands, tight and perfect, and he sealed it with one drag of his tongue that made your stomach flip entirely too hard.
He didn’t seem to notice the way your breath caught. Or maybe he did. He usually did. When he was finished, he leaned back against the couch, lighter flicking open with a soft metallic snap. The tiny flame lit his face in warm gold, catching on his hair and the silver hoops in his ears as he brought the blunt to his lips. You watched, too intently, maybe, but you couldn’t look away as he took a long, slow inhale, cheeks hollowing Eyes half lidded with smoke curling at the edges of his mouth like he’d stepped right out of a dream you weren’t supposed to have. Then he exhaled smooth, controlled, letting the air between you thicken just a little. Without a word, he held it out to you and your pulse jumped.
The blunt hovered inches from your hand, and you just… stared. Because suddenly your dad’s voice was there in your head. Along with the image of him showing up out of nowhere, finding you here, and dying on the spot before resurrecting for the sole purpose of killing Yeosang. You hesitated and he just watched you with those dark, steady eyes, soft around the edges, patient in a way that made your heart ache. “It’s just us,” he murmured. “No one’s finding out.”
Your throat tightened, but you reached out anyway. Your fingers brushed his as you took the blunt and brought it to your lips. The first hit made a tiny cough escape you, embarrassing and immediate. Yeosang smiled, small, real and fond. “Not bad,” he murmured as you took another hit. Then another. Something in your chest loosening, edges softening, the day finally starting to melt away and Yeosang watched every second. His eyes followed the way your lips closed around the end. The way your shoulders relaxed. The way the tension eased out of you, inch by inch. And there was something in his expression, quiet and hungry and impossibly tender, that made your next inhale deeper than you meant it to be.
“Easy,” he said softly, leaning just a little closer. “You’re doing good.” His voice felt like smoke too, warm, slow, wrapping around you in a way that made your thighs clench. And suddenly, being here… with him… alone… Yeosang took the blunt from your fingers with that same careful touch, like he didn’t want to break the moment, or you, or whatever soft thing had settled between the two of you.
He took a slow drag, exhaling toward the ceiling, smoke swirling lazily above him before drifting into the dim light. His hoodie slipped off one shoulder as he leaned back, revealing the black tank top underneath, stretched perfectly across his chest. His birthmark by his eye making him look ethereal with the blonde hair. God, he looked good. Unfairly good. You sank deeper into the couch, warmth spreading through your limbs, the noise of the city fading to nothing.
The high crept in slowly, soft around the edges, turning your muscles into warm taffy and your thoughts into something looser, silkier, impossible to hold onto for more than a second as Yeosang assed the blunt back to you. You brought it to your lips, inhaled, exhaled, your chest swelling, head tipping back against the couch. The ceiling blurred pleasantly, and you felt… free. Lighter. Like the world had let up on its chokehold for once. When you passed it to him, he didn’t look away from you. Not once. He took it, slow and deliberate, watching the way your eyelids had grown heavy, the way your body relaxed into his couch like it belonged there.
He took a hit, smoke slipping out of the corner of his mouth before he murmured. “Good?” You nodded, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah… yeah. Really good.” He smirked, looking almost proud of himself, as if calming you down was a skill he’d always wanted an excuse to show off. You took the blunt again. Another inhale. Another wave of warmth. And then your thoughts…. loosened by the high, softened by the music, sharpened by the boy sitting next to you, began drifting exactly where they shouldn’t.
He was beautiful. Like, stupidly beautiful. Blonde hair falling into his eyes in a way that shouldn’t be legal. Jawline sharp enough to hurt someone. Lips soft, parted slightly as he breathed smoke out. Thick lashes casting shadows you could get lost in. And those eyes, dark, warm, always gentle with you and only you. You felt your stomach dip again. Then felt panic. Hongjoong was right. Of course he was right.
You wanted Yeosang. You’d always wanted him. Ever since you moved in. Ever since he smiled at you in the hallway for the first time. You wanted him. And high or not, you couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore as your head lolled slightly to the side, eyes drifting back to him. He was already watching you. Really watching you. Like he could see every thought slipping through your mind. Like he liked what he saw there.
The blunt hovered between the two of you again, glowing softly at the tip, and his lips curled around a slow, knowing smile. “Feeling better?” he asked, voice low, warm, and just a little dangerous and the truth spilled right through you. “Yeah… I am.” And maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was both. But suddenly the space between you didn’t feel nearly big enough. “My dad would kill you if he knew you were corrupting me.” The second the words left your lips, you froze.
Yeosang choked out a laugh, low and rough at the edges and warm enough to make your stomach dip. Then he grinned. Full, wide, unbothered and a little smug. “Oh, I know,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch, smoke curling toward the ceiling. “Trust me, your dad’s got that look every time he sees me. Like he’s trying to figure out if arresting me on sight is worth the paperwork.”
Your lips twitched. “It probably is.”
“Oh, he’d love to throw me in a cell,” Yeosang murmured, eyes drifting back to you. “But not nearly as much as he hates the fact that I live across the hall from his kid.” Heat crawled up your neck. “You should’ve seen the way he glared at me last week,” he continued, voice dipping rougher with amusement. “He looked at me like I was singlehandedly destroying the youth of Chicago.” You snorted, covering your smile with your hand. “Well… you do deal.”
Yeosang shrugged, stretching one arm over the back of the couch, casual, but close enough that your shoulder brushed his hoodie. “Yeah,” he said softly, “but that’s not why he hates me.” Your breath stalled as he watched you, pausing and letting the weight of his own words hang between you, warm and electric. “He hates me,” he said, voice dropping to something deeper, “because he knows I notice you.”
Your heart flipped so hard it hurt as he took the blunt back, inhaled, exhaled slowly, smoke drifting between you like a secret. “Knows I look at you,” he added. “Knows I… like you.” Your pulse stumbled and your mouth went dry as the high wrapped around you like warm velvet. And Yeosang watched your reaction with that same lazy, devastating smile. “Corrupting you,” he repeated amused. “You really think that’s what I’m doing?”
Your laugh came out breathy. “Feels like it.”
He leaned closer, not touching you, just near enough that you felt his warmth slide along your skin. “Nah,” he whispered. “You came over here all on your own.” He stood, stretching a little as he walked to the kitchen, and the motion pulled your eyes with it. He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, tossing one lightly into your hands before dropping back onto the couch beside you much closer than before. He shrugged out of his hoodie in one fluid motion, and your breath caught. The black tank top underneath clung to him, defined shoulders, defined arms, the faintest line of muscle shifting when he twisted the cap off his water. You took a sip of yours just to keep your mouth from hanging open.
He glanced over mid sip, catching you staring but he didn’t call you out on it. He just smirked, a tiny, knowing twitch at the corner of his mouth as you exhaled, heat spreading through you, leaning back into the couch as you felt that feeling of panic again. Then, before you could think better of it, you blurted, “Can we smoke another one?” Because maybe that would calm your nerves. Yeosang stopped mid drink. For a second, he just blinked at you… and then he let out a breathless laugh, head falling back, hair brushing his cheek. “Oh,” he said, voice warm and disbelieving, “you’re dangerous.”
He set the water down, reaching across your bare legs for the rolling tray on the table. His arm brushed your thigh, warm, solid and he pulled the tray toward him. Except… he miscalculated. The tray slipped, tilted and fumbled. And the entire handful of weed tipped forward right onto your thighs. Your eyes widened and his did too as he froze, breath catching tight in his throat. “Don’t move,” he said sharply, panic wrapped in a whisper as you looked down.
The small pile of green sat perfectly cradled in the crease where your thighs were pressed together, held neatly in place by your bare skin and the edge of your shorts. One wrong shift and the whole pile would spill onto the couch. Yeosang set the tray aside, lifting his hands like he’d just witnessed a bomb detonate. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, staring at your thighs like they’d betrayed him personally. “Okay, uh…. dont…. just… don’t move.” His voice was low, frantic, but something else simmered beneath it. Something he was definitely trying not to let slip.
“You good?” you asked softly.
“No,” he said too quickly. Then he cleared his throat. “I mean…. yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… don’t move.”
You bit your lip to keep from smiling as his eyes flicked up, caught the smile, then dropped back to your thighs because he had no choice. The sight clearly did things to him. He swallowed hard. “I swear I’m not doing this on purpose,” he mumbled, already leaning forward, hands hovering over your legs but not quite touching. “But… holy shit…. don’t move.” He stared at the precarious pile again, exhaling through his nose like he needed a moment to collect himself. Your bare legs. Your thighs. His weed. Yeosang let out a slow breath, then gently pushed the coffee table back with one hand, clearing space between his knees and yours. The movement was smooth, almost cautious, like he already knew the situation was balancing on the razor’s edge of becoming something neither of you could pretend away later.
Then he lowered himself onto his knees in front of you and the sight alone made heat crawl up your throat. He glanced up, silently asking permission and you nodded. His hand hovered for a second, steady but tense, before he brought it to your thigh, using the side of his fingers to scrape the scattered pieces back onto the tray. His touch was careful, the barest brush against your skin. Still, every tiny drag sent a warm shiver up your legs. He cleared most of it easily… but the smaller bits clung stubbornly to your skin, catching in the warmth of your thighs. He sat back on his heels for a moment, exhaling. “Okay,” he murmured, voice a little rough, “I think that’s the majority of it.”
You didn’t say anything. You just slowly… let your thighs part and Yeosang froze. The rolling tray creaked under the pressure of his grip, like he was holding onto it for dear life. His eyes darted up to your face, wide, dark, stunned, before lowering again despite himself. He swallowed hard, adams apple bobbing and you smirked despite your nerves peaking. His jaw tightened. His breathing slowed, like he was physically restraining himself from taking in too much at once. Still kneeling. Still inches from where he wanted to look. He stayed perfectly still for another second, like moving too fast would somehow make the moment worse. His fingers flexed once around the rolling tray before he let out a slow breath through his nose. “You are going to be the death of me,” he muttered, the words barely louder than the music drifting through the apartment.
You couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at your lips. “What?” He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. “Nothing.” It absolutely wasn’t nothing. His attention dropped back to your thighs, though this time he was determined not to linger. Using the edge of his thumb, he carefully gathered the stubborn little flakes that refused to cooperate, brushing them onto the tray with painstaking precision. Every accidental touch against your skin sent another spark racing through both of you. “There,” he murmured at last, setting the tray safely on the coffee table. “Crisis averted.”
You looked down dramatically. “You saved the weed.”
“I did.”
“Not me.”
Yeosang finally looked back up, one brow lifting. “You weren’t the one in danger.” A laugh bubbled out of you, loose and genuine, the sound filling the apartment in a way that made something soften behind his eyes. “There it is,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“That laugh. Haven’t heard it in a while.” His smile slowly faded into something smaller. “I missed it.” Neither of you spoke after that. The silence wasn’t awkward. It just felt… full. Yeosang cleared his throat first, almost embarrassed by his own honesty, and reached for the grinder again. “So…” he said, deliberately lighter. “Round two?” You nodded immediately and he laughed. “I knew you were going to say yes.”
“You called me dangerous.”
“I’m beginning to think I was right.” He rolled the second blunt a little slower this time, mostly because he kept catching himself looking at you instead of his hands. When it was finished, he lit it with another flick of the lighter, taking the first inhale before passing it over. “No heroics,” he reminded softly. “Little hits.”
“Yes, mom.”
He gave you an unimpressed look. “I don’t think that’s a sentence anyone’s ever said to me.”
“It is now.”
You both laughed. The second blunt tasted smoother somehow, the smoke no longer unfamiliar. The music wrapped around the apartment like a blanket while muted anime continued playing in the background, forgotten by both of you. Conversation came easier. You talked about Hongjoong’s habit of stealing everyone’s hoodies. Yeosang admitted Mrs. Rivera paid him in homemade empanadas whenever he carried her groceries upstairs. You confessed you’d once accidentally microwaved ramen without water during finals week.
He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. “You actually did that?”
“I was exhausted!”
“You made… toasted noodles.”
“I know!”
“I wish I’d seen it.”
“You would’ve bullied me.”
“I absolutely would’ve.”
The room felt lighter. Safer. Until… something shifted. It started subtly. Your heartbeat, which had been comfortably slow moments ago, suddenly kicked hard against your ribs. Then harder. The apartment suddenly felt… warmer. The music louder. Your thoughts, which had been drifting lazily before, began tripping over each other. You swallowed. “Yeo?”
“Hm?”
“I…” You frowned. “I feel…” Your chest tightened as you took a breath but it didn’t feel like enough. You took another. Still not enough. The walls seemed just a little farther away than they had been a second ago. Your fingers curled around the water bottle. “I…” You laughed once, nervously. “I don’t think…” Yeosang’s smile disappeared and he sat up straighter. “Hey.” Your breathing grew quicker without you meaning for it to. “I don’t… I can’t…”
“Look at me.”
You tried but your vision had started swimming. “I think something’s wrong.”
His stomach dropped. Shit. Too much. It was your first time. He’d warned you to go slow. He set the blunt down immediately, leaning closer. “Hey, hey… you’re okay.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“You are.”
“No…” Your breathing became quicker still. “I can’t catch my breath.”
Yeosang’s mind went completely blank. He’d dealt with difficult customers. Nosy neighbors. Even one guy who’d passed out in his hallway. But this? This was different. Because it was you. He reached for your hands, wrapping both of his around them. “Look at me.” Your eyes darted to his. “They’re…” You shook your head. “Everything feels weird.”
“I know.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
His own heart was racing now. Think. Think. Do something. Anything. Then, completely out of nowhere, an absurd memory surfaced. Some show he watched one random late night half asleep months ago.…. “I’m about to do something really stupid,” he murmured and you blinked at him, confused. “What?” He hesitated only another heartbeat. Then, gently, he cupped your face, thumbs resting lightly against your cheeks. “If this doesn’t work,” he whispered, almost apologetically, “you have full permission to make fun of me for the rest of my life.”
Before you could ask what he meant…. he leaned forward and his lips met yours in the softest kiss imaginable. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just warm. Gentle. A quiet press of his mouth against yours that lasted only a few seconds before he slowly pulled back, staying close enough that your foreheads nearly touched and your breathing had paused in surprise. “I…” he admitted sheepishly, refusing to hide now that he’d committed, “I saw it on TV once.”
You stared at him. “What?”
“A panic attack…” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looking adorably embarrassed. “The character said sometimes… kissing someone can make you hold your breath for a second and… I don’t know, gives your brain something else to focus on.” He winced. “It sounded a lot smarter on television.” Silence stretched between you once again before you tugged Yeosang closer by the front of his shirt, the high making every sensation sharper and softer at once again.
Your mouth found his, this time with more heat, tongues sliding together as you pressed in deep. The kiss turned messy fast, breaths mingling while your hands roamed up his chest and without breaking contact you shifted, swinging one leg over to straddle him fully, settling into his lap with a slow grind of your hips that made him groan into your mouth. The panic from earlier had faded completely under the haze and the feel of him beneath you. You trailed kisses down his jaw to his neck, sucking lightly at the skin there, tasting salt and warmth. Your lips parted against his pulse point, tongue flicking out as your fingers dipped lower, tracing the waistband of his pants then you hooked a thumb inside, tugging gently at the fabric, ready to push further…..
Yeosang's hands came up to catch yours, firm but gentle, pulling them back up to rest on his shoulders. "We can't do this while you're high," he said, voice low and rough against your ear. His breath hitched as you nipped at his throat again. "I want to. Fuck, I want you more than anything right now. But not like this. Not when your head isn't clear."
You kissed him again, slow and lingering, before pulling back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Then no sex... yet." The words hung between you as you rocked your hips forward, pressing down against the growing hardness in his pants making him grip your hips in response, fingers digging in to guide the motion, helping build that steady friction. You moved in long, deliberate rolls, feeling the outline of his dick rub right where you needed it, mostly through the layers of clothing. Each grind sent sparks up your spine as you kept the pace unhurried at first, savoring the way his body tensed under you, the way his thumbs stroked circles on your skin just above your waistband.
The fabric of his pants created just enough drag against you, building heat with every pass. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging lightly as you leaned in to kiss his neck again, open mouthed and wet, leaving marks that would show later. Yeosang's breathing grew heavier, his grip tightening to angle your hips better, pressing you down harder on each forward rock so the pressure hit deeper. You lost track of time in the rhythm, the room fading to just the sound of shared breaths and the soft creak of the couch under you.
Your movements grew a fraction quicker as the tension coiled tighter in your belly and Yeosang helped, lifting his own hips in small thrusts to meet yours, the friction turning insistent. You felt yourself tipping over, thighs trembling around him as the orgasm rolled through in waves, your body clenching and pulsing against the hard line of him as a soft moan escaped your throat, muffled into his shoulder.
He didn't stop. Instead he pulled you even closer, grinding you frantically now against him, using your hips like handles to chase his own release. The movements turning desperate, short and sharp, his dick twitching under the repeated pressure and you stayed with him through it, kissing his neck and jaw as he came with a low curse, heat spreading between you both as he held you tight through the aftershocks. The scent of weed and heat and hints of sex masked the air.
“So…..” his hands were still gripping your hips. “that’s one way to relax.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. Breathless and satisfied. You kissed his jaw, trailing your lips back up to his own. “Want to smoke another one?”
Yeosang leaned his head back, chuckling and glancing back at you still in his lap.
genuine writers getting wrongly accused of using ai because of witch hunt and proper grammar/structure in their works must be what being a woman in the 1600s who is wrongly accused of being a witch because she can read and is intelligent feels like
cws: smut, making out, dry humping, riding, choking, unprotected sex, car sex, public sex, creampie, needy Hongjoong, service top/switch!Hongjoong, slight food play, finger sucking, reader is a tease
word count: 2592
summary: going out to get some ice cream on a hot summer day, Hongjoong seemed to be hungry for something else
a/n: first part, here we goooo! Hope you’re enjoying it
“Thank you, baby”, you said.
Hongjoong was holding the door of his car open for you so you could get in, true gentleman style. He also just paid for your ice cream.
He closed the door as soon as you were in your seat, walking around the car.
“Everything for you, jagi. That was nothing”.
Well, it kinda was. Doing things like getting ice cream never were normal with him, he had to wear at least a cap and mask to hide his appearance when being out with you, not wanting fans to get overexcited when seeing him. Also, you had to eat in the car instead of being able to sit in front of the cute ice cream place, out in the sun.
“Still”, you huffed, leaning towards him a bit to place your hand on his thigh when he was sitting as well, “Thanks for spoiling me”.
He closed his door as well, lifting the cap a bit to remove the mask.
“I love spoiling you. That is more of a treat for me, you know?”.
You smiled, feeling the butterflies roaming around your stomach as he held eye contact. Hongjoong always looked at you with big eyes, full of devotion and affection.
You leaned back again against the hot leather seat, shifting the focus to the cone in your hand. The ice cream was already melting, it was way too hot for this.
“How does it taste?”, he asked.
He got himself an iced coffee, taking a sip on the straw before putting it back into the cup holder in front of him.
“It’s good”, you said, darting your tongue out to lick over it, “You want a taste?”.
Something in his eyes changed, but you couldn’t lay a finger on it, you couldn’t properly read it. So you just held the cone out to him and he opened his mouth, mimicking your motion from before.
Oh.
Now you understood. That picture was sinful. You had always loved Hongjoongs tongue, especially his skills with it, but watching him digging it into the dessert to scoop some of it up before it vanished into his mouth altogether was straight up erotic.
He had some of it left on his bottom lip and he pushed his tongue out again to remove it.
“Mh-hmm”, he hummed, “You’re right, it is good”.
He smirked at you, he knew what kind of effect he had on you. You already felt hot, your whole body heating up to the image that was now imprinted in your brain. But that was a game you could also play very well.
Sticking your tongue out, you swirled it around the ice cream and made some satisfied sounds. He watched you very attentively, eyes following you as you closed your lips around the ice cream to suck it off.
You heard him inhale pretty loudly, his breath shivering. But that wasn’t enough for you. With a playful grin, you shifted your body a bit toward him, tilting the melting ice cream so a drop would land on your skin, right below the collarbone.
“Oops”, you chuckled, “I made a mess”.
Hongjoong struggled in his seat, spreading his legs a bit wider.
“Oh, for fucks sake”, he muttered under his breath.
You looked at him, your finger wiping over your cleavage to remove spread the melted dessert on your skin.
“Something wrong, Joongie?”, you asked in the most innocent voice you could muster.
“No, everything’s fine”, he groaned, “But- could you eat your ice cream a little less.. erotically?”.
You licked your finger, furrowing your brows to look confused while you suckled on the tip, letting it pop out with a wet sound.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I eat it the same way you did”, you mused.
He laughed, letting his head fall back against the seat before his hand came up to rub his face.
“Yeah, I wanted to tease you, you’re straight up riling me up”, he scoffed, no real anger behind that voice - maybe a bit of frustration.
“Riling you up?”
Hongjoong groaned again.
“Baby, I’m so hard right now. You know exactly what you’re doing to me”, he pulled at his pants as if he was demonstrating how uncomfortable he was in them.
He was indeed very hard, you could see the outline of his cock clearly through his pants.
“Hmm- you should do something about it”, you hummed, sticking your tongue out to play with your treat again.
It wasn’t much left, you dug your teeth into the cone to bite off some of the waffle. But that also seemed to make him fall apart. It was funny to you, endearing. You probably loved teasing him as much as he loved to do the same to you.
“Me? No, baby, you’re coming here now”.
He adjusted the position of his seat, giving him more space between the wheel and his body. The way he looked at you could have you on your knees in seconds, demanding but soft - already so wrecked. But you had the feeling that you had him at your mercy now. And you liked that very much.
“Can I finish my ice cream?”, you asked with a pout.
Hongjoong looked at you in utter disbelief for a second, already making grabby hands at you to motion you to climb onto his lap.
“You’re kidding me, right?”, he huffed, his voice getting a bit whiny - that was more to your liking, “Please, baby, please. Don’t make me beg”.
Your grin grew even wider at his words. Hongjoong was a very self conscious man, his aura and stage presence just a picture of how he carried himself and he pretty much was the same on a casual day. But for you - his princess - he would do anything. And that was very empowering.
“But I love when you beg”, you said, voice teasing.
He watched you continuing to eat your ice cream as if nothing was happening at the same time.
“Brat”, he sighed, “Please, baby. I need you, come on”.
“Need me to do what?”, you asked.
The groan Hongjoong made was both sinful and frustrated at the same time.
“Ride me, dry hump me- do something- please”.
You chuckled, stuffing the last part of the cone into your mouth before crawling over to him. He held his arms open, hands immediately wrapping around your waist as soon as you were settled on his lap and straddling him. He sighed, feeling your weight press down on his erection already seemed to relieve some ache.
Swallowing what you had in your mouth, you brought your fingers to your lips.
“They’re sticky”, you said.
“Ohh, really? Little minx”, he cooed, looking up at you.
You nodded and he grabbed one of your hands, opening his mouth to stick a finger inside. His tongue pressed flatly against the underside of it before pulling it out again.
It made your pussy throb, walls clenching violently around nothing and you were pretty sure you were already wet.
“My lips are sticky too”, you whispered.
That line was so damn cheesy, but it still worked. Both of you laughed at it, yet he stretched his body, pulling you closer by your waist. You leaned down to meet him, lips crashing against his in a kiss that was messy from the start.
Hongjoongs kisses were always so addicting, you could taste the faint remnants of his iced coffee, mixed with your ice cream and his own very familiar taste. Your hands pulled his cap off completely when they got hold of his hair, neither of you seemed to care about the fact that they were still sticky anymore.
He moaned into your mouth when you gently pulled on the soft strands and squeezed you where he held you close, not planning on letting go any time soon.
You let his tongue lick against yours, tasting you, devouring you, he had you gasp in a matter of seconds.
“Baby-“, his voice was choked out, sentence cut off because he couldn’t stay separated from you for too long, “Move, just a bit, yeah? Please”.
His hands guided you, encouraging you to rock your hips back and forth to give him more friction. Moans and grunts filled the space of the car, muffled by each others lips. Since it was so hot and he was radiating even more warmth, your summer dress clinged nastily onto your body. You were sweating so much, but you wanted to be even closer.
“Hongjoong-“, you moaned.
“Fuck- yes, baby?”.
You gyrated your hips, the fabric of his pants rubbing against your clothed core over and over again. You were soaking your panties and his jeans.
A breathy whine escaped you - this wasn’t enough. You needed more and you would take it.
Your fingers were quick, you sat back a bit to have more space to unbuckle his belt.
“You wanna do it here?”, he asked breathlessly, having no intentions to stop you though.
“You wanna wait until we’re at home? Driving through this traffic?”, you retorted.
Unzipping his pants, you pulled out his cock and wasted no time in stroking him.
“Fuck- yeah, no. Good point”, he nodded, eyes half lidded and lips parted as he watched you.
Your fingers wrapped around his base, going up with a firm grip, back down again with a ghosting touch. Hongjoong moaned out, eyes closing for a second in pure bliss.
You smeared the precum all over him, grinning when he let his head fall back against the leather while he squirmed underneath you.
You got up on your knees, two pairs of hurried hands shoving your sundress up over your hips. You had been right, your panties were completely drenched - but you carelessly pulled them to the side either way so you could position him at your entrance.
He held onto you for dear life when you sank down on him.
“Ohh- fuck, you’re so wet”, he gasped.
The stretch was intense, but you didn’t give yourself the time to get accustomed to it properly. He split you open in the most delicious way, even though it was stealing your breath away.
“Slow down, baby”, Hongjoong whimpered, his hands clasping your hips, “Oh my god”.
“Cant-“, you choked out, “More- need more”.
You only let both of you have a break when he bottomed out, you were not moving. It was still unbearably hot, yet you allowed him to press his body closer to yours. His mouth latched onto your collarbone, tongue licking off the reminders of your spilled ice cream.
You whimpered and arched into him, pushing his head even closer to you.
“So tight- but taking me so well, fuck”, his voice was so needy, it made you clench around him immediately.
It was filthy, messy, how he licked up your throat and sucked on your skin. He bit into the spot right below your ear, relishing in the way you melted in his hands.
“You taste so sweet, baby, can’t get enough of you-“, he muttered, pressing you down onto his cock as much as possible.
Hongjoong sucked your skin into his mouth, teeth grazing and nipping at it - apologizing kisses being littered onto the mark.
You moved, slowly at first, with tentative rolls of your hips. He met you halfway through, fucking into you from below with shallow and thrusts.
“It’s so hot”, you groaned, there was sweat running down your temples and down to your jaw, but Hongjoong licked it off again.
“Yeah, want me to take that off?”.
His hands reached around you, searching for the zipper on the back of your dress and pulling it down torturously slowly.
You shoved it down your shoulders and let it pool around your hips, not a care about the stupid fabric anymore.
A sigh of relief came out of your mouth as soon as it was off. Your hands came up to cup his cheeks again, guiding his face to yours to kiss him again.
He bounced you on his dick, helped you to move on top of him. His cock was reaching so deep inside in this position, hitting your g-spot over and over again every time he slammed you back down.
Hongjoong bit your bottom lip, tongue licking over it soothingly afterwards.
“Fuck- baby”, he hummed against your mouth, “You feel so good- holy shit”.
You whimpered, it was still not enough.
“More-“, you managed to get out, leaning back until your back hit the steering wheel.
“You wanna get fucked dumb on this cock?”, Hongjoong grinned, “Maybe you already are, look at you”.
There was nothing to be seen of his needy and whiny self, confidence and primal hunger was lingering in his eyes as he watched you tremble on top of him.
“Joongie-“, you moaned, “More, please-“.
He chuckled, hands roaming over your naked torso, cupping the underside of your bra.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you. I’ll give you more”.
He lifted your dress a bit, thumb finding your clit to press down onto it. Your mouth fell open in a silent ‘o’, you weren’t able to control your body anymore. Your spine arched, one hand prepping yourself on the window right next to you.
His other hand went higher, gently wrapping around your throat to pull you back against his mouth. His kiss wasn’t as dizzying as it was before, it was soft. Just a few quick pecks of his lips in between breathless moans and high pitched whines.
A big contrast to the way he was roughly fucking you from below while you moved your hips very weakly on your own. Your legs were already trembling, hurting from the cramped space you were in and spasming by the shocks your pleasure granted you.
“God, you’re squeezing me- you like that, huh?”, he mused.
“Yes-! Yes, feels so good”, your free hand grabbed his neck, nails digging into his skin, “Gonna- fuck”.
“Gonna cum on my cock, baby? Go on, make a mess for me again”.
None of you had a second thought about fucking in the car, out in public. But with your moaned screams, his name on your tongue when you finally got to your release, he was quick to cover your mouth with his own - devouring every sound you would give him. He squeezed your throat, knowing it would make your orgasm more intense and longer while his thumb was still rubbing fast circles on your clit.
“You let me fill you up? Please say yes”, he groaned, his voice shaking and telling you he was so close as well.
“Yes! Anything you want- wanna feel it inside”, you choked out, body still seizing up, walls milking him.
“Thank you, baby”, he muttered softly, affection laced with the growl bubbling up in his chest.
Hongjoong came a lot quieter than you did, forcing himself to stay quiet with his teeth buried into his lower lip. But still, it wasn’t any less intense. You felt his cock twitch inside you relentlessly as he spilled his cum as deep as possible, grinding into you.
“Fuck-“, he whimpered at the intense feeling overwhelming him.
Both of you were breathing heavily as you came down from your highs. You searched for his closeness, leaning forward to let yourself be pulled into a tight embrace. Hongjoong hummed contentedly, his face buried into the crook of your neck.
You combed through his messy and sweat stained hair, pushing them back.
“God, we should get ice cream more often”, he whispered.
pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader
genre: psychological horror, enemies to lovers, angst, smut [18+ mdni]
wc: 12,667
warnings: depictions of gore, violence, guns/weapons, scary creatures, anomalies, liminal spaces, minor character death, dystopian vibes, a bit lore heavy, reader has a panic attack at one point, brief mention of suicidal ideation, fingering, nipple play, unprotected piv sex (don't do this irl), creampie, praise kink, body worship, talking u through it, dirty talk, petnames (baby, pretty girl)
a/n: i am finallyyyyy getting back to the remainder of my halloween series fics!! truly so so sorry it's taking me this long, life has been kicking my ass but i am doing my darndest. as the title suggests, this is an au based on the backrooms!! if you don't know what the backrooms is, it's basically vague internet lore about an alternate reality of liminal spaces you can glitch into. you start at level 0, but there are infinite levels, each one a distinct creepy setting that may contain hostile creatures and appear to go on forever. this was SO fun to write, and although it's fairly dark and a bit scary i hope you guys will enjoy the story :) huge big ol thank u to @miniseokminnies for beta-ing, u da realest ily <3
SYNOPSIS: Your expedition into the Backrooms takes a turn when all of your crew members are killed, picked off one-by-one by the monstrous Entities that live within this labyrinthian abyss. Now it's just you, left to explore this never-ending liminal hellscape on your own, pressing onward as far as you can go before you too are killed. But when you unexpectedly run into another human, you have to decide whether or not to trust him. His cold, unfriendly demeanor is certainly off-putting, but your life very well might depend on his intel — so what choice do you have, really?
Day 42
Commander Jarvis is dead. I was able to retrieve his pack before the Entity Epsilon dragged his corpse into the nether. As the First Officer I am to resume his command of the crew — what's left of us anyway. Privates Pierson and Yu also did not survive Level 8. May their souls rest in peace.
According to the limited records recovered from prior expeditions, we should be nearing the Null Zone to Level 9. As far as the Axiom Company is concerned, Level 9 is the furthest any crew has reached before being fully exterminated. In my opinion, however, it remains a possibility that others from prior expeditions may have survived — perhaps moving on to higher levels, beyond the Company's reach. Whether they are out there, I suppose we will either find out or die trying.
Day 46
We encountered another Entity Epsilon — that makes five. We have not once escaped from one of them as a full crew, and this time was no different. Privates Klipp and Jameson fought valiantly until the very end, but that thing is a monster. May their souls rest in peace. It's just me, Sanchez, and Finn left now.
We should have reached a Null Zone by now, but no such luck. I have a bad feeling we've just been going in circles — but we have no choice but to press on.
Day 47
Sixth Entity Epsilon encounter. We were so close. The Null Zone was right there, but it was faster. May Privates Sanchez and Finn rest in peace. I have retreated and am writing this in haste from our previous post, but I won't be safe here for much longer. I am going to make a run for the Null Zone. If I don't make it, then so be it.
You slip the tablet into your pack and raise your gun at the ready. Quietly slipping out of the abandoned makeshift tent you've been hiding under, you take a deep breath. Scanning the cavernous tunnels in your periphery, it looks clear — though, that doesn't mean much. You've unfortunately had enough run-ins with the Epsilons at this point to know that they can practically materialize out of thin air. Those fuckers are fast. You know your odds aren't great, but it's not like you have much to lose left anyway.
Heading in the direction of the Null Zone, you break into a sprint. Normally you'd take greater care to move in silence, but you've learned the hard way that all the stealth in the world is fruitless against the Epsilons. So you bolt at top speed, the echoes of your boots thunking against the limestone ground booming through the stale, damp air. If there's one nearby, you're done for.
Your senses start to sting, picking up on the empty resonance of the Null Zone ahead. You're almost there. Just 30 meters more. So close you can taste it. Then a horrific screech fills your ear.
You don't stop, you don't slow, you don't even dare to peek over your shoulder. You know once you do, you're dead meat. You run and run, muscles screaming in agony as you push yourself onward. 20 meters. 10 meters. Five. Four, three, two—
Against all instincts you hurl yourself at the cavern wall between two towering stalagmites. For a split millisecond you consider the possibility that you have misjudged the location of the Null Zone, and that you are about to slam face-first into solid rock. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact.
But it doesn't come.
A sudden deafening silence hits you like a truck. You open your eyes you see yourself hurling face-first into slick, oily pavement. You brace yourself just in time — your palms slamming into the rough ground as you catch yourself. Quickly rolling over you leap back to your feet, reaching for your gun and raising it to position as you rapidly scan your surroundings, but the Epsilon is gone — as is the miserable cave system you'd been in for nearly two weeks. Instead, you find yourself standing in the middle of a street in a suburban neighborhood, dim and shadowy in the moonless nighttime, shrouded in a chilly lingering mist. The caves were an insufferable flavor of quiet, but you had gotten used to its reverberating echoes; here it is just as quiet, but instead of claustrophobic it feels uncomfortably vast. You're not sure which is worse — but you're here now, and there is no going back.
Your head swivels as you peer down the street in both directions. As expected, both ways appear endless — you're used to that by now. No immediate anomalies are detected, and since the Company's intel on Level 9 is practically nonexistent anyway it really doesn't matter which way you go at this point. You decide to go left.
You walk down the center of the silent street, observing the mundane cookie-cutter houses that pass. The only source of light here is the sparse low-wattage street lamps, their incandescent glow seeming to cast more shadows than anything, but still they all look more or less the same: color palettes ranging from gray to beige, windows darkened, manicured lawns sitting picture-perfect without a blade of grass out of place. Painfully bland. You note none of the houses have numbers, but of course they don't.
Eventually you spot a four-way intersection. Approaching the cross street, you pause at its stop sign — the first and only bit of color you've seen thus far. Logistically, it makes the most sense to continue straight; there are no street signs, so the more turns you make the more likely you are to get lost. But there's no logic to the Backrooms — just when you think you're starting to figure things out, everything can change in the blink of an eye. Try to strategize your way out of a situation, and you'll probably end up in a worse one. You decide to turn right.
The pure silence is deafening, causing your ears to ring just enough for it to be irksome. You don't know what Entities await you in Level 9 — anyone who does most likely did not live to tell the tale; and while this place feels somehow even more devoid of life than the cave systems of Level 8 your intuition tells you something awful is present here. Yet you walk for miles and come across nothing but endless empty houses. You wonder what would happen if you tried to go inside one; the thought is appealing — as is the potential of finding an actual bed to sleep in for the first time in months. But the illusion of shelter might cause you to let your guard down, and you're not yet sure if that's a risk you're willing to take.
You stroll for another 15 minutes, passing a few more intersections but continuing on your path ahead. The protocol for a new level is always to scope out the environment first, provided you deem it safe enough to do so. You've always found that a bit laughable — only Level 0 is free of Entities, after all. After that, any sense of safety is merely an illusion. It's a matter of when, not if, something finds you. But by Backrooms standards, you currently feel about as safe as it gets.
Your feet start to drag as you walk on. You have been going practically non-stop for the brutal two weeks spent in the Level 8 caves — a little rest would do you wonders right now. You begin to study each house as you walk past, trying to get a sense of any danger that may be lurking behind their doors. Much of surviving the Backrooms boils down to natural survival instincts; yours are pretty damn good (it's why you were recruited, after all), but you're exhausted. Even the best soldiers start to lose their grip on reality in this state.
You pass on a few dozen houses. None of them have felt dangerous, but uncertainty is making you hesitant, so you reluctantly press on. You're nearly past the umpteenth beige house when something makes you stop. Turning to your left, the house standing before you looks as unremarkable as the rest. But something about it feels different. Whether that's a good thing or not, you are unsure — but there's only one way to find out.
You step onto the sidewalk, slowly approaching the front door. Even up close, you can't make out any single thing through the boxy windows; it's as if they are solidly opaque rather than just dark. Reaching for the handle, you turn it slowly. You were half expecting it to be locked, but it turns, granting you entry. You push it open just a crack, raising your weapon as you peer into the dark house; it looks like an ordinary modern home interior — no immediate signs of Entities or other danger. Slowly you let yourself in, shutting the front door behind you. You tug a small flashlight from your utility belt — an item infrequently used in the Backrooms, as many Entities are attracted to light. Clicking it on, you scan the room, finding nothing but furnishings as dull and uninteresting as the house's exterior. A set of stairs stands before you, but you proceed past it down the first floor's main hall. You open the doors you pass along the way, only finding a half bath and a few empty closets. Stepping into the kitchen, you find it as ordinary as the rest of the house. You're about to head upstairs when a slightly ajar cabinet catches your eye.
Walking over to the counter, you hesitantly reach for the cabinet door. You open it, eyes widening as your flashlight beam falls on the stock of cans and provisions packs behind the door — food.
Your mind starts to race. Without a doubt, humans were once here. But where are they now? If they had moved on to higher Levels, it's unlikely they would have left food behind. Did they die? Are they still here? If so, where are they?
click
The metallic sound behind your ear sends an immediate chill down your spine. You freeze, body going rigid in fear.
"Put the gun down and turn around. Slowly."
The gruff male voice comes from right behind you. You do as it says, cautiously setting your weapon on the counter and raising your hands in the air. Turning slowly you come face to face with the black muzzle of a pistol, held by a tall, scowling man.
"Who are you?" he barks. "You Company?"
He glares at you through narrowed eyes. Between his spiked hair, tattered headband, eyebrow piercing, and the large scar across his cheek, he would look scary even if he weren't holding a gun to your head.
"I'm Commander l/n of the Exodus Crew, Expedition Andromeda. Our mission is to—"
"Yeah, whatever, I know the spiel," the man scoffs. He cocks his head at you. "Where's the rest of your crew?"
"Dead," you answer him with a glare.
"You kill 'em?" he questions, pressing his pistol threateningly into your forehead.
"What?" you balk. "Of course not, why would you even think that?"
"What do you know of Expedition Crusader?" the man continues, disregarding your question.
"Crusader?" you repeat, your brow shifting in confusion. "There's no such expedition from the Axiom Company with that name."
He lets out an incredulous huff.
"Okay, so you know nothing. Got it."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you inquire. You glance up at the barrel of the man's pistol. "And can you get this fucking gun out of my face?"
He stares at you for a moment, considering. You are a potential threat, but you also could be of use to him. Eventually he lowers the gun, letting it rest at his hip; you note that he doesn't take his finger off the trigger.
"It means you're just another pawn in the game."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" you stare at him, growing annoyed already. "Who even are you?"
The man looks at you, unanswering, the gears in his head clearly still turning.
"Call me Hoshi," he finally tells you. He gestures to your gun on the counter. "Get your weapon. But try anything funny and I will kill you."
"I won't," you respond as you grab your gun and put it back into its holster. "I'm just glad to see another human," you admit.
The man huffs again. "Right."
"What's your fucking problem?" you question, following him as he walks off toward a door at the other end of the kitchen. As he opens it you see it appears to lead down to the basement. He descends the staircase without responding; you roll your eyes, trudging after him.
"Shut the door behind you," he barks from somewhere in the darkness. You oblige, extinguishing the already inadequate light source. You're about to complain when you hear the strike of a match — Hoshi ignites a single lantern in the middle of the room, casting a faint flow over the basement's contents. You see a neatly piled stash of rations in one corner, an assortment of rifles and weapons in another, and a twin sized mattress with a single blanket pushed up against the wall — clearly this is where he has hunkered down. Hoshi sits down at the single table, where various maps and tablets are scattered, as if he had been studying them.
"Tell me everything you know about the Company and its missions," he says as you sit in the chair opposite from him.
"That's classified—"
He crosses his arms as he shakes his head, cutting you off. "I already know it all. I just want to see how much you know."
"So you're Company then, too."
"Formerly," he grumbles.
"What does that mea—"
"We'll get there. Just start from the beginning."
"The beginning?" you raise your brow at him. "You want a fucking history lesson?"
"Skip the details," he waves his hand dismissively. "Just give me a summary."
You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar. You don't like the idea of just sitting around wasting time, but you are fucking exhausted.
"Fine," you sigh. "In the year 2135 a group of scientists conducting research on particle physics accidentally discovered a gateway to an alternate dimension that became known as the Backrooms. One of the scientists, Zhang, volunteered to be the first person to enter. He went in, and the team waited patiently for him to report back — nobody knew whether time progressed at the same velocity in the Backrooms, after all, so there could be some sort of delay. They gave it a few days, then a few weeks, then several months. But he was never heard from again. The team then decided to set up a base camp in the Backrooms, to conduct further research and transmit data back to Standard Earth. It was a groundbreaking endeavor, and every day it seemed there was a new discovery that made physicists question everything they knew about the fabric of reality. The research was thriving, but there was a major problem: the initial team who went in could not find a way out. Transmissions from the team became less and less frequent; and eventually, radio silence. Optimism began to dwindle, and funding started to run out. The project was in danger of being shut down entirely — but a coalition of wealthy donors founded the Axiom Company to continue the research. They launched Expedition Pioneer, and sent the first official crew in on a recovery mission. They found the base camp, but it seemed abandoned — and the scientists were nowhere to be seen. The recovery operation turned into reconnaissance, and soon the first Null Zone was discovered. That's when they realized there was more than one level to the Backrooms — but just like nobody could return to Standard Earth from Level 0, those who proceeded to Level 1 could not return to the previous Level. This encouraged Axiom to turn the Backrooms into a full-fledged enterprise. More and more expeditions embarked, and more and more Levels were discovered; the physicists began to theorize that the Backrooms actually contained an infinite number of Levels — a never-ending labyrinth of dimensions within dimensions. But of course, there were also the Entities. Entity Alphas were the first, lurking in the shadows of Level 1's parking garage enviro. They were awful enough as is — large, gangly, and fleshy, strong enough to rip humans apart in a single go. But it only got worse when the Pioneer crews discovered they also had the ability to mimic — disguising themselves as fellow crew members, luring you in with a false sense of security and then shredding you into pieces."
You pause as the gruesome imagery flashes through your mind. Gritting your teeth, you reach for your canteen and take a swig of lukewarm water. You've had no one to talk to since the last of your crew were exterminated (except for yourself, but you try to keep that to a minimum — for your safety as well as your sanity), and your throat is already growing hoarse.
"Anyway," you continue, recapping your canteen and clipping it back onto its place on your utility belt. "I'm sure you're all too familiar with the known Entities." Hoshi doesn't respond, continuing to stare at you coldly from across the table. A grimace seems permanently etched onto his face, but you can't get a read on his motives. Frustrating.
"Despite all the setbacks, incredible progress was made. The Company developed a massive database, recording everything known about the Backrooms and each of its Levels. The first few Levels are the most well-known, but documentation exists through Level 8. No reports from further Levels have ever been received, and nothing is known of Level 9. There has even been speculation that Level 9's enviro is inhospitable to humans, that no one who has entered it has survived — but we are currently in Level 9, so clearly that's not true."
You stop, wondering if Hoshi is satisfied with your rundown of the shit he certainly already knows. His lips remain pursed, saying nothing but continuing to glare at you.
"Do you have a fucking problem with me?" you spit suddenly.
"That depends," he responds, unfazed by your hostile tone.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"It's complicated."
"It's a yes or no question," you scowl.
"You are naive. Things are not as straightforward as you think they are."
"Go ahead then," you huff, growing exasperated. "Explain to me how things really are, since apparently I'm fucking stupid."
"You're not stupid," he states matter-of-factly. "You wouldn't have made it this far if you were."
"Then why are you speaking to me like I am??"
"The truth can be hard to grapple with."
"I've seen Entity Alphas rip a human to shreds in seconds," you glare. "I've seen a Gamma boil my crewmate's skin off with their projectile acid venom. I've watched helplessly as Epsilons picked my crew off one by one, taking them alive and dragging them off to to god knows what kinds of horrors lay waiting in the nether. I assure you, whatever it is, I can handle it."
"That's not what I mean."
You swiftly draw your gun and aim it at Hoshi's forehead, switching the safety off.
"I don't appreciate you wasting my fucking time with your cryptic bullshit," you sneer. "Tell me whatever it is that's so important, or die. Your choice."
Hoshi laughs. An infuriatingly haughty chuckle, aggravated even further by the smug smirk spreading across his face. Your scowl deepens, but he just reclines in his chair, raising his hands and resting them behind his head, nonchalant and arrogant.
"Go ahead darling, shoot me," he shrugs. "I've wanted to blow my fucking brains out every single day for a very long time now. You'd only be doing me a favor. But just know that without me, you'll be dead within days."
Your jaw clenches. Unfortunately, you know he's probably right. You don't know how long Hoshi has been in Level 9, but if he's survived this long he certainly has knowledge that would be useful to you.
"Fine."
You switch the safety back on and lower your weapon.
"But call me darling again and I'm gonna start breaking fingers."
If your threat had any effect on him, his callous face shows no sign of it. Rising to his feet, he begins to quickly move to gather the documents on the table.
"For now I will give you a very basic rundown," he tells you, rolling the papers up and shoving them into a small metal canister retrieved from his pack. "But we can't risk staying here any longer. I'll tell you on the way to our next location. Grab any weapons you want," he instructs, pointing to the stockpile in the corner. "Good chance you'll need 'em."
You have dozens of burning questions, but you hold your tongue. You don't think Hoshi would answer any of them right now anyway.
"Anything I can do?" you inquire after arming yourself with an additional automatic rifle and several hand grenades.
"Collect the provisions from the kitchen," he orders as he folds up the safety blanket into his pack. "I'll be up in a minute."
You turn to head back up the stairs, but you are halted by Hoshi's hand grabbing your wrist. Turning to face him, his piercing eyes bore into yours.
"If anything looks out of place, run."
"What do you m—"
"I mean exactly that. Use your instincts. Your life depends on it now more than ever."
As much as you want to trust Hoshi, you don't. Something about him scares you. You're not sure what — but according to him, there's no time to stand around and think right now. It's either trust him, or fend for yourself. Neither is very appealing, but for the time being, you decide to do as he says.
"Understood," you reply bluntly. He releases your arm, and you proceed up the stairs.
As you saw before, there's not much in the cabinet. It takes you approximately thirty seconds to stow the provisions in your pack. You hear Hoshi's footsteps echoing as he climbs up the stairs; turning, you see him emerge from the dark basement, hauling his belongings and also wielding an automatic rifle. You're about to ask where it is exactly that you two are going, when you notice the houseplant in the hallway. It's a large fern, tall and leafy, and it definitely wasn't there before.
Hoshi's eyes dart to where yours are fixed, immediately registering the anomaly. He turns to tell you to run, but you have already bolted out the back door. He runs after you, following you as you kick down the fence gate with a single blow and bolt into the street.
"LEFT!" he shouts at your back. You turn left, sprinting down the center of the road off into the permanent suburban night. He's fast, advantaged by his height, but you're faster. He lengthens his strides, pushing onward, finally catching up to you at the next intersection.
"Stop!!" he orders, and you do. Back to back, you survey the streets around you. You're not entirely sure what it is you're looking for, but as far as you can see in every direction you find nothing. Intuition tells you you are safe — for now, at least.
"We're clear," Hoshi states. He lowers his gun a bit, but still grips it firmly. "For now."
He turns to face you, his sharp eyes locking onto you.
"You're very good at following orders," he says to you, but by the bitterness in his tone you can tell that it's not a compliment. He walks off, continuing straight down the same street.
You follow him for several blocks, walking a couple meters behind him without conversation, but you quickly begin to grow annoyed.
"What was that?"
"An Entity Zeta," he responds curtly, not bothering to turn around. You wait for him to elaborate, but of course he doesn't.
"And what exactly are the Zetas?" you inquire, speeding your pace to catch up to him. "What's their M.O.?"
His jaw clenches. "They're a hive mind," he answers bitterly. "A massive, interconnected colony of festering, insect-like creatures. Their M.O. is to stalk and ambush. They don't attack right away. They watch you, disguising themselves as familiar objects — waiting until you least expect it, striking when you're at your most vulnerable. If you feel safe for even a moment, you're not."
"And that houseplant was one of them."
"Yes."
"What would have happened?" you press. "If we hadn't ran away?"
"It would've erupted into a swarm of vermin and cleaned all the flesh off our bones within a minute tops."
"Oh."
"Yeah," he huffs. "'Oh' is right."
"Is there any way to fight back?"
"Depends how close they are. If they're too close, no. You either run or you're fucked. If they're further away, fire will deter them, but not for long. There's no true way of 'killing' them off — it'll just retreat back into the hive mind and regenerate."
"You say fire. Are grenades the best bet?"
"Grenades can be effective. But your best bet—" He slips his pack off his shoulder, pulling out an empty beer bottle with a rag sticking out of it. "Is one of these."
You raise your brow at the crude Molotov cocktail, but as you think about it it does makes a lot of sense.
"What do you use to ignite it?"
Hoshi reaches into the breast pocket of his cargo jacket, pulling out something small and tosses it at you. As you catch it, you see it's a matchbook.
"Here," he adds, extending the bottle in his hand to you. "Take this one."
You tuck the matchbook into your own pocket and slip the makeshift bomb into one of the external pockets on your pack.
"Thanks," you tell him amicably. "Hopefully I won't need it."
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He still wears the same scornful expression, but unless your eyes are deceiving you, it seems to have softened ever so slightly.
"You will."
You walk in silence again for a few moments. The question lingering on your mind nags at you, begging to be asked.
"Is your crew still around or is it just you?"
Hoshi stiffens. "Just me," he answers grimly.
"I'm sorry for your loss," you tell him sincerely, but he just scoffs. He continues onward, lips pursed tightly shut as he doesn't reply.
"Did they—"
"I don't want to talk about it," he sneers.
"Okay," you accept. "Sorry."
He says nothing. You go back to walking in silence.
At the next intersection, Hoshi turns right.
"Are we going to a specific location or are we just wandering until we find something?" you ask.
"Specific location. We're close."
You wonder if his bluntness is related to you bringing up his crew, ripping open a not-so-old wound. But in the short span of time you've known him, you've gathered this is just how he is.
"Here," he says a few blocks later, stopping in front of another perfectly nondescript house. He heads for the front door — you follow.
The house's interior is almost identical to the previous one you were in, bland and impersonal.
"I'll sweep upstairs. You take downstairs," he instructs, quickly disappearing up the stairs. You're not sure exactly what you're looking for, since the Zetas can apparently shape shift into anything, but you investigate anyway. The living room, dining room, kitchen, closets, and bathroom all seem fine. The last room to be checked sits behind a closed door; you swing it open, your gun at the ready — but you find nothing but an ordinary bedroom. You check its bathroom as well, but it too is clear.
Hoshi materializes in the doorway as you exit the bathroom.
"Upstairs is clear."
"Downstairs too," you inform him. "I can't believe this one has a real bed," you remark, a grin appearing on your face for the first time in god knows how long.
"They all do," he replies. You turn and give him a look.
"Then why were you sleeping in the basement in the other one?"
"It's not important."
You stare at him blankly for a moment, but then you just shrug.
"Well I'm sleeping here," you announce, plopping your pack down on the floor. "An actual bed, in the Backrooms. It's a goddamn miracle."
"Don't get too comfortable," Hoshi tells you dully, turning to exit the bedroom.
"Will we have to move again soon?" you inquire. He stops, looking back at you.
"It's likely."
"Is there a pattern to the Zetas' movement?" you ask, making him stop in his tracks again. He lets out a small sigh.
"Get some sleep," he says plainly, and then he leaves.
You're about to plop yourself on the bed and go right to sleep, but a thought crosses your mind. You step back into the bathroom, walking over to the shower and turning its knob. To your surprise, it actually turns on, an inviting stream of water spraying from the faucet.
"Holy shit," you mutter to yourself, a wide grin spreading across your face. You're about to begin undressing when an arm reaches from behind you and shuts the water off. You whip around abruptly, finding Hoshi's face hovering above yours. His broad stature towers over you — from this close up, he is even more intimidating than he already ways.
"What the hell?!" you bark at him.
"I told you," he glares down at you. "The Zetas will attack at your most vulnerable."
"I'll be fast."
"No," he insists, crossing his arms. "It's too risky."
"Oh come on," you groan. "I haven't taken a proper shower in ages. Let me have this."
"You're asking to get killed."
"Oh go fuck yourself," you roll your eyes, taking your shirt off anyway. Hoshi averts his eyes; you reach for the knob and turn the water back on. "I'll be five minutes."
"Fine," he grumbles. "I'll stand guard I fucking guess."
You're about to point out that you never asked him to do that, but you just shake your head. There's no point in arguing with him, it seems.
"Suit yourself."
He shuts the door behind him as he exits. You spend the next five minutes basking in the glory of a real, functioning shower. The water is cold, but you don't even care — as far as you're concerned this is the peak of luxury.
After, you exit the bathroom to retrieve the change of clothes from your pack. Sure enough, Hoshi is standing right outside the door; when he sees that you're naked, he quickly turns away.
"Could've given me a fucking warning," he mumbles under his breath.
"Sorry," you say uninterestedly as you get dressed again. "I wasn't about to put those filthy clothes back on."
"I'm dressed now," you announce about a minute later.
"Great."
He starts to walk out of the room when you grab him by the shoulder.
"You should take a shower, too."
"I'm fine," he responds, trying to walk away, but you cling to his shirt, yanking at it to spin him back around.
"Take a fucking shower," you glare at him. "Give me your gun, I'll be on watch."
He grits his teeth, but to your surprise he stomps back into the bathroom.
"I'm not giving you my gun. Use your own."
The door slams shut behind him. You grin as you hear the water turn back on, picking up your weapon and stationing yourself beside the door.
Eight minutes later the ambient rush of the water dissipates. Hoshi appears a few moments later, marching out of the bathroom and making a beeline for the door. You consider teasing him for taking so long, but you are promptly distracted by his stark lack of clothing. He wears only his underwear and headband, the rest of his clothes balled up in his fist sopping wet as he walks out of the room. It was clear from the moment you met him that he had a strong build — but seeing him shirtless, water droplets beading down his back between the crevices of his muscles, very much takes you by surprise.
"See? Wasn't that nice?" you call out to him. He turns back around, his thick pectorals also glistening with water despite the darkness of the room. He stares at you intensely, but the harshness which you've grown accustomed to from him has seemed to mellow slightly.
"Goodnight, Commander l/n," he says calmly, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
You wake about eight hours later. Level 9 has no daylight, so there's no such thing as a true morning — but for the first time in months you actually feel refreshed. You don't know when was the last time you slept this long in one go. Certainly well before your time in the Backrooms.
You find Hoshi in the kitchen, eating beans straight from a can. He still wears a deeply wearied look, but he too seems like he slept well.
"I was just about to wake you," he states, extending the can of beans to you. "You should eat."
You gladly accept the can of beans, spooning a large bite into your mouth.
"I don't know when the last time I had real food was," you comment gleefully as you chew. "All I have left is the dehydrated powder shit and calorie pills."
"We seem to have been the last crew sent in with canned goods," he tells you. "The Company shifted to processed nutrient provisions after us. Cheap bastards."
Your lips twitch into a grin. Getting a full night's rest has seemingly done wonders for the man's demeanor. You consider commenting on it, but you figure he wouldn't appreciate that very much, and the last thing you want to do is piss him off even a little. But, you do still have about a thousand questions for him.
"What were they like?" you ask, treading carefully. "Your crew. You haven't told me much about them."
Hoshi tenses up, a cold expression washing over his face.
"I don't see how it's relevant."
"Okay," you nod acceptingly, not wanting to aggravate him. "How about you then?"
He narrows his eyes at you, confused. "What about me?"
"I don't know, anything. What's your rank?"
"What's it to you?" he cocks his head at you.
"Just trying to make conversation, damn. Sorry," you spit. Irritated, you turn to walk away. You're nearly out of the kitchen when he decides to answer.
"First Officer," he says, his voice less harsh this time. You turn back around; he's still staring at you sternly, but he no longer seems hostile.
"Oh shit, really?" you ask, surprised but interested. "Me too."
"I thought you were Commander," he frowns, wondering if you lied to him before.
"Only after an Epsilon got our initial Commander," you reply, trying not to relive that memory too much.
"Oh. I see," he says quietly, accepting your answer.
"But I suppose rank doesn't mean much of anything anymore," you comment neutrally. "Not when you're the last remaining crewmate."
"I suppose not."
"Well, First Officer Hoshi," you say as you finish off the beans. "What's our course of action for today?"
Hoshi lets out a bewildered laugh. You raise your brow at him, but he just shakes his head.
"Hoshi isn't my real name," he explains. "We all had nicknames, me and my crew."
"What is your name, then?" you ask, genuinely curious, but the minute amount of warmth present in his face quickly fades.
"That's not important."
"That seems to be your answer for everything."
"That's because most things are no longer important," he responds coolly. "Not if you're to survive Level 9."
With that, he departs the kitchen. You sigh. It's exasperating dealing with Hoshi — but you decide to follow him.
"You didn't answer my question," you remind him as you join him in the dining room. He is sitting at the table, notebooks and tablets and maps strewn across its surface just as they were in the previous house's basement.
"What question?"
"I asked you what our course of action is."
"Our course of action is to not die," he states.
You roll your eyes. "Yeah, no shit. I mean, is there anything I can do to help?"
"No."
"That can't possibly be true."
He glances up at you, sharp eyes locking into your gaze. Every time, it's intimidating.
"You don't have the intel needed to be of use here."
He says it matter-of-factly, without contempt, but you're still irked by his unintentional rudeness.
"Well, you could fill me in," you suggest, but he just waves his hand at you dismissively.
"That would take too long."
"It's not like we have anything else to do!" you point out, growing annoyed.
"Fine! Here," he barks, grabbing a handful of the maps and shoving them toward you. "Study these."
"Thank you," you say curtly, snatching them from his hand and marching out of the room.
You spend the next few hours studying Hoshi's maps of Level 9. For the most part, they are incomprehensible, and you genuinely start to wonder if he might just be insane. Eventually you bury your head in your hands, groaning with frustration. A few moments later, you sense movement, coming from behind you. You reach for your gun and jump to your feet, swiveling around and pointing the weapon, but it's just Hoshi.
"Fucking hell, don't sneak up on me like that!" you chastise him.
"Apologies." He extends to you an additional piece of paper; you take it, seeing an assortment of keys, diagrams, and notes. "This should help you understand the maps better."
"Gee, thanks, this would've been really helpful several hours ago," you say sardonically as you scan the sheet.
"I made it just now."
"Oh," you reply, lifting your gaze to meet his. "Well, thank you."
He gives you a single nod, spinning on his heel and retreating back to the dining room.
With Hoshi's new notes, you're quickly able to start making sense of the maps. What had previously looked like the scribblings of a madman turn into a vastly complex mathematical schematic depiction of the known areas of Level 9. You're still on the fence about whether the man is insane, but one thing becomes very clear: he's a fucking genius.
A few more hours and your brain is aching from overuse. When the maps start to become convoluted, you decide to call it quits. You gather the papers and return them to Hoshi in the dining room; he's in the exact same spot he was hours ago, poring over some sort of document on his tablet.
"Thank you for the notes," you tell him as you set the maps on one of the few empty spots on the tabletop. "They really helped me start to make sense of things."
"You're welcome," Hoshi replies, the polite words feeling awkward rolling off his tongue. It's been a long time since he's had a casual conversation with anybody that didn't involve giving or receiving orders.
"I'm going to sleep now," you inform him.
"Okay."
"Goodnight, Hoshi," you say cordially.
He simply nods. You figure that's about as much as you're going to get out of him; as you walk out of the room, you hear his voice echo calmly from behind you.
"Goodnight."
As you sleep you have a nightmare.
It's a recurring one — one you've been having for a while now. In it, you're wielding a gun, but it's not like the ones you carry with you in the Backrooms. It's a .45 handgun, and you're frantically reloading it as you crouch behind something that resembles a desk. Your hands are shaky and covered in blood, but it doesn't appear to be yours. A curly-haired man is perched beside you, reloading his own pistol. He's wounded, appearing to have been grazed by a bullet in the arm, one of his glasses lenses half-shattered, but he appears determined; he signals to you to advance.
"Go!! I'll cover you!" he mutters to you under his breath.
"I don't feel very good about this anymore," you reply, cocking your gun. He looks at you somberly, but you can tell he understands.
"Me neither," he says, then smiles at you. "If I don't see you again, it's been a pleasure working with you."
You grin back. "Likewise," you reply.
"On my signal," he tells you. You take a deep breath, shifting to prepare yourself to make a run for it.
"Three… two… one… GO!!!"
You jump to your feet and hurdle yourself over the desk, coming face to face with three men in full riot gear and guns much bigger and scarier than yours. A shot rings out from behind you as your companion shoots at the nearest one — he hits him, and the armed man collapses to the ground. You manage to yank the ballistic shield out of his hands as you pass, wielding it as you sprint toward the emergency exit that the remaining two men are blocking. You hold your fire, focusing on protecting yourself from their bullets with the shield. To your surprise you manage to make it all the way to them without getting hit. You shoot one of them in the leg as you ram the other with the shield as hard as you can — it's enough to knock him over slightly, giving you a chance to shoot at him once before you throw yourself against the door. It opens into a maintenance hallway, its concrete walls and flooring sallowly lit by sparse fluorescent lighting. You bolt toward the left, running as fast as you possibly can muster, hoping to escape before they come after you; but the hallway is vast and open, with no places to hide. Suddenly you are surrounded, flanked by a dozen armed men who seemed to materialize from the walls. One of them shoves you to the ground, your knees slamming into the floor. A siren wails hauntingly in the distance, your ears pound with the rushing blood coursing through your veins, your breathing harsh and erratic. You hear the sound of a rifle cocking into position behind your head, and then—
"Commander! Wake up!"
You bolt upright, finding yourself in the bedroom again. Hoshi hovers above the bed, staring down at you— a menacing sight to wake up to, but not worse than the dream you were having.
"We have to go," he tells you urgently. "Pack your shit as fast as you can."
You don't question him. The alarm in his voice is enough to light a fire under you, and within a minute you've gathered your things. Hoshi reappears in the doorway as you finish lacing your boots.
"Come on," he orders. You hurry after him, following him out the front door into the never-ending suburban night. You run for several blocks, turning down a new street a few times, but soon he begins to slow his pace.
"We should be safe now," he tells you. "But don't let your guard down."
He continues, walking along the sidewalk with his weapon at the ready.
"There's another house nearby. We'll be there soon."
You nod, walking beside him silently for a minute or two.
"How do you know where to go?" you decide to ask. "Like how do you know where is safe?"
He turns, facing you as he speaks. You notice that this is the first time he's done so.
"I've been tracking Zeta movement for long enough now that I can recognize their patterns," he explains. "Once one is activated in one area, there seems to be a recovery period before they can strike within the vicinity again. They also seem to stick to certain paths, though I have no idea why. I assume it has to do with the physical logistics of the hive mind network."
"Damn, you're really fucking smart," you tell him. "Not that I thought you were stupid," you add.
"I used to be an engineer," he replies gruffly.
"What?! How did you end up in a tactical unit then?"
He lets out a bitter laugh. "That's a long story. We turn left here."
"I'm all ears," you try, following him as he turns down the next street.
"Maybe later, when we—"
He stops in his tracks, thrusting his hand out in front of you and forcing you to halt too. Ahead of you are several dozen mailboxes — the blue collection receptacles that you would typically find at a street corner. It occurs to you that you've never seen a mailbox in Level 9 before, but these aren't just posted on the sidewalk — they're on the sidewalks, in the yards, in the middle of the street. All of them seeming to be turned toward you, facelessly staring you down with sinister intent.
"Shit," Hoshi hisses as he frantically reaches for one of the grenades clipped to his pack. He pulls the pin with his teeth and launches it toward the nearest cluster of mailboxes, but it doesn't go off. You reach for the grenades on your own pack, but as you do so one of the blue boxes close to you begins to turn into static, coming to life in a festering swarm and growing tall and sprawling and disgusting. You toss your first grenade, swinging your rifle back into your hands and firing into the mass. It seems to hinder it slightly, making it squeal, but the explosion of the grenade does significantly more damage. It begins to retreat into itself, but two others near Hoshi start to shift into their true form. His second grenade goes off, holding them off momentarily as they let out a grating screech, but the rest of the Zetas are already activating. Remembering the bottle Hoshi had given you, you grab it from your pack.
"Cover me!!" you shout to him as you kneel. Setting the bottle on the ground you reach into your pocket, digging around for the matchbook. Hoshi fires a stream of bullets into the Zeta currently charging toward you; you almost panic, unable to find the matches, but finally your fingers locate the small paper packet. You pry one of the matches off and strike it, holding it to the rag sticking out of the bottle. For a horrible moment you're not sure there's even anything flammable inside it — but giving it a good shake you hear something sloshing around in there. Saying a silent prayer you try the match again, and this time it ignites. A fucking miracle.
"Incoming!!!" you yell to Hoshi. He ducks, and you throw the Molotov cocktail as hard as you can toward the center of the largest cluster of Zetas. The bottle shatters on impact with the pavement, igniting into a massive fireball and engulfing the Entities. The flames spread quickly to the others, extracting a cacophonous symphony of horrible screeches as they all begin to burn — the one weakness of being a hive mind, you suppose.
"RUN!!" Hoshi screams. He takes off in the opposite direction, with you sprinting right behind him. As you dash across the intersection you hear a thunderous BOOOOOOOOM bellow out from behind you. The sound of the Zetas' awful squeals swells, and then disappears, returning the street into silence aside from the crackling of the spreading fire and the pounding of you and Hoshi's boots upon the pavement. You steal a glance back, but there's no mailboxes or Zetas in sight — just the flames lighting up the block with an ominous orange glow.
"Are we clear?" you ask Hoshi through labored breaths. He slows down, walking now instead of running. Turning to look behind him, he nods approvingly.
"Yeah, we're good."
"For now," you add.
"For now," he agrees.
"Where to now?" you inquire as he continues down the street, seeming to know exactly where he's going. He lets out a long sigh.
"My crew's original base camp is not far," he says bitterly. His tone sounds reluctant, and you get the sense he does not want to return to this location — but he knows it's the smartest option.
You turn right a few blocks later, and the base camp comes into view. The tall makeshift fence surrounding the house makes it glaringly obvious where you're headed.
"Damn," you comment as you and Hoshi approach the gate, staring up in awe at what looks to be like electrical wiring rigged on top of and all over the scrapped-together fencing. "This is impressive."
Hoshi doesn't reply. He fiddles with the gate's crude latch, letting the both of you in and shutting it again behind you.
"Let's see if we can light this shit back up," he mutters, stepping up to the tangled assembly of wires beside the gate. He fiddles with it for a minute, a low humming sound filling the air as the electricity comes back on. You look at him in amazement; he gives you a slight smirk.
"I told you, engineer," he says nonchalantly, brushing past you and heading into the house.
You were expecting another lifeless interior, like the past houses, but your eyes widen with surprise as you step through the door. The house does have the same style of bland furnishings as seen before, but scattered everywhere are various belongings: clothes strewn over the couch, papers and notebooks atop the coffee table and floor, empty cans and rations packs discarded haphazardly all around. Most prominent though are the spray painted walls — playful graffiti scribbled alongside what appears to be basic map outlines. You realize you haven't seen this much color, this much life, in a long fucking time; the thought nearly makes you emotional, but you quickly shake it off.
"Do you mind if I sleep now?" you question.
"Sure," Hoshi responds, dropping his pack in the middle of the room and plopping himself onto the couch. "We'll be safe here for a while."
"Great," you reply with a relieved grin, excited at the prospect of getting to sleep in a bed again. You head toward the door that appears to be the master bedroom.
"No!!" Hoshi shouts as you go to open the door. He leaps off the couch and gets between you and the doorway, blocking you from entering.
"Don't fucking touch it," he spits angrily.
"Okay, okay!" you say as you swiftly back up, raising your hands in the air apologetically. "I won't, I'm sorry."
He's glaring at you, but his face quickly drops, his irate expression shifting into one of sorrow.
"Take the room with the blue door upstairs," he orders you quietly. "At the end of the hall."
"Okay," you agree gently. As you turn to go up the staircase, you hear him sigh deeply.
"It was my Commander's room."
You look back over your shoulder. Hoshi stands before the door still, arms crossed and staring down at the floor.
"Were you close?" you ask softly.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry," you tell him with sincerity. He nods, saying nothing. You stand there for a few more moments, watching him, wondering if you should say anything else. But you don't; you continue up the stairs without another word, leaving him be.
Sure enough, the room at the end of the hallway sits behind a door spray-painted bright blue. You enter, finding a standard looking bedroom covered in a similar disarray to what was present downstairs. Even with the mess, it feels surprisingly cozy.
You drop your bag to the ground, removing your boots and flopping onto the bed. You're asleep before you can even bother getting under the covers.
As usual, you wake up to darkness. You never thought you would miss daylight this much, but the lack of distinction between day and night in the Backrooms, quite frankly, fucking sucks.
You decide to go downstairs to get something to eat. As you drag yourself out of bed, you see something flutter off the nightstand and onto the floor. You pick up the small piece of paper; it's very wrinkled, edges tattered and slightly torn, but you see that it's a photo. Flipping it over, you see a group of eight people, bright faces smiling with enthusiasm and laughter. Many are holding beer bottles, raising them to the camera with cheers. Hoshi's face pops out to you immediately, but the huge beaming grin on his face makes him looks drastically different, as does the distinct lack of scarring across his cheek. One man in the middle of the group seems to be the central focus of the photo — he holds a cake with lit candles on it, the others pointing at him gleefully.
This must be his crew, you think to yourself. You figure the man in the middle is probably his Commander; it appears to have been his birthday in the photo. You tuck the photo into your pocket, careful not to rip it any further.
Traipsing down the stairs, you spot Hoshi crashed face down into the couch, fast asleep. Carefully you wake up him, patting at his shoulder gently. He flies off the couch, making you nearly jump out of your skin.
"Fucking hell!" you instinctively shout in reaction. Calmer, you add "It's just me."
Hoshi stands before you, looking frazzled, the bandana around his head askew and partially covering one of his eyes. He blinks, realizing you are not a threat. He relaxes slightly, adjusting the headband back into place and sitting back down on the couch with a thump.
"Sorry," he mutters, a yawn overtaking him.
"It's fine. Why didn't you sleep in a bed?" you inquire.
"You were in my bed," he states plainly.
"What?" you say with a laugh. "There's more beds in this house—"
"The couch is fine," he insists firmly. You roll your eyes, but you don't press it any further.
An unopened can of what appears to be beef chili sitting on a nearby shelf catches your eye.
"Mind if I open this?" you ask Hoshi, showing him the can. "We can share."
His face seems to lighten up at the prospect of something besides beans or nutrient powder. "Fine with me," he nods, getting up and walking into the next room. "Here, there's probably some utensils in the kitchen still."
He returns with a very bent metal spoon and a fork that is missing a prong. You sit at opposite ends of the couch, passing the can of chili back and forth as you eagerly devour it.
"As far as I'm concerned," you say, breaking the silence as you shovel a spoonful of the stew into your mouth, "this is a gourmet fucking meal."
Hoshi takes the can as you hand it to him. It disappears in a flash, but the briefest hint of a grin appears on his face for a split second.
"Can I ask you about your crew?" you say delicately after a minute or so of silence. You know it's clearly sensitive topic for him, but you have a feeling he might be more open to talking about them now that he seems to trust you at least a little bit.
Hoshi stares down at the can in his hand, mindlessly stirring the chili with his fork.
"I'm not sure why you want to know about them so bad," he says quietly.
You consider whether you should for a moment, but you decide to ask him about the photo. Carefully removing it from your pocket, you show him the tattered photograph. His expression changes, the coldness disappearing from his face, replaced by wistfulness and regret.
"I found this in your room. I assume this is them?"
He takes it from you, staring at the eight smiling faces in the photo.
"Yeah, that's them."
"This was from before your expedition," you comment, looking at him for confirmation. He gives you a small nod. The room falls silent again, and you accept that that's the most you're probably ever going to get out of him. You start to get up, figuring you should leave him alone.
"It was the week before we set out."
You freeze. Sitting back into the couch, you look over at him again. He's still staring at the picture.
"It was our Commander's 30th birthday," he continues. "His name was Laughlin, but we all called him Blaze. He accidentally started a fire once in the middle of a training course, and the name stuck."
A smile appears on Hoshi's face. It's subtle, but it's a real, genuine smile.
"Tell me about your past," he says, turning to face you.
"My past?" you respond, thrown off by the sudden request. "Um, well I started out at Axiom training in the Research Department, but then I was switched over to Tactical—"
"No," Hoshi cuts you off. "I don't mean that. I mean before Axiom."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what you did prior to joining the Company. Your job, your hobbies, your family, anything."
"Well, I…" you start to tell him, but your mind spins. You rack your brain, trying to picture your life before all this, but you're completely drawing a blank.
"I… can't remember?" you say quietly. You think about your parents, your mom, your dad. You know they exist — so why can't you picture their faces? You try to think about your siblings, but did you even have any? You don't know.
Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You jump to your feet, beginning to pace around the room.
"Why can't I remember?" you whisper, barely audible. You suddenly feel very dizzy.
"It's okay, don't panic," he tells you calmly. But it's too late — your chest has already tightened, and you feel like you're going to throw up. You don't know what else to do, so you bolt upstairs.
"Commander!" Hoshi calls after you, but with your heartbeat pounding in your ears you barely hear him. You run back into the bedroom, slamming the blue door shut behind you. You fall to the ground, your back to the door as you try to steady your breathing. You don't ever remember having panic attacks before, but then again you apparently don't remember anything at all.
You hear the doorknob turn above your head. Hoshi tries to open the door, but it doesn't budge with you slumped against it. He pounds on the door, the knocks thumping against your back.
"Let me in," he insists, but you barely even hear him. He sighs, turning the knob again and forcing the door open with his body weight. It opens enough for him to slip inside; he picks you up off the ground, lifting you with ease and carrying you across the room. He sets you on the bed, sitting down beside you.
"Hey, breathe," he instructs, shaking you gently but firmly. It brings you back to reality a bit; your eyes are able to focus on your surroundings again. "Take a deep breath, you're starting to hyperventilate."
You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling slowly several times. Finally, the panic dissipates. You turn to look at Hoshi beside you.
"Why can't I remember?" you ask again, your voice wavering. He sighs.
"It's a long story, but I'll explain. Do you remember what you told me about Axiom's history before?"
You nod. That was only a few days prior, but it feels like ages ago.
"Well, most of everything you said is true. But there's more — secrets they kept from you and me and almost everybody. There's a reason you don't remember anything about your past: nobody does. And there's good reason for it. Because if the truth got out, the Company would go down in flames."
"That's what you said before, 'the truth'," you recall.
"I wasn't lying when I said it's a tough pill to swallow," he reminds you. "I didn't want to believe it at first, either. But it all goes back to the initial discovery of the Backrooms. It was an accident, a byproduct of a top-secret government experiment conducted as part of research efforts to create a new weapon of mass destruction — one that would make the atomic bomb look like child's play. Word got out, spreading to various government agencies, and people were pissed. Almost everyone opposed the development of the new bomb, so they said they were halting the research. But they lied. A whistleblower eventually exposed them, leading to a massive strike amongst the scientists and engineers working on classified government projects. But the government didn't budge — they executed the whistleblower, hoping to instill fear that would lead to compliance, but it backfired. It instigated an uprising, the scientists and researchers fighting back, but despite their numbers they were no match for the militarized response units. Those who weren't killed were imprisoned and forced into menial labor. That's when Axiom comes along — the 'wealthy donors' it boasts of as its founders were on the government's payroll. The Company was founded as a ruse, pretending to be a neutral third party purely interested in the research, but they quickly rounded up the prisoners to use for their dirty work. But even with brute force and violence, the scientists refused to work. They knew they couldn't just kill them all off — they were far too valuable of assets. So they came up with an alternative solution: implant a neural chip in everyone's heads. The chip repressed memories, and with that they had a blank slate of brilliant minds to brainwash into compliance. Those who were least valuable were sent into the Backrooms first, guinea pigs sent off to their deaths. Once the imprisoned scientists were milked of their knowledge and no longer useful for research purposes, they shipped them off to training for the tactical units to send on their little expeditions. Smart, obedient, but also disposable — it was the perfect source of labor for the job."
You stare blankly at Hoshi, processing everything he just told you. I was right, you think to yourself. He is actually insane.
"You don't believe me," he observes.
"How do you expect me to believe… all that?? This is ridiculous."
"Think about it," he insists. "What other explanation could there be for you not remembering anything pre-Axiom?"
"I don't know!" you shout in frustration, rising to your feet as you begin to pace again. "But surely there's a much more likely explanation than that—"
Hoshi stands, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you back around to face him. He glares down at you, an intense fiery gaze, as he grasps onto your wrists tightly. Your heart begins to pound again in fear — you're stuck here, deep in the fucking Backrooms, in the clutch of a crazy delusional man. What if he kills you? What if this is the end?
He raises your right hand to your head, pressing your fingers into your scalp above your right ear. As he pushes further, you feel something… sharp. It's small, but you wince as it nearly pricks your finger.
"There's your truth," he says quietly. You stare up at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.
"How… how did you figure this out?"
He lets go of your right hand; with his free hand he removes the bandana tied around his forehead, sliding if off his head and dropping it to the floor.
"Look," he says, tilting his head to the side. You let out a soft gasp. Above his right ear, previously concealed by the bandana, is a large, deep gash. It's old enough to be mostly healed, thick scar tissue filling in the wound, but you can tell it's still somewhat recent.
"What happened?" you whisper.
"An Alpha tried to rip my head off," he smirks. "I was fast enough to avoid death, but it still got me pretty good."
He lifts your left hand, drawing it in to the scar. You resist, trying to pull your hand away, but he doesn't let go.
"It's okay, it doesn't hurt," he assured you. "In fact I can't even feel anything there."
He guides your fingers into a groove in the healed skin. As he presses them into his head you feel a similar sharp sensation, but smaller, and more of them.
"I guess it hit me just right," he says with a slight huff of a laugh. "It broke the chip, and suddenly I remembered everything. I was free again. Except, of course I'm not really. I'm still stuck in this fucking hellscape. Some days I wish I had never learned the truth — it would be less painful that way."
The truth. You think back to your recurring dream. What if it wasn't a dream at all, but a memory?
You suddenly realize how close you are to him right now. It should be far too intimate, but you don't want to move for a second.
"Did you tell your crew?" you ask him.
"Yes. Fortunately, they believed me. One by one we helped each other remove the chips. None of us were surgeons, so that part was a bit rough," he grimaces. "But once they were gone, they too remembered everything. The only—"
He stops himself. That part isn't important, you don't need to know about it. But for some reason, he decides to tell you anyway.
"The only member of our crew who didn't remove their chip was Blaze."
"Your Commander," you affirm softly. He nods. "Why not?"
"I don't know," he admits. "I don't know much about his past — but think some part of his unconscious mind remembered something, something too painful experience all over again. I tried to convince him several times, but he didn't want to. So I respected that. But then we made it to Level 9. We'd only lost one crew member up until that point, but the Zetas started to pick us off one by one. Before long, it was just him and I left. He told me he decided he wanted to remove his chip. I was going to do it that night, once we got back to base camp, but he didn't make it back."
Without thinking, you cradle his face in your palm. He inhales sharply, looking into your eyes with equal parts surprise and want.
"I'm so sorry," you whisper. He reaches up to take your wrist in his grasp again, rubbing his thumb slowly over the back of your hand. His eyes close as his head drops, his forehead falling against yours.
"You don't have to be sorry," he mutters. Opening his eyes again, he meets your gaze. Your heart palpitates in your chest, the intimacy making you ache with need. Then, you kiss him.
Your lips crash into his, leaving him momentarily stunned, but quickly his hands drop to your sides, grasping at your waist urgently as he kisses you back. Your hands cling to his face as you press your body into him; he lets out a soft moan into your mouth, making your core throb. His arms squeeze around your torso, drawing you in as close as possible, hands wandering desperately as he eagerly explores every curve of your body. You wrap your arms around his head, clinging to him as you grind against him.
"Fuck," he groans against your lips. Suddenly you are lifted in the air as he picks you up, carrying you back to the bed where he lays you down gently. He crawls on top of you; your legs instinctively open, wrapping around his hips as he presses his weight into you. You pull him back into a kiss, hungrily tugging at his lips once more. You push your hips up against him, your center greeted by a stiffening bulge and drawing another moan out of him.
You sigh as his mouth wanders to your chin, kissing along your jawline up to your earlobe and nipping at it; his lips return to your neck, planting soft, slow pecks into the delicate skin as he works his way down to your collarbone. Your soft whines are driving him insane already; he abruptly sits up, taking off his shirt. He reaches for yours as well, prying it over your head and dropping it to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra, discarding it aside and immediately grasping at your breasts, tugging and kneading the soft flesh in his hands while pinching your nipples between his fingers.
"You're amazing, so fucking hot," he praises. He steals another kiss before hopping up and tugging at your waistband. You hurriedly unbutton your pants, wriggling out of them as he follows suit. As he slips his pants down his thighs his cock comes into view, erect and red with anticipation; the mere sight of it makes your mouth water.
He reaches for your bare pussy as he lays down beside you; you whine softly as his fingers discover the pooling wetness present between your legs.
"God, you're so fucking wet, fuck…"
You let out a moan as his fingers slip inside you, lazily working them in and out of your pussy, your slick collecting on his hand and glistening in the dim lighting.
"That's it, let me hear you baby," he encourages. You let go, moaning unrestrained as you let your hips rock to his touch, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand. It feels incredible, like you never want him to stop touching you.
"Fuck," he hisses through gritted teeth. He leans over, licking your nipple with the tip of his tongue. He starts to swirl his tongue around it, eliciting a string of whimpering from you, curling his fingertips to press against your g-spot.
"Oh my god," you groan, your head falling back onto the pillow.
"So pretty, so perfect," he croons, switching to your other nipple, wetting it with his saliva and dragging his tongue in circles around the bud.
"Feels so good," you mutter breathily, your body writhing as a burning heat swells in your gut.
"Go on, cum for me baby, I wanna see."
He wraps his lips around your nipple, latching on as he sucks on it, his hand speeding its pace. You feel your release wash over you, whining as you cum on his fingers, their deep strokes sending thick pulses of pleasure through your whole body. He slows as you do, releasing his mouth from your breast and lifting his head so he can kiss you again, long and slow, so he can savor it. He slips his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth and lapping up your juices, moaning at the taste of you.
You've barely caught your breath when he rolls over on top of you. His tip brushes against your wet cunt; he strokes it up and down over your folds a few times before pressing into your entrance. His cock slips inside, making you gasp, slowly filling you with his whole length.
"Ready?" he asks softly. You nod eagerly, eyes begging him to fuck you. He drags his cock out of you, almost all the way, then plunges it back in, watching himself disappear inside you. The sight is tantalizing, but his eyes meet yours again, falling deep into your gaze as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes. Your arms snake around his torso, clinging to the warm skin of his back as he presses his forehead into yours, his breath becoming more labored with each accelerating thrust. Your shift your hips forward, allowing his cock to reach even deeper inside you, eliciting a string of moans from your throat.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, lips hovering above yours as his eyes remained locked with yours. "Never wanna leave this pussy."
"Please don't stop," you beg, voice breathy and desperate.
"I won't baby."
He fucks you with burning desire, each powerful stroke sending a delicious shockwave through your body. You cling to him tight, drawing him in even further into a passionate embrace. He groans, savoring the divine way your body squishes against his.
"You're amazing," he mutters into your mouth, frantic kisses placed upon your lips as he tries not to cum just yet — but it's an impossible feat. "Such a perfect little pussy, gonna fill you up baby. Gonna make you nice and full with my cum."
"Please," you whine.
"Keep begging for it, pretty girl," he hums, beginning to lose composure.
"I want your cum," you plead. "Want you to cum inside me and fill me up."
"God, that's so fucking hot," he growls.
"Your cock feels so good," you continue babbling, mind spinning so much you can no longer think straight. "I want you to fuck me every day for the rest of my life."
"I will, baby, I will."
His hand caresses your cheek, rubbing at the warm skin with his thumb as he stares into your watering eyes — utterly intoxicated by you.
"I'm cumming," he groans. "Ohhhh…"
With a series of grunts he releases, powerful ropes of cum shooting up into you as his cock throbs against your squeezing walls. After several bursts he slows, his cock stilling deep inside your cunt as his heavy breaths fall against your lips. He collapses, laying his weight on you as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. You drag your fingertips up and down his back, delicately dancing across his hot skin and rippling muscles.
"Fuck," he mumbles into the mattress, making you smile. He eventually lifts his head up, kissing you again. "You're incredible."
He slowly pulls his cock out of you, rolling over to your side taking you in his arms. He rests his hand on your belly, planting gentle kisses on your cheek as he holds you.
"Tell me your name," he hums softly into your ear after a few silent minutes.
"It's y/n," you reply, falling into a deep relaxation in his embrace. "Tell me your name."
"Soonyoung," he says quietly.
You lay together, the uncomfortable silence of Level 9 forgotten as the sounds of your breathing and the thumps of your heartbeats fill the air. Eventually, you're unsure whether he's fallen asleep beside you.
"Do you ever think we'll get out of here?" you try anyway.
"No," he replies plainly.
"Why keep going then?"
He thinks for a while. "I don't know," he finally says. "I've been stuck in here so long that this is all I know anymore."
"Do you dream of going back, to your life before?"
You feel him shake his head. "Those are such distant memories at this point. Sometimes I don't even know if they are real or if it's all in my head."
You think back to before, when you questioned whether he was insane and delusional. You think you believe him, about Axiom, about the chip in your head — though, something inside you still isn't entirely convinced. But you're not even sure if any of that matters at this point.
"But it doesn't matter," he continues. "I'm here now, and I can't go back. The only way is forward."
"Does that mean you're trying to find Level 10?" you ask.
"I know where a Null Zone is," he replies.
Surprised, you turn to look at him. "Why haven't you gone yet?"
He sighs. "I lost hope after my I lost my crew. I didn't want to walk further into hell by myself. But I couldn't bring myself to end it all either — so here I am, stuck here in limbo."
You gaze at him, a soft smile appearing on your face. He stares back at you, hopeful.
"I'll go with you," you say quietly. He smiles again — another true smile. You think it suits him well.
PAIRING: F.Reader x ot13
PACK MEMBER FOCUS: Soonyoung
PACK MEETING: Soonyoung is an irritable mess and no one can figure it out until he wanders in your room in the middle of the night.
REQUESTED BY: ANON
REQUEST: soonyoung got his rut earlier than expected and everyone has been wondering why hes so snappy these days, and it was answered when soonyoung goes to the omega’s room and yeah u know it lol
GENRE: Fluff, smut, mild angst
AU: Omegaverse
WC: 9,867
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
PACK WARNINGS: Some mild angst and fighting among members, Soonyoung is picking fights with everyone that are petty and stupid, lots of frustration, a single moment between Soonyoung and Mingyu where Soonyoung almost turns things physical but reader diffuses, some awkwardness because reader is still relatively new to the pack, lots of hormones and body chemistry, Soonyoung having some anxiety about spending a rut with reader, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, mild biting, some scenting, teasing, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, very very light dirty talk, Soonyoung being possessive, and a moment of Soonyoung being territorial to another member at the end briefly.
SMUT NOTICE: This chapter is centered around smut and shout be skipped if you don't like reading smut - it makes little sense to read without.
A/N: This does not lean into rut dynamics a ton nor does it lean toooo heavily into omegaverse smut dynamics because I wanted to lean into the idea that this is the first time since reader has joined the pack that she's helping with someone's rut and thus the dynamic is entirely different and slower/more personal than it typically would be among seasoned rut partners.
A/N 2: As usual this is not beta read this because I'm impatient and just wanna post these as I finish writing them. Also Hali stick to under 5k challenge failed again.
HOUSE RULES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK
SOONYOUNG IS AN EASY ALPHA TO READ. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, you rarely have a problem reading him now that you know him well enough. Plus, whatever isn't on his face or in his tone is usually coming directly from the source himself, never the one to shy away from communicating exactly what he thinks of something.
So it's unusual when you realize on a Friday afternoon that something is wrong with Soonyoung but you don't quite know what that something is.
The sun is slanting through the western windows of the house, turning the floors honey-warm and catching the dust motes floating lazily through the air. You're curled into the corner of the sectional - a spot that has become yours over the last few weeks - with a book in your lap. It's some novel that Wonwoo recommended and that you're half paying attention to because Mingyu keeps singing off-key in the kitchen where he's baking and because there's base thrumming from Jihoon's studio basement, vibrating up through the couch into your spine.
It's the kind of afternoon that's calm but doesn't exactly leave space for reading, especially when Chan flops down on the couch next to you, immediately pushing into your side to nuzzle close and lay his head in your lap.
"Hi," he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back to look up at you. "This okay?"
You grin, running your fingers through his hair. "Of course it is."
He nearly purrs under your touch, melting into your lap as he settles, his dark hair soft against your fingers as he gets comfortable with one arm draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the edge of the couch. He smells like the laundry detergent the pack uses, warm and clean and the distinct lavender and sea salt smell that is so him.
Putting the book down, you continue to stroke his hair, feeling him relax into your lap, heavy and solid. You smile. You like this - you're glad that you finally have figured this out, the intimacy that's both physical and mental, both casual and sexual. Now that you've finally settled and figured them out, this kind of contact is easy. Welcome. Craved.
The afternoon light catches the side of Chan's face and you notice the faint freckles across his nose, the way his face is soft, eyes closed and content as he drifts. It's moments like this that make you understand why the pack works and why fourteen people in one house don't feel chaotic and feel like this instead.
Soonyoung's voice is what cuts through the silence, reminding you that the pack has its bad days too. You turn to look over the back of the couch the way his voice is coming, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. Chan shifts too, the beta making an unhappy noise as he cracks an eye open.
"I said I would handle it, Seokmin," Soonyoung snaps somewhere. You straighten, the alpha's voice rigid and more severe than you're used to hearing. "So stop."
"I'm just trying to help." Seokmin's calmer voice barely reaches you, careful and placating. You can hear his confusion even without seeing his face. "If you'd just listen-"
"I don't need to listen."
Footsteps keep your attention pinned to the entryway from the hall. Soonyoung rounds the corner into the living room and the sight of him makes something in your chest clench. His jaw is tight, muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his shoulders are drawn up and rigid. There's something wild in his eyes that make your instincts prickle, a warning bell going off in the back of your head that's telling you there's an alpha in distress.
Seokmin trails behind him with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and frustrated. He's still in his work clothes, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened around his neck, but the tension in his neck has nothing to do with Soonyoung.
Your book is long forgotten. Chan's head is turned in your lap, watching as Soonyoung storms into the room, Seokmin behind him. Seokmin looks at you before his eyes dart meaningfully between you and Chan, a silent request. You understand immediately and pat Chan gently. The beta stirs immediately, unfolding from your lap with a quick kiss to your forehead before he heads toward Seokmin.
"Help me with something in the kitchen?" Chan asks Seokmin, reaching for him.
"Sure," Seokmin sighs, moving toward the hallway. He shoots you one last look, mouthing thank you as he follows Chan out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.
The moment they're gone, Soonyoung is moving toward you, his agitation evaporating. He falls onto the couch, settling against you instantly, head finding the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he breathes you in.
"Hi," he says quietly, voice muffled as he presses in closer. "You smell good."
His scent washes over you as he burrows closer, deep teakwood with an undercurrent of warmth that you've come to associate with him, though there's something slightly off about it now. Something sharp and acidic underneath. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly even as your omega instincts purr at his proximity.
"Hi," you murmur, tugging him further into you.
"What are you reading?"
"Something Wonwoo recommended."
He hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, and leans even closer to peer at the cover. You can feel the heat of him along your side, can see the way his hair falls into his eyes as he tilts his head. "Is it good?"
"It's okay. It's a little slow."
"Do you want company? I can sit with you."
There's something almost desperate in the offer, something that makes your chest tight. You study his face, trying to understand what just happened, trying to reconcile the alpha who just snapped at Seokmin with the one who's looking at you now like he might die if you say no. You'd never say no, though, so you smile and nod.
"Always," you say softly, and watch the way relief floods his expression like sunrise breaking over water. “Just keep the teeth away, yeah?”
He nods and shifts, adjusting his position so he's lying more fully against you, his head pillowed on your thigh where Chan had been moments before. The weight of him is different, heavier and more solid, radiating a heat that seems to seep through the fabric of your leggings and into your skin. One of his arms wraps around your leg, holding on like you might disappear if he doesn't anchor himself to you.
Without thinking, you card your fingers through his hair, and the effect is immediate. He melts. There's no other word for it as the tension that had been coiled through his shoulders and jaw just dissolves under your touch, his whole body going soft and pliant against you. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a groan, and he presses his face harder against your thigh.
"That feels nice," he mumbles. "Don't stop doing that."
You smile, continuing the gentle motion, your fingers sliding through the dark strands. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly mussed from where he'd been running his hands through it earlier, and you work through the tangles with careful attention. Each pass of your fingers seems to pull more tension from him, until he's practically boneless against you, his breathing evening out into something slow and deep.
The afternoon light has shifted, no longer streaming directly through the windows but casting everything in a softer, golden glow. That's when you notice it again. That off note in his scent. It's subtle, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but it's there, sharp and acidic beneath the familiar teakwood warmth, like something fermented or turned. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly, your omega instincts prickling with a vague sense of concern. You've never smelled him like this before. Usually his scent is all warmth and depth, grounding and steady, but this is different.
You frown slightly, your fingers pausing in his hair as you try to place what it reminds you of. Your first thought is rut, that sharp, aggressive edge that alphas get when their biology starts to take over, but you dismiss it almost immediately. You've been with the pack long enough now to know everyone's schedules, the careful tracking system they use to make sure no one's caught off guard. Soonyoung isn't due for a rut for at least another three weeks. You'd know. Seungcheol keeps a calendar, and you've seen it enough times to have most of the dates memorized.
So it's not that. Maybe he's just stressed? The thought settles uneasily in your chest. He has been more on edge lately, more irritable with the others, though you'd chalked it up to work or pack dynamics or any of the hundred other things that can make an alpha tense. Maybe it's manifesting in his scent, some kind of stress response you're not familiar with yet.
You let it go, resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Whatever it is, he clearly needs this and you're not about to pull away because of some vague concern you can't even properly articulate. If it's serious, someone else will notice. Seungcheol will notice.
Soonyoung makes another one of those soft sounds and you feel your heart do something complicated in your chest. You smile, thinking about how much you like him. The realization isn't new - you like all of them. But it hits you fresh at this moment, with him soft and sleepy against you.
"You're really good at that," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and content. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. "Like, unfairly good."
"Just scratching your head," you say, but you're smiling, your fingers finding that spot behind his ear that makes him practically purr.
"Mm, no. It's more than that." He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look up at you, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's something raw in his eyes, something open and honest that he usually keeps hidden behind jokes and easy grins. "You make everything feel easier."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He reaches up, his hand finding yours where it's resting against his temple, and he threads your fingers together. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate. "I really like being close to you. Is that okay? To say that?"
"Of course it is. I like being close to you too."
His smile is small but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if you told me to."
You laugh quietly, resuming the gentle motion through his hair with your free hand while he keeps the other one captive, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your knuckles. His touch is comforting and you can feel the way his body has gone completely relaxed against you as the house settles around you, the sound of pack life continuing in other rooms.
You don't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light to shift again, the golden glow deepening toward amber. Long enough for your legs to start going numb under his weight, though you don't mention it. Long enough for you to memorize the exact shade of his hair in this light, the pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.
"Thank you," he says eventually, so quiet you almost miss it.
"For what?"
"For not asking questions. For just letting me be here."
You want to tell him he never has to thank you for that, but the words feel too big, too revealing, so instead you just squeeze his hand and keep running your fingers through his hair, and hope he understands anyway.
He seems to. His eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out. And despite that lingering concern about his scent, despite the confusion about what happened with Seokmin, despite everything, you let yourself have this, relaxing against the couch as Soonyoung dozes in your lap.
-
The second time you notice something off with Soonyoung is worse.
It's Saturday morning and the kitchen is alive with the weekend chaos you've come to expect now that you eat breakfast at more reasonable hours. Mingyu is at the stove making what smells like pancakes while Vernon sits at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee that you think has gone cold. Joshua hums as he sets the table in the dining room while morning light streams through the windows, coffee and the scent of bodies filling the room.
You're standing at the counter making tea, watching the kettle when you hear the commotion start somewhere just outside the kitchen.
"I'm just saying," Junhui says, his voice measured and calm in a way that suggests he is trying very hard to be patient. "If you'd communicated better, it would-"
"I don't need you to tell me how to communicate, Jun." Soonyoung's voice cuts through the morning peace like a knife, sharp enough that you see Mingyu's shoulders tense at the stove, see Vernon's fingers still on his keyboard.
Your hands tighten on the edge of the counter, your whole body going alert. Not again. Please not again. You glance at Mingyu who winces and shrugs his shoulders before turning back to stare intensely at his pancakes, preferring to let the alphas argue it out.
"I'm not telling you how to do anything." Junhui's voice is still calm but you can hear the edge creeping in, can hear the alpha authority starting to bleed through. "I'm just saying that if you'd communicated better, we wouldn't have had the conflict with-"
"Right, so it's my fault."
"That isn't what I said-"
"It's what you meant!"
You turn your attention back to the kettle, listening with half an ear as the argument continues. It's not the first time you've heard pack members disagree, and it probably won't be the last. The whistle is building now, getting louder, and you're reaching for your mug when you hear a crash loud enough that you jerk your hand.
The kettle wobbles but you catch it, steadying it with both hands as you let out a breath. Your heart kicks up for a moment before settling back down. Just an argument. Just pack dynamics working themselves out.
Mingyu has turned from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression somewhere between concerned and resigned. Vernon has closed his laptop, watching the doorway.
"Soonyoung." Junhui's voice is harder now, carrying that alpha command that says stand down. "You need to calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down."
There's a beat of tense silence, and then footsteps, quick and purposeful before Soonyoung appears in the kitchen doorway. He looks wound tight, his chest heavy slightly, his eyes bright and a flush high on his cheeks that tells you he's stressed. His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it, and his t-shirt is rumpled, twisted slightly to one side. For a second he just stands there, breathing hard, his gaze sweeping the kitchen like he's looking for something.
Then his eyes land on you, and everything changes.
The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and his expression softens immediately, the wild edge in his eyes gentling into something warm. He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, he’s pressing into your side like he needs the physical contact to breathe.
"Hi," he says quietly, his voice rough but softer than it was seconds ago. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and he leans into you, his forehead coming to rest against your temple. "You making tea?"
"Yeah." You can feel the heat of him along your entire side, can smell that sharp acidic edge underneath his usual teakwood warmth. It's more pronounced than it was yesterday. "Want some?"
"No. Just want to be here."
"Alright."
You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, scraping the blunt edge of your nails against his scalp. He hums, chest vibrating against you as his eyes flutter, scent blooming warm and rich, the acidic note vanishing. The kettle is whistling properly now, so you pour the water one-handed, Soonyoung still plastered to your side like he has no intention of moving. He doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arm around you, his breathing evening out as you finish making your tea.
Behind you, you can hear Mingyu returning to the pancakes, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting the pan. Vernon has reopened his laptop but you can feel his attention still on the two of you. Joshua appears in the doorway, takes one look at Soonyoung wrapped around you, and just nods to himself before heading back to finish setting the table.
"Breakfast is almost ready," Mingyu says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "If you guys want to sit down."
Soonyoung makes a noncommittal sound against your hair but doesn't move. You smile, wrapping both hands around your mug now that it's ready, and lean back into him slightly.
"Come on," you murmur. "Let's go sit."
He follows you without question, his hand sliding from your waist to tangle with your free hand, keeping you connected as you move into the dining room. The table is set thanks to Joshua, who looks between you and Soonyoung before winking.
You choose a seat near the middle of the table and Soonyoung immediately claims the chair right next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours when he sits. His hand finds your knee under the table, his thumb rubbing small circles against the fabric of your leggings, and you can feel the way he's still wound tight despite the softness in his expression.
Junhui appears in the doorway a moment later, and you watch as his eyes land on Soonyoung pressed up against your side. Something complicated crosses his face - frustration, maybe, but also understanding, and what looks like relief. He lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, and when he meets your eyes there's gratitude there.
Thanks, he mouths silently and you nod.
He takes a seat across the table, his posture still tense but no longer aggressive. The argument isn't resolved, the set of his jaw and the tension in his hands making that much obvious, but it's set aside for now for when Soonyoung isn't whatever this is right now.
Soon, the table fills out with the rest of the pack and loud conversation backtracked by the sound of silverware on plates. Soonyoung serves you first, putting pancakes on your plate before his own, his hand never leaving your knee. He eats one-handed, the other staying firmly on you like he needs the anchor despite Seungkwan poking fun at him.
Soonyoung gradually relaxes against your side. His scent is still off, but his breathing has evened out, and the tension in his shoulders has eased. He's not talking much, just listening to the conversation around him, but every so often he glances at you like he's checking that you're still there.
Across the table, Junhui catches your eye again and gives you a small nod. The message is clear: Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.
So you do. You finish your tea and eat your pancakes and let Soonyoung stay pressed against your side for as long as he needs, and you try not to think too hard about what it is that's bothering him, ready to wait him out and let him come to you.
-
By Sunday, Soonyoung's tension has been noticed by everyone.
It's the kind of afternoon where the house has that lazy, syrupy feeling of the weekend as people scatter across the estate with their routines. You can hear Seungkwan's laugh coming through an open window, backtracked by someone playing music.
Sun bakes down on the top of your head as you stretch, sweaty skin sticky against the cloth of the cabana seating. Mingyu is tucked next to you, the smell of his clean, floral musk and sunscreen soothing.
The afternoon sun turns the pool surface into liquid gold, the light dancing and refracting in patterns that shift with every ripple. The air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the jasmine that grows wild along the fence line, music playing from the speaker next to Mingyu softly while the two of you lounge
He's stretched out next to you in swim shorts that are slung low on his hips, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in his lap that he's been so called reading for the past twenty minutes despite the fact he hasn't turned a page in at least ten. His chest is bare, shoulders already warming to a golden tan, and there's a faint sheen of sunscreen on his skin that catches the light.
You are definitely not reading your book. Instead, you're acutely aware of the way Mingyu's chest rises and falls with each one of his breaths, every defined line of his abs, and the way his muscles in his shoulders flex when he shifts his position. Your eyes drift from his collarbones to his sternum to the dip of his waist where his swim shorts sit low on his hips, and you have to physically force your gaze back to your book.
When you glance sideways, you catch the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows. Of course he knows. Mingyu always knows when you're looking.
Footsteps draw your attention on the pool deck. Soonyoung is approaching, jaw tight and shoulders tense. You frown and his scent hits you a moment later as the wind shifts, sharp and acrid. You shift and Mingyu notices, glancing at you from behind his sunglasses before he realizes Soonyoung is there.
"Mingyu," Soonyoung says, voice clipped. He stops at the edge of the cabana, his eyes locked on Mingyu with something that makes the beta tense. "You left the fridge door open this morning. Again."
Mingyu blinks. "What?"
"Yeah."
"Soonyoung, I made breakfast at seven. It's been hours." Mingyu shields his eyes, looking up at Soonyoung, his tone more bewildered than defensive. "What even is-"
"And yesterday," Soonyoung continues, "You left stuff all over the kitchen counter. It's rude and messy."
You watch as Mingyu's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to exasperation. "I cleaned that up. Wonwoo saw me clean it up."
"Not very well, apparently." Soonyoung's voice is sharp. "And you were making noise in the kitchen at like six in the morning. Some of us were trying to sleep."
"You were literally in the gym at six." Mingyu closes his book deliberately and sets it on the small table next to the cabana. When he looks up at Soonyoung, his expression is guarded, not angry. "What's your actual problem Soonyoung? Spit it out."
"I don't have a problem. I just think it would be nice if people actually thought about the shared spaces instead of just doing whatever they want."
"Nobody's doing whatever they want."
Mingyu stands now so he's facing Soonyoung directly. He's a beta, but he's not small. He towers over Soonyoung, imposing in a way that makes your instincts flare, feeling the shift of tension between the two.
"You're picking a fight," Mingyu says, softer than before.
"I'm not picking a fight."
"Soonyoung, you're-" Mingyu cuts himself off and sighs. You can see him trying to control his temper, trying to figure out what Soonyoung is actually mad about. "You know what, whatever. You're right."
He turns to leave, his movements sharp and frustrated, stepping away from the cabana toward the pool deck. The afternoon sun hits him full-force, turning his skin golden, and for a moment you think maybe that's it. But then Soonyoung's hand darts out, wrapping around Mingyu's arm just above the elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to dimple Mingyu's skin.
"Don't walk away from me," Soonyoung growls, teeth flashing.
"Okay, enough."
Your voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding in a way that surprises even you. You're on your feet before you've consciously decided to move, a frustrated growling rippling through you at their bickering and Soonyoung's obvious struggle with something.
The effect is immediate and absolute. Soonyoung's hand drops from Mingyu's arm like he's been burned, his eyes going wide as they snap to you. Mingyu takes a step back, his posture immediately shifting from defensive to something closer to chastened. They're both staring at you now, and you can see the moment they register your expression.
"I don't know what's going on with you," you say, your gaze locked on Soonyoung, "but I am tired of watching you pick fights with everyone in this house. And Mingyu, you know it sets him off when you walk away like that."
"I wasn't-" Mingyu starts, but you hold up a hand and he stops immediately, his mouth closing.
"I don't want to hear it. Not from either of you. Soonyoung, put the teeth away."
The afternoon sun is hot on your shoulders, the chlorine smell sharp in your nose as a beat of silence passes. Soonyoung looks like he's been slapped, his expression crumbling from aggressive to something that looks almost like shame. His shoulders drop, his hands unclenching, and you can see the way his whole body seems to deflate.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice smaller than you've ever heard it.
"I know, Soonyoung." Your voice softens a fraction. "But you need to figure out what's going on with you, because this isn't okay. Mingyu didn't deserve that."
Soonyoung glances at Mingyu. "I'm sorry."
Mingyu is rubbing his arm where Soonyoung grabbed him, and you can see the red marks already forming, can see the shape of fingers pressed into his skin. His expression is a mix of anger and hurt, and you can tell he's struggling to not let his temper flare again. He takes a deep breath and nods, the frustration melting out of him in the way that betas are always good at.
"You need to talk to Seungcheol," Mingyu says, his voice much calmer now. "Today."
"I know."
Mingyu doesn't seem convinced. "I'm serious."
"I know. I'm going to."
For a second, Mingyu hesitates. Then he nods and glances at you, tilting his head toward Soonyoung subtly. You nod and Mingyu backs up a few paces, keeping his eyes on you until he's sure that you'll be fine with Soonyoung before he turns, sulky and irritated but knowing that Soonyoung needs space and recently, you're the only one who can reason with him.
Soonyoung looks wrecked, his expression apologetic. He's trembling a little, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but can't or won't, his scent a mess. His pupils are blown wide, somewhere between fighting whatever instinct is making him so cagey and panic that he's upset you - he hates upsetting anyone, but most of all he hates when you're mad.
"Can I…?" He drifts off and gestures vaguely in your direction.
He's asking permission, deferring to you completely, and you can see in his eyes that he'll accept whatever answer you give. That he knows he just got put in his place and he's not going to push.
You let out a breath, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. "Yeah. Come here.
He crosses the distance between you in two quick strides, but when he reaches you, he's careful, his arms coming around you slowly enough to give you time to pull away. You don't and instead let him pull you close so he can bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and scenting you enough to make you both dizzy and clinging to one another. Your lashes flutter, a rush going through you as he brushes his nose against the softness of your neck, blood turning molten.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against your skin, and his voice is broken. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry."
Your hands come up automatically, one sliding into his hair, the other pressing flat against his back. You can feel the knobs of his spine through his shirt, can feel the way his muscles are locked tight with tension.
"I know you are," you murmur. "But you need to figure out what's wrong. This isn't like you."
You can feel the way he's trying to calm himself down, trying to match his breathing to yours, trying to use your presence to anchor himself. You feel a pang in your chest, hugging him a little tighter. Soonyoung is always hard on himself - harder than he needs to be - and he hates fighting with anyone, especially Mingyu. Especially in front of you.
You guide him back to the loungers, settling onto one and pulling him down beside you. He goes willingly, curling into your side like he's trying to make himself smaller, his head resting on your shoulder. The afternoon sun has shifted, the shade of the cabana stretching longer across the pool deck, and the water has gone still and mirror-smooth in the absence of any breeze.
"You should talk to Cheol," you murmur.
Soonyoung nods against you. "Okay."
You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxes incrementally with each pass, the tension in his shoulders easing degree by degree. The strands are soft, slightly damp from the heat and humidity, and you work your fingers through them slowly, deliberately, the way you know he likes. His scent is still sharp underneath, still carrying that acidic edge that speaks to whatever is happening inside his body, but it levels out now, teakwood baked under sun.
"Better?" you ask softly.
He makes a small sound of agreement, his arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah."
-
Someone knocking on your door pulls you from sleep. You squint at the clock on the nightstand, the blurry numbers telling you it's well past three am. Your bed is warm, blankets tangled around you and the faint smell of Jeonghan lingering from the hoodie of his you have shoved under your pillow. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you get your bearings.
"Come in," you croak.
Before the door even opens, you know who it is. You can smell Soonyoung before the door fully opens, but when it does, it hits you like a physical force. It's his normal warm, woody smell but there's something new now, something hot and thick and almost overwhelming. It makes your mouth water, omega instincts kicking in, warmth pooling low in your belly.
Soonyoung steps into your room and closes the door behind him with a soft click, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains from the streetlamp outside, you can see that something is very, very wrong. Or right, by the smell of him.
He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose sleep pants that hang low on his hips, skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat despite how cold the house is at night. You can see the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. His hair is a mess like he's been pulling at it again, and when he looks at you, his eyes are dark and dilated, pupils blown so wide there's barely any iris left.
"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is rough, wrecked. "I know it's late."
You push the blankets aside and shift to the edge of your bed, feet finding the cool hardwood floor to stand. "What's wrong?"
His entire body reacts to the sound of your voice. He sways slightly toward you, nostril flaring as he scents you, a shiver rippling through him. You take a step toward him and he makes a pitiful sound, looking entirely at war with himself.
"I feel like I'm burning up," he mumbles. "Feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I don't see you."
"Come here."
It's a command - softly given, but a command none the less. He listens like it's instinctual, crossing the room to you in three strides. You feel the heat radiating off of him when he stops in front of you and you reach up without thinking, pressing your palm to his chest. He's fever-hot under your touch, his heart hammering in his chest.
"You're burning up," you say softly, frowning.
"I know." His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm harder against his chest like he needs the contact, needs the pressure. His eyes close and he takes a shuddering breath. "You smell so good. You always smell good but right now it's maddening."
Something clicks into place in your mind. The aggression. The clinginess. The way his scent has been getting sharper and hotter for days. The fever. The way he's looking at you right now like you're the only thing in the world that matters.
"Soonyoung," you say slowly, carefully. "Are you in rut?"
His eyes snap open, meeting yours, and for a long moment he just stares at you. You can see him processing the question, see the moment the realization hits him. His expression shifts from confusion to understanding to something that looks almost like relief.
"Oh. Um. It does feel like that."
"But it's early, isn't it?" You keep your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palm. "You're not supposed to go into a rut for another few weeks."
"Right." He seems to think about something and he makes a small sound, leaning into your touch. "I've never had an omega in the house though."
"Oh."
"I think having you here made my body kind of freak out and decide it was time even if it wasn't."
You can feel your own body responding to his proximity, to the thick, heady scent of him in rut. Your omega instincts are screaming at you to help, to soothe, to give him what he needs. But more than that, you want to. You want to pull him into your bed, want to feel his fever-hot skin against yours, want to take care of him the way every cell in your body is telling you to.
"Let me help you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended, almost pleading.
His eyes go wide. "What?"
"Let me help you through it." You slide your hand up from his chest to cup his jaw, feeling the way he leans into your touch like he can't help himself. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to suffer through it."
"I can't ask you to do that. You haven't been here that long and haven't been through one…"
"It's pretty instinctual. I'll be okay."
He's trembling now, and you can't tell if it's from the fever or from nerves or from the effort of holding himself back. "What if I hurt you? What if I can't control myself?"
"Soonyoung, you won't hurt me."
"You don't know that." But even as he says it, he's leaning closer, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath is hot against your lips, coming in short, uneven pants. "You don't know what it's like. What I'm feeling right now."
"Then take it," you whisper. "Take what you need."
He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a whimper and a growl, and his hands come up to grip your waist. His fingers dig in, not quite hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you can feel the desperation in his touch.
"But what if-"
You cut him off by kissing him.
It's soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his to turn off his spinning thoughts, but the moment you make contact, something in him breaks. He makes a desperate sound against your mouth and kisses you back like he's drowning and you're air. His lips are fever-hot and slightly chapped, and he tastes like mint toothpaste and something underneath that's purely him, purely alpha, purely Soonyoung.
His hands tighten on your waist and he pulls you closer, eliminating the last few inches of space between you. Your chest presses against his and you can feel the heat of him even through your thin sleep shirt, can feel the way his heart is racing, can feel the slight tremor in his muscles as he holds himself back from taking more than you're offering.
But you want him to take more. You want him to let go.
You part your lips and he groans, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes heat pool low in your belly. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and you can feel the moment his control starts to slip. His hands slide from your waist to your hips to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him harden against your stomach, the way he's already straining against the low slung sweat pants.
Knowing he wants you this much makes your head spin. You omega preens and you shiver, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily, driven by a more powerful want than you have ever felt in your life. He responds in kind, walking you backward toward the bed, feet tangling until you're falling backward and he's caging you in.
For a moment, he just hovers over you, his arms bracketing your head, his chest heaving as he stares down at you with those dark, dilated eyes. You reach up and trace his jawline and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering. You've always thought he had the prettiest eyes, dark and hungry and so full of life. Right now they're burning with something hotter than you've ever seen and it makes you sing.
"You're so beautiful," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long."
"Then have me," you whisper. "Take me."
"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."
He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips moving against you with gentle purpose like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth. His hands start to wander, sliding up your sides, pushing your sleep shirt up inch by inch until his palms are pressed against your bare skin.
The contact makes you both gasp. His hands are so hot they're almost burning, and everywhere he touches feels like it's on fire. He explores slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts.
"Can I?" He asks, twisting a fistfull of your shirt in his hand. You nod and he grins.
He sits back on his heels and helps you pull the shirt over your head, and the moment it's gone, his eyes go even darker. He stares at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful, his gaze tracking over every inch of exposed skin.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect."
He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your breast, then another to your stomach. His lips are hot and soft, and every place he kisses feels like it's been branded. He works his way down slowly, kissing and licking and occasionally scraping his teeth gently against your skin in a way that makes you arch up into him, his name broken and shaky on your lips.
Soonyoung's sounds are equally as needy, groaning low in his throat in a way that makes your thighs close around his waist, the ache between your legs growing despite the way his hips pin yours to the bed. Friction. You need friction but any thoughts of asking for it vanish from your head when he leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, the heat and wet slide of his tongue making you cry out.
Your hands fly to his hair, threading through the messy strands, holding him against you as he sucks and licks and occasionally scrapes his teeth gently across the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every pass of his tongue.
"So responsive," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So perfect for me."
He gives the same attention to your other breast, his hand coming up to play with the one his mouth just left, and the dual sensation makes your head spin. You're panting now, your hips shifting restlessly against the mattress, seeking friction that you need so badly.
"Soonyoung," you gasp. "Please."
"Please what?" He lifts his head to look at you, and his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes dark with hunger. "Tell me what you need."
"Touch me. Please touch me."
His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers light and maddening. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he pauses again, waiting for permission. You lift your hips in answer, and he hooks his fingers into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.
Cool air hits your overheated pussy and you whine. Soonyoung growls in response, looking down where your thighs threaten to shut. He keeps you pressed open, his hands firm on your thighs as he makes an appreciative sound low in his chest, almost a purr.
"You're so wet," he says, his voice rough. "Is this all for me?"
"Yes," you breathe. "All for you."
He stays kneeled there on the bed, his hand tracing down your thigh until he’s sliding his fingers through your sticky, heated folds. He explores slowly, the drag of his fingers making you tremble, thighs twitching until he presses gently against your clit and you let out a high-pitched sound, the contact sending a bloom of warmth spreading through you.
"There?" He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice, smug.
"Yes. Please."
Soonyoung obeys, circling your clit slowly, increasing the pressure as you buck under him. You feel yourself dripping, a wet mess as he plays with you, making little appreciative sounds as his slick fingers work you higher until you're tangling your hands in the bed and writhing under him.
When he slides one finger inside you, you cry out, your hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. It feels good but you want more, immediately asking him for more, mumbling and messy and lightheaded and overwhelmed with the thick scent of him and the heat of his finger pressing against your front wall.
"Yeah?" He asks. "You can take another?"
"Yes. Please. More."
He adds a second finger and the stretch is delicious, perfect. He curls them inside you, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes you see stars, you nearly sob with relief.
"There," you gasp. "Right there. Oh god, Soonyoung, right there."
He works you with single-minded focus, his fingers curling and stroking while his thumb circles your clit, and you can feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building higher and higher until you're teetering right on the edge.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come."
You turn your head to the side, pressing it into the mattress as your hips roll toward his hand, letting him fuck his fingers into you until you're coming around them, clamping down hard on his fingers. He moans with you, pumping his fingers through it as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, the pleasure so hot you stop breathing for a second.
"Too much," you gasp, and he immediately gentles, his fingers slipping out of you carefully.
He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he hums in delight. You stare at him, panting and sweaty, sheets sticky against your skin as he opens his eyes, the moon reflecting off them.
"Taste so fucking good," he growls. "Bet you taste better from the source, but if I don't fuck you right now I might lose my mind."
"Please," you beg. "Want it so bad."
He makes a desperate sound and reaches for his sleep pants, shoving them down his hips. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and leaking, and the sight of it makes your mouth water. He's thick and throbbing, and you watch like you're hypnotized as he grips himself, stroking slowly a few times as he settles on the bed between your legs.
Soonyoung leans forward, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your wet cunt where he pauses, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds. You whine and he grins, clearly loving the effect he has on you.
"You sure?" He asks after a minute, the head of his cock notching on your entrance but not pushing in. "We can stop."
"I want you," you assure him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, alpha."
Your words have an immediate effect. He shivers, a ripple going through him as he growls low in his throat and presses in. You're wet enough that he slides in smoothly, but you can still feel every inch of him, can feel the way your body has to adjust to accommodate his girth. The drag of him against your walls enough to make you gasp.
"Fuck," he breaths, pressing in until he bottoms out. "You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect." He rolls his hips experimentally, grinding deep, and the pressure against that spot inside you makes you cry out. "Yeah, there it is. I can feel you clenching around me already."
You can feel the fever-heat of his skin, the way his muscles are taut with restraint. His scent wraps around you, that deep teakwood gone sharp and heady with rut, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell is him. It makes your head spin, makes you want to pull him closer, to drown in it.
"Soonyoung," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Move. Please move."
"Impatient," he says with a grin, but there's heat in his eyes.
He pulls out so slowly that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock, all the way until just the head of him is inside of you before he snaps his hips forward, driving deep in one smooth thrust, and the sudden fullness makes you cry out. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he's pulling out and driving in again, setting a rhythm that's deep and steady and absolutely devastating. Each thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.
"Oh fuck," you groan, going tight around him. "Fuck fuck fuck."
The sounds of the wet slide of him fucking into you fills the room backtracked by his breathing, ragged and uneven as he groans everytime you clench around him. You dig your nails in, scraping down his back to his waist where you urge him faster, your fingers sliding against his sweaty skin.
"That's fucking it," he pants. "Taking my cock so well, huh? Were you made to take it?"
You nod, his words making heat flood through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. He feels it and grins, that cocky, confident smile that makes your heart race.
"You like that?" he asks, his pace never faltering. "Like hearing how perfect you are? How good you feel wrapped around me?"
"Yes," you gasp as he thrusts hard, jostling you up the bed. "Fuck. Yes, Soonyoung."
He shifts the angle slightly, pressing deeper, and suddenly every thrust is dragging against your g-spot with devastating precision. The pleasure builds rapidly, a tight coil of heat low in your belly that winds tighter with each movement. He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right speed.
"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. "Can feel the way this perfect pussy is clenching. You gonna come for me?"
"Yes!"
You can feel yourself climbing higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your cunt clenching hard, breath hitching as you start to shake. He drives in harder, finger speeding up until you're standing on the edge of your orgasm, breath held, waiting to dive over.
"Come on," he murmurs, leaning down to nip your heard. "Come for me, baby."
You do, the orgasm hitting you hard. It steals your breath and your entire body locks up as you cry out his name, your pussy clamping down on him. His rhythm stutters immediately as he groans, but he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're shaking and feeling like you're going to come apart again, unsure if your orgasm has stopped or if it's another one starting.
"I can't-"
"You can," he urges, breath hot against your ear. "You're going to give me another one, baby."
He pulls out suddenly, and the loss makes you whimper. But before you can protest, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips and pulling them up.
"On your knees," he commands, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.
When he slides in from behind, the new angle makes him feel deeper. You can feel him everywhere, the stretch, the fullness, the way he's pressed against every single spot inside of you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to dimple the skin, holding you exactly where he wants you as he fucks you in earnest, hips snapping and bed hitting the wall.
"Fuck, look at you," he groans. "Taking me so deep. You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
One of his hands slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, and you let yourself collapse forward onto your forearms. The change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you cry out with the intensity of it.
"Too much?" he asks, but there's a teasing edge to his voice. He knows it's not too much. He knows you can take it.
"No," you gasp. "More. Please, more."
"Greedy," he says with a laugh, but he gives you what you want.
His pace increases, his thrusts getting harder, faster, and you can feel another orgasm building already. It's different this time, deeper and more intense, starting low in your stomach and spreading outward like fire.
His hand slides around to find your clit again, and the added stimulation makes you sob with pleasure. You're so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but you don't want him to stop. You never want him to stop.
"Come on," he urges, his voice strained now. "Give me another one. Want to feel you come apart on my cock again."
The orgasm builds and builds, the pressure almost unbearable, and when it finally breaks you scream into the pillow. Your whole body shakes with it, your inner walls clenching around him so hard you can feel him groan, can feel the way his rhythm falters.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, you feel so good."
His hips stutter, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully, and then he's coming with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his chest. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, can feel the pulse of his cock, and the sensation triggers another small aftershock that makes you whimper.
He collapses over you, his chest pressed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel his heart racing against your spine, can feel the way he's trembling slightly, can feel his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder.
For a second, the two of you lay there like that, hearts pounding in sync, the messy slide of your bodies warm and comforting, his scent blooming around you as the mess between your thighs runs down your legs and onto the mattress. You don't care, going near catatonic as Soonyoung presses closer to your scent gland, his tongue darting out to taste you. It makes you moan and push back into him, wanting more and he laughs.
He shifts slightly, starting to pull out, but you make a sound of protest. "Not yet. Stay."
"I'm crushing you," he points out, but he doesn't move.
"Don't care," you say. "Want to feel you."
He makes a soft sound and settles more comfortably against you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He's still inside you, softening but not pulling out, and there's something intimate about it that makes your chest feel tight.
You lie there in the darkness, your bodies cooling, your breathing gradually evening out. You can feel the way his scent is already starting to shift, still hot and thick with rut, but not quite as sharp, not quite as overwhelming.
"How long do ruts usually last?" you ask quietly.
"Three days, usually. Sometimes four." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "But I don't know if this one will be normal. Everything about it has been weird so far."
"We'll figure it out," you tell him.
He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, vulnerable. "Thank you. For this. For helping me. For not being scared of me."
"I would never be afraid of you."
"Even after the past few days?"
"Especially after the past few days." You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, and even in the dim light, you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "You were in pre-rut and you were still gentle with me. You were still asking permission. You were still you. That tells me everything I need to know."
He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, and when he opens them again, they're suspiciously bright. "I don't deserve you."
"Shut up," you say, but there's no heat in it. "You deserve everything good. And I'm going to make sure you get it."
He kisses your shoulder, soft and sweet and perfect. When he pulls back, you can hear the smile in his voice.
"Round two?" he asks, and you can already feel him starting to harden again inside you.
You laugh, the sound surprised and delighted. "Already?"
"Rut," he says, rolling his hips experimentally and making you gasp. "Told you it was going to be intense. Think you can keep up?"
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe. Think you can handle it?"
"I can handle anything you give me," you tell him, and you mean it.
"Good," he says, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone that makes heat pool in your belly. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."
"Prove it."
"Oh, I will," he promises. "We've got all night. And all day tomorrow. And the day after that."
"Good," you tell him, rolling your hips and feeling the way he's already fully hard again inside you. "Because I'm not letting you go."
-
The knock comes around late morning, soft but insistent.
You're half-awake when you hear it, drifting in that comfortable space between sleep and consciousness where everything feels warm and syrupy. Soonyoung is sprawled across your chest, his head tucked under your chin, one arm thrown over your waist. His breathing is deep and even, his body finally relaxed after taking you four more times throughout the night on and off. There's an ache between your legs but it feels good, feels right. Like you're right where you should be, pressed against a member of your pack, scents twisted together.
The knock comes again, a little louder this time.
"Come in," you call quietly, not wanting to startle Soonyoung awake too abruptly.
The door opens and Jeonghan steps inside, cradling bottles of water and bowls of rice and chicken. You realize it's what you both need to sustain yourself through Soonyoung's rut and you're immediately grateful, shooting Jeonghan a tired smile. He smirks in response, trailing toward where you and Soonyoung are tangled on the bed.
Soonyoung senses Jeonghan's presence, eyes snapping open. He's up on his elbows in an instant, his body going rigid, and a low growl rumbles from deep in his chest. His lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl that's pure territorial aggression, his pupils dilating as he positions himself between you and Jeonghan like a shield.
Jeonghan doesn't even flinch. Instead, he sets the food and water down on the dresser and turns to Soonyoung, face calm and placid before his face shifts, lips pulling back to bare his teeth at Soonyoung in kind. There's no anger in it, but rather a reminder to Soonyoung that Jeonghan is number two in this pack and Soonyoung's senior and he is not intimidated.
Soonyoung's growl falters. You can feel the moment he recognizes the dynamic, the moment his rut-addled brain processes the hierarchy and accepts it. His teeth retract, his lips closing over them, and he settles back down slightly, though his arm never leaves your waist.
"Keep the teeth away," Jeonghan snorts, walking toward the door. "Congrats on finally figuring it out. You cannot imagine the relief I felt seeing you crawl up here last night."
He turns and exits the room without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.
For a moment, there's silence. You can feel Soonyoung's heart still racing, but his anger is immediately replaced with a sheepish laugh and him awkwardly scratching the back of his head, looking at you.
"Sorry," he laughs. "I've never done that before."
"It's okay," you tell him, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. "It was cute."
"Cute?" He scoffs. "I'm not cute. I'm tough. I have teeth."
"Uh huh." You lay back on the bed, looking up at him, grinning. "Use those big teeth on me then."
"Yeah?" he asks, his voice dropping to something low and hungry. "You want me to?"
"Yes."
That's all the invitation he needs. He moves fast, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the mattress in one fluid motion. His hands find your wrists, pressing them gently but firmly into the pillows on either side of your head. His body settles over yours, his weight pressing you down into the bed, and you can feel him already hardening against your thigh.
His teeth find the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear, and he bites down gently, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that you feel it, hard enough that it sends a spike of heat straight through you. He works his way down your neck, marking you with his teeth, and every bite is followed by a soothing lick of his tongue.
"I'll show you teeth," he mutters, scraping them over the curve of your breast.
You grin, arching into him, finally feeling settled and feeling home.
── an unexpected reunion with your father’s friend causes old feelings to reach their boiling point.
tags: f!rea x seungcheol | smut/pwp 18+
wc: 8.7k
content: age gap (reader early 20s, cheol late 30s), miscommunication, light angst, alcohol, smoking, mentions of mingyu x reader, smut including dom!cheol, grinding, choking, hair pulling, fingering/oral, unprotected sex
notes: idk man i blacked the fuck out. don’t look at me. shout out to emmie & mer for cheering me on while this fic and i were throwing hands ily both
𝓣HE PRESENCE OF YOUR FATHER’S FRIEND HAS NEVER FAILED TO MAKE YOU FEEL JUST SHORT OF PSYCHOTIC.
if you weren’t at such a high-end event, and from one of the most esteemed families on the guest list, you’d allow your wobbling knees to buckle from underneath you; the tears clumping in your lashes to flow down in inky streaks.
you’re acutely aware of how childish it is, to feel this way about one man. to feel this way at all at your age. but years worth of social etiquette lessons and honing emotional intellect run for the hills where he’s concerned. they always have.
swallowing down the boulder-sized lump in your throat, you count the breaths until your vision isn’t blurred with tears anymore. all your hard work is almost for nothing when you side-eye his corner of the room and realise he’s still fucking staring at you. probably hasn’t stopped, the creep.
you can’t even remember what mingyu was yapping your ear off about one minute ago, what had you wishing for divine intervention to get you out of this conversation. it was like the air tilted, like the room moved with him— choi seungcheol. fire of your loins, bane of your existence as of about a year ago.
it’s as if his eyes commanded attention the instant they fell on you, since your head was turning before you could even clock the reason why.
which brings you to now: feeling like you’re dying from the inside out as your father’s friend watches you like a hawk from across the room, mingyu none the wiser while he continues to listen to himself talk.
you curse yourself for not hiding your phone in your bra, instead having forfeited it to security at the entrance. you start scanning the room for a circle of people to step into, or even a server holding a tray of champagne to beckon over, as you ignore your father’s attempts to get your attention.
instinct wins out when he calls your name, and you make the mistake of snapping your head to his direction— instantly locking eyes with the dark brown pair that has your previous glasses of bubbly churning in your belly.
pitifully, you excuse yourself from mingyu, directing his attention to your father very clearly waiting for you to come to him. you give mingyu’s arm a squeeze as you promise you’ll continue this conversation, in hopes that he might rescue you later.
your lips are near pursing in a tight-lipped smile as you finally walk to your father’s side, refusing to spare even a glance towards his friend standing silently across from you.
“you haven’t forgotten mr. choi, have you?”
you wish you had.
it feels like a puncture straight into your ribs when he says your name in that mellow voice. “it’s been a while since i’ve last seen you.” seungcheol smiles.
the memory of the last night you heard from him still flashes hot in your head. it’s been a year, maybe more. you’ve met a lot more men than just your father’s friend— enough decent ones to last you a lifetime. and yet, you’re still bitter like it was just yesterday.
you can only manage a nod in response, swallowing down the cusses sizzling on your tongue.
“well, i’ll leave you two to catch up, then. you used to be such good friends, didn’t you?” your father asks you without leaving room for argument. he shakes hands with seungcheol as he takes his leave, stepping out of the conversation he started; leaving you stranded and pissed.
you keep your eyes trained on your father’s back as he walks off, hoping that the ground might open up and swallow you.
“you look really beautiful tonight.” seungcheol starts, speaking softly as if to a baby. “how’ve you been?”
noticing that you’re ignoring him, he tries to step in to your line of sight that you’re purposefully keeping away from him. in retaliation, you duck your head down to pick at your nails, and he chuckles lowly.
“you’ve gone all shy now?”
that hits almost like a slap. it feels like he’s poking fun at the very last interaction you shared, even if that’s not what he meant.
you let him win and actually look at him now.
your resolve damn nearly crumbles. seungcheol’s been aging like the finest fucking wine.
breathlessly, you take in his features you’re already familiar with that have somehow gotten even more attractive: the dark hair loosely framing his temples, the heady gaze of his eyes behind thin glasses, the faintest smug curve of his full lips.
he looks wider too, no doubt thanks to his steadfast commitment to the gym. seungcheol’s dressed in black from head to toe in a button-up and slacks that fit him like a damn glove, if not a little tighter with how the fabric looks like it’s straining around the muscles he’s hiding under there.
it’s not until your eyes meet his again that you realise they ever left. you unclench your jaw, becoming acutely aware that you’ve been ogling him and he was just.. letting you.
self-conscious, you grimace. “what do you want me to say? i don’t want to talk to you.”
it’s only half true. and if you had kept in contact, he’d be able to see right through it. but you didn’t. so you watch seungcheol’s face drop ever-so-slightly, buying the bitter edge to your words.
“i know.” he shifts his weight, perhaps uncomfortably. good. “i didn’t ask your father to do that. i’m sure it’s only because he got tired of me asking about you.”
“what?” you nearly scoff out, trying to not sound too eager at the fact he still gave even a single shit about you.
“he called you over so that you could just answer my questions yourself. i tried to insist that it was fine, though.”
you heart pangs a little over the fact seungcheol tried to convince your father against calling you over. even if you were close to having a breakdown just because you realised his eyes were on you.
“okay… so ask.”
his lip curls. maybe disbelief, maybe amusement. “how’s school been treating you?”
you stifle a roll of your eyes. calling it school made you feel like a kid. you’re in your third year of college, for christ’s sake. in saying that, seungcheol knew your father as the company’s CEO first and foremost before he became his friend, so you’ve always been the boss’s daughter to him.
even when he started coming around your home, joining your family at dinner, asking about your day in passing. even when you were old enough to be on a first name basis with him and catch up regularly over the phone when you moved away for college. seungcheol always finds a way to remind you that you’re just a kid to him— in case you ever, god forbid, hope he could view you as an equal.
“well, the work doesn’t get any easier. but i’m enjoying staying in the city. it makes coming home feel like a holiday.”
“you’ve made some more friends there?”
“of course i have.” it comes out like a response to an accusation. you don’t want him thinking you’re lonely. you don’t know why you still care what he thinks.
seungcheol’s smug grin only stretches wider at your tone. “and they’re good for you?”
better than you, fuck you, i hate you— “they keep me sane.”
seungcheol chuckles, a deep sound from his chest that feels like a punch straight to yours.
god, you’re still so attracted to him. you’d even say you’ve missed him, if only you didn’t have to jump off a cliff before letting yourself admit that.
you startle the poor server boy passing by when you call out to him by name suddenly (“chan” the name-tag read), and he faces you like he’s braced for a scolding. softening your face with an apologetic smile, you take one of the champagne flutes on his tray and thank him before he scurries off to the other side of the room.
seungcheol’s brow quirks in that infuriatingly cocky way he does as he watches you take a hefty gulp of the champagne.
too eager, some of the liquid ends up running down your chin and falling onto your cleavage in droplets. you mutter a cuss as you swallow down, unceremoniously wiping your chest off with your hand.
your eyes flick back up to seungcheol, and you catch his doing the exact same movement as they meet yours— as if he was also looking down there.
you narrow your eyes at him.
“you look.. different.” he mutters.
“worse?”
he cocks his head, voice low and deliberate. “you know that’s not what i said.”
a shock races straight up your spine with the way his eyes go half-lidded, jaw slack. if you were still as insane about him as you used to be, you could delude yourself into thinking he was giving you bedroom eyes.
but you know he isn’t. seungcheol already made it clear that he doesn’t want you like that.
“i miss your calls, you know.” he admits in a murmur.
before you can stop yourself, you’re thinking out loud with a scoff: “gee, i wonder why they stopped.”
at that, the air between you completely changes— replaced by something crackling with tension. seungcheol goes rigid, brows furrowing like he’s checking if you’re joking, but you don’t back down.
you may as well stop beating around the bush. stop ignoring the massive fucking elephant in the room.
stop pretending that you didn’t ghost seungcheol for a year after he ghosted you for a night.
he sighs, stepping to you. “you never let me explain myself.”
you step back in turn, reinstating the distance between you. “kind of speaks for itself, doesn’t it? i’m a big girl, i can take a hint.”
seungcheol’s lip twitches at the big girl part of your sentence before he runs a hand through his hair; fixes the glasses on his nose like he’s composing himself.
“i didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and i’m sorry. but you know why i had to make that choice.”
“i don’t know, actually.” you reply, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. “i don’t know why you couldn’t just talk to me like an adult instead of standing me up.”
you hate how little it makes you feel, arguing your side. like what could you ever understand about the grown-up reasons behind his actions?
you catch seungcheol’s hands flex at his sides, and he clicks his teeth, incredulous. “i don’t expect you to explain the obvious for why you blocked my number, so don’t expect me to do the same for why i didn’t come that night. you know damn well how it would’ve looked on me.”
“like what? what are you so afraid of?” you push him, shoving the rational part of your brain into timeout.
you need to hear him say it. it’s not like you planned on anything actually happening that night— hoped and dreamt and possibly prayed, yes— but realistically, you didn’t expect it to go any further than you just confessing your feelings.
you’re a woman, maybe not as grown as him, but an adult at the end of it. he’s acting like he would’ve been taken away in handcuffs.
when seungcheol says your name again, this time it’s a warning. his dark eyes behind those lenses watch intently for your next move, and your blood flares with the adrenaline of pissing him off. if you can get under his skin in any way, you’re going to run with it.
“okay. well, for future reference, maybe don’t tell a girl you’ll go to dinner with her if you’re just not going to fucking show up.”
seungcheol’s eyes widen, and you feel a buzz of anticipation as his jaw ticks, before his tense shoulders deflate with a sigh. “i really am sorry.”
sorry isn’t nearly enough to cut it. last year, when you were briefly home for your spring break, you’d asked seungcheol to join you for dinner on your last day there. by this point, catching up with him over the phone was part of your daily routine. you’re grown enough to be studying for a serious ‘adult’ job, to be calling him just seungcheol instead of mr. choi, and to think that maybe your long-term crush on him could actually be reciprocated. he promised that he’d be there, after all.
silly you.
you don’t know whether he was intentionally leading you on or you were a dog chasing an imaginary bone but you felt so incredibly stupid all the same. and now he has the gall to be standing in front of you, looking like a kicked puppy because you dare confront him about it.
“you know what? i actually don’t care what your reason is anymore. just leave me alone.” another lie that you’re hoping he can’t see through.
you go to walk right past him, but seungcheol catches your wrist in a firm grip, rendering you frozen as he pulls you close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body— right here in the middle of this crowded room like you’re the only person he even sees.
seungcheol carries an air of dominance everywhere he goes. when he speaks, his voice demands silence. it’s why he stands as high as he does in your father’s company— he knows what he wants and he knows how to make it his. but he is never rough in his ways. there’s a composed way to how he controls things. and everything you’ve come to know about seungcheol is completely contradicted by the man standing before you.
“i wasn’t lying when i said i missed you.” he mutters, thick brows pinched in frustration. “you don’t understand how much regret i feel for how we left things.”
you really didn’t understand. sheepishly, you turn your head to the side to get some air away from his breath hitting your face, and also to check if anyone’s staring at you both like you’re crazy. seungcheol intercepts your efforts, nose an inch from bumping yours as he dips his face close.
“would you let me try to fix it?”
are you drunk and hallucinating?? how he can stand you up for a private dinner because of ‘how it’ll look’, and now tug you by the arm this close to him in front of your peers and ask you for a second chance, you wonder just what the fuck happened to him during your year apart.
you don’t budge, and his frown grows even deeper as he groans out a hoarse “please.”
you could get high off the way he’s looking at you, like he’ll beg if he doesn’t get an answer. all the power is in your hands here and your mind is reeling because of it. you wonder just what he means by ‘fixing it’, and how far he’ll go to do so.
but, instead of finding out, you just smirk cruelly and snatch your arm back from out of his grip.
“no. fuck you.”
you don’t spare him a second glance as you walk off, progressively feeling more self-conscious at the weight of his eyes burning holes into your back.
you’re not recognising any of the faces here, anyone that you could spring up a conversation with. before you start to panic and look like an idiot, you pivot for the bathroom.
by the time you’re locking the door behind you, your clammy palms leave the knob slippery.
really, you needed to take that dramatic exit before you did something embarrassingly desperate in retaliation. you didn’t know how much longer you had left before your knees gave out, with how seungcheol’s heavy stare and tight grip on your wrist was chipping away at your sanity.
he has never been like that with you.
in the past year you’ve had his number blocked, you considered going back on your decision before talking yourself out of it time and again— convinced he probably couldn’t give even less shits than he must already.
evidently, he looks like he’s been even worse off than you are. and he’s the one who stood you up.
your dress feels like it’s sticky and also somehow like it’s made of sheet metal. you readjust how everything’s sitting on your body, slipping out the lighter and single cigarette tucked into the side of your bra (just a mousekatool to help you later) to peel the elastic from your sweaty skin and fan it dry.
after you feel freshened up and like a person again, you sigh and open the door to the hall outside, nearly knocking into seungcheol.
you jump at the sudden sight of him, muttering a curse under your breath. your initial shock quickly curdles into annoyance that you’ve run into a him a second time.
“are you seriously following me?” you snap, stepping past the threshold.
“no, i’m just—” he stops himself short when you suddenly readjust how your bra’s sitting on your body. you don’t miss the way his eyes flick down, though they’re back up and staring at your face as if it was just an accident. “…waiting.”
you scrunch your face at him like he’s dumb. “for what?”
seungcheol doesn’t reply. he looks past you, into the bathroom, down at his shoes. anywhere but at your face. he must be waiting for you to leave already, you realise.
“you’re being weird.” you study his face. “did something happen?”
“nothing’s happened.” he answers at once.
silence stretches. it presses. his jaw works, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“well, i hope i don’t see you around.” you say after a long moment, unconvinced.
you go to step around him, intending to walk off, except seungcheol doesn’t move out of your way quick enough and your arm knocks with his as he takes his hand out from his pocket.
you turn back to make another annoyed comment, except you take immediate notice of how seungcheol was standing. without shame, your eyes dart down to his hand as it moves towards the front of his pants, almost covering his—
oh.
you blink thrice to prove you aren’t just imagining things, noticing his fingers twitch where they try (and fail) to shield the visible lump in his black slacks.
your lip curls. “are you .. turned on?”
seungcheol looks like he’s gone into rigour mortis.
“sorry,” he murmurs. “it’s not intentional.”
it’s like your world goes into slow motion as he moves to step past you. if you don’t take advantage of this situation that’s in your favour right the fuck now, you may lose the only chance you’ve got.
much like he did before, you stop seungcheol when you wrap a hand around his arm. his bicep completely tenses under your touch, and you think you’re about two seconds from losing it.
seungcheol looks like he’s already gone when his eyes meet yours. jaw clenched tight, pupil dilation cranked up to the max. you recognise the look immediately. you’ve see it in men before, but not choi seungcheol; the irrepressible crush that’s defined your entire adulthood. and you feel plastered off the flip in power.
you scoff out a laugh, breathless. “what, are you gonna jerk off in there, you freak?”
“i’m not.” he retorts, voice dropping a decibel.
you must look crazy with how you’re smirking right now.
heart pounding against your ribs, you throw all caution to the wind and rake your fingers up over seungcheol’s arm. when he doesn’t immediately flinch away, you smooth your palm over his shoulder until you’re cupping the side of his neck, thumb resting over his fluttering pulse. you swear you feel him shiver at the warmth of your touch.
seungcheol startles you when his hand flies out and envelops yours, ripping it off his neck.
“you need to stop.” he nearly pants out.
heady with adrenaline, you just blink dumbly. “why?”
his eyes flutter shut as he exhales a shaky breath through his nose. your own eyes flick down, feeling your stomach knot at how he’s still hard against his pants, and at this proximity you could so easily—
“because i’ll do something i fucking regret.” he murmurs, eyes shaded over when he opens them.
you can’t believe this was the same man that stood you up a year ago— the same man that’s nearly two decades older than you— now agonisingly turned on and it’s all your fault.
you were so sure it was because he didn’t want you. because he still sees you as a kid. and you may as well be, since you don’t know what’s true or not anymore.
your face splits into a shit-eating grin. “i don’t believe you.”
seungcheol’s breath hitches, lip curling halfway to a grimace as he fights a war with own conscience. your eyes go half-lidded, and that seems to be enough to convince him.
you hold your breath as seungcheol steps forward, wetting his lips with his tongue. your eyes flutter shut— but before you can feel the warmth of his mouth on yours, your eyes snap open at the sound of footsteps around the corner.
your heart goes from fluttering like a hummingbird to completely stopping. seungcheol drops your hand from his grip, but it’s too late to back away from each other before a figure appears at the start of the hallway.
chan’s wide-eyed as he catches you both, a tray full of empty champagne flutes wobbling in his hands. he’s gone within the next blink, scampering off like he walked in on something he knows he shouldn’t have.
you’re not too worried. if anything, you’re relieved it was just one of the staff.
seungcheol sighs, putting distance back between you as he steps away. “i’m sorry. i should be better than this.”
“don’t be.” you quickly say back.
when seungcheol raises his eyes to yours, it knocks the air straight from your lungs. he looks like he’s dying. he looks like he’s at his fucking wits end and wants to drag you right down with him. and you’d go happily.
but, before lust can completely cloud your judgement and you follow him into that bathroom, you take a step back too.
“cheol.” your first use of his name all night getting his breath to hitch. “come find me outside after. we should.. talk. right?”
you flash him a smile, and his eyes just widen. he manages to get out a silent nod, and before you can ignore your judgment and bend yourself over that bathroom sink, you turn away and leave him to it.
you’re greeted by the chirping of cicadas when you push past the sliding glass door out to the gardens. you slipped through the crowd quietly enough and without anyone pulling you aside or calling after you, so you hope no one but seungcheol will be coming to look for you out here.
you need that damn cigarette.
reaching into the side of your bra, you slide out the cigarette, but turn up empty when you try to feel for the lighter that should be right next to it.
you must look insane as you feel your own boobs up, trying to find where the lighter might’ve shifted to. you’re about to start patting at the grass until the crunch of gravel has your head snapping up.
seungcheol cocks his head, tutting at the sight of the cigarette hanging between your lips. “you know better than that.”
“oh, fuck off. don’t even try to parent me.”
“language.” he smirks, and it just gets a roll of your eyes in reply.
once seungcheol’s closed the distance between you, he lifts a hand up to your face— and you can only watch in disbelief as he slides the cigarette out from your mouth himself, the pads of his fingers brushing across your lower lip.
you can’t even feel mad as you watch him stuff it away inside his pocket.
flicking your eyes back up to meet his, noticing the newfound heaviness to his gaze and the smirk playing at his lips, you decide you’ll bite first.
“be honest: when you got hard back there, was it because you were checking me out?”
his lips part for a thought, and with the way he’s keeping his eyes locked on yours, you could almost think he’s forcing himself to not trail down.
“i was.”
your tongue pokes your cheek as you grin— in triumph, and in disbelief.
“alright.” you nod. “but why now?”
“what do you mean?”
“why change your mind? you already turned me down before.”
“and i can’t tell you enough how sorry i am. i wish i never did that.” he presses a palm to his chest, face pinching like the memory physically hurts him.
“but you did. you had your chance already.” you fire back, feeling what was once desire quickly derail into your bottled up resentment. “it took you a year to decide you want to return my feelings, but first you had to stand me up and make me look like a—”
“—because i shouldn’t feel them.” seungcheol cuts you off by suddenly closing the distance, massive frame caging you in. you can’t breathe at the sight of his pupils blown wide open, lowering your gaze to the fists clenched at his sides like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.
his breath hits your face as he exhales shakily, sounding like he’s two seconds from exploding. “i’ve got no right to feel any type of way about you. i work for your father— hell, i’m old enough to be your father. what kind of man does that make me, feeling the way i do?”
exactly the kind of man you were hoping he was, that’s what.
“you know why i didn’t show that night?” he goes on. “because i was afraid. of what we—what i would do. what i knew would’ve happened because when it comes you i can’t—”
you frown. you know what he means, what he’s trying to imply. but he keeps beating around the bush instead of saying it outright, saying what you’ve wished upon a star for him to confess, and that simply just won’t do.
“what are you saying?” you whisper. seungcheol’s face twitches when he spots your lip tremble (just a little act put on for encouragement). “is this.. are you rejecting me again?”
you go to twist away from him, but seungcheol stops you with two firm hands either side of your arms. heat erupts where he’s holding you.
“no, no—” you watch his throat bob in a gulp before he speaks. feel his fingers dig tighter like he’s still scared you’ll run away. “i do want you. god, fuck, i do. i have. i wish i didn’t but i do and it’s driving me insane.”
there it is.
fucking finally. it feels like victory, like pure bliss.
it is palpable how all the power is in your hands right now. it has been, always. and you know now, this is precisely why seungcheol didn’t show that infamous night. because all resistance runs for the hills where you’re concerned.
you tilt your chin up, revelling in the pure want pouring from his eyes.
you chew your bottom lip softly, watch as his eyes follow your every minuscule move. then you release it, popping the ‘p’ as you say: “prove it.”
seungcheol hesitates a second too long. you open your mouth to berate him— but then he smothers the words with his lips on yours.
it’s soft at first, which takes you back. seungcheol’s hands move over the bare skin of your arms: one falling down to hold your waist, the other holding your cheek. you melt into him, letting him take the lead as your lips follow his.
you breathe in his cologne, sighing out something that sounds like a whine, and a low noise rumbles in seungcheol’s throat over it. he kisses you even harder until your head cranes back from the force. his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, keeping you right where he wants you as he licks into your mouth.
you whine once again around his tongue, just to rile him up, and you get what you want when he pulls you in to press flush against his body. his arousal digs hard into your thigh. you so badly want to tear his flyer open and drop to your knees right here.
your hand wedges between your bodies, and you try to snake your hand down to palm at him before seungcheol’s own flies out to catch it.
he parts with you, smirking with glossy lips as he shakes his head. “uh-uh.”
you pout. “you’ve made me wait this long already.”
“sweetheart,” he hisses when you press your body up against him, thigh shifting to rub at his clothed cock. “we need to make good choices.”
“so what are we doing then?” you say a little too loudly. too carelessly. “because i’m—”
your heart sinks at sound of someone else’s voice, calling out your name.
you can’t will your body to move when your recognition of the voice dawns. seungcheol’s quick to act for you, softly guiding you to your knees. he leads you towards a concrete pillar and you shuffle behind it. it shields barely half of you, and you look up to seungcheol with a panicked expression.
“trust me,” is all he can get out before the voice comes again, startlingly closer.
seungcheol turns around, standing against the beam. you get the hint and hide yourself behind his legs.
“oh… mr. choi.”
“mingyu.” it comes out a little breathless, but he gulps, voice smoothed over as he asks: “what are you doing out here?”
your heart skips a beat when mingyu says that he’s looking for you because you need to talk, and you can only pray that seungcheol kept his face straight.
you question if mingyu would even notice anyways, since he’s obviously had some more alcohol since the last time you spoke, with how he’s drawling his words.
“i thought i just heard her voice...”
“what do you need to talk to her about?” seungcheol answers too quick, too snappy.
“it’s… private.”
fuck.
seungcheol shifts his weight, forcing himself to not glance back at you, and mingyu seems to catch on to whatever seungcheol’s reaction gave away.
“is she there?”
you’re sure both your and seungcheol’s stomachs dropped in unison.
he manages to shake his head. “nope. i haven’t seen her all night.”
mingyu nods, seemingly wrestling with himself on whether or not to say something, before landing on a decision.
“chan says he saw you with her earlier.” the server boy? fuck, did mingyu get his friend a job? well, someone’s getting fucking blacklisted tonight— “apparently you looked really close.”
“i’m good friends with her father. yours is, too.”
“no, but..” mingyu shifts, gravel crunching under his shoe. “he said it was a weird close. like it looked like something—”
“i think you should lay off the champagne, mingyu.” seungcheol cuts in, deadpanning. “that’s not an appropriate thing to insinuate about your father’s coworker and his boss’s daughter.”
mingyu stammers, and deciding that he needs to fuck off now, seungcheol makes a show of sighing like he’s run out of patience.
“well,” seungcheol says, slipping his hand out from his pocket, and you can only watch in pure fucking disbelief as he pulls your lighter out— followed by your cigarette as he sticks it between his lips. “i’ll see you inside after i have this.”
you can hear mingyu taking a step back, seemingly accepting defeat.
“and mingyu? have some water while you’re at it.”
you listen to his receding footsteps and for the sliding glass door to shut in the distance before you get back up.
“kim’s boy, huh?” seungcheol starts before you can, tone accusatory.
“are you mad?”
“no.”
“i can literally tell that you are.”
“you weren’t honest with me.” he sulks.
“i don’t need to tell you who i’m with.” you snap back, growing annoyed. “that’s none of your business.”
“you’re together?” his eyes go wide as saucers as he exclaims.
“no, we’re not.” you scowl. “it shouldn’t even matter to you, but since you won’t just drop it: we went out for a bit. i broke it off and we stayed friends. that’s it.”
you graciously neglect to mention the part where you sometimes still see him on lonely nights, hence why he won’t leave you alone.
but so what? a girl has needs and seungcheol denied you them. mingyu was eager to please and he was a gentleman, and he’s older than you just enough to fill the seungcheol-sized void.
seungcheol looks like he wants to scold you— for what exactly, you’re not sure, since he’d just be a raging hypocrite.
among other things, actually.
“how about i ask you why you have my lighter, you fucking perv.” you punctuate the question with a finger pressed to his chest.
seungcheol’s lip twitches. “was i supposed to leave it in the bathroom? not a good look at an event like this.”
“your face won’t have a good look when i fucking—”
seungcheol shuts you up with a kiss on the lips, wasting no time to push his tongue past your teeth. his hands are back on your body, though he’s mindful in where he puts them, even if that means he’s avoiding right where you want him to squeeze you.
you push yourself up against him, mindlessly rocking your hips and chasing the outline of his cock through the layers.
you’re too impatient at this point, adrenaline pumping hot from nearly getting caught by mingyu. you need an out to this energy before you implode. you need him.
“want you, cheol,” you whine in between his tongue tasting every inch of your month.
even through all the fabric you can feel his cock twitch at your words. you paw at his chest when he doesn’t respond— whining on his tongue and grinding down on his hips until he breaks off the kiss, cussing in between heavy breaths.
his eyes flit all over your face while he thinks scattered thoughts. he licks the taste of your spit off his lips, then pinches your chin between his fingers. “i want you too, gorgeous. but we don’t have many options.”
god fucking damn, you’re about to actually just bend over a bush if he doesn’t get in you within the next few minutes.
“did you drive here?”
“i did.” seungcheol reaches into his pocket, and his car keys jingle.
“then let’s fucking go.”
ever the gentleman, seungcheol opens the back door to his car for you to climb in first. on your hands and knees, you make a show of hiking your ass in the air as you crawl to the other side. you’re not even sat down before you hear seungcheol shuffling in behind you, and you jump when the door slams shut.
“are you trying to draw attent—?”
“—come here.” seungcheol urges you breathlessly, his large hands on your waist guiding you to lay back on the seats before he’s diving in to kiss you.
since you both know exactly where this is going, you’re a lot more shameless now. you let all the little whines spill from your lips as seungcheol kisses you, each noise just driving him crazier as his tongue licks deeper and harder into the heat of your mouth.
he keeps his body hovering over yours, mindful to keep his full weight off of you, even as you tug at his shirt to try and get him to press against you. both his palms roam freely up and over your curves, grabbing greedy handfuls of the flesh through the fabric, yet conveniently avoiding the places right where you want him.
frustrated, you bunch your hands in the fabric of his shirt like you’re trying to tear it open, and he chuckles lowly onto your lips.
“patience, sweetheart.” he coos, gently stroking your hair.
you groan. “cheol, i want you to—”
he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your lips. you try to slide your tongue past his teeth, but he pulls away, tutting.
“i know what you want.” he smiles, pinching your chin between his fingers. “and i’ll give it to you. just let me do what i want first, yeah?”
you narrow your eyes at him. you haven’t waited literal years to get fucking edged any more by him.
you go to argue again, but you shut up real quick when his hand finally finds your breast, gently kneading it. you whine as he swipes a thumb right over your nipple, earning a soft groan from seungcheol in response.
“i knew you weren’t wearing a bra.” he says hoarsely, seemingly entranced at how the bud hardens through the thin fabric.
seungcheol flicks and pinches at your nipples over the dress, and your hips end up unintentionally bucking from the sensitivity— knocking right into his crotch he was intentionally keeping away from you. seungcheol lets out a heavy breath, looking like you’re crumbling his resolve with every second.
“this fucking dress..” he sighs, almost to himself.
“do you like it?”
“i love it.” he smiles, tapping the strap on your shoulder. “take this off for me before i rip it?”
you nod, tugging the straps over your arms and pulling the top of the dress down your chest, exposing your bare tits to him. seungcheol watches with a slack jaw, and you worry he might start drooling.
you blink, and then he basically jumps at you, latching his mouth to your nipple. you squeak when his tongue swirls over the sensitive bud— keeping the other occupied as he flicks at it with his thumb.
seungcheol finally drops his body down to yours, and when you feel the weight of his arousal press at your thigh, in the next breath you’re tugging your dress up to wrap your legs around his pelvis and grinding right up against it.
a strained groan from seungcheol rumbles on your chest before his free hand flies down to grab at your ass, a futile attempt to hold you in place as you keep rutting your clothed heat against his.
his mouth pops off you, the hand at your nipple reaching up to hold your jaw as a warning— not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your eyes glint in anticipation. seungcheol notices, and his lip curls.
“you want this too, don’t you?” his hand slides down to yours neck, softly pressing in until your breath audibly hitches. you nod frantically. he cocks his head, breathless. “god, you’ll kill me.”
“stop making me wait then.” you pout. admittedly, it’s not like you to forego all foreplay. quite the opposite actually. but you’ve also never had a man like choi seungcheol above you. you might as well have orgasmed already with the wet mess that’s down there, and you need his cock to clean it up yesterday.
seungcheol chuckles on his way back down to your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth to suck. your hips grind on him again at the sensation, and this time it gets him to snap.
you gasp when his hand tightens around your throat, pushing you down into the car cushion as he takes over, rolling his hips harshly into yours. you can feel the length of his cock dragging against you, chasing the friction through all the layers— and another suck of his mouth on your nipple has your eyes rolling back without him even being in you yet.
“didn’t you parents teach you how to use your manners?” seungcheol asks you, thrusting at an angle that has his cock prodding right where your hole is. “hm?”
all that leaves you is a whimper when his fingers dig further into your neck, another gush of wetness soaking your underwear.
god, you love that he’s older. that he’s got countless years more of experience than you and he knows exactly how to use it. that he’s not afraid to own it anymore— talking down at you like you’re a child who needs a scolding.
you knew you haven’t wanted him since you first met for nothing. seungcheol just keeps getting more and more perfect.
“please,” you nearly cry out, going batshit insane at the feel of his cock grinding against you but not in you. “please just put it in me already, cheol, seriously,”
you’re not one to beg but you don’t even care at this point. you’re so horny you can’t remember left from right.
thankfully, that seems to tug at his heartstrings. he pulls both hands away from you, reaching down to hike your dress further up your tummy and out of his way. you spread your legs as far as you can in the cramped space, and he cusses lowly when his eyes land on your soaked-through panties.
seungcheol shuffles back on the carseat, leaning down until he’s level with your core. tentatively, he trails a finger over the fabric, and he moans when he feels you clench around nothing. you physically can’t wait any longer.
“stop teasing me, old fucking man.”
seungcheol’s response is closing his mouth over your clothed pussy, causing you to full-body jolt as his tongue drags over the fabric like he can’t even wait to get it off first.
“fuck.” he groans, and you can hear his lips smacking as he licks the taste of you off them. you prop yourself up by your elbows, and you can’t help yourself to whining impatiently as you watch him hook a finger around your underwear to pull it aside.
“i’ll fuck you soon, sweetheart. promise.” seungcheol smiles up at you, pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy apart. “just gotta taste you first.”
you sob out into the car when you feel the heat of his tongue dip into your hole, licking up the pooled slick before it drags upwards, stopping to circle at your clit.
your hand finds solace in his hair, grabbing at the locks until you damn nearly make a bald patch. seungcheol only encourages you with a moan, the noise vibrating on your pussy.
seungcheol mutters curses while he spits directly onto your clit, and you pull at his locks as you jump. he uses two fingers to rub his saliva onto your clit, his mouth diving back down to fuck you on his tongue.
you’ve never been eaten out like this, like the man down there is a fucking caveman about to starve to death. there’s no doubt a massive stain on his car seat from all the spit and slick running down from between your thighs. seungcheol doesn’t seem to pay the thought any mind, lapping at your clit like a dog while his fingers keep you spread wide open so you can feel him lick at every nerve end.
with how he’s eating you out like a madman, it’s barely a few minutes before your stomach’s coiling tight, your moans turning higher and faster as you pulse under seungcheol’s tongue.
you whine as you clench down around nothing but air once again, and you hadn’t realised your eyes even closed before you’re opening them to stare down at seungcheol.
his eyes, however, never left you— gaze trained on how your face scrunches, lip even curled in that cocky ass way as it closes around your clit to suck harshly. it only makes you clench down again, desperate to feel him in your fucking guts.
“f-fuck me—” you manage to get out around a moan. “use your—”
there’s a wet smack as his mouth comes off you.
“manners.” he reminds you, blowing softly on your clit just to be mean, and something that sounds like a sob leaves you.
you’re so out of it that you don’t even hear the strained ‘please’ from your mouth since his is immediately back on you— tongue attentively swirling on your clit as his hand snakes down, sliding his pointer finger into your wet heat.
you don’t even realise just how hard you’re tugging at his scalp either until his loud moan rumbles on your clit. in retaliation, a second finger joins the first, crooking up to hit your sweet spot.
he moans again when you clench down around his fingers— and when you start to tighten around him in spasms, he knows what’s happening before you do.
seungcheol starts to curl his fingers relentlessly and hollow his cheeks around your clit just before you can topple off the edge, so your orgasm comes slamming into you like a bag of bricks.
you shout something that might be his name in between your borderline screams, seungcheol staying diligent to fuck you with his fingers and suck you with his mouth right until you physically can’t shake anymore.
as you’re winding down from your high, seungcheol leaves kitten licks on your clit until you’re pawing at him that it’s too much.
he smirks, dragging his knuckles against your walls as he pulls his fingers out, leaving one last kiss on your clit before he sits up.
when you’re finally not catching your breath anymore, you look back to seungcheol, and you’re instantly ready to go again when you see he’s palming himself over his slacks as he licks the taste of you from his fingers.
you grab at his belt loop to weakly tug him closer, batting your lashes as you ask: “my turn?”
he chuckles hoarsely. “if we weren’t in this car, it wouldn’t be your turn for a long—” he cuts himself off with a hiss when you grab his whole length through his slacks.
it sits heavy in your palm, twitching just from the heat of your touch. you stroke him over the damp mess of fabric, and he gets lost in the feel of your hand for only a moment— eyes fluttering shut as he breathes out a moan— before he’s stopping you with a firm hand around your wrist.
“fuck, if you do that..”
you pout. “you promised me.”
he nods, before the lust-fuelled haze falters for just a moment. he goes silent, and you’re worried he may be getting cold feet before he mutters: “…i don’t have a condom.”
you blink, unphased. “then just don’t go inside.”
“what?” his eyes go wide as saucers. “sweetheart, don’t just go saying things if you’re not—”
“i’m certain, cheol.” you reassure him, this close to just jumping him like a tree. “now hurry up.”
“fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“going dry over here—”
you gasp out a moan when seungcheol plunges two fingers into you, curling them without warning.
“thought you wanted this old man?”
the motherfucker just smirks as he keeps fucking into that spongey spot, his free hand working on unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.
“god, lucky i’m not going inside. you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you clench around his fingers at the name, and he breathes out a moan at the revelation. “you like being called that? huh? baby?” he coos, and you can only nod weakly in response.
you don’t even realise he’d pulled his pants and boxers down until his dick is bobbing out and slapping his shirt, a string of precum connecting it. you just gape at the size of him, watching in awe as he pulls his fingers out from your pussy and strokes himself with your slick. his eyes flutter shut as he fucks his fist, moaning softly into the car.
suddenly not having a condom is the least of your worries.
“take these off for me?” he says hoarsely, tugging at your panties.
“they’re already to the side.”
“i want to see all of you. i haven’t waited this long to not…” he trails off, hoping you don’t mention it. you do.
“oh, have you thought about this before?” you grin.
his mouth opens then shuts, mind gone blank at the sight of your bare pussy laying before him. he nods.
the confession shoots straight down to your core, and seungcheol exhales when your pussy visibly twitches. “my fucking god.”
you make a mental note to hound him later to know exactly how he’s thought about you like this in the past.
he leans in, and you squirm when his tip nudges your clit. he guides his cock down, cursing when his head is soaked in the slick pooled at your hole. briefly, you think his self-control is going to snap, before his cock travels back up, smearing your pussy in the mix of your arousal and his pre.
seungcheol’s already heaving above you, eyes trained on how you clench around thin air while his cock rubs over your clit.
you actually can’t take it anymore.
“cheol,” you grab at his cock, and he keels over with a moan at your vice grip. “i can’t do this. i need you in me.”
“sh—fucking shit,” he moans, “baby, as much as i want to we can’t,”
“i don’t care.” you near sob. “you promised me you would, please, if you’ve really waited this long then show me. you can even keep my panties.“
his hips buck at the thought, right into the circle of your fist, and he twitches violently in your palm with a tortured groan. you think you could throw up from how badly you want to feel that twitching and leaking inside you.
“okay,” seungcheol pulls out from your hand, face contorting. “okay. but the second you want to stop—”
“not gonna wanna stop.” you grin, triumphant.
he shakes his head with a smile like he’s in disbelief. he holds your hamstrings with his hands, lining himself up with your core. you whine when his tip nudges into your heat. seungcheol takes a moment to breathe before he slowly inches forward, giving you time to adjust to the stretch or to tap out.
if he hadn’t of fucked you on his fingers, seungcheol would’ve split you in fucking half right now. the size of him burns, and you dig your fingers into his biceps as you settle around him, pussy fluttering. seungcheol hums softly each time.
“fuck,” he laughs out breathlessly. “this was a bad idea. i don’t know how long i’ll last.”
“you can move.” you croak out.
seungcheol forces himself to get out a nod, snapping his hips once before you’re both moaning in unison. anyone who walked by the parking lot could probably hear what’s happening before they see it. that’s the last thing on your mind though, as seungcheol starts fucking you with a steady rhythm.
you’re completely lost in the feel of his cock dragging inside of you, tip fucking right into your g-spot with each precise thrust. you couldn’t care less about the gaps in your years of experience when it gets him to fuck you like this, like he’s completely in tune with your body.
before you know it you’re pulsing around him like crazy, eyes rolling back into your head, and seungcheol bites down on his lip as he channels all his willpower into fucking you through your orgasm as it washes over you.
he can’t last as long as he was trying to, and you whimper through the aftershocks of your high just as seungcheol reaches his— shooting warm ropes of cum into your pussy.
he stops himself from crushing you with elbows planted beside your head as he keels over, and you wince at every ragged twitch of his cock as he pulls out.
you both catch your breaths for what may have been minutes, fogging up the car windows.
“you’re trying to kill me.” seungcheol finally speaks, voice strained from all the hooting and hollering.
“you’d deserve it.”
“i would. i meant to ask, before we..” he gestures to your bodies, covered in sweat and spit. “would you let me take you out? to dinner?”
you narrow your eyes at him. “finally hungry a year later?”
“baby, i’ve been hungry.” he taps at your still-sensitive pussy and you writhe, swatting him away. he chuckles. “but i meant everything i’ve said tonight. however i can make this up to you, just say the word and i’ll do it.”
you hum in thought, before an evil thought bubbles up to the surface.
you smile sweetly, pressing a kiss to his nose. “let me ask my dad first.”
something takes a part of me, you and i were meant to be.
“This was the last time, Yeosang,” you say, but you don’t look like you mean it. “I mean it.”
All he can do is grin. He can smell the lie from where he lays.
The only response he gives you is, “Okay.”
coming soon ୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ taglist form
you are an HONEST PERSON with a warm heart do NOT steal my shit
[ex-husband!wooyoung x ex-wife!reader] third & final part of the wifey series! (for real this time) smut minors dni 18+ | spoilers in the warnings: pregnant reader, mentions/thoughts about abortion, divorce, walking wooyoung like a dog, wooyoung being wooyoung lol, tooth rotting fluff, pinv, fingering, creampie, in-love sex | wc 19K
thank you so much for reading and interacting with me during the stretch of this series, it's kept me motivated and excited to write, i am so grateful to every single person who reblogged or commented or sent me an ask. i love u fr and i will miss them BADDD
“Did you know mommy’s sick?”
Just past five thirty on a Tuesday night Wooyoung finished eating dinner with Kyungmin, a meal he threw together quick and easy after he picked his son up from after-school care. Standing at his kitchen sink, he turned around to eye his eight year old with a singular eyebrow raised. “Sick?”
“She keeps throwing up,” Kyungmin, eyes focused on his screen laid on top of the kitchen island counter, didn’t spare Wooyoung a glance as he spoke. “All. Day. Long. Yesterday, she threw up while she was driving me home from school.”
Wooyoung fully turned around at that, brows knitted together, kitchen sink still running, the titanium holding three more dishes he still had to wash. “While she was driving? Or did she pull over?”
His son looked at him with such an incredulous look it made Wooyoung feel a little stupid for asking the question. With a little giggle, Kyungmin answered, “She pulled over, duh.”
“Okay, attitude,” Wooyoung is always amused whenever he sees you in your son, even if he thinks Kyungmin is all him. Sitting in the same clothes he wore to school today, a tee shirt, loose jeans that Wooyoung bought him, his favorite Elsa and Anna socks, his eyes went right back to his tablet, the case bright green against the deep granite countertop. “Did she go to the doctor?”
His kid shrugged.
“Kyungmin,” Wooyoung’s tone was stronger, beckoning for his son’s attention. The boy lifted his eyes away from his screen as Wooyoung asked, “Has she said anything about it?”
“Just said she’s sick,” Kyungmin shrugged again, sounding irritated that Wooyoung was taking him away from his screen time, “she told me not to tell you.”
Wooyoung’s smirk was anything but involuntary. His son, indeed. “But you’re telling me anyway?”
“It’s stinky,” he uttered, crinkling his nose as he said it. A little quieter, a little smaller, he mumbled, “And it’s scary.”
“Don’t be scared,” Wooyoung soothed, turning off the kitchen sink before leaning his elbows on the granite, leaning over the countertop so he can be eye-to-eye with his son. “Mommy’s okay, I promise.”
Kyungmin lifted his eyes, a twinkle of fear swirling in whiskey, eyes that were identical to his own. He whispered, “How do you know?”
It made sense then, why he hasn’t been served papers. Even if it fills him with hope, he knows there’s a long fucking way to go before actual progress is made, although it’s already been over two months since that dreadful night on your living room floor. He expected to be served within two weeks, maybe three, but nine have passed and nothing, not a whisper about his least favorite word that starts with D.
God knows he hasn’t brought it up.
“Because daddy’s always right,” Wooyoung gleamed, and the smile made the corner of Kyungmin’s lips curve upward. Wooyoung’s head tilted, “Aren’t I?”
Kyungmin shook his head, “No.”
“Boo,” Wooyoung’s lip lifted, dragging out the word in a sneer. “Come on, I was right this morning when I said making bunny ears with your shoe laces is easier, right?” Kyungmin’s lips pursed like he was trying to fight his smile from growing. Wooyoung made his way around the kitchen counter, coming up behind Kyungmin, “And I was right earlier when I said you’re still ticklish, wasn’t I?”
His hands jumped for Kyungmin’s sides, and his heart sang listening to his son’s loud, wild giggles. He stopped tickling to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug, planting a kiss to the top of his head. “Daddy’s always right, and I said mommy’s gonna be just fine, so trust me, okay?”
Just fine. Nine weeks of pick-ups and drop-offs damn near silent, everything was so fucking far from fine he’s barely slept in weeks. He finally came clean with his therapist, who he hoped and prayed had something legally binding her from reporting his lawyer in some way, which might be the result of leftover anxiety from doing such a thing in the first place.
He should have waited. He probably shouldn’t have done it at all, but he did, and he should have fucking waited to tell you. If you’re pregnant, which he’d place a million dollar bet on if you’re throwing up–if this pregnancy was anything like your pregnancy with Kyungmin–he could have waited until you were farther along. Hell, he could have waited until the baby was born.
Any time would have been better than the time he chose. When you two were on better terms, smoother terms, he should have told you then. When it might’ve felt like everything was falling into place. Instead he ripped things apart all over again, and now they’re worse than they were to begin with and fuck he was back to square one or even something before that. Square negative ten.
His therapist wouldn’t agree with any of that, but whatever. He’s losing his mind. But the little boy in his arms is keeping that singular thread of rationality stronger than steel.
“Come on, stinky, shower time.”
“I’m not stinky,” Kyungmin huffs, “you’re stinky. You smell like… you smell like my butt.”
Wooyoung raises his brows at the little’s head tipped backward into his stomach, “So your butt is stinky?”
Kyungmin smiles, “No.”
“Okay, so maybe we’ll go to bed early tonight, since you forgot how to make sense,” he lifts his son by his armpits onto the floor, and the tablet dangles from his right hand, which Wooyoung scoops up with his own. “This screen is frying your stinky brain.”
“You have a stinky brain,” Kyungmin points, then turns on his heel, giggling just as wild and just as loud all the way to the bathroom.
“This stinky brain created you,” Wooyoung calls after him. “If I’m stinky, you’re stinky!”
“You’re the stinky one!”
Wooyoung can’t help the snort that rips from his nose as he throws the tablet onto his couch, making his way towards the bathroom in the middle of the singular hallway in his entire apartment. Almost-bachelor-pad, Yunho and Aurora had called it. “Then I’ll take a shower after you, stinky boy. Do you need help with the faucet?”
“Yes, please!”
His smile doesn’t leave the entire time he’s in the bathroom. Turning on the faucet to the right temperature, helping Kyungmin with his shirt that got stuck going over his head, even smelling Kyungmin’s stinky socks that really were fucking stinky. Hearing his son laugh again, his favorite sound in the world, he remembers the days he could hold the boy over one forearm like it was yesterday.
Fuck, and he might have another? Another shot at creating a life? Hearing his baby laugh for the first time? Take their first steps? Hear their first word? Another child to see himself in, to see you in, a life created by both of you, by the time he’s spread out on the couch half-listening to Kyungmin singing a song from Kpop Demon Hunters, somehow he mindlessly got his phone out, your contact information on the screen.
Somehow.
You don’t pick up on his first try. So he calls again.
“Is Kyungmin okay?”
You sound like summertime. Even if your voice is ebbed in panic, burnt at the edges like you’re trying to contain the flame, you sound like the morning of August twenty-third, the morning he met you, fifteen years ago.
“He’s fine–”
“What do you want?”
The flame burns freely once more.
He didn’t really think this far. Tongue-tied, he sputters over his next words, “I- um, just- uh–”
“Wooyoung,” your voice is stern, a warning. It doesn’t help how each one of his limbs has seemed to lock up. “What do you want?”
“You.” Fuck his brain and his vocal chords for not working as a team. He lets the following pause settle, hoping you’d take it as a joke, at least. If this was a month ago you would’ve hung up as soon as he said Kyungmin’s fine.
“Well you fucked that up,” you say matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know it down to his very fucking soul. Closing his eyes, bringing his palm to his forehead, he sighs. “Is there anything in particular that requires you calling my phone at six o’clock on a Tuesday?”
“Am I allowed to talk to you?”
“No.”
“What?” There’s a part of him that feels like throwing the same tantrum Kyungmin threw yesterday. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a deceitful, selfish asshole, and a pain in my fucking ass.”
His lips thin, face going flat. Can he blame any of this on pregnancy hormones yet?
“Look–”
“No.”
“Please–”
“No.”
“Holy shit can I please just fucking–”
“No.”
And the line runs dead. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, throwing his phone on the couch beside him. He groans after watching it bounce to the floor, sinking deeper into the tough, barely broken-in cushions, knees spreading, he’s really fucking close to throwing that tantrum.
“About nine weeks.”
“Nine?!” Your eyes blow wide, staring at your doctor who’s brown hair curls deliciously around his ears. The word came out no prettier than a loud shriek of terror. “Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t realize I was that far along.”
“You don’t sound particularly joyful,” Yeosang’s smile doesn’t quite reach his assessing eyes, your doctor but also one of your closest friends. “Which brings my next question, where’s your husband?”
Your eyes thin, “Where’s your wife?”
He lifts the probe from your stomach, popping a brow. He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully, despite the spark of curiosity in the smooth rasp of his voice, “Got it, won’t ask any more questions in that department. She’s at home with the girls, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah, happily married and whatever the fuck,” you huff, the paper beneath your head crinkling as it falls back onto the examination seat, chair, table, whatever it is that’s abhorrently uncomfortable beneath your body. “Please wipe the jelly off me before I flip shit.”
Yeosang laughs at that, a tiny giggle under his breath, “Does he even know you’re pregnant?”
“Hell no,” you respond, cringing as he takes a towel to your lower belly, wiping softly.
Yeosang’s head snaps to yours, “Is it his?”
You pull your shirt over your stomach, tugging the paper towels out of the waistband of your leggings, threatening to throw them at him by crumpling them up and holding them over your shoulder. “Whose else would it be, motherfucker?”
“Damn,” Yeosang mumbles, taking a step back, “you’re a bundle of sunshine right now.”
“I’m irritated,” you grind out. “I’m pregnant and still fucking married to my stupid fucking husband.”
“You don’t have to be pregnant,” Yeosang sits back on his stool, a small, blue cushion on wheels. He rolls toward the counter across the room, grabbing his clipboard, “You don’t have to be married, either.”
You sit up on the table, arms planted behind you, knees spread, head tilted. “I know.”
“I’m not gonna ask for details,” he looks up at you over his clipboard, eyes deep, comforting, radiating intelligence. Doctor’s eyes. “But you have options, and support. Obviously you have my silence, too.”
“Thanks,” you shoot him a grim smile before running your fingers through your hair. “Do you and Keni ever think about having more?”
“Two girls is enough,” Yeosang laughs a little. “Winnie is bad as hell. Nina’s good, though, she sleeps like a fuckin’ tank.”
“Kyungmin slept, too,” your smile is a little more genuine at the mention of Kyungmin, but knowing there’s more to discuss brings the frown right back. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I guess I should tell him first.”
Yeosang stands again, “You have some time, do whatever feels right. He doesn’t have to know, either, it’s your choice. Call me and I’ll write you a script if you need it, okay?”
“Thanks, Yeo,” your smile is so close so being real it almost surprises you–the amount of real smiles have been few and far between for the past nine weeks. “Do you need anything from me? Am I good to go?”
“Call me with a decision and then we’ll have the baby talk,” he nods, so sure of himself, so unlike the guy who’s lawn you used to loose your guts on after hazy nights at the bar. Anything before Wooyoung feels like nothing but a fever dream now, any life you had, any experiences.
You sure as hell haven’t gotten any more after him, if after him ever even existed.
With a few waves to some nurses and technicians in goodbye, you trudged your pregnant ass back to your car. An SUV, one big as shit and black, the interior was a sauna after forty-five minutes inside Yeosang’s practice. You were lucky to have him, your friend of a decade now; you met him when he was still studying to get his PhD, when his wife was still his girlfriend, and the two were just happy to be out of their university and settled into something small while Yeosang finished out his schooling. Nights out at the local bars when you were still on the prowl for a man, before you ended up stuck with stupid fucking Wooyoung the moment you walked into corporate city.
It didn’t feel good, knowing there was a life forming inside you, and he wasn’t there to hold your hand through it all. That was easy to admit, but to get over the breach of trust, to ruin all the growth you thought you made with three words, we’re still married. You still spent a year alone, taking care of Kyungmin without any help from him, but you thought you were alone. No ties.
Just to find out you were still married the entire time.
Call me with a decision.
You sighed, feeling the sweat forming at the base of your neck, taking it as a sign to flip the engine and get out of Yeosang’s parking lot. A dim hum of music pours through the speakers, a stupid love song playing, you bare your teeth as a low curse sneaks from between your lips. Even the universe wanted you to call him.
He answers on the first ring.
On speaker, his already loud voice is amplified in your car, filling the cabin of the SUV. “Are you okay?”
You make a face, brows twisted, lips curled, not that he could see you. “Yes? I’m fine. What are you doing?”
“I’m working.” You could almost see him, making the same confused expression that you wore. “Why?”
You glance at the time at the top left corner of the screen before asking, “Can you meet me for an early lunch?”
“Ofcourseareyoukiddingme–”
You try to scowl, but your lips lift at the corners without you allowing them to. “‘Kay. You know where.”
“You know I do.”
It took every single second of your twenty-two minute drive from Yeosang’s practice to Genesis to calm your heart rate, to get all of your thoughts in order. You haven’t spoken to Wooyoung other than a few small arguments over the past nine weeks, all resulting in you hanging up the phone before he could get more than six words out. You didn’t want to hear his explanation, whatever reasoning he’s made up in his brain that’s convinced him any of this is okay.
He’s waiting in the same booth you always shared. And for a second, maybe less, he looks like he did fifteen years ago. Face smoothed out, not a line or a wrinkle to be seen, his hair is longer, his eyes are brighter– but the illusion is gone as soon as it's created.
Because he’s there, he’s smiling, he’s waiting for you. And fuck your heart for picking up speed, for the trickle of sweat at the back of your neck, fuck your brain for remembering that shred of hope you had nine weeks ago. For thinking everything would fall into place, that you could be normal again, that your divorce might’ve been a mistake.
“Hi, wifey.”
He’s surrounded by brown leather and sunshine, the worn, wrinkled booth making his two-piece suit look out of place. Tall windows douse him in warmth, whiskey eyes glowing amber where the sun catches, his skin so glossy it's almost wet. Fuck him, most of all, for being this fucking beautiful, for becoming impossibly more gorgeous with age.
Your top lip curls, “It’s not funny or cute anymore, Wooyoung.”
“There was a time when it was?” He wears a pretty smile, one corner of his mouth lifted in that sinful fucking smirk, showcasing his pointed teeth.
You slip into the other side of the booth and you wish the movement was more graceful, but after years of use the leather isn’t as flexible as it once was, and neither are you. You can remember coming here when you’d just started working three doors down, seeing Wooyoung morning after morning, you can still remember his coffee order, not that it's changed.
If the walls only knew what they created, what would become of the two of you. Maybe they would’ve whispered a secret to you, maybe they’d say don’t let the pretty boy buy you a coffee. Not that you would’ve listened.
“I’m not here to catch up,” you huff a breath, throwing your purse into the space beside you. He’s watching you intently, taking in every detail, every expression, every movement like he’s waiting for something.
“Okay.” It’s an absent-minded word, his eyes dancing around your face, your body, distracted.
Your brows knit together, “Hello?”
His eyes find yours, and like you’d pushed the on button, his smile returns. “Hi, beautiful.”
“We need to talk,” you cross your arms over the table in front of you, back slouched. He nods, face blank of any expression, ready for whatever you’d throw at him. Ball in hand, prepared to pitch, a waitress cuts you off before you even had the chance to speak, placing two plates between you.
Then you notice the water placed just to your left, the coffee already half-drank before Wooyoung. Your brows furrowed so fucking far together they might as well be considered a unibrow.
Thanking the waitress, Wooyoung looks at you warily for a second before he speaks. “I didn’t know if you… wanted coffee, so I just got you water. And what you always used to order when we came here for lunch.”
“The same trick won’t work twice,” your eyes thin, remembering the dinner you shared nine weeks ago. “But thank you.”
His smile is small, his lips mostly flat, pulled up ever so slightly at the edges. “Figured you needed a bite to eat, but I know you’re just here to talk. Go ahead.”
A meal you’ve eaten a thousand times, one that’s always smelled so fucking good your mouth watered, now smelled… wrong. Different, gross. You feel the familiar curling in your stomach, the same one you’ve felt four times a fucking day for the past two weeks, you grab the glass of water and bring it to your lips before your body forces you to gag.
Wooyoung, two hands already curled around his sandwich, halts his movement entirely, like someone pressed pause. “You okay?” You nodded mid-sip, swallowing down the water like it’d fix the issue. Slowly, Wooyoung lowers the sandwich back to his plate, “Are you sure?”
All you can get out is a measly “Yeah.” It wasn’t convincing.
The smell hit your nose again– worse, your stomach flipped, skin going hot, blood sizzling. Panic floods you, heartbeat picking up, you look over your shoulder, finding the bathroom where it’s always been, stored in the corner.
You can hear ceramic sliding against wood, Wooyoung sliding your plate toward himself. He juts his chin in the direction of the bathroom, “Go. It'll be gone when you come back out.”
You find his eye, being met with understanding so fucking clear you wonder if Yeosang called him. You know he didn’t, he wouldn’t break your trust– there was no time to think about it, you sprinted to the fucking corner with one thought on repeat in your mind: Hold it until you reach the bathroom.
You can barely feel your knees crunch against tile for the entire six minutes you’re in the clean, air-conditioned space. When the wave of nausea washes away and all that’s left is the lingering, mild dizziness and slight embarrassment from emptying your guts in a public bathroom, you wash your hands, cup some water into your mouth to wash out the taste of stomach acid, then take a few steadying breaths before walking outside again.
It feels brighter, somehow. Loud, music playing, people dressed in business casual keeping the place buzzing, servers running around, yelling orders over the counter. It eases you further, knowing that no one knows, that no one heard.
When you get back to the booth, he’s quick to let you know that one person knows. He knows.
With full confidence, he says it like he was the one telling you, “You’re pregnant.”
“Surprise” is all you can say, it’s flat, void of warmth or joy. You fall into the booth, bones heavy, forehead still sweaty. You reach for the water again, sucking down more of the ice-cold liquid, willing it to flush out the disgusting feeling that refuses to leave just yet.
“Holy shit,” he says under his breath, eyes widening as he sinks into the booth, drowning in brown leather. “How long have you known? How far along?”
You smack your teeth, “I’ve known for two weeks, but I’m nine weeks along.”
“Nine?!” His eyes nearly fall out of his head, leaning forward again, his upper half hanging over the now cleared-off wood. “Have you seen Yeosang yet?”
“I just left.” You prop an elbow onto the table, leaning your temple into your fist, your tone coming out casual.
Wooyoung’s breath catches, his voice shrinking. “You went without me?”
You nod, “We didn’t really talk about the baby, just that I’m pregnant with one. He told me to call him back with a decision and then we’d discuss.”
“Whether I’m having my liar husband’s baby or not,” you answer quick, sharp. Your words land like a blow, you watch his face bend, softening into something less excited, less shocked.
He’s quiet for a moment, eyes finding the table, processing your words, letting them sink in. There's a beat of silence and you can hear the room again, the music, the chatter, dress shoes against the floor, servers yelling orders. You let him sit in the silence, in the thought.
He looks up again, voice small, nervous, curious, “Are you leaning a certain way, or…?”
You shrug. “I don’t know what the fuck to do, Wooyoung. I don’t want to have a baby alone, but I don’t want anything to do with you, either.”
“I know.” His elbows find the table, rubbing his face with his palms, heaving a rough breath into his hands. Finally sinking back into the booth, he takes another pause before he says, “I fucked up bad, and again, I’m sorry. I’ll be here for you no matter what you decide.”
Your face morphs into surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he nods, but he doesn’t smile. “Whatever you want, I want.”
“Damn, fuck you for being a good guy,” you smack your teeth, and his brows furrow, a smile daring to curl his lips. “You’re fucking stupid, but you’re like, morally good. And you’re not helping with my decision-making.”
A laugh pushes through his lips, one relieved and confused all at once. “Did you expect me to flip the table and demand you keep it?”
“I don’t know what I expected,” you shrug, shaking your head. “Not that, but I don’t know, maybe a little push back, I guess. Not that I want that, please don’t do that–”
“I had a friend,” he cuts himself off, “Aurora went through that, I went through it with her–”
“You went through it with her–?”
“No!” It comes out loud, sudden. “No, it was Yunho’s–”
“Yunho’s?”
“Jesus Christ let me get one sentence out.” He waits for your sheepish nod before he continues, “Yunho got her pregnant before she was ready to have a kid, we were still in school and really close at that time, I helped her through it, the whole thing. Decision-making, actually doing it, I was in the room with her, I was present for the whole process, start to finish. The choice is very much yours.”
You’re quiet for a moment. “How was she… after?”
“Not pregnant.”
“Wooyoung,” you warn.
He sighs, “Not good, but she didn’t regret it.”
You sit back in the booth, sweaty back hitting the cool leather. Your lips scrunch to one side, “It’s too heavy, all of it. I don’t know if I can forgive you for lying to me, Wooyoung.”
“I can’t blame you,” he answers simply with a shrug, like he knows he’s made in his bed and he’s willing to die in it. “I wouldn’t forgive me, either. But please just… don’t forget I didn’t have any bad intentions. I love you and Kyungmin so fucking much.”
Your face finds your palms, elbows propped up on the table, fingers sliding back into your hair. “I know you didn’t, I know, that makes everything so much more confusing. We’re not kids anymore.”
“Take your time, jagi,” he leans forward onto the table, one arm laying across the wood, fingers landing beside one of your elbows, ghosting your skin like he was scared to touch you. “You don’t have to make a decision today. Sleep on it, sleep on it for a few days, for as long as you can.”
Your eyes land on his palm laid open, wanting so badly to put your hand in his own, to feel the comfort only he can give you. You cross your arms over the table instead.
Throat feeling tight, you will your emotions to stay deep below the surface as you whisper, “I’m tired of making decisions by myself, Wooyoung.”
“I can’t help you with this one, baby,” he frowns, head tilting, keeping his open hand as close to you as he can without touching you. “You know where I stand, how I feel, and you know I’ll be beside you every step of the way with whatever you choose.”
Your face scrunches ever so slightly, “Will you? Because you not being beside me is what got us here in the first place, Woo.”
He pulls his arm back into himself and you can feel the loss of heat even if he hasn’t touched you. “I have a lot to make up for,” he sounds solemn, but not apprehensive. Confident like he knows he’ll have the opportunity to do it. “I meant everything I said when we went out to dinner that night, every single word. I still mean it, I still want to do everything I can to fix us.”
You swallow down your tears, but they still fill your waterline, heavy and hot and salty. “I don’t know if you can fix us, Woo. I don’t think… I don’t think you can.”
As if he wasn’t going back to work in less than a half hour, tears fill his waterline, too. He tightens his mouth to stop his bottom lip from quivering, but you catch it, and you understand the feeling so fucking deeply it makes your own tears fall.
You sit in silence, the world resuming around you all over again. Shouts and shoes and bass, filling the space between you, the wooden table feeling a mile long. Too far away, too much space, too much time spent in grief to come back together. Two people with a past and nothing more.
“Alright,” he says after a few minutes, voice distraught. Swallowing down his tears, ignoring the red that’s bloomed across his cheeks, his neck, he acts like you can’t see that you just shattered his entire world. “If you need anything, if you need me to take Kyungmin, whatever you need, I’m a phone call away.”
Guilt swirls, heavy and leaden and too similar to the nausea you’re nearly used to at this point. Immediately you want to take your words back, even if they’re true, even if you mean them, your heart fucking aches, everything aches. He gets up from his side of the booth, walking around to your side, leaning in with one knee digging into brown leather just to press a kiss on the top of your head.
It feels too much like goodbye.
“I love you,” he says quietly, small enough that you aren’t sure you were supposed to hear it.
Looking up at him, you can’t bring yourself to say it back. He waits for it, lingering just long enough, but he nods with the silence, with the finality of it all, and then he’s gone. Just like that.
Wooyoung stares at the stack of papers on his desk.
On the first read, his heart was so deep in his ass it almost emptied out on the desk chair beneath him. On the second read, tears fell, so many fucking tears he had to reschedule his one o’clock and his two o’clock meeting. On the third read, he decided you’re creative, serving him divorce papers with the same exact disclosures and framing of the fake-divorce Wooyoung curated over a year ago.
An hour later, he’s just pissed off that you served him. That you had some random fuck drop off legal documents at his job, where forty other people work in very close capacity. They can all go fuck themselves if they had anything to say about him, about his marriage, but for you to do that to him? You couldn’t have just handed them to him when he picked up Kyungmin yesterday? This must be why you hid from him, why you’ve been fucking hiding from him, sending Kyungmin out to his car before he had the chance to get out of the driver’s seat. It feels petty, childish. Maybe he deserves it.
His jaw clenches harder the longer he stares, molars grinding to the point of near-injury. His fists curl over his thighs, the rest of his body so locked up he isn’t sure if he can even move right now. He has thirty days to respond. Thirty days to process the fact that he’s no longer a married man. Thirty days to try and fix what he uprooted at his job almost four months ago, with the idea that all of his newfound spare time would be going to you. Thirty days to process that he ruined the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.
His anger’s gone straight to his head by the time he picks up his phone. Holding it up to his ear, he waits for it to go through before he says, “Can I ask a favor?”
There’s noise in the background, a baby crying, fabric or something rough bristling against the speaker. After a moment of nothing but noise, Aurora’s voice comes through, out of breath as she says, “What’s up?”
“Can you take Kyungmin home with you when you pick up Aden from school today? I’ll pick him up later.”
There’s a pause before she carefully responds, “Yo’s picking him up, but yeah, I’ll tell him. Can I ask why?”
“She served me papers. She’s divorcing me.”
Aurora gasps, “You’re fucking lying.”
Wooyoung runs his free hand over his face, groaning out his frustration, “I need to go over there and talk to her. I haven’t seen her, haven’t talked to her other than a few texts, I don’t even know if she’s still fucking pregnant, Ro.”
“Yes, absolutely, go over there.” Wooyoung can hear her nodding, her voice reassuring as ever, already in plan-mode, search and rescue. “I’m so sorry, Wooyo.”
His heart still laying heavy in the pit of his stomach, he sighs, sitting back in his chair, the tips of his fingers meeting his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming, but it’s only been two weeks since I met with her at Genesis. Two weeks, and it’s been almost three months since the night I told her we were still married.”
“You said it felt like the end, though, didn’t it?”
Wooyoung deflates in his rickety office chair. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“It’s either you fight for it, or let it end, Woo.” She sounds as sad as he feels, even if he can hear the thirteen other things she’s doing while talking to him. “But you should definitely talk to her before you do anything.”
He sits with the notion for a second: fight it, or let it end. He’s been fighting it, discreetly for over a year, he only got a chance to do it loud and proud for what, six weeks? Not long enough. There’s so much fight left in him that he nearly gets up from the chair and walks to your office building. Letting it end isn’t even a fucking option.
“I don’t want it to end,” he says, twirling the chair around, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of his office. Eyes landing on the building across the street, he stares at the tiny square that’s yours, wishing he could see you in the room behind the tinted window.
“I know.” She sighs, then mumbles something cheery to Sunnie before adding, “It might be what’s best for the two of you. Especially if she isn’t having the baby, you’ve already been co-parenting with Kyungmin for over a year, maybe this is best, Woo.”
“No,” the word comes out harsher than he intended. “It’s not about the baby or Kyung, it’s about us, and I’m not letting her go. I’m not giving up.”
Wooyoung can see her frown, her lips pinned to one side, knowing exactly where the giving up part came from. “Talk to her,” she keeps her voice light, positive before her mom-voice comes out, “but don’t go in there with guns blazing, Jung Wooyoung. Fill me in later when you pick up Kyungmin.”
“Thanks, Ro.”
“I mean it, Woo,” she warns. “Don’t flip out.”
“Got it.”
Easier to say than do, when the stack of papers on his desk was as thick as two of his fingers. His teeth grind again, jaw clenching, he decides he’s done with work today, he can finish whatever the fuck he didn’t do today, tomorrow. Work will be here tomorrow, but he won’t have a wife tomorrow if he doesn’t do something.
He’s already in your driveway when you get home from work. Pulling your car onto the blacktop, your heart pounds in your chest as you kill the engine, legs already shaky as you hop down from the lifted seat. You hear him before you see him, and not one word out of his mouth sounds happy.
“What is this?”
Comfortable clothes, basketball shorts on his legs, a hoodie over his chest, he holds up the thick file you sent directly to his office. His hair was already blowing in the breeze, long strands flipping over to the other side of his head, framing his face that’s angled in frustration.
“Papers,” you answer simply, walking around to the other side of your car, opening up the passenger side door for your purse. At least he hasn’t noticed yet.
“You’re divorcing me?” He follows, standing behind you, voice strained, edged in stress, anger.
You close the passenger side door behind you, “We’re already divorced, Wooyoung, I’m just making it official this time.”
He follows you up the side of your driveway, through the path leading up to your small porch, speaking with each step. “You couldn’t have just told me? Why the fuck did you serve me at my job?”
You’re the epitome of patience as you unlock your front door, walking inside like he wasn’t steaming behind you. “I didn’t want to speak to you, just like I haven’t wanted to speak to you for the past two months. Nothing new.”
He follows, you don’t stop him. “You could have talked to me about this. You didn’t need to make a spectacle out of me, you know how many people work in my building.”
You spin on your heel, spitting every single word, “You could have told me we weren’t really divorced. You could have told me Aurora named her kid after you and made you the godfather. You could have just been here in the first place and I never would have had to fucking divorce you!”
His jaw clenches, fist curling around the stack of papers at his side. “This could have been as amicable as it was the first time.”
“The first time wasn’t fucking real!” You turn again, heading toward your kitchen. “Leave, Wooyoung. Actually, sign the papers and leave them here.”
He stops on one side of the island, you on the other. He throws the stack on the marble countertop, “I’m not signing them.”
You put your purse down on the counter, staring at him over the space of the counter. “What do you mean, you’re not signing them?”
“I don’t want a divorce,” he says so simply it makes you laugh in disbelief.
“You don’t want one?” Your brows raise, the smile on your lips anything but amused, “Too fucking bad, I do. If you don’t sign then it’ll default and you can’t fight anything.”
“Then I’ll fight it,” he shrugs, whiskey eyes wide and wild, “I’ll fight all of it.”
You sigh, grabbing your water bottle, turning around to empty it into your sink behind you. With your free hand holding your back, one leg holding all your weight, you hear his shoes against the hardwood as he walks around the island.
“You’re fucking pregnant,” he says it like he can’t believe it. Looking over your shoulder, his eyes are glued to your middle, impossibly wider now, filled with shock, disbelief. He meets your gaze again, repeating himself, “You’re fucking pregnant.”
You look down, frowning as you realize the dress you put on this morning wasn’t the tiny, almost invisible bump from your insane fucking husband. Of course he noticed. “No shit,” you say as you flip your empty water bottle on the rack to let it dry, completely unphased. Turning to face him, you hold the fabric tight to your belly as you admit, “Eleven weeks now.”
Slowly, one of his hands covers his mouth, his brows furrowing as he stares at the tiny bump that could be confused with constipation beneath your dress. It’s only seconds before his eyes turn glossy, then he takes a step forward hesitantly, waiting for you to stop him.
He stops himself instead, voice shallow as he asks, “You’re keeping it?”
“Kyungmin wants a sibling,” you shrug. “He said he wants someone to play Fashion Runway with at home.”
Wooyoung’s smile is slow as it takes over his entire face. His eyes meet yours, still glossy, full of tears that you aren’t sure are fully happy. “Thank you,” he whispers before his voice gets louder, more sure, his hand still wrapped around his jaw in awe. “Thank you so fucking much. Thank you.”
“Touch,” you say as your arms find your lower back again, a smile threatening to creep across your cheeks. “I know you want to.”
He closes the distance between you, hands out as he takes two steps forward, softly laying them over your belly. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”
“I’m doing this,” you remind him, voice firm, full of indignation, “by myself.” You point your chin towards the paper on the counter, “The papers are waiting for you.”
“You think I’m signing them now?” He pops his brows. “Can we at least talk about it? Especially now, you’re– that’s my kid inside you.”
Your face falls flat, his hands still on your belly. You swat him away as you snap, “There’s nothing to talk about, everything I want is in the packet. I think I’m being pretty fair.”
“You’re being a copier.” His top lip lifts. “Everything in that packet is what I decreed in the first place. At least be original.”
“Stop being funny.” You cross your arms. “Sign the papers.”
“No,” he responds, crossing his arms back. “Now what?”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” you huff, turning around, walking towards the living room.
He follows, “Can we wait? Put a pin in it or something? Come back to it later?”
“Wait for what?” You ask, plopping down on the couch casually, a relieved breath escaping you as you settle in the plush. “Wait for me to push the thing out?”
“It’s not a thing,” he argues as he sits on the opposite side, one leg bent up, his arm stretched along the back. “That’s my daughter in there. I don’t think you should do all of this alone.”
“Well that’s not really up to you, is it?” Your elbow meets the back of the couch, holding up your head. “How do you know it’s a girl? I haven't done the test to find out the gender yet.”
“Stop seeing Yeosang without me,” he frowns, “I want to come, I want to be there.”
“You had your chance to be here.”
“I was there for every appointment with Kyungmin and you know it,” Wooyoung argues, sitting a little straighter. “I’m serious. That’s my baby, too, and I want to be there.”
You groan, head falling back into the cushions. “Fine, Wooyoung. My next appointment is on Monday at nine.”
“Thank you,” he nods, “I’ll pick you up.” After a pause, a moment of silence from you, he adds, “I still don’t think you should do this alone.”
You pick your head up just to snap, “I’d rather do it alone then do it with you.”
“Ouch,” he winces, “I was good to you when you were pregnant with Kyungmin, don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry,” you mutter, followed by a tired groan, letting your head fall back into the cushions again, he’s right. “I know, I remember. I think all the meetings with my lawyer are getting to my head.”
“Why now?” He asks, voice softer, all the anger, amusement from earlier, reshaped into vulnerability. “You’ve had time to divorce me, why do it now?”
You turn your head to see him, what part of his face you could see over the cushion. “I thought we were in agreement the last time we spoke. I thought that was it, and we were moving on.”
“That was only two weeks ago, jagi,” his voice is still soft, comforting as he moves a little closer, inching himself toward you, using one hand to push the cushion down where it blocked your vision. His eyes are clear now, his expression level, serious. “Do you really want to do this by yourself?”
The slightest pout bends your bottom lip. “No,” you answer honestly, “I wish you never told me that we were still married. I could’ve gotten over the Aurora thing, you broke my trust, but that’s doable, y’know? I can get past that. Keeping our marital status a secret is… detrimental. I wish you never said anything. I want you here. I want to do this with you, Wooyoung.”
He’s shaking his head before you finish speaking, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of it, and I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.” His voice cracks as he says, “Please let me fix this. Please let me at least try.”
You stare at him for a second, seeing the determination behind his eyes, the heartache, the love he always wears like a loud accessory when he’s looking at you. Something that’s never changed in the fifteen years his eyes have spent on you. You have every intention of going through with the divorce, every fucking intention to be done with it. Be done with him.
You don’t know what part of you sighs and looks away. “I spent a lot of fucking money on that attorney, Wooyoung.”
He’s quick to answer, giddiness threaded in his words, “I’ll pay for it.”
Your palms meet your face, rubbing at your tired eyes. It’s so frustrating, him coming here and jumbling up everything you’ve been so confident about. Two weeks of meetings, of phone calls, of paperwork, of finally landing on the track of being actually divorced. Again. Hearing the seriousness in his voice, the confidence, knowing he meant everything he’s said in the past few months, all of that combined with the hormones swarming your body and the baby fucking growing inside you.
You groan out, “Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening again. You’re impossible to divorce.”
“You won’t regret it,” his words are excited, all jumbled together, “I swear to god you won’t regret it, I’ll be so good to you and Kyungmin and the baby oh my god we’re having another kid–”
Your hands leave your face, paused in mid-air, brows furrowed as you glance at the man who’s still your fucking husband, “Where is Kyungmin?”
“Aden’s,” he shrugs, “I needed to talk to you and he couldn’t be here for it, not when I didn’t know how it was going to go.”
“Good,” you say through a relieved breath. “He has fun there.”
“They’re good to him,” Wooyoung’s voice is smaller, apprehensive, “Yunho and Aurora.”
“I know,” you agree, “I don’t hate them, Wooyoung. I was pissed at you, big fat liar, not them. Your college girlfriend doesn’t make me jealous, either.”
He stifles a snort, looking down to his lap, “Sounds like something a jealous person would say.”
“Don’t piss me off,” you argue, but a smile tugs at your lips, “my hormones are raging and you’re the only person here to take it out on.”
He laughs at that, a genuine belly laugh, his body sinking into the cushions as he physically relaxes. “I missed you.”
You raise your brows, “Yeah? I don’t think I’ve said one nice thing to you in weeks. Months, maybe.”
He turns his head to you, a lazy grin on his cheeks, “You can say something nice now.”
You look up to the ceiling, lips scrunching in thought, “Hm, weird. Nothing’s coming to mind.”
“You’ll think of something eventually,” his smile doesn’t leave, his tone finally settling into something comfortable, casual as his gaze lands on the details of your living room across from him. After a moment of silence, his head turns to you again, “Are you actually gonna file to dismiss the divorce?”
It’s your turn to smile again, one as mischievous as his signature smirk, “You think it’s that easy? That I’m not gonna make you work for it?” You watch his face morph into something like fear before adding, “You have thirty days, Woo.”
The smell of coffee and food wakes you up.
And the sound of a tiny voice that’s suspiciously far away.
Fear surges through you, jumping out of your bed, racing out of your bedroom and down the main staircase of your house like you were still your high school’s track star. Calling your son’s name, panic searing through your tone, you come to a hard stop in the entryway to your kitchen at the sight before you.
“Morning, mommy,” Kyungmin grins, sitting in his Minecraft pajamas at your kitchen island, a full fucking breakfast half-eaten on the plate in front of him. Beside him is your husband, dressed for work, suit on his body, hair styled back, ready for the day like he’d gotten ready upstairs.
Your hand lands over your heart, adrenaline winding down, are you dreaming? Is this a dream?
“Morning, wifey,” Wooyoung grins, and all you can do is blink. He slides the mug of coffee in his hand over the kitchen island, toward where you stood, “Sorry for breaking in, but at least I made coffee. I brought over some stuff.”
Your brows furrow, slowly stepping closer until your hands wrap around the mug, assessing if you can feel the warmth. “I can’t tell if I’m awake right now.”
Wooyoung laughs, turning on his heel, grabbing the reusable grocery store bag you didn’t even notice sitting on your counter. “You’re very much awake.”
“Why are you here?” You ask before bringing the mug up to your lips, blinking away the crust in your eyes. Before taking a sip, you ask again, “What time is it?”
“Six forty-five,” Wooyoung says casually, so casually you feel confused like this was normal and you’re forgetting something so regular. He turns again, placing the bag between you.
“Daddy said he brought you gifts,” Kyungmin sounds too awake for it to be so early. He usually didn’t wake up for another fifteen minutes, and usually your alarm goes off at six-thirty. He made your coffee, even if he was drinking it already, it’s your coffee, how you make it, how you order it.
“Gifts?” You ask again, meeting Wooyoung’s warning eye, popping a brow.
“Gifts,” Wooyoung repeats with a roll of his eyes like they aren’t really gifts at all, that’s just what he told Kyungmin. “Groceries,” he says, wrapping his hands around the handle of the grocery bag, “I figured I’d come over and make dinner for you guys a few times this week, if that’s okay. Oh, and flowers.” He turns, grabbing the vase you didn’t even notice sitting beside the kitchen sink, an arrangement of all your favorite flowers, your favorite colors. “Spring is nearing, so… flowers.”
Lips parted, eyes wide and blinking, you don’t know what to say, there’s not a single word that comes to mind other than a very unconvincing, “Thank… you?”
Wooyoung looks like he’s trying to hide his grin, lips folded inward, cheeks straining not to show his giddiness. “Small stuff, nothing crazy. Effort.”
“Effort,” you repeat, paired with a slow nod. “Groceries.”
God, why was this like pulling teeth?
“Thirty days,” he points toward you to remind you of your deal before starting to pull groceries out of the bag, as if you’d forgotten. Part of you did, even if it happened three days ago.
“What to expect when you’re expecting,” you sing through a contented sigh, mindless as you pull out a stool to sit on, forgetting who else is in the room.
Kyungmin quickly reminds you he’s very much present by asking you, “What’s expecting?” He glances at Wooyoung, “What are we getting? Are we getting a dog?”
“No,” you respond quickly, “no dog. We’re getting…” You glance at Wooyoung with a look that says help.
You asked Kyungmin how he felt about having another sibling, not that he was getting one. It was too early in the morning to drop a bomb that huge, especially if he didn’t take it well.
Wooyoung’s forearms meet the counter, leaned over the island, eye to eye with your son who’s still glancing back and forth between you with curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “Want me to come over later? I’ll make dinner and help you with vocabulary homework. We can play the multiplication game again.”
“Yes!” Kyungmin shouts, piercing your still-asleep years. “Will you make my favorite?”
“Duh,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes with a smile, like he was already planning it. “Don’t tell mommy,” he whispers, “but there’s ice cream in the bag with your name on it.”
Your smile grows watching Kyungmin’s eyes light up, flaring with excitement and sheer fucking joy before he whispers his agreement. Heart wrenching at the sight of the two together, Wooyoung and his miniature twin, you have to look away to not fall into the rabbit hole of what it would’ve been like if you never separated.
A spiral you’ve been down too many times before.
You sip your coffee while watching Wooyoung maneuver around your kitchen like it was still his. Putting groceries away where they belonged, keeping conversation with you and Kyungmin about your day ahead, you tried to let yourself exist in the same space without feeling completely confused and slightly weirded out about the normalcy of it all.
Coming unannounced, bringing groceries, flowers, telling Kyungmin he’ll be here later without asking you but instead expecting you to be okay with it… as much as the rabbit hole of what-ifs calls to you, you have an eight year old son who doesn't need to be confused.
“Time to go get dressed,” you say to your son with a small smile that you know Wooyoung is seeing right through. Slowing his movements, coming to a standstill on the other side of the island in preparation for the conversation he knows is coming, he nods toward Kyungmin who looks at him like he’d keep him home from school.
After quickly realizing this wasn’t a special day and his father was just here for no apparent reason, he scoots off his stool and makes for the staircase with a gruff. He definitely thought you were going to keep him home, and the three of you were doing something today. The thought makes your chest feel heavier.
When he’s out of earshot, you quirk a brow at your husband, “What are you doing?”
He’s quick to respond, “You gave me thirty days. Today’s day one.”
“So you break into my house?” You whisper-shout.
“I still have a key,” he points to the hallway leading to the front of your house, where you know his key is sitting on the table beside the front door. “And technically it’s still my house, too.”
“Don’t give me technicality bullshit,” you huff, “it’s seven in the fucking morning and you woke up our son for breakfast completely unannounced. You don’t think that’ll confuse him?”
“Confused? I'm his dad,” he argues, “and he woke up on his own, I didn’t wake him up. My plan was to have you wake up first and be all excited that I was bringing you goodies.”
“Goodies,” you quirk a brow, “flowers and food?”
He smacks his lips. “I thought it was cute.”
The snort that escapes you is completely involuntary. Voice half-amused, the fight isn’t quite gone from your soul as you say, “You can’t just come here unannounced, Wooyoung.”
“You gave me thirty days,” he says, dumbfounded. “Are we gonna repeat last time? Fuck until you consider seeing me in daylight?” You scowl, but he doesn’t let up. “This is asking a lot, but just go with it, please. I know what I’m doing.”
“You know what you’re doing,” you repeat, mocking him, “my ass.”
“I thought the flowers would butter you up at least a little,” he turns, grabbing the vase, then places it in front of him, lowering his body so just his pouting face was visible on top of the colorful, blooming petals. “They’re pretty, just like you.”
That pulls a laugh straight from your chest, shaking your head, “You’re beyond helping, Jung Wooyoung. Down to your soul you’re batshit insane.”
“Only for you,” he’s grinning now. “Wouldn’t do this shit for anyone else and you know it.”
And you do know it, as much as part of you wishes he was bothering someone else at seven in the goddamn morning. Rolling your eyes, you turn, “I’m going to get ready for work.”
“Can I come watch?”
“No, but you can take Kyungmin to school.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Monday at nine came and went with surprising ease. Not that you thought Wooyoung would act ridiculous at your doctor’s appointment, but you didn’t think he’d be as normal as he was. A blood test, an NT scan, he stood by your side through the whole thing, nodding and joking with Yeosang as if the doctor didn’t know about anything going on between you. And technically, he didn’t– not the details, at least, the only surprise he showed was the glimmer of shock in his deep chocolate eyes upon opening the door and catching Wooyoung looking through his cabinets.
“Beautiful Monday,” Wooyoung sighs with nothing but unadulterated joy, grinning ear to fucking ear with his eyes closed, standing still on the sidewalk in front of his SUV as he lets the sunshine beat down on his skin. “Your levels are even, I’m gonna be a girl dad, I just found out I’m psychic, everything is good in the world.”
You snort, rolling your eyes, “Everything?”
He cracks one eye open, “Am I missing something?”
“An open civil case,” your lips are tied up on one side with an evil smirk.
Wooyoung opens his eyes to scowl, then pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. Before he moves to the driver’s side, he asks, “Do you need help getting in?”
“I’m only twelve weeks.” You roll your eyes again, something you’ve done so many times in the past week you think your eye muscles are now made of steel. “She’s gonna be big, though, I can smell the back pain from here.”
You and Wooyoung climb into his car at the same time and you grimace when the stale heat engulfs you whole. “Holy shit, turn on the AC.”
“What’s the back pain feel like?” He asks, turning on the car, hands immediately shooting for the knobs to put the air conditioning on full blast. “Similar to standing on your feet all day?”
You pull your seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place. “It’s usually in my lower back, kinda like boob-carrying back pain, but worse. Like having a watermelon strapped to your front all day, you’re in a constant arch, it burns and you can’t really do anything for it if you’re out and about.”
He winces like he can feel phantom pain in his back. Turning to you, face solemn, he asks, “Do you think it’ll be better or worse since it’s your second time?”
You shrug, “Give me a month or two and I’ll have the answer for you.”
The air finally turns somewhat cold and you sink into the seat like it was a blessing from the heavens, it starts washing the heat off you, dusting away the idle air. Eyes closed, head lolling towards your husband who starts pulling out of the parking spot, you ask, “What are you making for dinner tonight?”
Wooyoung snorts, “That’s all you care about? We aren’t gonna debrief how we’re having a girl and the fact that I was right?”
“First time being right in your life, you must be excited,” you peek an eye open to tease, and he looks at you with his face bent up in offense.
“Rude,” he scoffs in response, but it doesn’t hide the amusement in his tone. “I never even said I was coming over tonight. Should we tell Kyungminnie he’s gonna have a sister?”
You can feel the heat of shame crawling to the tips of your ears for assuming he’d be over tonight. He came over twice last week, and did just as he promised, made dinner, let Kyungmin have his ice cream, then helped him with homework and played the multiplication game that you found yourself inadequate at playing. It’s been a long time since you’ve done third grade math– Kyungmin multiplied the numbers faster than you did.
Wooyoung’s been… strangely aware. First and foremost, with what he’s been cooking the three of you for dinner. Balanced meals, healthy but still delicious, things you enjoy eating now that the wave of constant nausea has let up. Careful with what he says to Kyungmin, never hinting towards there being more to the picture than you’re letting on, reminding Kyungmin he was coming over for him and him only. In a kind way. In an unsuspecting way. A way that kind of made you feel sour, even if you knew the reason behind it, even if you didn’t want him to say anything else. Hormones.
It’s been too easy to slip into routine, to find comfort in him being around. Having eyes watching over you, your son, to feel safe in a way you haven’t felt in so long. It’s different than the weeks you spent sleeping with him, you haven’t so much as kissed him in the past week, you haven’t given him eyes, not a single sexual remark or joke has been made from either of you. It’s been strictly domestic, a husband coming home from work, a husband cooking dinner for his wife, a father doing homework with his son. You hate that you’ve been loving every goddamn second of it.
“Sure,” you respond with only half of your consciousness attached to it, too in your head to give him your full attention.
He side-eyes you, popping a brow. “Sure? You’re about to tell your son he’s gonna have a sibling, and all you can say is sure?”
“Well, are you even gonna come over?” It slips out before you can think about it, sounding impatient. Almost desperate. Irritable in the way that means you’re hopeful.
Coming to a stop at a red light, Wooyoung glances at you in the passenger seat with the quickest-spreaking smirk he’s ever worn. Like an accusation, all too proudly he says, “You want me to come over.”
There’s heat on the apples of your cheeks. Unconvincingly, you defend yourself, “No.”
“Yes,” he argues, his smile mischievous. “You like having me there. Admit it, you miss me.”
“No!” You sit a little straighter, brows furrowing, voice pitched and so obviously lying your entire body fills with embarrassment. “I just like not having to cook.”
“Sure,” he doesn’t sound like he agrees. Turning back to the road, to the light that turns green, he cruises forward with two hands on the wheel.
“You clean my kitchen.” You sound too defensive. “And you’re helping Kyungmin with his homework. And you did my laundry last night. Three things I no longer have to do if you’re there.”
“Right,” he nods, brows furrowing, bottom lip bending over, looking like he agrees but you both know it’s pretend. Sarcastic, even. Leaning his head towards you but not looking at you, he says, “Just say you miss me, baby. I won’t make fun of you for it. I miss you too.”
You swear under your breath, arms crossing, head turning to look out the window. You do miss him, you’ve missed this part of him for so long, the part you didn’t get to see the last time you were trying the whole Wooyoung-comes-around-again thing out. Maybe you should have started here last time, instead of getting caught up in the way it felt to have him inside of you again.
You might miss that most of all.
You shake off the thoughts, eyeing Wooyoung in the barely-there reflection in the window, his smirk still present. Still incriminating. Still proof that he knows you better than you know yourself.
“It’s still not enough to call it off,” you mumble, so quietly you aren’t sure if he’ll be able to hear you. But he does, with how his smirk falters, his lips settling into a line. It didn’t feel as good as you thought it would to say the words.
“I know,” he responds, voice softer now, all amusement gone. “Trust me.”
You frown, guilt settling into cracks you didn’t know were there. He lied to you, kept things from you, then threw them at you like a fucking bomb and expected you to come out of the other side unharmed. You shouldn’t feel guilty.
But you do. To soften the blow, you turn again, arms uncurling from your chest, hands landing in your lap with a sigh, toying with your fingers. Voice coming out uneasy, you ask, “So… you wanna tell Kyungmin?”
“If you’re ready for it,” he fakes a smile, a bending press of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can wait a couple weeks, ‘til we’re out of the danger zone. You’ll be in your second trimester next week.”
Your cheeks heat at the awkwardness you created when there’s never fucking been awkwardness between you, like, ever. “That’s smart,” you say, not at all convincing, pulling your lips together. “Will you still come over tonight?”
His head turns to the left, arms crossing over one another as he makes a turn, and even though you know he’s driving the both of you to work, it still feels intentional. “To make you dinner, clean your kitchen and do your laundry?”
You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. You deserved that one.
“To spend time with your son,” you try, turning your head to face him, sounding optimistic. “And your daughter… And your wife.”
His demeanor cracks with that, a smile blooming across his cheeks, and it settles something in your chest. Smiling back, you lean a little closer, “You can brag to everyone at work about your psychic abilities.”
“I hand-picked that fucking sperm,” he says, full of conviction, picking back up the discussion you’ve had twice now like you never put it down. “I knew exactly which one was fertilizing that egg, jagi. I knew it.”
And you really can’t stop–nor do you want to stop–the easygoing laugh that spills from your lips, nodding along, agreeing with him. “I know you did, I believe you.”
“I’m at the store.”
“What store?” You ask into your phone, twirling your hair around one finger, knees bent up to your chest on the couch.
“The store,” he responds like it was the only answer, his voice clipped through the speaker of your phone. “I’ll be there soon, let me check out.”
“What are you getting?” You ask again, lowering your hand in front of you, examining your nonexistent manicure. You need one.
“Things,” he answers, voice tight. Your top lip curls, eyes finding the ceiling. “I’m literally checking out now, I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
You sit up a little, sly grin curving your lips, “Well what if I need things from the store?”
He swears under his breath, “Baby, why do you think I’m here? I already know what you need.”
You watch Kyungmin on the living room floor, belly pressed flat to the rug, feet dangling in the air as his little fingers work his tablet better than you ever could.
Your cheeks heat, smile growing, “You have no idea what I need, Jung Wooyoung.”
Kyungmin whips his head around, “You’re talking to daddy? Is he coming over?”
“Yes, he’s coming over,” you answer Kyungmin just as Wooyoung barks into your ear, “You’re a fucking pervert.”
You laugh, picking up the same piece of hair to twirl around your finger again. “See you soon.”
“When I get there you better—”
You hang up the phone, sly smirk still warm, etched into your cheeks. All week it’s felt like you have an itch you can’t fucking scratch, an itch you want Wooyoung to scratch, but he won’t even try to reach it.
You think the hormones might be blinding you, maybe taking over your entire nervous system. Maybe your hormones were in charge of your brain entirely at this point.
Texts, phone calls, other than the three times he’s been over this week already, it’s like dangling a treat in front of a dog who doesn’t fucking want it. Close proximity is driving you insane, you think, or maybe it’s just the effect of having Wooyoung around, acting so normal and so domestic it’s sinking you deeper into the fantasy of what could be. What could’ve been this whole time. What you miss so badly.
You pick yourself up off the couch to the kitchen, needing something to do with your hands to get your mind out of the gutter, where it’s seemed to have taken permanent residence. Why doesn’t he want you? It’s the question you’ve been asking yourself since Monday night, like as soon as you noticed the lack of sexual tension, it showed itself like it’s been waiting in hiding.
Ten minutes of washing the dishes, all from Kyungmin’s school lunch and the lunch you brought to work, Wooyoung was walking through your front door as promised. You heard Kyungmin yell, Wooyoung’s excited greeting, and then your son’s following giggle that you’re convinced could cure anything.
It’s only seconds before he makes his way to the kitchen, you look over your shoulder as he sets two reusable grocery bags on the marble island, a soft smile already on his sculpted, bronzy cheeks.
“Wow,” he starts, already amused, “not leaving the dishes for me?”
You turn off the faucet, grabbing a dish towel to dry your hands on before turning around, your coy smile tucked to the side. “Thought you might want a break from scrubbing my Tupperware.”
Dressed in business casual, clothes a little wrinkled, hair disheveled like he ran his fingers through it forty five times today, you don’t hide the fact that your eyes are scanning every single inch of him. With the way his smile spreads, how his eyes lower, you know he can see right through you. It’s not like you’ve hidden it well— or tried to.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were buttering me up now,” his thick brows wiggle over his mismatched eyes.
A small sound of amusement is all you can conjure before taking a step towards the island, pressing your forearms against the marble, leaning over your crossed arms. “What’s in the bags?”
“Things,” he answers, eyes sparkling with mischief. You thin your eyes, moving like you’d start opening them yourself, but he stops you with a palm facing you. “Stay away from my things, I know what you need and where they go. Go sit down or something.”
You stand up straight, crossing your arms over your chest, scowling. “No, I’m bored and I want to know what things are in the bags.”
He laughs under his breath, “You’re bored?”
“I’ve been waiting,” you huff, “you took a long time at the store.”
“Look at you,” he muses, “you’re pouting.”
“So?” Your head tilts. “Maybe I am pouting.”
His brows raise before he starts digging into the first bag, pulling out produce while he shakes his head, “Look how the turn tables.”
You’d laugh at the joke he’s made a thousand times if you didn’t know just how true it was. He’s supposed to be the one proving himself to you and with every passing day you’re losing the ability to hold onto your certainty, your hormones driving you to near insanity, your will as strong as thread at this point. There’s a tiny voice inside you that reminds you you’re not above begging for it.
And yet he gives you nothing.
“For you,” he says casually, pushing a bag towards you and two bottles. Quirking a brow, your hands find the things, holding them up to read the labels.
“You said you were running low on prenatals,” he explains as he continues emptying the bags, not even looking at you. “Plus epsom salts for a bath, I read online somewhere that the soap is good for pregnancy, there’s herbs in it that soothe aches and make you sleepy or something. Figured it could help the back pain before it really starts.”
Your eyes flicker upward, watching him as he empties the bags like it was no big deal. Thick, focused brows, veiny hands moving fluidly, a singular strand of hair thickened by product laying over his face, you can feel your heart beating. When your silence hits him, he glances upward, meeting your stare, and he pauses his movement to ask, “What?”
You shake your head, just once, barely anything more than a small movement. “Nothing, I just… I’m lucky. And I appreciate you.”
One brow raises, smirk rising on the same side of his face, “Now you’re really buttering me up.”
You laugh because it’s funny, but your heart throbs in your chest like it knows that Wooyoung is in front of you, like it beats only for him and it’s waiting for your mind to catch up.
Your mind is far past catching up. You walk around the counter, steady feet bringing you to his side, and you force yourself between him and the counter to wrap your arms around his middle. Your arms squeeze tight, burying your head in his chest, forehead meeting right where his shirt is unbuttoned, your skin pressed against his.
Spicy, woodsy, a hint of outside… sweaty, just a little. In the way that makes you want to eat him. But you don’t let your mind drift just yet, savoring the smell of him, the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, how he feels in your arms.
It takes him a second to process, but his arms wrap around your back, engulfing you in his hold as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head in the same exact spot he did three weeks ago. When you thought it was over.
How the fuck could you ever think it was over?
Mumbling into his chest, coming out muffled, you say, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He doesn’t need a second to process that, the words coming out before he could think about them, he doesn’t need to think about them. Never once did he have to think about them, not with you.
Your grip loosens a little, but you don’t let go. He seems perfectly content holding you to him, flat palms sliding up and down your back, a smile you can’t see quickly crawling across his cheeks.
Finally looking up, into his whiskey eyes burnt by the dim lighting of the kitchen, you whisper, “Thank you.”
He’s looking at you like you’re his entire world. Like nothing before this moment has ever mattered, and nothing after it will matter either, because right now it’s you and him and that’s all he’s ever wanted.
“Anything for you.” He leans down to press a small kiss to your forehead. “You know that.”
A smile tugs at your lips, “Anything?”
He smacks his lips, “Don’t ruin the moment, that was sweet.”
Your grin spreads, head dropping until your forehead meets his chest again, hands falling from around his back to drop down to his hips. “Why is it always me?” You look up again, lashes fluttering, “It’s always me who’s begging to get in your pants.”
His face morphs into cockiness, his shoulders shrugging casually, “Guess I’m that good.”
You try to scoff, but it comes out like a laugh as you smack your palm against his hip, “I’m serious, Wooyoung. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
His amused smile falls, hands sliding down to your hips, pushing your back against the counter. He keeps himself close, eyes scanning your face, gaze dropping down to your lips. Small, quiet yet full of lust, he asks, “You think I don’t want you?”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening. Your hands fly up between you, pressed against his chest as you stutter over your thoughts, “A- um, a little, kinda.”
His head drops down to your neck, the curve of his nose ghosting against the shell of your ear and your whole body shivers in response, back arching against the counter.
He keeps his voice low, “You don’t realize that I think about fucking you every time we’re in this kitchen?”
Your heart picks up speed, breath going heavy and ragged, body twitching as he speaks like he’s fucking touching you. All you can mumble is his name, soft but drenched in arousal, fingers clutching onto his shirt.
“Lifting you up on this counter,” he drawls, voice like honey, hands reaching for the marble, arms caging you in. “Just like I did a few months ago, except I think about taking it slow this time, teasing you until you’re begging. Touching you until you’re crying for it.”
Your skin touches, his lip against the spot below your neck; his breath warm and inviting, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand, goosebumps raise on your skin. The smallest noise escapes you, pitched and needy, you’d be embarrassed by it if the arousal wasn’t intoxicating.
He brings his face back to yours, so close your foreheads are almost touching.
“Look at me.”
You do, eyes full of anticipation, his lips so close you could taste them. He grins.
Then he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek and moving off of you like nothing ever happened. Sliding the bags down the counter so he can keep unloading groceries, you blink at him, dumbfounded, terrorized.
“What the fuck?” You whisper-yell.
He looks at you casually over his shoulder, “What?”
“You’re an asshole,” you spit, “you’re such a fucking asshole.”
He cracks a smile at that, going back to his groceries, "Didn't I tell you to go sit down ten minutes ago?”
All you can do is scowl, all the way back to the fucking couch where you tuck your knees up to your chest.
Kyungmin looks over his shoulder from the floor, wearing raised, curious brows as he asks, “Wanna play with me?”
Friday has been your favorite day of the week since you could remember. In college, it meant classes were over, you had your weekends free to drink your bodyweight in liquor and party anywhere and everywhere without the looming dread of classes in the morning sitting on your shoulders. When you started working, Friday’s clockout time called to you at a mere seven in the morning, reminding you that when you go home, you get to change into a cocktail dress and your clubbing pumps and go out with the girls from your office. When you met Wooyoung, Friday meant that you got to spend your weekend with him, partying, fucking, learning each other down to the bone.
When you got pregnant the first time, Friday meant you got to go home and sleep.
Now you’re pregnant a second time, and Friday no longer means you get to go home and sleep.
You get to listen to your eight year old with a chronic case of the zoomies, especially after an abnormally warm day full of sunshine that radiates upcoming spring, instead of being tired, he’s ready to share all the adrenaline he’s felt all day with you. And you love it– every single second of him racing around your backyard with a widespread grin, shouting giggles that could cure any foul mood you’ve ever been in, but you’re especially tired today, and you don’t have it in you to do anything but sit in your patio chair and watch.
“Mommy, play with me!” He shouts across the lawn, the sound piercing your eardrums even if there’s yards of breeze intercepting it. “Let’s play Runway,” he starts, feet bringing him closer to you, dropping the bat he was just swinging against the tee you still owned because he aged out of tee ball just one year ago. “It’s like Fashion Runway, but instead of Fashion, we walk.”
You can’t help yourself, the snort that rips from your nose is inevitable. “You wanna walk with me?”
“Runway, mommy,” he corrects you, a hand on his denim-clad hip. Jeans and a tee shirt, one you realized an hour ago is stained with the condiments you put on the sandwich from his school lunch. “You have to walk like you’re walking down a runway, and I’ll judge it. One is bad, ten is good.”
Your brows raise over the sunglasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, amused and actually interested, “Oh, is it a competition?”
Kyungmin smirks, “Yeah, and I’m gonna win. You go first.”
“Excuse me, mister runway model,” you say, pushing yourself off the patio chair by the armrests. You think you’re nearing popping, your belly definitely… protruding now. Not big by any means, at your fourteen weeks of pregnancy, but you think you’re almost visible. Obvious. Maybe. You wonder how Kyungmin hasn’t said anything yet, when he usually asks a thousand questions if you style your hair differently.
Kyungmin sits in the patio chair after you’ve stood up, and claps his hands together as you walk through the lawn, standing facing him just a few feet away. “Okay mommy!” He yells from the chair, “You can walk now.”
Damn, impatient, too. You flip your hair over your shoulder, one hand on your hip, and conjure up the sassiest walk, imagining yourself on a runway, putting in effort for the sake of your kid. The same kid who loses his fucking shit, clapping and giggling like it was the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
When you walk up to the edge of the stone patio, Kyungmin is still giggling, but he says, “It’s good that you’re not a model, mommy.”
You scoff, standing straight, but the laughter that comes from your back door sliding open steals both of your attention before you have the chance to talk back to your son.
“Daddy!” Kyungmin squeals.
Wooyoung walks onto the patio, grinning like he knows he wasn’t supposed to see that but he loved every second of it. “What do you mean? That was the best model walk I’ve ever seen.” He’s eyeing up Kyungmin now as he says, “Tell mommy she could be a model before you hurt her feelings.”
You try to interject, “He didn’t–”
“You’re a good model, mommy,” Kyungmin says, and he almost sounds like he means it. “You should see Aden do it,” he pushes himself up off the patio chair, “he does it like this.”
You’re shaking your head as you walk towards Wooyoung, ready to greet him, but Kyungmin’s screech of “Look!” has you turning right back around.
Your jaw drops as your son puts his hand on his hip and sways his hips as he walks toward the patio. You scoff, “You just did exactly what I did!”
Wooyoung snorts from beside you, “He might’ve done it better than you, jagi.”
“What number?” Kyungmin asks, grin as wide as his eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle when his quick moving feet bring him right to you. “Judge time.”
You bend down and press a kiss to his sweaty hair, “Ten. What’s my number?”
Kyungmin’s eyes slide to Wooyoung, and out of your peripherals you can see Wooyoung holding up ten fingers. Your son giggles, looking back at you, “Nine.”
“Y’know what?” You bring your palms to his cheeks, squeezing, “I’ll take it.”
“Let’s play again,” Kyungmin squeezes you a little tighter, making you choke out a noise. “Daddy has to walk this time, too.”
“I think that’s a beautiful idea,” you smirk, side-eyeing your husband from beneath your shades. Expecting pushback, his grin turns feline. Your brows raise.
“Scared of a lil’ competition?” He wiggles his own brows, “I’m about to win, just so you know. Kyungmin, you’re going down.”
“Damn, was my walk really that bad?” You ask, brows coming together as you turn to Wooyoung. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”
He leans closer when Kyungmin runs off into the lawn, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I thought it was perfect. Hi, by the way.”
“Hi,” you’re smiling already, and you know the flush on your cheeks isn’t from the afternoon sun anymore. It’s his fourth time here this week and it’s only Friday, by this point there’s not a bone in your body that isn’t okay with it. The opposite, actually, staring at him in his business-casual clothes, dress pants loose and elongating his strong legs, dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked on one side, sleeves folded up to his elbows. His pants black, his shirt a deep gray color, the silhouette, the colors, it all contrasts against his build and his sickeningly sweet-looking skin, making you salivate.
This is the third day in a fucking row that just looking at him has made you weak in the knees. You’ve been curbing your cravings well enough since last week against your kitchen island, you’ve kept a safe distance since, not looking at him for too long, you don’t want to risk the rejection that you still aren’t sure was rejection, again. But the more insatiable your thirst grows, the more it feels fucking impossible, especially when he looks like that, when he’s doing tasks for you around the house, when he’s making dinner and eating it with you, when he’s showing up at your house right after work with his belt already off and his shirt halfway untucked.
You’re still not above begging. He’s still not giving you an inch.
Kyungmin walks first, as attitudey and sass-filled as you imagined it would be, and both you and Wooyoung shout ten. You walk next without an ounce of embarrassment, and Wooyoung shouts ten, but Kyungmin shouts eight. Then Wooyoung walks, using his hips like he had a rope attached through his belt loops pulling him forward, like a real fucking high-fashion model.
With your jaw pressed to the stone of the patio, you yell, “You motherfucker, why are you good at this?”
“Mommy!” Kyungmin shouts, disapproving of your swear.
A belly laugh leaves Wooyoung, head dipping down, palms clutching his stomach before they land on his knees in a doubled-over crouch. You scoff, “I’m serious, what the hell is going on? Do you have a history in modeling that I should know about? Something else you’re hiding?”
“I think… nine,” Kyungmin says from your side, ignoring you with his hands on his hips, brows slanted, hiding his smile like he knows Wooyoung’s walk was perfect but refuses to outright admit it.
You snort, “That was a ten if I’ve ever seen a fucking ten.”
Kyungmin shouts again, “Mommy!”
“Stop swearing, you’re bothering the boy,” Wooyoung ushers a hand in Kyungmin’s direction, face still bent up in laughter, tight from trying to hide his smile. Just a moment passes of his lips tucked between his teeth before he laughs again, “I’m sorry– I’m sorry, that was so fucking funny.”
Kyungmin’s voice is stern as he warns, “Daddy.”
“I’m sorry!” Wooyoung shouts, his palms flying up in defense, laughter still laced in his words. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Kyungmin makes for the door first, mumbling like he didn’t think you’d hear, “I told you mommy would lose.”
Wooyoung catches up to you in a light jog, one hand pressed to the small of your back as you cross the threshold to walk inside your kitchen. Your head snaps sideways at the touch and he looks blissfully unaware at how the heat from his palm shoots electricity up your spine, reminding you of just short of a week ago, his arms on the counter behind you, caging you in, whispering nasty shit in your ear…
There’s happiness in the air, bleeding between you and him and your son, even the girl growing steadily in your belly. You don’t want to ruin it by sinking your mind to the gutter, where it was a week ago, how you sulked the entire night and yet he still left your house with a kiss to your cheek and a smirk on his lips. He won’t fucking give in and your body is reacting to every look, every touch like a livewire.
He meets your eye, mischief twinkling in chocolate, he knows. You take a quick step forward, too fast for his hand to stay on your body, it’s purposeful.
“Homework, dinner, showers, bedtime,” you mumble under your breath as if you needed to remind yourself of the schedule, using it like a bucket of cool water, the words ice in your veins.
And that schedule you continued to repeat to yourself all night. Homework was swift with Wooyoung’s quick-working mind helping Kyungmin, and other than making dinner, having him here to help with math was something you desperately needed and never even thought of. Third-grade math was a nuisance to you, mortifyingly irritating, and sometimes you remember that it's just going to get worse. More complicated. It’s been a long time since you’ve attempted long-division and you’ll avoid it at all costs if you can.
You ended up ordering takeout, the three of you sat on the floor of your living room, eating from containers on the coffee table, watching the movie playing on the TV across the room. Frozen, again, for the thirteen-millionth time, more than once Kyungmin began singing along, and you instinctively sang along with him, then Wooyoung, too. You think the three of you might know this movie word for word.
By the time the end credits were rolling onto your screen, your back was pressed to the edge of the couch, your head lolled onto the cushions, eyes half open. You supposed singing along to the movie took the last bit of energy right out of you, exhaustion sitting heavy on your chest, your shoulders.
Kyungmin was still wide awake, bouncing from watching his favorite movie yet another time. Sitting beside Wooyoung on the floor, his legs thrown over Wooyoung’s lap, his head turned sideways, towards the screen across the room, you could barely hear his fast-moving mouth about how much he loves Elsa. How he wanted to be her, have her magic, ice powers, how he wanted a sister like Anna– all things you’ve heard a thousand times before, but they landed differently this time, and as Wooyoung’s head turned sideways to look at you, you know you were both thinking that you hope to give him a sister like Anna.
His gaze lingered, though, taking in your half-awake state, low-lidded eyes, slouched body that you’re sure did not look comfortable. It was, at least, as comfortable as it could be for movie watching on the floor.
“Shower time,” Wooyoung rips his gaze from you to look at Kyungmin. Your son whines, pulling his legs from Wooyoung’s lap to roll over on the floor. Wooyoung’s face stays straight, an unmovable force, “Come on, you’ll feel better when you’re clean.”
“I already feel good,” Kyungmin whines, “I’m clean. I showered last night.”
“Are we gonna have the stinky conversation again?” Wooyoung asks, amusement playing in the line of his lips. “Mommy’s gonna cry if she gets a whiff of you.”
You crack a grin at that, even if Kyungmin refuses to take the bait. He sits up, arms stretched out behind him, brows slanted downward as he asks, “Can’t I shower in the morning?”
“No,” you interject, “you already don’t want to wake up in the morning, I’m not fighting you to shower.”
“I won’t fight!” Kyungmin counters. “I’ll get up, mommy, I promise.”
“I don’t even believe that,” Wooyoung reaches forward, grabbing him by his ankles and tugging the boy towards him. “Go shower.”
Kyungmin giggles as his butt slides against the floor, toward his father. “Can I eat ice cream after?”
“Sure,” Wooyoung nods. “But only if you smell clean. Remember to wash your hair twice, with shampoo.”
Kyungmin stands from the floor just to scowl at his father, “I know how to wash my hair.”
Wooyoung just raises his brows like this was an argument they’ve had before, one you have no knowledge of. He doesn’t respond, though, and Kyungmin doesn’t argue as he turns for the staircase, running two steps at a time so he can get to his dessert as fast as humanly possible.
Wooyoung wastes no time as soon as the shower turns on. He slides closer to you, eyes zeroed in on your tired expression as he asks, “Why don’t you go take a bath?”
You pop a brow, “Are you saying I smell, too?”
“I’m saying you look like you need to relax,” he says smoothly, easing you with a soft smile. “I’ll get him ready for bed, ice cream and all.”
Like it was meant to be or something, you yawn. Your back arches, arms stretching over your head, neck turning away from Wooyoung. “I don’t feel like walking all the way up there.”
“I’ll carry you?” You turn back to see him grinning, playful, eyes flaring amusement. You can see his collarbones beneath the collar of his shirt, fully untucked now, his pants that were once pressed now wrinkled and littered with tiny balls of fuzz. “I’ll even start running the water for you. Use the new soaps I got you, see if you like ‘em.”
“I’ll wait until Kyungie goes to bed–”
“I’ll put him to bed,” Wooyoung cuts you off. “And by put him to bed I mean I’m gonna close the door and let him fall asleep on his own, like a big boy.”
You roll your eyes, smile growing, “Are you gonna drill that into me forever?”
“I’m not drilling anything else into you,” he responds, too quick for him not to have been waiting to use that response.
Your face falls, lips bending into a frown. “I know,” you respond, a bite to the words, sounding like that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “Why not?”
“Because we tried it the other way already,” he slides down on the floor, head lolling backward, mimicking the way you’re sitting. “That didn’t work, so I’m using my thirty days wisely. No sex until you have a ring on your finger again.”
“They’re upstairs, on my dresser,” you say, jutting your chin towards the staircase. “Go get them, I’ll put them on.”
He side-eyes you. “You know what I mean, asshole.”
“Oh, now I’m the asshole?” You sit up a little. “You’re the one who won’t fuck your wife.”
“Because you’re only my wife legally,” he mumbles, voice quieter. “I want to have sex when you want your husband, because I’m your husband, not because you just want to have sex. Does that make sense? I think I confused myself.”
Your palms find the floor on either side of you, pushing upward until your legs are under you before you stand up straight. Tilting your head, ignoring his rambling, you ask, “Has your lawyer called you?”
“No,” his brows furrow as he lifts his head. “Why?”
You shrug, “Just wondering.”
He was right, you did need to fucking relax.
The smell of lavender and chamomile fills your bathroom, steam fogging the white gold-lined mirror on your marble vanity, turning the once crystal-clear glass shower door cloudy. Bubbles surround you, popping every few seconds, swirling with each slight movement of your body. Your neck stretches over the back end, eyes closed, body submerged beneath the water that teeters on the edge of hot. You’ve already drained some water and refilled the white, ceramic tub once, not wanting to escape serenity just yet. It’s been too long since you’ve properly relaxed without worrying about work, your husband, your son, anything. Everything.
You were content on staying here, letting your body soak in the water, in the sweet smells, for as long as you possibly could. The first your eyes have opened is when you hear a hand on the door handle, pushing it open quickly and then closing it even quicker. Wooyoung walks in, eyes on you as soon as you’re in view, silently crossing the bathroom in a few long strides before crouching beside the tub.
“Care to join?” You ask, head turned toward him.
He cracks a smile, head dropping down to huff a laugh under his breath. It’s empty, like he had something on his mind. His hands reach over the side of the tub, bronzy fingers playing in the warm water, “Do you like the soaps? The salts?”
You nod, “Mhm, ‘m very relaxed.”
“Good,” he nods, lips scrunching to one side. He had more to say.
“What’s up?” You ask, searching his face for the answer before he had a chance to verbalize it.
He takes a beat. “We haven’t talked about it,” he finally says, eyes meeting yours, pupils big and dilated. “Us. At all, not once during these past few weeks.”
“Okay,” you say assuredly, then readjust. Sitting up a little taller, using your hands pushing against the bottom of the tub, the water covers just above the apex of your breasts. “Let’s talk.”
He swallows, eyes dancing across your face, your shoulders, like he’s fighting for his life to not let his gaze drop past your collarbones. You smile.
“Where’s your head at?” he asks, forcing his gaze upward. “Do you wanna do this?”
You lean over the side, throwing an arm along the edge of the tub, laying your cheek on your forearm to look up at him. “Do I wanna do what?”
He shifts, sitting on the floor, legs bent, criss-crossed. He keeps his face close to yours, just slightly below you. “Be with me,” he wonders, “have another baby with me.”
You crack another smile, one so genuine it takes over your entire face. “I’ve wanted to the whole time, dummy.”
“Don’t toy with me, jagi,” his lips fall to a line. “Be serious. Are we doing this or are we not?”
You sigh. “You know,” you start, twisting your legs, the fluid noise of water sloshing following. “That day you brought me the soaps, the gummies, things I didn’t ask for but you know I needed…” Wooyoung nods, eyes twinkling with optimism. “It reminded me what kind of man you are. Who you used to be, before your priority became work–”
“I told you–”
“Let me finish,” you cut him off, eyes stern. He nods. “Even though you weren’t here, I know it was for Kyung, for me. I knew it, and even though I divorced you–the first time–I hoped you’d fight it. That you’d fix everything as soon as I brought up divorce, admit your wrongs and fucking grovel or something.” He frowns, but you don’t give him a second to respond. “I’ve missed this part of you. I’ve missed the part that’s present, that supports me as a partner and not just a checkbook. That’s what matters to me.” His frown deepens, eyes glazing over. You lift your head, reaching for humor, “Crybaby.”
“You’re the crybaby,” he counters, but a smile tugs at his lips. He wipes two thumbs under his eyes as he says, “Don’t forget we have to send two kids to college.”
You bark out a laugh, a genuine laugh. “We’ll figure it out. I just want— all I’ve ever wanted is you here, Wooyoung.”
He leans forward, pressing a short, sweet kiss to your lips. Keeping himself close, barely a millimeter between your faces, he whispers, “I will be.”
“Good,” your smile grows, “because I called my lawyer like, two days ago. I think we need your signature before the judge can sign off on the motion.”
He snaps his head backward, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
“Why would I lie?” You laugh a little, leaning your chin on your forearm again. “Are you really that surprised? I thought I’ve been making it pretty clear.”
He shakes his head ever so slightly in disbelief as he stutters, “I don’t– I guess, I don’t know. You’re pregnant.”
Your eyes droop in a scowl, “Are you about to call me horny and hormonal?”
His lips tighten, trapping his smile, “No.”
You laugh again, leaning back into the tub, letting your head lay against the ceramic. “I love you, idiot. I don’t want to do this without you, you’re my best friend.”
“You’re my best friend, too,” his bottom lip bends over in a pout, eyes glossy all over again. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, baby. I swear to God I never had bad intentions with any of it.”
“I know,” you mumble, reaching your hand over the side of the tub. He tangles his fingers with yours, squeezing your wet palm, reveling in the silence, the shifting, the togetherness both of you fucking ached for. You smile, eyes twinkling with the idea, “Do you wanna go get my rings?”
He beams, muttering an excited yes before he pushes himself upward. It takes him all of seven seconds to run out to your bedroom, connected to your bathroom, to grab your wedding band and your engagement ring from the ceramic box atop your dresser and to run back into the bathroom. The movement was so Kyungmin you couldn’t help but laugh when he knelt beside the tub again.
Wordlessly, you hold your left hand out, and he slides your wedding band on your ring finger first, a silver ring encrusted with diamonds. Then your engagement ring, a simple silver band, at the center a recently polished diamond set with four prongs. You hold it up to the dim light of the bathroom, admiring how the diamonds catch the amber hue, sparkling, shining, immediately regretting ever taking them off.
“You really did a good job,” your head tilts in admiration. “I’ve missed this fuckin’ rock.”
He snorts, lifting himself up and over you, planting both hands on either side of the tub as his upper half stretches over the side, pressing his lips against yours. Your other hand leaves the water to cup his cheek, savoring the taste of him, home. Knowing it was real this time, knowing you were choosing this. Him, all over again. You deepen the kiss as the feeling blooms, pushing your tongue between his lips, using your hand on his cheek to bring him closer.
“I love you,” he says into your mouth, voice cushioned by the remnants of relief.
You moan the softest sound of pleasure into his parted lips, “I love you.”
You feel him smile against you, one mischievous and him. “Should we consummate our renewed marital status?”
Keeping your hand on his cheek, you push him away a singular inch, popping a brow. “You really have to ask me that?”
“Mm, I know,” he leans forward to kiss you again, his outstretched arm leaving the ceramic to hold your cheek, running a thumb over your skin. “All that blood pumping down there, I’ve been so mean, denying my pregnant wife.”
His hand falls to your neck and you gasp, legs twitching in the water. You don’t have it in you to respond, already lost in the way his touch feels, just a few months without him should be nothing compared to the year you spent apart. But you weren’t pregnant then.
“Come to bed,” he purrs against your lips. “As much as I’d love to fuck my wife in the bath, I’d rather spread your legs as wide as I can get ‘em.”
The idea makes you snort, “How flexible do you think I am?”
He plants another kiss to your lips before responding. “Doesn’t matter. I’m stretching you out anyway, aren’t I?”
You pull the plug from the drain with a roll of your eyes before Wooyoung helps you up by your arms, then grabs the white towel that sat folded on the toilet lid. Holding it open for you, he wraps you in white cotton until your back is pressed to his chest, his arms snug around your front, fingers still holding the towel closed.
Leaning into him, his scent, his warmth, even if you’re already standing in your home, it’s never felt more like it. Quietly, you mutter, “I missed you.”
He presses a kiss to the side of your head instead of responding. You tilt it to the side, looking up at him, his beautiful, sculpted face you’ve spent fifteen years loving. Clear skin, soft and smooth, whiskey eyes, the freckle perfectly centered beneath one of them, there’s a wrench in your gut and it hurts. You love him so much it aches.
Wordlessly, you press your lips against his, and it relives the ache ever so slightly. Til’ death do you part, he’s yours, he always has been, he always will be. And like he’s confirming it, his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands leaving the towel to turn you by your hips, the cotton falling to the floor. Your arms reach over his shoulders, back arching into him, your bare front pressing into his clothed one, you didn’t care.
“Easy,” he mumbles into your mouth. “Let me get you on the bed first.”
You respond by kissing him harder. Your mouths move melodically, your fingers finding the soft, ebony locks on his head, his palms leaving your hips just to start undoing the buttons on his shirt. You help him push it off his shoulders, panting into his mouth as your fingers dart for the button at the hem of his slacks, fingers sliding the zipper down.
He grunts when your palm meets his clothed length. “Jagi,” he grits out, chest heaving. “Baby, fuck– wait.”
“No,” you huff, kissing him again. Fingers meeting the elastic of his briefs, you push them over his hips, gripping the base of his length and tugging.
He groans, breaking away just to suck in a harsh breath, his abdomen flexing.
“Fuck me.” You’re staring up at him, and you’re positive you look crazed; eyes wide, unblinking, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving.
He doesn’t seem to care. He pulls your wrist from his cock, bending at his knees to scoop his other arm under your legs, lifting you in one quick motion. You stop yourself from yelping, arms swinging around his neck, holding on for dear fucking life as he opens the door with the hand that was supposed to be cradling your back.
So strong, the realization shoots straight to your throbbing clit. He lays you down on the bed, wet body soaking the comforter, neither of you care as he gets his pants, his briefs off his body, crawling over you. He keeps his voice quiet, barely above a whisper as he says, “What do you want?”
“You,” you quip, breathless. “Inside, inside, please.”
He studies you for a millisecond before he moves. Palms splayed over the underside of your thighs, he pushes them upward as he leans down between them, tongue poking out to lick a stripe through your folds. Hissing quietly, you watch his mouth bend, angled cheeks sucking in before he parts his lips in the smallest O to land a glob of spit on your core.
Grip loosening on your thighs, he sits on his calves, taking one hand to the base of his cock, smearing the spit along your folds. You release a breath, eyes screwing shut, fingers curling into the sheets, reminding yourself you need to be silent.
“Take a breath,” his voice is damn near silent, too. You obey, sucking in deep as he prods at your entrance, releasing the breath as he pushes in, agonizingly slow. You open your eyes to see his face twisted up in pleasure, jaw slack, muscles flexed, veins protruding in his sculpted arms.
You curse under your breath and he opens his eyes. “So good,” he whispers, sheathing himself fully, cock buried to the hilt. “Nothing fuckin’ feels like you.”
Your head tilts a singular degree, “You have much to compare me to?”
His lips flatten, eyes following suit. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
Your lips bend in a smirk, legs spreading further. “Move.”
“Be nice,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “Been awhile.”
“Gonna cum if I’m mean?”
He bends at the hips, elbows landing on either side of your head, arms close enough that you might as well be scooped beneath his elbows. His forehead pressed against yours, he whispers, “Gonna cum if you’re nice, too.”
“Then what do I do?”
“Lay there,” he smiles, then presses a short kiss to your lips. “Let me take care of you.”
When he starts moving, it takes everything in you not to moan. Not to squeal, not to squeak, not to cry. Jaw falling open, brows furrowing, your fingers fly to his arms, nails cutting crescents into his skin.
“Oh my god,” his voice is low, quiet and ragged, his head dipping into the pocket of your shoulder. Your legs wrap around him, the smallest whimper escaping your mouth, in chorus to the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out. Instead of the loud slapping of skin against skin, it was raw, a quiet, creamy noise filling the quiet room, each grind of his hips to the same beat as your breathing.
It’s almost worse than being fucked mercilessly. Caged beneath him, body a livewire, arching and jerking just for every movement to be stopped, forced into stillness, it’s almost worse. You’re panting, hips fucking back into him, toes curling over the expanse of his back, the pit of pleasure in the base of your gut spreads heat through each limb.
“Woo,” you pant, “I need, I need– oh my god.”
His lips find your neck, but he doesn’t pick up speed. Cock curving upward, massaging against your walls, his tongue spreads flat against the curve of your neck, lips closing over the stripe of spit. Mumbling, so quiet it’s a murmur, he says, “You need me.”
“Yes,” you whisper, eyes screwing shut, fingers clawing into his arms harder. Your body tightens, muscles strained, but he rocks into you with the same rhythm, unbothered by your body clenching. “I need you– I, I love you.”
His teeth find your skin, a rumble of a groan melting into your neck. “I love you.”
“No,” you urge through a hiss. “I love you.”
His hips rock a little harsher, a twitch in his rhythm. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” you’re whimpering, “I love you, I love you.”
He picks up speed, cock still brushing the spot on the inside of your walls. “Say you’re mine, jagi, ‘h my god.”
Your hips tilt, breath turning ragged, voice rising in pitch as your pleasure blooms. “I’m y-yours, I’m yours. Always will be.”
He lifts his head to press his lips against yours messily, tongue slipping into your mouth, hips grinding into you, pulling you closer to the line he drew for you. The one he made for you, because you’ve always been his, and he’ll always be yours.
His hands cup your cheeks, pulling his lips from yours, hips never once breaking their rhythm. His cheeks cave again, lips pursing, and you open your mouth in waiting. A droplet of spit dribbles slowly from his mouth and you catch it on your tongue, never once taking your eyes off of him, unblinking, letting him see that you’d take anything he gave. He watches your throat bob as you swallow.
“Mine.” He sounds on the brink, his voice a quiet, hardened thing. “Cum for me.”
It doesn’t take long, not when your feet hit the mattress, pushing your hips upward, allowing him to hit that spot in perfect rhythm. After a week or two of denial, you’ve been on the cusp since he’d walked inside the bathroom.
“So perfect,” he says. It’s primal, how he stares at you coming undone around his cock, jaw pried open and eyebrows knitted together. “I fucking love you.”
You can feel him twitching as you clench around the width of him, nails slicing into his skin, hips jerking wildlessly under his own. He keeps you pinned as he reaches down, picking up a thigh to push it upward, knees spreading to fuck into you harder without slapping his hips against you.
You whimper, overstimulation looming, pleasure unending and all-consuming. “Wooyoung– Wooyoung.”
“Close,” he grinds his teeth. “Fuck, need to fill you up, jagi. Need to fill you up.”
His words make your hips rise to meet his, small squeaks escaping as his other hand finds your hair, knuckles finding purchase in your roots. Not hard, but enough, claim in another form; he needed it, needed you, in any way he could get you. Any way he could have you.
“Cum,” you cry. “Please, please please. I need it.”
“Say you love me.”
“I love you!” Your fingers find the duvet beneath you, curling into the plush, nerves beyond fried. Rambling, your voice a winded whine, “I love you, please fill me up, cum inside me until I’m leaking, made me feel so good, Woo. Need it inside.”
He moans, and it’s small, but it’s verbal. Cock twitching, hips losing rhythm, his abdomen clenches as he finally unravels, painting your insides with ropes of white-hot heavy warmth. You sigh in relief, in the warmth, the comfort of his release like an embrace.
He lets go of your thigh to reach for your cheek, pressing his lips against yours. Whispering into each other’s mouths, mumbles of I love you and thank you and I missed you, over and over and over, all between kisses and tastes of each other’s tongues.
It feels like forever that you stay like that, far past his cock softening inside you, his release leaking out, ignoring the tickle as it races for the duvet beneath. You didn’t care, not with his lips on yours, your hands in his hair, his scent in your nose, the world could end around you and you still wouldn’t fucking care. Like stitching time back together, seam by seam, when you’re both wearing flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you finally part with lazy grins and cheeks aching from giggling. He kisses down your chest, two of his palms splayed over your tummy, peppering a hundred, a thousand kisses to the skin circling your belly-button.
“I’m so excited,” he says, like he’d been waiting to say it. “I can’t wait to see you bursting, belly all full ‘n round. I can’t wait to have another.”
He lays his head on your stomach, body stretched out on the bed. Your hand finds his hair, scratching at his scalp as an easy sigh falls from your lips. “Me too,” you smile, and you mean it. “And I’m excited for you to be here. Normalcy.”
His fingers dance over your skin, featherlight, his cheek pressed to your tummy. “Can I move back in tomorrow?”
A quiet laugh tumbles off your lips. “We’ll take it slow, we have an eight year old who notices things, Wooyoung.”
“He literally wants me to live here,” his eyes slide upward. “He’ll be happy.”
“We’ll talk to him,” you nod in confirmation, fingers continuing to scratch in his hair.
He purrs, the vibration tickling your belly, making you twitch. “I love you,” he says softly, a pause before he adds, “wifey.”
Your grin spreads at the nickname. “I love you too.”
⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
⭑ four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while you’re all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right?
⭑ lots and lots of pinv, mxm, oral(m&f), edging, public play, bdsm dynamics (feel free to correct me on anything!! i tried to be accurate) praise, degradation, yunho being 3comp yunho. yes that's a warning in itself
⭑ part three of three / wc 36.5k
⭑ — holy shit i can't believe it's over. thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, this series is my actual fucking baby. it brought so many eyes to my blog and led me to meeting so many wonderful amazing people, thank you so much if you're reading this, if you have read anything about my 3comp babies. no other series has taught me so much. nothing will ever mean as much as this.
⭑ — if you don't recognize my rortor or if haos confused you, pay my good friends a visit here <3 thank u @svgaplvm for letting my people hangout with yours <3
“You can’t seriously think this would ever work.”
You and Mingi haven’t moved an inch since he left for the bedroom. Now stood in front of you in cargo pants and the same dirty tee that was crumpled on your bed, it seems his anger hasn’t dissipated in the three minutes it took for him to get his things together. A bag thrown over his shoulder, jaw locked, eyes wide and wild like you’d just sentenced him to death, it seems very clear that Jeong Yunho wasn’t coming back here.
“I was honest with you guys from the start,” his voice keeps its edge, “I told you what I look for in a relationship, what I want. There’s none of that here.”
Your teeth grit together, eyebrows slanted, fingers squeezing beneath your arms folded over your chest. “You’re overreacting,” you manage, heart running a marathon in your chest, ignoring the fact that his words hurt as you mask your feelings with a show of anger.
“You two are together,” he points between you and your boyfriend with a finger. “I shouldn’t even be part of the equation. I let this go on too long, let it become too serious.”
“You think you’re the only one to blame?” Mingi surprises you with his words, the sharpness behind them, the glossiness in his eyes the only signal of sadness. “We thought we were already in a relationship, it’s all of our fault for not communicating.”
Yunho looks like he’s seen a ghost. “You– Are you serious?”
You nod, you thought it was obvious, “Yunho, we haven't been apart for more than twelve hours in weeks.”
He turns on his heel, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
Mingi stands, following Yunho as he crosses your living room, “You’re just going to leave? You aren’t gonna talk this out?”
You watch from the couch, breathing deep into your lungs, ignoring how your eyes watered. Yunho turns around sharply, “What is there to talk about? We were fucking, and now we’re not. That’s it.”
You gasp from the couch, Mingi shrinks where he stands. Taking a step back, shaking his head, his voice is shaky as he says, “You don’t mean that.”
“I told you,” Yunho slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ve been honest from the start. If you took it more seriously, that’s on you. I’m sorry.”
Mingi’s arms fall to his sides as Yunho leaves through your front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him. Your heart breaks as Mingi’s head hangs low, his shoulders shaking, and it’s the sniff you hear from the couch that gets you on your feet, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend.
“He’s just scared,” you whisper, tears lining your own eyes as Mingi racks a sob into your chest. “He’s just scared, Min. He’ll come around.”
His voice is wrecked, ragged and layered with grief, “I can’t believe he said all of that.”
“Me either,” you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand rubbing circles into his back. “It’s Yunho, we know how he is, especially with relationships.”
“I thought we were different,” Mingi picks his head up, pulling away from you to wipe his eyes. “I thought he was getting over his dramatic relationship block because of us.” He sniffs, then speaks through another sob, his voice cracking, “I thought he loved us, too.”
“You love him?” Your eyes widen, hands landing on his shoulders, and he nods without hesitation. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to get your mind to bypass the shock so you can think.
“Don’t you?” Mingi asks, his voice small, like if you said no he might crack entirely.
His laugh crossed your mind first. Eyes squeezed to crescents, grin spread wide, head tipping back as the most beautiful sound left his lips, you always got lost in him when he laughed. A hearty chuckle or a small giggle, when Yunho was emitting nothing but pure joy… Yeah, you loved him.
You loved how he walked closest to the street, how he already had your order memorized at the cafe around the corner. You loved how he touched you, soft and delicate, how he complimented you every time he saw you. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to say the hard things, like telling you that you snore, or that this time your boss was in the right. You loved that he kept small pieces of you close in the years of knowing you, how he revealed his knowledge of you in the past month, how he wasn’t afraid to show his passion.
You loved him, and you fucking knew he loved you back.
“Yeah,” your nod isn’t immediate. “I think I do.”
Mingi’s lip quivers, “We’re just gonna let him leave?”
“We’re adults,” your voice is shakier than you need it to be, forever the rock holding Mingi’s hurricane. “He’s an adult. If he wants us, this, he’ll come back.”
Mingi shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from you, “If we love him then we fight for him, I’m not waiting around while he thinks this is over.”
Your lips curve upward, the most Mingi thing he’s ever said, “We’ll be with him for four days at the beach. Let him sit in the hole he’s dug himself in, let him miss us for a few days.”
Mingi looks at you like you’re speaking another language, “He probably won’t even look at us while we’re at the beach if we wait until then.”
“If we love him,” you step closer to him. “Then chances are he loves us, too. Let him take the time he needs to realize it.”
Mingi takes a heavy breath, thinking about who Yunho is, how he handles situations. With poise, consideration, vigilance. He thinks of all outcomes, all strategies, Yunho thinks of everything with his mind, and not always his heart. Mingi nods, because he hopes that just this once, he’ll think with his heart, and figure out the rest later.
Yunho hasn’t called.
Not a text, not a word, not a breath.
But you were on your way to Haos– and from Wooyoung’s call this morning, asking what time to pick you up, you found out that he’d talked to Yunho just before he called you, and he was still coming to the beach. A shred of relief washed over you as the words left his mouth, it couldn’t be that bad if he was still coming to the beach, four days spent in proximity with you and your boyfriend. And your ten other friends. Right?
“Do you want to stop at the convenience store for anything? Water, coffee, a snack?” Wooyoung asks from the driver’s seat, black hair shagged over his ears, his forehead, curling at the nape of his neck.
Sana groans from the seat beside you, “Can we just go straight there? I’m itching to be on the beach with a drink in my hand.” Dressed in jeans and a strappy tank, heels on her feet, curled dark locks framing her cheekbones, she looked like she was going to the club rather than traveling for a vacation. Being eight in the morning, you looked like you just rolled out of bed.
Mainly because you did.
“I wasn’t just asking you, San,” Wooyoung cuts from the front of the black rental he drove. “We’ve been driving for an hour already.”
“Which means we should only have ten more minutes in the car if you just drive,” she bites back, rolling her eyes. She gives you a look, shaking her head as if Woo was asking the stupidest question in the world. She whispers to you, “He should have asked an hour ago.”
You smile at her instead of giving her an answer, redirecting your gaze to the top of Mingi’s head that peeks over the headrest of the passenger seat. After spending some time away from her, you thought you’d at least be a little excited to see her, but alas, she still drives you up a fucking wall. You could have gone longer.
You lean your head against the window for the last ten minutes, listening to soft rock music with your eyes glued to the intricate, tall houses along the coast, the small shops, the ice cream parlors, everything about this place screaming beach. Summer. Rich summer. You were still excited to come here, drama aside, spending time with your friends, cozying up in one of San’s queen-sized beds in one of his several bedrooms. You loved his house, the feeling it gave you, how badly you’d like to own something like it one day.
You didn’t mind four days of pretending it was yours, nor did you mind laying on the beach, a drink in your hand. Maybe you’d shove your feelings aside and stay glued to Sana all weekend.
Finally pulling up on a rocky driveway, you pull your eyes away from the beach just beside it, taking in the cream-colored fucking mansion before you. Ridiculous architecture, a two-car garage, a double main staircase, several balconies and a fenced rooftop, what always took your breath away was the windows. So much light poured into the house, salt scented air rushing through the space when the countless pairs of double doors opened, this house screamed happiness. It screamed carefree.
You let the feeling fill you, let it take a weight off your chest as you stretch your body upon leaving the backseat. Whatever happened this weekend, you’d accept. However you and Mingi returned home, with or without another boyfriend, you’d be okay. Both of you.
You took a look around the driveway as Wooyoung and Mingi went into the trunk to grab all of your luggage. You and Mingi shared one, but Sana… She had two for herself, she bragged about it as soon as you opened the car door.
Three other cars sat in the driveway. You recognized Yeosang’s, Jongho’s, Seonghwa’s, you assumed San and Jongin’s cars were in the garage. No sign of Yunho’s car.
Mingi carried your luggage in behind you, you didn’t knock as you walked through San’s front door, nor did you have time to appreciate the creams, whites and blues stretching across the inside, because the only other person in the living room when you walked inside was Yunho.
Your jaw clenched as your eyes slid over the back of him, faced away from you as he scrolled on his phone.
“Honey, I’m home!” Wooyoung yelled from behind you, and his voice echoed through the archways of the main floor, bouncing off each perfectly staged wall, the balcony above you.
Yunho snapped around, meeting your eye, and he immediately stiffened. With one of his infamous linen sets on, barefoot and his hair swept back, you had to stop yourself from muttering damn under your breath. You loved when he looked like summer, but you also loved when he looked like winter, when he needed the comfort of fleece to keep him warm. Maybe you loved Yunho in anything.
You looked away fast, turning to face Mingi who was already staring over your head, at his best friend who had undoubtedly become something more. Mingi stared at him with hope, with an unanswered question, with so much fucking love in his eyes you felt the cracking of your heart in your chest.
“Finally!” You heard San before you saw him, shirtless and in swim trunks, body tanned and golden and sculpted by God himself. He wore a wide grin, Jongin following behind him, his boyfriend just as gorgeous as he is, taller and handsome and damn, just as sculpted.
San pulls Wooyoung into a tight hug, “I missed you, man. It’s been too long.”
“It’s barely been a month,” Wooyoung chuckles. “But yeah, too long.”
Sana’s heels click against the pale hardwood as Jongin pulls her into a hug, the two men exchanging with the couple as you and Mingi attempt to ignore the elephant in the room only visible to the two of you.
Wooyoung pulls Yunho into a hug as you and Mingi share exchanges with San and Jongin, just as the others start piling into the living room.
“We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Tzuyu squeals as she enters your view, and you’re immediately pulled into all the women of the house, sharing hugs and kisses on the cheek.
“I can’t believe we’re the last ones here,” you’re smiling, warmth filling your chest as you bathe in everyone’s excitement.
Jihyo smirks, “Late because you were getting frisky?”
You roll your eyes, heat warming your cheeks, “You need to let go of that. Like, now.”
“Frisky?” Tzuyu pops a brow. “Fill me in.”
“I went over her and Mingi’s place and saw a vib—”
“Okay!” You speak over her, hands ready to clamp over her mouth, and she winks at Tzuyu in a silent promise to fill her in later. You prayed it didn’t include Yunho’s name.
“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's smile is anything but sheepish. “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 pants, the dress you brought to wear to the bar 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.
You hold his eyes through the mirror. Remember what I said, trust me.
Letting your eyes dance over Yunho once more, you lay the bikini out over the dresser, and then pull your shirt over your head in one quick motion.
“Shiiit,” Mingi mutters under his breath, long and dragged out from the bed, purposely loud enough for Yunho to hear. His eyes pick up, seeing you through the mirror, eyes catching on you shimmying your shorts down your legs, then your panties.
You don’t let your gaze linger, pulling the bottoms up your legs, then tying the top around your back. “Min, can you tie me?”
He’s at your back in an instant, letting his hands dance along your waist before settling at the back of your neck, bikini strings between his fingers. You’re smiling at each other through the mirror and it’s then that you know he understands what’s going through your mind, the plan you cooked up just a minute ago.
His hands settle on your hips after he finishes tying your top, and both of your eyes slide to Yunho, catching him just as he looks back down at his phone, fingers pressed to his forehead. You smirk at Mingi through the mirror, wondering if maybe you pushed Yunho just a little harder, could you crack the shell of his facade?
Yunho’s never been a huge fan of the beach. He burns easily, sand gets between his toes, in places he simply can’t reach, he hates how his hair looks after being in the breezy, salty air for too long. He’s been excited to come to Haos despite it, to spend time with you and Mingi away from home, but he didn’t give it enough thought to really consider the logistics of it all.
To himself, he thought it easy: Around everyone else, you and Mingi would be your usual selves, madly in love for the world to see. At the end of the night, behind closed doors, where no one could hear you or see you, that’s when he’d have his way with you both. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited for that most of all.
Forcing you into submission, into silence in the dead of night, so the whole house couldn’t hear the whiney moans that leave Mingi’s mouth when Yunho takes him, or the shrill screams that Yunho pulls from your chest when he pushes you just a little too far. It’d be fun— that was fun to him, keeping the two of you hidden away, his two nasty little secrets. No one had to know.
Because if they did, if anyone knew anything, it’d break your perfect bubble. He’d be forced to admit that he hated the idea of not being able to touch you in public, not being able to kiss you, or even flirt with you. Either of you. Which opens another question, one Yunho wasn’t willing to answer, or give any more of his attention.
Luckily, it blew up in his face before he had the chance to worry about it too much, like it has a hundred times before with plenty of different partners. This was the routine— fuck for awhile, become a little more on accident, realize that this isn’t what he wants, leave. Leave, leave, leave. Yunho was good at leaving, at hiding, at not taking what he wants when it’s staring at him in the face.
It was too fucking vulnerable. He ached for love, for true routine, to wake up next to someone and go grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. He yearned for someone to know him down to his core, to love him for the silly things, not just how he fucked or how he guided. For how much he needed to take care of his partners, he never realized how much he needed to be taken care of, too.
This morning, how you stared at him with a locked jaw, a storm in your eyes, he knew he deserved it. He deserved your anger, your pain, he wishes he could take it from you and keep it for himself. How Mingi looked at him, with pain and love and hope, seeing Mingi’s feelings raw in his eyes terrified Yunho. Knowing Mingi hurt, that he was the cause of his ache but also knowing he’d take him back in a second, it sent a shiver down his spine, leaving a hole too deep, too cold in his gut.
He really fucked up this time. He really, seriously, absolutely fucked up. He's fallen asleep cuddled up to your side, he’s woken up beside you for weeks. He’s gone grocery shopping with you, he keeps a mental list of everything you have in your house. You made space for him in your home, for his body and his clothes, he has a toothbrush beside your sink, products in your shower, socks in the top drawer of Mingi’s dresser. He’s felt the rush of affection when Mingi finishes his sentence, he’s felt the pain sitting in the crease of your brow without it having anything to do with him.
He walked into what he was most afraid of, but what he’s yearned for without even realizing. Everything happened so fucking fast. That night with Mingi was the true beginning, he thinks, the catalyst that made him fall headfirst without casting a net. That night changed all of your boundaries, leaving everything in open field for the taking. Yunho took it with greedy hands, but then he destroyed it all the same.
He knows what you’re thinking. In that pretty little head of yours there’s millions of beautiful, strategic thoughts, plans, ways to get him back in your bed. Even though he fucked up. Even though he was the one that destroyed it all.
The curve of your chest in the mirror, a peek of the goldmine between your legs as you bent over, if this was a week ago he would have pinned your chest to the glass and fucked you until you were crying just for teasing him. Mingi’s hands trailing down your skin, his breath on the back of your neck, jealousy infested Yunho like a disease. He could feel the ghost of Mingi’s hands on his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his torso, he forced himself to tear his eyes away so he didn’t break.
Yunho was the one who fucked it all up, and here you two were, trying to get him to fix it. Naive and optimistic, two traits that you two shared that made Yunho feel like he was your missing piece. He wouldn’t break so easily, you two have to know that, you know him.
He watches you run across the sand, wet chest bouncing beneath golden sunrays with a can grasped in your palm. Mingi follows you from the water, trunks slick to his thighs, the inseam of his shorts shorter than any other pair he owned. Yunho sits with his jaw locked, his fingers curled around the armrests of the beach chair beneath the umbrella, watching as Mingi picks you up from behind, a grin on his lips as he presses them to your cheek.
You two didn’t do PDA. You haven’t since you were in your early twenties, when your relationship just began. Everyone in the group knows it, but no one notices, no one pays any mind to the clear show you were putting on just for him. Mingi’s arm is hooked around your torso, black hair clinging to his cheeks, his neck, the two of you dripping in saltwater and love. He keeps you there, hanging off his arm as he walks back up to where you set up, your giggles becoming clearer, reminding him of his favorite song the closer you get.
He could just get up and go back inside. The beach was San’s backyard, after all.
“Can you hand me another seltzer, please?” You ask sweetly as soon as Mingi puts your feet back on the ground. Yunho blinks beneath his shades before the question registers in his mind, it’s the first that you’ve spoken to him other than thanks in the bedroom.
He reaches into the cooler, making sure to hand you your favorite flavor, feeling bile rise up in his throat when Mingi opens it for you and plants a kiss on your lips before you take a sip. Maybe he had it all wrong— maybe you didn’t fucking care that Yunho was no longer apart of your relationship. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, what happened just a few days ago made your relationship stronger. Seems about right for the two of you.
“Let’s play volleyball!” Wooyoung shouts over the hum of soft rock music and waves in his ear. He forces his eyes away from you two to glance at Wooyoung, holding a volleyball to his chest while beads of sweat drip down his bronzed, tanned skin.
“Hell no,” Sana responds from her towel, laying on her stomach with a bucket filled with God knows what kind of liquor in the sand just above her head. “We’re relaxing.”
“I meant the guys,” Wooyoung replies, the smile on his cheeks never faltering, ignoring his girlfriends’ tone completely. He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, “You up for it? A little friendly game?”
“I’m out,” Hongjoong responds from his chair, can of beer in his hand, head laid back along the headrest beneath the shade of the umbrella, “I just ate a gummy.”
“I’m out, too,” Yeosang lifts his head from his towel, Tzuyu at his side, the two of them cuddled up so close under the burning sun he wondered how they weren’t suffocating.
“I’m going to swim,” Jongin waves a hand, already turning his heel to walk down to the shore.
“I’m down,” Yunho says, needing a break from staring, standing from his chair.
“I’m down, too,” Mingi adds as if on command, pressing another kiss to your lips before walking towards where Wooyoung stood behind Yunho.
San, Jongho and Seonghwa make their way towards them, too, and Yunho quickly regrets his decision when Mingi stops directly at his side. He stiffens, eyes glancing down to where Mingi’s hand lingers inches beside his.
“Three versus three then?” San smirks as the six of them make their way towards the net across the beach. “I call Woo and Mingi on my team.”
Jongho breaks into a laugh as he leans on the pole beside the net, fingers sinking into the webbing, “So it’s me, Hwa and Yunho?”
“I think that’s fair,” San shrugs. “We share the towers.”
Yunho rolls his eyes, and Mingi’s smile is wide. Seonghwa dips under the net to the other side of the sandy court, “They’re both competitive, too. Think it’s best we share.”
“We can hear you, y’know,” Yunho follows, sliding into position flanking Jongho’s side, a grin crawling over his cheeks that was nothing short of competitive. “No need to fight over us.”
“First team to twenty,” Wooyoung juts out his chin from the other side of the net, “Best out of three?”
Yunho pushes out an accidental sigh, “Three games?”
Mingi, like he’d been waiting for that comment, snaps. “Why not?” He cocks his head to the side, smile dangerous. “Three games too much of a commitment for you?”
The blood from Yunho’s face drains, the amusement in his eyes gone. After Yunho’s face falls, Mingi giggles, and the rest of the guys seem completely unaware of the jab that just left Mingi’s mouth. Yunho glares at him, knowing now that the two of you are serious about getting under his skin, but he chooses to ignore the shred of pride he feels with your efforts.
The first game went by quickly— Mingi, San and Wooyoung were good. Yunho, Seonghwa and Jongho were good, too, but fell just short of their opponents. The second game went by just as fast, but instead this time it seemed Yunho’s team had a chip on their shoulder, a little too much pride to let their friends win twice. The third game, everyone was drenched in sweat, covered in sand from diving for the ball, forearms burning from bumping it, everyone’s patience was running thin. Curses were shouted, insults thrown from one side of the net to the other, they had gotten serious real quick.
Mingi and Yunho stood at either side of the net, eyes on the ball above their heads, the two of them jumping at the same time to either spike, or block. The ball fell on Mingi’s side and his eyes dropped for a millisecond to see Yunho, both hands up, palms flat out to block his spike.
Yunho, ambition living in the slant of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips, didn’t give Mingi an opening to push the ball through. So Mingi hit it to the side, just past Yunho’s hands before he could even think of sliding his arms over.
Yunho cursed, and Mingi’s arms went over his head in a cheer for winning them one more point towards victory. Mingi leaned in close to the net, a smirk on his lips, “Pay attention, Yun. You don’t want me thinking I’m distracting you, do you?”
Yunho’s jaw locks. Mingi was pushing it, he usually wasn’t the bratty one, that was your area of expertise.
“Careful,” is all he says, venom on his tongue as his chin tips upward, just to stare down at Mingi through lowered brows.
Mingi’s smirk grows, almost a full smile, fingers hooking into the net to lean closer. “Or what?”
Yunho licks his bottom lip, shaking his head as he turns around, back to where he stood, waiting for the ball to be served. Maybe he was stupid for considering you two didn’t care about him, especially after the bedroom, and now he had Mingi taunting him ten feet away?
The ball hits the sand beside his foot before he can process that it was served. Mingi, San and Wooyoung high five, cheering because they were one point away from winning, and Yunho’s teammates turn to him with a scowl.
“What are you doing?” Seonghwa stands with his arms out beside him, face warped into annoyance and confusion.
Jongho barks from beside him, “Lock the fuck in, we’re winning this.”
Yunho nods, shaking off his thoughts, “My bad.”
Then Mingi calls your name. Yunho’s head turns, watching as you turn your head from where you stood with a group of girls that weren’t a part of your group, staring as you jogged towards them when Mingi ushered you over.
That fucking bikini, all string, barely covering anything. His fists clenched when the house hooted and hollered for you, as Jihyo whistled when she saw you. It wasn’t for you. It wasn’t for Mingi. It was revenge.
His neck snaps back to the court before him when he hears San’s hand smack the ball, body moving before his brain can think, diving into the sand to bump it up. Jongho is quick to get under it, two hands setting the ball high in the air, but as Seonghwa jumps to smack it over the net, Mingi is already there.
Broad, sculpted abdomen, hard chest he’s rested his head on too many times, hipbones peeking from just above his waistband. Yunho watches Mingi’s arms flex as he blocks the ball, how his torso folds to send the ball into the sand, Yunho nearly shoves his face in the sand too when his three best friends jump for joy across the net.
Seonghwa and Jongho stand defeated, faces set toward the sun, chests heaving. Yunho gets up slowly, just to see you perched on Mingi, arms and legs hooked around his body, lips pressed to his. Mingi’s hands hold you up by your thighs, fingers making indents where they pressed into your skin, and it’s war for Yunho to peel his eyes away from the sight.
“Sorry,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the sand as he walks toward Seonghwa and Jongho.
Jongho clasps a hand on his shoulder, heavy but reassuring, “It’s just volleyball. We’ll beat ‘em tomorrow.”
Seonghwa nods his agreement, and at least one weight is lifted off his chest. He watches his friends duck under the net, and Yunho follows, ready to get berated by his three other friends, good sportsmanship be damned.
“This is my boyfriend,” he hears, and his eyes land on where you stood with Mingi, just beside the court with the two girls you were standing with before. One a grinning dirty blonde, the other a miserable-looking brunette, Yunho tried to listen as his friends spoke beside him, but jealousy pierced his soul that Mingi was the only one standing beside you, getting introduced as yours.
His feet moved before he could think about it, coming up to your side, and the blonde caught his eye, looking him up and down as he made his way over. You beamed, not showing a flash of surprise or confusion as Yunho stood beside you, you immediately gushed, “This is Yunho, he’s single, super tall, clearly.” You giggled, leaning into Yunho’s side, you were drunk. You whispered not quietly to the blonde, “I think you’d like him.”
Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, weight hitting his gut with force, and the blonde before him blushed as her hands gripped the cocktail between fingers, her eyes dragging over him again.
The brunette, eyebrows low, stares at Mingi before her, “You look really familiar.”
Your hand clings to his, wrapping your fingers into your boyfriends, shoulders pushed back, no one would know you were standing your ground unless they knew you. Mingi laughs along, “Really? You kind of do, too.”
“Do you have any relatives that go to Nasara?” She cocks her head to the side, “We’re in ITZ, a sorority at Nasara University in Delo.”
Mingi shakes his head, then turns it to look at Yunho, “Do you?”
Yunho shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders, she does look familiar. Yunho asks, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Sitara Song?”
The brunette makes a tch noise, then grabs the blonde’s hand, voice dripping in irritation, “Come on, Ror, I’m sure Wooyoung is missing you.”
The blonde looks back at him twice as the brunette drags her away, and Yunho feels unsettled. Not only are you making a show with Mingi in front of his face, taunting him, but now you’re pimping him out to strangers?
Mingi’s eyebrows are knitted together as they walk away, “They have an Wooyoung, too?”
Yunho faces the two of you with his arms crossed, “What the fuck are you doing?”
You’re already smiling, mischief in your eyes, “What do you mean?”
If the three of you were at home…
“What was that?” He asks, a hand stretching in the direction of the two girls walking away.
You giggle, back pressing into Mingi’s abdomen, “Was I wrong? You are single, aren’t you?”
Yunho laughs a low, disbelieving chuckle. He turns on his heel, past the court, back to where you set up, sitting back in the chair he was sulking in before. He reaches into the cooler, pulling out a can of beer. If this was how the weekend was going to be, he might as well be drunk for it, too.
Clean and close to sober, your hair was still wet after your shower as you sat around the bonfire, sweats on your body, under a blanket on the sand. Even in Haos the beach was cold at night, a sharp breeze ruffling everyone’s hair, egging the fire to blaze higher.
Yunho barely looked at either of you during dinner. Lounged out on the back balcony after grilling, he laughed along with everyone, cracking jokes and engaging in banter, but he shut you and Mingi out. After his second beer it was as if he put a wall up, he was choosing to not let the two of you bother him, not that you had much to bother him with after the beach.
Fear lived in all your joints that you took everything too far as you sat cuddled up to Mingi, head on his shoulder. With Yunho on your other side, you tried not to let your eyes slide to him, despite his closeness. Even mad, even apart you still drifted together, you try to let the thought relieve you, but you’re too tightly wound to let anything but his hands steady your heart in your chest.
You missed the way Yunho doesn’t see your fear. Instead, all his tunnel vision allows is the way your arms lay over Mingi’s, the way you melt against your boyfriend, how comfortable Mingi looks with your body touching his. You don’t see his frustration, how his mind whirls a mile a minute in yearning to have any part of you two touching him, too.
“You guys must have needed a vacation,” Hongjoong declared from across the fire, the growing blaze making his orange hair burn brighter, white teeth still shining despite the warmth laying over all of you.
You smile, and Mingi agrees in a small noise from beside you. San perks up in a chuckle, “I haven’t seen you two act like that in years. There’s really never any trouble in paradise, huh?”
Mingi snorts, and you close your eyes with a smile on your lips. If only they knew what trouble was terrorizing your paradise right now.
Jihyo cracks a laugh, holding up a hand like she just remembered something hilarious, “No, can you guys remember the beginning? When they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?”
Your cheeks burn as the group laughs around the fire, a chorus of amusement and remembrance. Jihyo continues, laughter still erupting from her chest, breaking up her words, “I miss when we still had true house parties, I remember catching you guys in Yeosang’s garage.”
Mingi tips his head back with a groan at the memory, you remembered it like it was yesterday, he had you lifted on Yeosang’s father’s workbench, tools covering the space around you. Luckily, Jihyo didn’t see your legs spread for him, or his fingers hooked inside you. Your cheeks blaze hotter than the fire before you.
“That’s not the only time, either,” Jihyo’s leaning forward now, cocktail in her hands threatening to spill over the blanket on her lap.
San interjects, laughing himself, “I think we’ve all caught them once or twice throughout the years.”
Wooyoung frowns, “At least none of you have caught them in your own bedroom. That’s worse, trust me.”
Your hand covers your face, digging your forehead into Mingi’s shoulder as he laughs along, muttering Enough in a low voice. The reason you weren’t as open with your relationship anymore was being laughed about in a circle, filling your gut with embarrassment and shame, Mingi felt it.
You couldn’t see Yunho’s fists clenched at his sides, digging into the blanket above the sand. He tries to laugh along, he has a few stories he could tell himself, but he’s ruined them all with thoughts of what those memories would look like if he was included in them, too. He feels weird inside. Knowing it would always be you two, as it’s always been, but feeling so fucking frustrated that he isn’t included, as if two halves of him were fist fighting just beneath his skin.
“My bad, today just reminded me of back then,” San waves a hand, a warm smile on his lips, showing his dimples. “I’m happy to see it. I’ve missed when you were attached at the hip.”
“I was starting to get worried that you guys were chilling out too much,” Sana interrupts, her head tilted, a cheshire smile on her lips, “I assumed that’s why you didn’t have a ring on your finger yet, that your relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be.”
The circle quiets. A beat of silence lays over you, thick and heavy, her comment feels like a jab. Yunho doesn’t know why it fills his veins with ice cold rage. He bares his teeth, “Where’s the ring on your finger, Sana?”
Seonghwa gasps, Tzuyu’s eyes widen, Wooyoung cracks a smile. Everyone’s eyes dance between Yunho and Sana with fear at her awaiting rebuttal. She tips her cocktail back, takes a sip, then raises it up to Yunho with a sinister smile, “Hopefully we both see rings within the year.”
You blink in confusion and awe, sitting up straight, both of your heads turned toward the black hair sat beside you. He meets your gaze and his eyes feel warmer than they’ve been all day, since before the fight, even. The others redirect the conversation into something lighter, but the three of you stay locked in on each other, a bubble within the ash and smoke surrounding you.
You purse your lips. What was that for?
Yunho smiles. Couldn’t help myself, I guess.
Mingi lays a hand over your thigh. Sana will always be Sana, it’s not worth it.
Yunho leans into his hands stretched out behind him. I’m tired of her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
Your cheeks warm with a small smile. Thank you.
After all the cans had been thrown into the fire and San had smothered it with the lid, the whole group decided it was time for bed, your day tomorrow required a full night’s sleep. Beach, boardwalk, dinner, a repeat of today, but tomorrow you could really drink. You had half a mind to stay sober tomorrow, you think you had enough day-drinking already, your brain muddled and your limbs sluggish, you didn’t miss the feeling of a hangover.
The queen sized bed felt like a cloud beneath your thighs compared to the sand you were sitting on prior, the bottle of water Mingi handed you when he entered your bedroom healing you. In a hoodie and sweats, the house much too cold for a summer night, you sat up and chugged while Mingi got his toiletries ready for a shower.
Yunho didn’t enter the bedroom until Mingi had left, drying his hair with his towel, sweats hanging low on his hips, droplets of water still trickling down his abdomen. You kept your water in your lap, lips pursed, trying to think of something to say. Just earlier today you weren’t speaking at all, you teased him all day, and then he… Sticks up for you to Sana? It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense.
Yunho pulls a tee shirt over his head, barely glancing at you sitting on the bed, then reaches into the closet to grab a blanket. Folded over his forearm, he tucks a pillow under his other arm, then without as much as a word he makes for the door.
“Hello?” You sit up a little taller, confusion in the knit of your brows. “Where are you going?”
He looks back at you over his shoulder, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“No,” you answer, shaking your head, staring at him like the idea is ridiculous, because it is.
He raises his brows, “No?”
“Stay,” you urge, heart picking up speed in your chest. “We need to talk at some point.”
He finally turns around, brows still raised as he shrugs, “Talk about what?”
Your lips part but nothing comes out. Jaw clenching, you sit dumbfounded and annoyed. Talk about the fight? Talk about today? Talk about how there’s still clearly something romantic between the three of you?
“How you toyed with me all day?” Yunho finishes your thoughts, taking a step towards your bed, “How the two of you drove me up a fucking wall? How I snapped at Sana to defend you because clearly I’ve lost the ability to control myself?”
You stare at him wide-eyed, speechless, excitement rippling beneath your skin because he took a step toward you.
“They were right, you know,” he tilts his head, taking another step forward, “You haven’t been all over each other like that in years. And I sat there, knowing it was all for me, and couldn’t do a damn thing.”
“Yes, you could have,” you finally counter, voice barely above a whisper.
“What would you have me do?” He says through a sharp chuckle, “Put you over my fucking knee in front of everyone? The whole beach? That's what started all of this, right?”
“I— What do you—?”
“This all started because of sex. You worked me up all day to have me at my wits’ end when we finally got back here at the end of the night. That was the plan, right?”
You blink at him, that was the plan. Partially. “I just wanted you back here so we could talk—”
He smiles as he cuts you off, “You don’t want to talk, not really. I know what you want.”
You sigh, frustration curling your fingers around the water bottle, ignoring the heat between your legs. He drops the blanket and the pillow on the floor as he takes another step forward, thighs just touching the mattress you sat on.
“I do want to talk,” you frown, heart pounding against your chest, scared those five words will stop him from doing everything he was about to do. Voice lowering, you whispered, “I want you.”
“It’s pointless,” he shakes his head, smile dropped,.“You can’t separate it.”
“Because it’s already blended together,” your voice is still low, teetering on the edge of shaky. “The lines were crossed a long time ago, Yun.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” he meets your eye, and there’s nothing kind behind them. No emotion that makes you feel like there’s any possibility of salvaging what you had. You refuse to trust it, the mask he puts on, you cling to how he’s looked at you these past weeks, with love and trust in his eyes, the mask he wears now is to protect himself.
You give him a bitter chuckle, “Who are you to tell me what’s right? Do you not feel anything when you look at me?”
“When I look at you,” he keeps his face steady, emotionless. “I see Mingi’s girlfriend.”
“You’re a liar,” you spit, sitting up on your knees, crawling closer to him on the bed. He watches, unmoving, eyes not even flickering a change in feeling. “Why did you stick up for us to Sana then?”
“Because you’re my friends, and I’m tired of hearing her project her own insecurities onto you.”
“Why were you bothered when I told that Aurora girl you were single, then?” You stand on your knees atop the mattress, almost face to face with him. “You are single, aren’t you? You want to be single.”
“I don’t want to be single,” his voice cracks, exasperated, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “but that doesn’t mean I can just join a relationship that’s been established for over five years!”
“Why are you making it sound like a decision that’s made on a whim? We just spent the last four weeks already in one, Yunho,” you raise your voice to match his, every ounce of emotion punctuating each syllable.
“We spent the past month fucking,” he lowers his voice, words sharp enough to cut. “That’s it.”
As if every single one of your emotions swim up to your waterline, your voice cracks as tears blur your vision, “You’re a bullshit fucking liar, Jeong Yunho.”
You keep your eyes on Yunho as Mingi enters the bedroom, catching the towel hanging from his waist out of your peripherals. Yunho breaks eye contact before you do, his eyes sliding to Mingi who stares dumbfounded in the doorway, then quickly closes the door behind him when his eyes land on you.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide and concerned, one hand on his towel as he quickly makes his way across the room. The streak of sunshine in a hurricane, you can feel the hostility fizzle, his presence comfort enough to cool the fire in your veins.
“Nothing,” you shake your head, then wipe your eyes with one hand as you sit back down on the mattress, legs folded beneath you. Your sniff betrays you, as if Mingi didn’t already know you were crying, “I’m fine.”
Mingi stands beside Yunho, a knit in his brow as he turns to his best friend, “What did you say?”
“Nothing I haven’t said before,” Yunho bends down, picking up the blanket and pillow he was holding before. “I’m sleeping on the couch downstairs.”
“No you’re not,” Mingi chokes out a laugh in irritated disbelief, all of his features blown out as he faces him. “You’re not leaving again, you don’t get to walk out twice.”
Yunho’s chuckle mirrors Mingi’s, his voice louder and strained, “I don’t know what else you want me to say!”
“Say you don’t want us,” you answer from the bed, voice unsteady, terrified of his answer even if you’re certain you know it already. “Say you don’t want this, and we’ll let it go.”
Yunho’s eyes dance between the two of you, the cogs turning in his mind visible in his tight features. Mingi takes a step away, walking towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of briefs to sleep in as he mumbles, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
You stare at Yunho as his lips open and close, racking his brain for something to say that isn’t that. He shakes his head, “Even if I want this, it doesn’t mean it’s right. What will everyone say?”
The slap of Mingi’s briefs against his hips sounds through the room, “Who gives a fuck what anyone has to say?” He faces Yunho, “If we’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
“It’s not that easy,” Yunho drops the blanket and pillow again, his shoulders pushed back in defense, trying to hold onto what’s left of his control as his hands wave with each word. “As much as I want to believe everything will be sunshine and rainbows, it’s you two. Your relationship is concrete, everyone’s expecting a wedding within the next few years and you want to fuck all of that up?!”
Your stomach drops with the validity of his fear, cheeks warming, ears burning hot. You and Mingi have never decided on marriage, not fully, the two of you semi-estranged from your families, not completely in a place financially to make that kind of commitment. A ring, a big party to show off your relationship was nowhere in the near future. A house came first. Stability came first.
Yunho knows that. He knows all of that, but his fear is still valid– because what happens when you are stable? You and Mingi never got that far, the rest was hopes and dreams that would maybe come true one day. You swallow, sniffing again, raising a hand to wipe what’s left of your lingering tears as understanding turns into a bloom of warmth in your chest.
“I understand this isn’t normal,” Mingi takes a step toward Yunho, confidence clear in his voice, it seems you’ve switched places since the last time you talked. Mingi looks over Yunho’s shoulder to meet your eye for a second before looking at Yunho again, “But this won’t fuck anything up, Yunho, our relationship has always been… What it is. This.”
“Your relationship,” Yunho reiterates, his voice quiet, body leaning towards Mingi. “What if that doesn’t stay the same with me in the picture? What if down the line, you decide you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where does that leave me?”
A rush of something you can’t describe swallows you whole. It was overwhelming enough having this conversation with Mingi, and you haven’t had the conversation again with Yunho in the picture, what that would look like for the three of you. Tears crawl their way back up, a tightness in your throat, heat in your cheeks. You didn’t have an answer to his question, fear leaves your stomach hollow, your limbs tingly.
“We’re not asking you to make a decision now,” Mingi’s hands curl around his waist. “Even if it seems like we are. All we know is that we want to be with you, we’re willing to figure all of the details out together, with you. We want you, Yunho, isn’t that enough to at least try?”
Yunho’s head dips down, his face hidden, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You need to touch him, feel close to him, you need your skin on his, you need to feel like he still wants you. It feels like losing him– a sentiment you can’t bear to accept, you haul yourself off the bed and press yourself into his back.
“This is a lot,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, weak, frail, strained with uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do, I- I want you too, but this is,” his voice breaks. “Terrifying.”
“I know,” you feel Mingi’s hands swimming along his sides as you keep your cheek pressed to his back, your fists balled into the cotton of his tee. Mingi continues, “You can do it, the commitment, the titles. It’s scary and vulnerable, but it’s us, we won’t hurt you.”
Another trembling breath leaves him as his forehead meets Mingi’s, his hands resting on your own, curled into his shirt. Your lip quivers, trying so hard to keep your own tears in to be the stability he needs, the rock you're used to being; seeing him hurting is like an arrow through your chest, it hurts the same way it does with Mingi.
“You don’t need to make a choice,” Mingi whispers. “But don’t shut us out. Don’t make us think we don’t mean anything to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers, sniffing, his body rigid between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean any of it, I was scared. I am scared.”
You press your lips to his clothed spine, “It’s okay, Yunho.”
He squeezes your hands, palms over knuckle, his touch is grounding. Mingi’s hands glide from his waist over his chest up to the curvature of his shoulders, landing there for a moment as Yunho’s head perks up. Mingi leans in, lips grazing Yunho’s as his hands move to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” Soft, honest. Yunho barely gives him a nod before Mingi attaches their lips, Yunho’s hands darting to his waist. You keep your hands on him, body pressed into him, feeling Yunho’s body relax, shoulders drooping, back arching into Mingi’s touch.
Their lips move slowly, unhurried, a practice of searching for something in one another, finding it, reveling in it. The air changes around you, expanding, room opening, tension slipping through the balcony door and into the saltwater air, dissipating into the humidity. Yunho’s hands find Mingi’s cheeks and they move together, bodies arching into one another, getting lost in emotion and feeling and longing, you could feel all of it, it bled from both of them and into you, watching from behind.
Hands on Yunho’s waist, you guide him backward until your back hits the bed. You crawl onto it, never breaking your eyes from the pair, watching as Yunho uses one hand to support himself while Mingi lays him down onto the mattress.
“I missed you.”
You’ve never heard him sound like that before. Emotional– soft and whiney, honest, like he’d pulled the words from the deepest part of his consciousness, a box he kept tucked away. It has you moving, crawling over to them, inserting yourself into their bubble. Yunho’s hand reaches for your cheek as soon as you come into view, your eyes meeting, and for the first time you see him consumed by lust without the harsh blade of control in his eyes. Raw, open, free, there’s nothing but delicacy swirling in chocolate brown as he pulls you down into him, attaching his lips to yours like he’d been waiting to do it all day.
Hungrier than those with Mingi, his lips move quickly, tongue slotting between your lips to search your mouth for something true, as if you haven’t given him all of you since the start. “I want you,” you whisper, sharing his breath, a soft smile curving your lips before he swallows down your words with his mouth. You swing one leg over his hips and he sits up on an elbow, his other hand moving to your hip for leverage as he pushes himself up until he’s sitting, shifting you properly on his lap.
Mingi moves behind him, hands on his waist under his shirt, lips finding his neck with soft presses of his lips as your fingers reach for the hem of his tee. “Need this off,” you whisper into his mouth. “Want to feel you.”
Mingi’s the one who pulls the cotton tee over his head, lips finding Yunho’s shoulder as you kiss his lips again, tongue dancing with his, hands splayed on his pecs, letting the warmth of him seep into you. Yunho reaches beneath your hoodie, fingers cold as they dance along your skin, palms curled around your waist while his thumbs brush against your abdomen, his touch is soft, like he’d break you if he pressed too hard.
You break the kiss only to pull the hoodie over your head and Mingi steals Yunho’s lips, using two fingers to his chin to turn his face. You watch them for a moment before leaning in, lips following the curve of his jaw down to his throat, flattening your tongue down to the base of his neck, sucking into his skin just above his collarbone. He tastes clean, like his bodywash, him, your hands find the waistband of his sweats, tugging them downward.
Yunho gasps as you slip them from under him, hips moving easily for you, “I– Are you sure?”
You’re nodding on command, “Of course, I’m sure.”
He’s talking as you tug his briefs down to his thighs. “I said a lot of things.”
“You didn’t mean them,” Mingi answers as you settle yourself between his thighs, coaxing Yunho backward until his back is pressed to his chest.
His cock stands tall against his pelvis, pink-kissed and leaking, it makes your mouth water. Yunho’s hips twitch as your nails graze his thighs, making you smile, eyeing him through your brows. He looks… scared. Like this was unknown territory, his eyes wide, red splotched chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers curled into the sheets beside him.
It makes you want to take care of him in the same way he’s always taken care of you.
“Is this okay?” You ask softly, making him nod. Your head tilts, needing the words to continue, “Do you want this?”
“Yes– fuck,” his hips twitch again, brows raising like he’s surprising himself. “I want it, I want you. Please.”
There’s a pit in your gut as the plea leaves his lips and you’re wrapping your fingers around his length, making a show of the glob of spit dropping from your tongue and onto his length, using your fingers to spread it. He groans, head tipping back into Mingi’s chest as you start working his length with your hand, watching him carefully. So pretty, hair mussed about, chest splotchy and body twitching, you wonder if this is how you look beneath him. You dip your head down, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick at his tip, salty, raw, Yunho– you wrap your lips around him and suck.
“Fuck,” he draws out the word, low and heavy, a hand reaching down to tangle into your hair. You let him ease you down his length, tongue flat against the underside of him, lips suctioned tight. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”
There he is. You smile, barely, lips stretched around the width of him, bobbing your head as your fist works the base of him, pumping, twisting, gripping him just right– the moan he releases is nothing but nasty, Mingi swallows it, stealing his lips again, you can hear their mouths as much as you can hear your mouth around his length, everything wet, sloppy. Mingi’s hands reach beneath his arms to his chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples and his hips buck into you, making you gag, a hand clawing into his thigh, eyes squeezing tight.
“Sorry– fuck,” he curses again, voice desperate, “feels so good, don’t stop.”
You take him down your throat, gagging yourself purposefully as your nose meets the tuft of black hair at his base, the hand that was curled around him reaching below, cupping his balls softly, tightening your throat around him as you squeeze your palm ever so lightly. The sound that leaves him is obscene, abdomen clenching, his hands finding Mingi’s thighs, nails digging into his skin. You bob your head, breathing through your nose to keep him deeply rooted in your throat, constricting around him just to hear that noise over and over.
“Oh my god,” his voice is strained, harsh, “I’m gonna cum– I want to fuck you, please, wait–”
His hand finds your hair but you don’t budge, keeping your rhythm on his cock, nose buried in his hair as your saliva drips from your lips and onto his pelvis, sliding down to where your hand lays below.
“Baby, baby–”
His moan is strangled, caught in his throat as his limbs lock, legs straightening while his grip tightens in your hair, hips bucking into your mouth once, twice before his release shoots down your throat. You swallow him down, keeping your mouth suctioned to him as you ride out his high until he’s shaking, slipping off of him with your tongue still flat to ensure you’ve gotten every last drop.
You break off of him with a pop, eyes glassy as you find him winded. Chest heaving, head lazily thrown on Mingi’s chest, your brown-haired boyfriend just smiled proudly from behind him.
“Mouth just as dangerous as your pussy,” Mingi says, hands still splayed across Yunho’s abdomen, fingers softly petting his skin.
“Only for you,” your smile is coy, of all things. Crawling up to where they sat, you lean down and press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, then one to Yunho’s. He still looks winded when you pull away, making you giggle, “You okay?”
He nods, “I just… I haven’t come since the last time, with you. Need a second.”
You snort, “A whole week, is that a new record or something?”
Yunho smiles, laughter in the exhale through his nose, “Don’t get smart with me, I haven’t forgotten about today.”
You lean down to press another kiss to his lips, keeping yourself close as you say, “Been waiting for the chance to do something about it, like you said?”
His eyes flicker up to yours. In that one sentence it’s as if you reminded him who he was, what he’s capable of. These eyes you know, deep and controlled, harsh in a way that tickles your spine. Your core clenches around nothing, tongue poking out to lick over your lips, anticipation heating your blood.
“Take off your pants, sit at the top of the bed.”
He barely gets the sentence out before you’re shimmying yourself out of your sweatpants, crawling up to your pillows. You’re vibrating as Yunho turns to Mingi, standing up on his knees, grabbing the younger man with one palm below his jaw to pull him upward. Mingi scrambles to his knees, brows already furrowed, lips still touching in the center as they part.
Yunho smashes his lips into Mingi’s, there’s nothing graceful about the way his other hand digs into the nape of Mingi’s neck, making him arch into the older man with a whimper pouring straight into his mouth as his hands find Yunho’s biceps for leverage. It’s messy, rough, Yunho picking him apart with nothing but his lips– it makes your knees tie together, adding pressure between your thighs.
“You,” Yunho starts, the word accusatory, giving Mingi another unforgiving press of his lips before he continues. “Teased me all day. Taunting me during volleyball, in front of our friends, do you have anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Mingi squeaks, fingers curling into Yunho’s biceps, the sound makes a smile spread across your cheeks, eyes flaring.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Better,” Yunho mumbles, reaching down to pull his shirt up and over his head. One hand reaches down to palm Mingi over his briefs, palm flat and fingers splayed over his length, and Mingi folds upon contact. Head dipping low, abdomen clenching, a groan spills from his lips as his hips buck into Yunho’s touch.
“Don’t tease,” Mingi whispers, voice a strangled moan.
Yunho huffs a laugh, “Like you teased me earlier? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”
Mingi lifts his head up to look at Yunho just as he starts grinding his palm against his length, bare chest leaning into Mingi’s, using his height to his advantage to look down at him. Mingi sputters, “T-That’s different, Yun. We were trying–”
“Trying to what?” Yunho squeezes his length and Mingi whimpers. Yunho smiles, “Bait me into fucking you in front of everyone?”
“No–”
“Then what?”
“Wanted to feel like you still wanted us,” Mingi says it all in one strained breath, his voice rising in pitch as Yunho’s hand slips beneath his briefs, fingers wrapping around his length.
“I wanted you,” Yunho’s voice slips into something quieter, other hand reaching up around Mingi’s neck, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as before brings his face to Mingi’s, lips almost touching. “The whole time.”
“You left,” Mingi’s voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, a hiss leaving his lips when Yunho twists his wrist, palm closing over the tip of his cock. Yunho pushes Mingi’s briefs down his thighs, lowering Mingi down until his knees are spread, arms splayed behind him, cock jumping against his pelvis, red, angry and leaking like a fucking faucet.
“Do you want my mouth?” Yunho, between Mingi’s knees, asks before his eyes slide to you at the top of the bed. “Or do you want to be filled?”
Mingi’s brows raise. “I get a choice?”
Yunho shrugs. “My way of saying sorry.”
Both of their eyes slide to you and your eyes widen under their attention, back straightening against the pillows. They drink in your posture, knees pressed together, hands scrunched in the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you from slipping your hand between your legs.
“Come.”
Yunho’s voice is unyielding, it has you crawling across the mattress on all fours, landing on your knees before them. Mingi’s head tilts, “Thought I had a choice?”
Yunho snorts his amusement, “Like you’d choose anything other than my cock filling you up.” He plants a hand against your cheek, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “You can kiss while I prep him, but don’t touch.”
You nod, eager as you settle yourself laid down in front of Mingi, your beautiful boyfriend who already looked so gone. Cheeks pink, chest heavy, his muscled biceps land on either side of your head against the mattress, your calves curling over his thighs with him above you. His cock lands against your lower tummy, heavy, sticky, the order not to touch has your heart picking up speed in your chest, a desire you can’t fulfill.
“Hi, baby,” Mingi’s smiling as he presses one, soft kiss to your lips. Your arms are bent up, hands on either side of your shoulders, palms faced up with your fingers loose and limp, hips fighting the urge to buck up into him.
You push out a sigh, “Need you,” your back arches instead, nipples pebbling beneath the breeze that drifts through the room. “Wanna feel full.”
He places another soft kiss on your lips, “Soon.” He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth, you can taste him, taste Yunho, it makes you moan into him, fingers twitching because you want them on his face, in his hair, around his cock.
Yunho leaves the bed to cross the room, you hear him opening the closet, the zipper of the duffel he brought sliding open, but Mingi’s tongue is licking into your mouth, rendering you thoughtless, you don’t care to look over. “Wanna touch you,” you whisper, back arching more until your nipples press against his warm skin, whining at the contact.
“Patience, baby,” his lips find your jaw, elbows closing in around your head, tongue sliding down to your neck to lick a stripe back up to your jaw. You moan, legs tightening around his thighs, hips bucking against his length that tapped against your stomach with each movement. Torture, being naked beneath him, wanting so badly to touch, to feel.
You feel the dip of the bed when Yunho kneels behind him, you hear the cap snapping open on what you can only assume is a bottle of lube. It makes you smirk, knowing he brought it with him, that it was in his bag, waiting to be used. Yunho’s palms flatten over Mingi’s ass, and his head dips down into your shoulder at the contact, in anticipation of what comes next.
You watch over Mingi’s shoulder as Yunho squirts some into his hand, closing it before running two fingers down the space between, thumb circling his hole. Mingi’s whole body jerks, gasping into your neck, cock digging into your stomach.
“Open up for me,” Yunho says softly, “let me in.”
Mingi’s knees spread a little wider, lips meeting your shoulder, your neck, back arching lower, the position Yunho likes. Yunho keeps his eyes on you beneath him as he pushes a finger inside, his own brows furrowing together at the feeling of him, the tightness around his digit.
“Shit,” Mingi whimpers into your skin and one hand comes up to tangle in his hair, relaxing him into the stretch, all while keeping your eyes on Yunho.
“That’s it,” Yunho nods, voice just above a whisper, “there you go.”
Yunho bites his lip as he crooks his finger and Mingi fucks back, head lifting from your shoulder to push himself into the older man, moaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. You quickly turn your head to catch a glimpse, his slacked jaw, eyes softly shut, brows knitted together in pleasure, so fucking beautiful. The sight of him when you’re wrapped around his cock versus Yunho pushing into him, the sight of his pleasure was so different, so raw seeing him this way, so open and desperate.
“Yes,” you find yourself whispering, back arching at his pleasure, almost feeling it as if it were your own.
Yunho adds another finger, making Mingi moan, lifting himself up onto his palms, head craning to see Yunho behind him. “More, gimme your cock, I can take it.”
Yunho nods, ripping open a condom packet from beside him and slipping it on in one quick motion. Tapping his cock between Mingi’s cheeks, he looks over Mingi’s shoulder to you, “Go ahead.”
At the speed of fucking light you’re reaching between you, making Mingi gasp as your fingers wrap around his length, Yunho lining himself up behind him as you line him up at your center. You didn’t need the prep, the head of his cock slipping around as soon as you brought it to your slit, sliding through your wetness until it caught against your entrance, making you gasp out a moan.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s voice sounds strangled, strained, preparing himself to fuck you full while he gets fucked full– you’ve done it plenty, but each and every time it’s overwhelming for him, for you to be fucked by Yunho’s thrusts.
“Breathe,” Yunho says, and it’s both a warning and an order as he pushes inside, making Mingi’s breath catch in his throat until he forces it down into the base of his lungs. Yunho groans, head tipping back as he slowly pushes inward until he seats himself inside.
One of your hands cups his face, pressing your lips against his unmoving ones, “That feels good?”
“Full,” Mingi grits out as Yunho bottoms out, hands squeezing his ass, face contorted in pleasure.
You smile, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth, “Ready?”
He nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open like he’d unhinged his jaw. You tighten your legs over his thighs, an elbow planted under you, lifting your hips up to press his tip inside, and with Yunho’s next thrust he’s pushing inside, all the way, all at once. Your eyes blow wide as a shrill sound escapes you, and Yunho’s head picks up over Mingi’s back.
“If you’re loud, I stop,” Yunho grits out. “We don’t need the whole house hearing us.”
Your other arm is clawing at Mingi’s shoulder, so fucking full and stretched out it’s dizzying, you barely process Yunho’s words as Mingi catches your lips with his own. The three of you readjust closer together now that you’re positioned, and with every thrust of Yunho’s hips against Mingi, Mingi fucks into you the same.
“So tight, Min,” Yunho gasps. “Missed this ass, fuck, craved this tight fuckin’ thing.”
He’s beautiful, hair soft and messy, brows quirked in focus as he watches himself drill into Mingi, how his cock disappears, how Mingi sucks him in with each thrust. You’re clinging to Mingi, one arm over his shoulder as your hips fuck back into him, his cock curving into you just right, making you moan into his lips as his tongue steals every sound from your throat, pouring another one right back into yours.
“Faster,” you whimper, eyes lifting. “Please, Yun. More.”
“Never satisfied,” Yunho spits out through his clenched teeth, two hands gripping Mingi’s hips as he fucks into him harder, faster, ricocheting into you, body slamming into the mattress with each thrust. You’re a crying, whimpering mess, clawing into Mingi’s skin as he cries into your mouth, lost in a bubble of pleasure, Mingi’s body locking up with each thrust of Yunho’s hips.
“I’m close,” Mingi whispers, straining. “Fuck, too good, so full, you’re so tight–”
“Cum,” you whisper, hips rolling into each thrust. “Fill me up, baby. Come on.”
Yunho’s hands slide up to his waist, nails biting into his sides, “Hold it.”
Your hips buck into him faster, a pit forming in your stomach as the pleasure builds, catching Mingi’s lips again. Yunho slaps his palm against Mingi’s ass as he feels Mingi buck into you, “Hold it.”
“Can’t!” Mingi cries, “I can’t, I cant, I’m cumming–”
You moan as his cock twitches inside you, still rolling your hips against him as he fills you up, warmth spreading through your lower half. Yunho hisses from behind, “You never fuckin’ listen.”
You smile, dazed and lazy as you stare up at him over Mingi’s back, “Happens every time.”
“Fuck,” Yunho huffs, “wanted to cum inside you, Min.”
You slow your hips as Mingi’s arms waver, shaking on either side of you. “’m sorry,” Mingi says, breathless. “Felt so fucking good.”
You pull your hips off of him as you let go of his shoulder, falling flat against the bed as he crumbles on top of you, Yunho pulling out behind him. Sated, he hums into your shoulder, left hand digging beneath your back, holding you close.
Yunho slips off the condom and pulls you toward him by your ankles, Mingi’s startled enough by the action to roll off of you and onto his back, head turned with eyes half open to watch as Yunho tugs you upward by your hips. Yunho sinks down to sit on his calves, pulling your thighs over his, not wasting a second as he runs his cock through your folds, spreading Mingi’s release. You hiss at the contact, hips bucking into him, digging your elbows beneath you to hold you up. “Kiss me,” you beg, “kiss me while you fuck me, please. Need it.”
His brows furrow, lips parting like you’d just taken your cock down his throat, your words hitting like a pang to his gut. He lines himself up, cock prodding at your entrance as he leans forward, grabbing you by your waist to pull you on top of him, using your thighs on his as leverage to sit yourself over his cock.
Lowering yourself onto him, you lay your hands over his shoulders to attach your lips to his, nothing about it structured or neat as he pushes inch after inch into your heat. You moan into him, whining as you reach the base of him, feeling the full length of him in your fucking guts.
“Big,” you mumble, a whiney whisper. “Wanna cum on your cock, Yunho.”
His fingers tighten around your waist, lifting you up on his cock before slamming you back down, making you cry out into his mouth. “Quiet,” he grunts, then places a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I know it feels good, baby.”
Your fingers claw into his shoulders, “So good, missed your cock, fills me up so fuckin’ perfect, so full.”
He guides you with two hands on your waist, lifting you, lowering you, shifting you into a dirty grind, “Take me so well,” he says before he kisses you again. “Pussy so tight, missed her, missed you.”
You catch his lips, words staggered by each slap of your hips against his, “Don’t fucking leave again.”
His fingers sear your waist, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks behind, making you moan. You grind yourself into him, rolling your hips until his cock reaches the sweet spot inside you, a high pitched noise escaping your lungs before you can stop it.
“Shit,” you cry out, panicking at the pleasure, lowering your voice. “Shit, shit, shit– good, right there, so good.”
Yunho meets you where you roll into him and your eyes drop to watch, his sculpted abdomen flexing under the movement, how you swallow his cock with each grind, it’s too much. Mingi’s behind you before you can process it, feeling his heat before his bare skin, his lips at your neck, teeth grazing your steaming skin, fingers toying at your chest, you fall into him as your hips move on their own.
“Min,” you moan out. “Yunho, fuck– wanna cum, wanna cum,” you’re repeating the words like a mantra, Yunho’s cock kissing your walls, the tip of him running over that spot inside you like it has nowhere else to go.
“Cum,” Mingi says into your skin. “Cum around his cock, let him feel it.”
You grind your teeth, a strangled sound escaping you, so close you could fucking taste it.
“Need more, baby?” Yunho asks, breathless, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. “My girl, never satisfied, always needs more.”
“Insatiable,” Mingi’s tongue drags along your neck and you nearly fold, the pleasure overwhelming. One of his hands dips down between you, two fingers rubbing at your clit and your eyes blow wide, entire body jerking forward at the touch.
“There she goes,” Yunho smiles and your breath completely catches in your throat, hips stuttering in their grind, he quickly uses two hands on your hips to keep you moving in rhythm. You feel it building impossibly further, your orgasm right below the surface, your skin vibrating, your breath coming out in shallow bursts.
Mingi reaches up, one hard pinch to one of your nipples and you’re falling forward, head on Yunho’s shoulder as your limbs lock, pressure blowing, euphoria consuming every inch of your being. You hear Yunho mumble something haphazardly to Mingi before he’s pushing you backward, holding onto your hipbones as he drills into you, chasing his own high. It’s more than overwhelming, your orgasm never ending, prolonged with each thrust of his cock inside you.
“Mouth,” Yunho bites, and Mingi’s palm clasps over your lips on command. You don’t even realize what sounds are leaving you, that your lungs are even working properly, so consumed by euphoria.
You’re seizing around him, body twitching, core clenching with each thrust of his cock until his hips stutter, emptying himself inside you with consistent, punched strokes so you feel every inch of him, every drop of him as he fills you up.
Mingi releases your mouth when Yunho finally pauses, his hand shaky, chest heaving, cock half-hard again against his thigh. The only sound in the room is your breathing, distant waves crashing ashore, the sound of the breeze blowing through the room, making the curtains dance around the balcony doors.
“I could watch you two forever,” Mingi mumbles, more to himself than to you.
Yunho pulls out slowly, keeping a hand steady cupped over your center, so if you do drip it’s not on San’s comforter. Always thinking ahead, even after sex, when one would think his brain would turn at least a little fuzzy.
You swallow down nothing but air in your dry throat, reaching for the man beside you and the other across from you, “Lay with me.”
“You need to shower,” Yunho counters, running his other hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Or pee, at least. Get this out of you so we can sleep.”
You mumble your discontent, groaning, body spent and tired but so fucking elated at what just transpired. Yunho smiles up at you, “We aren’t at home, little lady, you need to go pee.”
“Little lady?” You and Mingi ask at the same time, mocking him, brows furrowed, smiles amused. You snort, “Try a different nickname.”
“Shut up and go to the bathroom,” Yunho huffs, standing up off the bed, pulling you by your ankles to the edge. Mumbling under his breath, he’s looking at the sheets, “Always something to say.”
“You love it,” you smirk, standing on shaky, tired legs. You wobble, he slides a grounding arm around your waist, you look up at him with smiling eyes, “If I wasn’t such a brat you wouldn’t have anything to punish me for.”
“A well-behaved submissive is a well-trained one,” he’s quick to respond.
You scowl, eyes pointed as you look at him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “I’m not your submissive.”
“What are you, then?” He asks and you steal your arm back from over his shoulder, ignoring the leakage between your thighs, just to look up at him and see him smirking, face fully amused.
“Not funny,” you grumble. “Mingi will shower with me, you can wait outside.”
“No,” he half-whines the word, still fully amused, leaning into you before he bends at his knees, scooping you from beneath your legs into his arms bridal-style. “We’re all showering together, end of story. Say a prayer that Jihyo and Jongho are asleep.”
You’re giggling at him butt-ass naked in the dark hallway, it seemed Jihyo and Jongho were asleep with how easily you snuck into the bathroom without being caught, Mingi on your heel. Your shower was innocent, soft touches and bubbly soap, exhaustion dancing in the steam, the humor had dissipated and exposed what was left over. The three of you, together again. Whole.
Back in bed, you in the middle, Mingi on your left, Yunho on your right, you didn’t even bother with clothes. The only light came from the still open balcony doors, moonlight acting as a beacon, calming in how it coated the room in a soft pale hue.
“I really did miss you,” Mingi cuts through what felt like an hour of silence, just waves and breeze. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Yunho’s response is soft, fingers playing in Mingi’s hair above you, you cocooned in the middle of the two.
For the first time, those three little words sat on your tongue, begging to be said. Instead, you ask, “You know what you said? The submissive thing?”
His hand cups your cheek, “I was just kidding, baby.”
“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not that. I was wondering… What it’d be like.”
“To be my sub?” His brows raise, tipping your head up to look at him. “Like, for real?”
You smile, “Yes, for real. I’ve wondered since Woo’s going away party, what you’re like when you’re serious about it.”
“You don’t think I’m serious with you?”
“You know you let shit slide,” you narrow your eyes. “A lot slide. I want to experience a day, in public and stuff when you’re being you. In your element.”
Yunho’s eyes slide up to Mingi, “You too, baby?”
Mingi smiles, bashful but honest, nodding. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, too.”
“You’re both untrained–”
“You’ve taught us a lot,” you cut him off. Rearranging yourself, head pressed into Mingi’s chest so you can see Yunho easier, you urge, “We can do it. Let us try tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yunho.”
“Fine,” his smile is soft, eyes so dreamy it’s hard to comprehend that a man like him could ever be mean. If you hadn’t experienced it, you wouldn’t believe it. You love him mean. You love him nice. You love how he looks at you. You keep the words inside.
“We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
You didn’t say another word, other than goodnight. You could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore just outside the house, you could smell Yunho’s body wash everywhere, the moon shining down on your bedroom, for the first time in days, everything felt… Peaceful. Normal.
Your heartbeat hasn’t been this even since the day Yunho walked out of your apartment.
Feet twitching, a tickle on your leg, your nose scrunches as consciousness pulls your eyelids apart. You suck in a short breath when you feel warmth on your thigh, the heaviness of a hand, Yunho’s hand, it snaps you awake like someone poured cold water over your head.
“What are you doing?”
His other hand moves your panties to the side, his head already between your legs, which was enough to answer your sleep-induced question. Your thighs parted for him further, arms limp against the bed, you could hear the soft snores from Mingi still fast asleep beside you.
A moan passes softly through your lips as his tongue makes contact with your center, slipping between your folds, lips swirling around your clit. The fingers curling into your thigh tells you to shut up, and you listen by slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut.
Fuck, you’ve missed his hands on you, you’ve missed his mouth, you’ve missed the way he tells you what to do without saying a fucking word. You’ve missed everything about him.
He pulls away only to pull your panties down your thighs, throwing them somewhere on the floor before both hands push into the plush of your thighs, spreading them wider than before. The mewl that leaves your lips, the way your leg bumps into Mingi’s sleeping body has his eyes cracking open, confusion and sleepiness present in the way he blinks himself awake.
“Damn,” Mingi groans, stretching out his limbs as Yunho devours you all over again. “I’ve missed this.”
Mingi leans over, pressing his lips sleepily into your neck, tongue poking out to slide up onto your jaw, your mind clouded with a whirlwind of pleasure. Too long since you’ve had two bodies on you, focused on you, pleasuring you, days had felt like months.
Yunho’s hand left your thigh to grab onto Mingi’s ankle, pulling him downward, a cue to get off of you without him saying a word. Mingi shuffled himself down the bed until Yunho grabbed his already stiff length over his briefs, Mingi pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, eager to feel Yunho’s touch like it was the first time.
Yunho’s fingers slip through your folds to gather the wetness onto his hand just to use it in gliding his hand over Mingi’s length, which had both of you squirming in pleasure, light moans blending together. He spits on your center before sitting up on his knees, slipping two fingers inside you, the other hand still pumping Mingi’s length, he used the same rhythm on both of you, where you both stared up at him with parted lips, furrowed brows, glassy eyes, you think that maybe you were dreaming, or maybe you’d gone to heaven in your sleep.
“Missed me, huh?”
You and Mingi nod erratically, your hips jerking into his touch, he wore a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes that told you he missed you just as much. Having the two of you splay out beneath him, victim to his hands, to his hold over you entirely, he had you exactly where he wanted you.
His fingers curled into you at the same time as his wrist twisted around Mingi’s length, movements he knew drove you close to the edge, you could feel the pit in your stomach forming just from how deep his fingers hit inside you. He knew you so well, too well, he could pull you to orgasm so fast, even at god knows what time in the morning. From the rising sun outside of your balcony, you knew it was early.
“You want to be with me for real?” Raised eyebrows, temptation in his voice, a depth to his eyes that only came out when he was in the mood to have you crying beneath him, the ghost of fear nipped at your spine. You nodded.
“You– fuck,” Mingi gasped, hips bucking into Yunho’s hand. “You know we do.”
“Then you’ll learn what it’s like to be with me,” staring down at you beneath his brows, his jawline sharp from where you looked up at him, you gulped at the sight of gravity in his eyes. Fingers hitting the spongy spot inside you repeatedly, it was hard to feel the fear through the pleasure, to understand the weight of his words as he pulled you so damn close to the finish line.
“Yes,” you whispered, back arching, eyes closing, your orgasm so close you could taste it.
Mingi wasn’t far behind, his fingers curling into the bedsheets, his legs trembling, small gasps and mewls falling from his lips one after another, it was ridiculous how easily he had the two of you rendered stupid before him.
Lifting yourself onto your elbows, your voice shaky, you cry, “I-I’m close.”
“Me too, don’t stop, Yunho,” Mingi moans from beside you, sounding weary, teetering on the edge.
Yunho smiles, a flicker of something in his eye that assured you the fear in your spine was right. His fingers scissor you open like he could make you cum with his eyes closed. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give you permission, and you push a heavy breath through your lips like it’d help pause your impending orgasm while you wait for the green light.
“I’ve been too lenient with you,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “I did some thinking, too, and I think you two forgot who I am, why you asked me to share your bed in the first place.”
Your eyes blow wide, panic surging through you, “Yunho, I’m gonna cum–”
He slips his fingers out of you at the same time as he pulls his hand away from Mingi’s cock, your thighs snap together, a curse slipping from your lips. A too verbal cry leaves Mingi’s throat, his cock spurting ropes of white cum onto his hips, his stomach, his orgasm completely ruined.
“We’ll see if you still want me by the end of today,” Yunho is smiling while ignoring Mingi’s heaving chest and teary eyes, proud of himself, happy with what he had just done to the two of you. Your eyes are dancing between Yunho and your boyfriend that has tears slipping past his waterline, his jaw dropped in shock, in anguish of what had just been done to him. You wished you could have seen his raw reaction, the moment his orgasm was denied.
“I didn’t forget everything that happened yesterday, did you?” He asks, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between you and Mingi. “Today will be different.”
Your body was on fucking fire– fear, arousal, the orgasm that was still on the brink beneath your hipbones, you didn’t know which emotion to pay attention to first. You tried to speak, some form of rebuttal, every string of words came out jumbled, completely incoherent. Yunho grinned. Mingi whimpered.
“Clean yourselves up and come to breakfast,” Yunho climbs off the bed, running a hand through his black locks as he makes for the door. “Don’t touch each other, don’t touch yourselves. I’ll know if you do.”
You swear the beach is hotter than it was yesterday.
All thirteen of you, after having breakfast out on the deck, packed up for another beach day that was thankfully right in San’s metaphorical backyard. No one was acting out of the ordinary, it seemed safe that no one heard the three of you getting edged by Yunho’s hands just a few hours ago, or getting split open by his cock last night, but you wondered if anyone could pick up how fucking frustrated you and your boyfriend were come this morning.
You obeyed Yunho, you didn’t touch each other after he left this morning, instead you kept your distance in your bedroom while you got ready for breakfast, as Mingi took a cold shower, letting ice fill his veins as he replayed his ruined orgasm in his mind.
Yunho was careful around you at breakfast, around your friends, only meeting your eye when he felt yours on him, while you were daydreaming, fantasizing, watching how his veiny hands picked up his utensils, how his pretty pink lips wrapped around the food he ate, how his body bent when he stood up from the kitchen table, the low rumble in his tired voice as he spoke to Hongjoong…
“This one.”
After escaping a calm breakfast, you were upstairs, getting ready for the impending beach day. Yunho had picked out a pair of swim shorts for Mingi, ones with a longer inseam, and had ruffled through all the bikinis you brought with you, choosing one less skimpy, but still as revealing as a bikini would be.
He handed you a black triangle bikini with small, white polka dots printed on the nylon, the bottoms were string-tied, the back ruched at the middle. Thrill danced in your blood at the thought of wearing something he chose for you, an invisible display of dominance to the people who would see you in it. He hasn’t done this yet. This was new.
“We’re playing today,” he sat back on the bed, you and Mingi standing before him, backs straight, heels touching, as per Yunho’s request. You were already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, anticipation. “If it’s too much, you know what to say, but I’ll be expecting obedience, without question. Understood?”
You and Mingi nod furiously– he clicks his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” scrambles out of both of your mouths simultaneously. You’ve never spoken about or decided on a title formally, you’ve only said the word to Yunho playfully a few times, just for him to respond ‘be careful what you wish for.’
You were more than careful, it’s indescribable how the title makes you feel. Yunho has taken care of you both from the start, slipped into a role on his own when he started spending time with you, but today he’d officially take on the role fully, no shortcuts, no excuses.
There were times you’ve gone grocery shopping or went out to eat and he’s told you to not speak unless spoken to, to only walk on the right side of him, Mingi on his left. Something like this lit a fire in your belly, playing in front of your friends when you and Mingi knew Yunho didn’t want them to know anything about you three, you’d have to be discreet, yet still obey him completely, it made you nervous. Excited to comply, to appease him. Still excited, but nervous about what happens if you don't.
This was Yunho, unshielded, unapologetically himself, this was Yunho showing you who he is, what he wants. Your request had turned into a test, one you deeply wanted to pass; because in your mind, passing felt like the last obstacle. That if you passed, he’d have no reason to deny you any longer, no further reason to say no.
Because he didn’t answer you last night with a yes, in your mind, it was still a no.
Excitement flared in your eyes when he nodded, pleased, “Good.”
When he laid out the rules for today, they seemed simple.
You’re to sit with good posture on his left, Mingi on his right. Easy.
There shouldn’t ever be sand on his towel, if there is, you or Mingi clean it off when you see it. The thought of the two of you doting on him makes your heart skip a beat.
You’re both to make sure he is never without a drink, you get him another when he’s finished the one he has. He’s testing your ability to pay attention, to focus on him only. He should be at the forefront of your mind all day— as if he already doesn’t live there.
If you need anything, if you want anything, you ask permission first. Submission, structure.
No complaining about the sand, the heat, if you or Mingi are in distress, you tell him properly, without whining. He wants you polite, but neither you nor Mingi were one to complain about anything, anyhow.
You both are to stay within arm’s reach of him all day. You want to be by his side, anyways, but being expected to… you would pass his test with flying colors.
You didn’t ask what happens if you didn’t follow them, maybe you should’ve. It feels full circle from Wooyoung’s going away party all that time ago, when you were curious about the date he brought, why she acted the way she did. How a part of you craved it, when you didn’t even know what it was.
The sun scorched the sand, inescapable, a dry heat that was only eased by the salty breeze that snuck past your bodies every now and then, so sporadically you could barely call it relief. You had created a small village on the beach, multicolored towels laid out in a line, beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers with liquor, bags full of snacks, a large speaker that played nostalgic music over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Looking at the scene made you laugh, you could remember coming to the beach with the same damn people with nothing but a towel and a handle of vodka.
A lifetime ago.
You sat with your knees bent in a pretzel, back straight, palms in your lap. A drink was buried in the sand next to you, something sour, Tzuyu mixed it, she claimed one was enough to keep you buzzed for a while. That was fine with you, sunglasses on your face, watching the waves fold onto the wet sand at the shoreline, head tilted, humming to a song you knew all too well while it danced with the breeze.
Yunho bent down beside you on the empty, clean baby blue towel, the corners still stiff and bent from how it was folded in San’s linen closet, the print on it still bright, likely new. Your chin perked up with his presence, sunglasses perched on his nose, black hair already damp with sweat and mussed on his forehead, sun-kissed and angelic. Your mouth watered before he uttered a word.
“You have sunscreen on?” Short, curt, filled with expectation. It wasn’t just the simple question forcing a rush of adrenaline to sweep through you, heart rate picking up, fingertips twitching against your skin, it was his tone; strong, composed, yet somehow condescending, as if you couldn’t remember to put your own sunscreen on.
You nodded, the need to appease him curling low in your gut, the desire to make him pleased. His tongue clicked, words. You sputtered, “Yes, I put some on before we left the house.”
“That was an hour and a half ago,” he sighed, running long, milky fingers through the damp black locks on his head. “I’ll get some.”
He used his palms braced on his thighs to stand again and your neck twisted to Mingi on the far towel, raising your brows.
Mingi gave you a small shrug, Here we go.
You glanced around the group, taking in everyone’s whereabouts. San and Jongin laid out on beach chairs beneath the sun, carved abdomens dipped in honey, shiny and slicked by sunscreen and sweat. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were down by the shore, mid-conversation, hats blanketing their hair, ankle-deep in the water. Tzuyu, Jihyo and Sana laid in a line to your left, gossiping, drinking, bodies a contrast to the towels beneath them.
Wooyoung had dragged Jongho and Yeosang into the sand off to your right, convincing the two men to bury him. You think Wooyoung started drinking when his eyes opened this morning.
You felt Yunho’s presence at your back like a shadow, a promise of unfinished business. He leaned in tight, next to your ear, “This drink is the only one you’ll have today.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded. You didn’t ask permission before drinking it. His silence, his lack of movement, snapped you back into place, back straightening. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Fuck. You could genuinely moan at his tone, the way he’s biting his words, silvery in what he expects of you, the power he holds in two small words. Maybe he wants you all fuzzy and moldable, like jelly, testing your ability to control yourself and keep your focus on him.
“Yes, sir,” it’s a mere mumble under your breath, head tucked down, just low enough for him to hear. You can feel Mingi’s eyes on you, you wonder if he heard, too, or if your cowering body is lost on him.
Yunho hums in satisfaction, “Sit on your knees, I’ll get your back.”
You don’t hesitate to tuck your knees under your body, ass pressed against your calves, the breeze on your now exposed tummy making you feel bare. Exposed in front of your friends. You can’t believe how it sends a deep pang of arousal through your entire fucking body. You hear the bottle open, lotion squirting into his hands, rubbing it together in his palms before he touches you.
It’s like lightning hit you, how your entire body jerks at his touch, how his palm pressed to your skin makes your thighs clench on command, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You can blame it on this morning, how he left you tightly wound and needy, the rules swimming in your mind, but the truth was that any time his skin touches yours it’s electrifying, it reminds you of all the times he’s fucked you brainless, it makes you ache for more.
He rubs the lotion onto your back slowly, massaging it in, you couldn’t tell if his movements were erotic or if your brain had dropped to the gutter. Over your hips, the sides of your waist, the tops of your shoulders, the backs of your arms, each movement was controlled, slow in a way that let you feel each point of pressure, how he was studying you as he worked the lotion onto your skin. Your neck inevitably bends, head drooping, shoulders slouching, despite the lotion being cold, his hands on you were so warm. Your thighs untensed, knees breaking apart, lungs emptying themselves into the summer air, it felt so fucking good to have his hands on you.
One palm smoothes up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other hand squeezing your hip over the waistband of your bottoms. “Up,” he bites, the singular word a nasty whisper. “Pathetic for you to lose your composure over sunscreen.”
You were grateful for your sunglasses– no one could see your eyes fluttering at his words. Your back straightens, knees kissing once more, hands folded in your lap. “Good girl,” his voice is still too low for anyone else to hear, if anyone was paying attention. It probably seemed like Yunho was just being friendly, helpful, putting sunscreen on your hard to reach places.
It didn’t look like that at all to Jongho and Yeosang, sunglasses shading their eyes as they scooped sand onto Wooyoung’s body, hands going motionless with each curve of Yunho’s fingers on your skin.
“Are you seeing this too?” Jongho asked the older man, eyebrows furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.
Yeosang nods, “And Mingi’s just watching. I’d lose my shit if you touched Tzuyu like that.”
“I’d fucking kill you if you looked at Jihyo like that,” Jongho agrees. Their eyes linger, watching how Yunho leans in close to your ear, how your back straightens, body locking all over again.
Wooyoung’s head peeks up from the sand, “What am I missing?”
“Do you think she’s cheating on Mingi?” Yeosang asks, sitting back on his heels.
“What?” Wooyoung sits up straight, the layer of wet sand on top of him cracking and falling in chunks onto his lap. The two other men groaned, knowing they were going to have to put it back on him in a moment's time.
Jongho shakes his head, “Mingi’s watching, no way she’d cheat, and no way Yunho would do that to him. Plus, he's never been territorial.”
Wooyoung’s neck stretches forward like he was squinting to see beneath his sunglasses. “Mingi doesn’t care if you flirt, I think giving her a back massage in front of the entire group is different.” His head tilts to the side. “But yeah, he really is just watching. Huh.”
“Interesting,” Yeosang’s lips scrunch, but he brings his head of red hair back to Wooyoung. “Lay down and let us restart, dumbass.”
After getting a slew of pictures of Wooyoung’s bronzed body buried beneath the sand, a mermaid tail packed over his legs, fake abs drawn onto his abdomen, the still-giggling men came back over to the group, covered in sand head to toe.
Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, shooting back a mouthful from his can, “Anyone wanna go swimming?”
Jongho and Yeosang were behind him, sweaty and beautiful, sand on their exposed bodies like a second layer of skin. You blinked at them, silent, because you didn’t wanna swim, part of you was scared that if you stood, someone would notice the patch of wetness on your bikini bottoms, despite them being black. Your fear held no bounds, no logic, but it was enough for you not to move a muscle.
Mingi leaned into Yunho, whispering something in his ear.
“Can I go?” Too low for your ears to catch, Mingi gave Yunho puppy eyes from below his shades, his voice sweet as candy.
Yunho gave him a short nod, forgoing a rule for Mingi’s appropriate execution of another, your boyfriend hopped up, a smile on his face, following behind his friends down to the shore. His dimpled lower back above the green shorts, how they scrunched around his thighs, the muscles in his shoulders too defined as he jogged away, fuck. You felt like an animal. A perverted, sex-crazed freak with the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him, how your toes dug into the towel beneath you.
You laid on your back instead, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts, of the expectations over your head. Taking a deep breath to ground yourself, to stop being so fucking horny on the blazing beach with all your friends around you.
Yunho’s empty can pressed against your arm.
You turned your head to see his jaw in a steady line, his brows raised. Shit. You stood up, walking over to the cooler in three steps, grabbing him another drink. You opened it for him, he thanked you as you handed it to him, you smiled as you took the empty one.
Even doing something this small, this insignificant, had goosebumps raising on your body. Doing it for him.
Yunho was facing you when you got back to your towel, laying back again, hands laying at your sides. His voice was quiet, soft in a way that meant he was just checking in, “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you answer in a smooth breath.
“Give me something better than that,” he frowns, voice lowering in volume, “I don’t want to ask you to throw a color all day, if I ask you how you’re feeling, give me words. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
You sit up on your elbows, sunglasses sliding down to the bridge of your nose. The first word that comes to mind, “Stimulated.” You smile, head tilting, “Hot, a little frustrated. Mostly eager.”
He smiles, “That’s good, right where I want you.” He leans back on his own elbows, his can buried in the sand beside him, between you. “Sometimes I think you were meant for this, y’know. You take structure well, you perform easily with it.”
“That’s because I enjoy it,” you respond, words coming easily, the alcohol making your lips loose. “More than I’m supposed to, I think. I like it the other way around too, sometimes.”
He quiets, watching Mingi out on the water. “You both switch. I wonder what I’ll do with you both sometimes.”
Your lip curls in gratitude as you lean your head towards him. “You’ve changed since spending time with us too, you know. Maybe you don’t need to do anything, maybe the three of us are fine how we are.”
He turns his head tight, but doesn’t say anything. You stare through your shades, holding your ground, hoping he feels what you said, and doesn’t cower in fear because what you have is real. He jerks his head to the towel next to him, voice unyielding once again, “Over here.”
You push yourself up without a word, cleaning off your towel before you grab your drink and move to Mingi’s towel, laying back down, all without question or hesitation. Yunho smiles, pride etched into the curve of his lips, “Good.”
The praise sets you ablaze all over again.
When Mingi returns, water dripping down his body, dark hair pushed back by his fingers, Yunho already had a towel in hand. Up by the umbrella, you watched with your head tilted back as Yunho ordered him over by just a nod of his head.
“Water feels so good,” he beamed, sandy feet walking between your towels, shedding droplets of water from his swim shorts as he walked past. He didn’t even notice you’d switched spots, or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
He reached a hand out to grab the towel from Yunho’s grip, but the older man shook his head, “I got it.”
Mingi stood dumbfounded for a moment, but turned around to face the three boys’ gaze who walked up from the water, also dripping saltwater, coated in sunshine. You were sure Mingi’s skin was burning as Yunho dried him off, slowly wiping the towel across his wet skin, on his hair. You bit your cheek. For someone who didn’t want anyone to know, he wasn’t exactly being discreet, but you supposed no one noticed Yunho at the going away party, either.
“They’re so weird,” Sana mumbled under her breath, on her stomach, elbows holding the weight of her upper body. She dipped her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose, watching Mingi and Yunho across the sand.
Jihyo and Tzuyu turned over on their towels, looking at Sana to see where her eyes were locked, then focusing in on the scene before them.
Tzuyu smiled, “Yunho’s so sweet, it must be nice for them to be so close.”
Jihyo squinted. The way Yunho’s hands dragged up Mingi’s body, his fingers curled over Mingi’s shoulder, how he leaned in to say something in his ear. She had a feeling since that morning, catching Yunho in your apartment, but brushed it off because you wouldn’t lie about something like that. Especially not to her. She would never judge you for having a threesome.
But Mingi’s head dipped down, eyes on his own crotch, mumbling a few words in response, and Jihyo’s lip curled. There’s no fucking way. She turned her head, “I caught Yunho at their apartment, you know.”
Sana and Tzuyu’s heads snapped to Jihyo, eyebrows raised, silently saying continue. Jihyo sighed, “Yunho was shirtless, towel on his waist, he had just gotten out of the shower. In their living room. Mingi had on boxers, she looked just-fucked. They said he was only there to shower because he had no water.”
“Doesn’t he live right around the corner from Joong and Hwa?” Sana asked. “If he didn’t have any water, why didn’t he just go there for a quick shower instead of traveling across the damn country?”
“They’re close,” Tzuyu leaned in, forever devil's advocate. “Would you go to Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s for a shower if Ji was home?”
“First of all, girls are different,” Sana shook her head. “Also, yes. They have a waterfall shower, and those jets in the walls for your body, plus Seonghwa uses that really good body wash from—”
“Exactly!” Jihyo cuts in. “Literally exactly my point. There’s something going on there, right? I’m not crazy?”
“Definitely not crazy,” Sana shook her head again. “Remember how Yunho snapped at me last night, too? When has he ever done something like that?”
“Maybe he was tired,” Tzuyu’s voice was small, like she didn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “I don’t know girls… They've been together forever. Do you really think Yunho would be involved with them… intimately?”
Jihyo shakes her head, lips scrunched, disappointed that you’d keep something so important from her. She even insinuated it, and you said no. “Who knows what goes on with them anymore. It’s not like we get any details.”
Yunho is more than pleased when Mingi cleans off the left side towel for Yunho, then the center one for himself, after Yunho nodded his head in silent direction, instruction in his body language only.
You were buzzing. You were both following instruction cleanly, discreetly, you were passing with flying fucking colors, you wondered if your ability to obey made him any more inclined to be your boyfriend. Your boyfriend’s boyfriend. You wish you could be inside his brain so desperately.
Yunho stood, brushing the sand off his multicolored, patterned shorts, throwing his sunglasses back on the towel. You sat up involuntarily, knowing if he moved, you moved with him.
He didn’t look back as he started for the shore. You stood, Mingi following, within arm’s reach as you flanked him down the beach, to the water. None of you knew you had eyes on you the entire time. Or that Wooyoung approached San the moment you walked away.
You minded your surroundings as you breached the shore, no sign of Hongjoong or Seonghwa, they must be on a walk, or back at the house. You’ve been so laser focused on Yunho and Mingi you almost forgot everyone else was there.
“Min said the water’s nice,” Yunho looked to you, then over to Mingi on his other side, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Wanna swim?”
You nodded, even if you didn’t have a choice. You wondered where the line stood with things like this, if you didn’t want to swim, if the urge to obey wasn’t so heavy. Would you be punished? For something measly like swimming?
Ice wraps around your ankles, your calves, your body shaking, hissing the deeper you went into the sea. Mingi and Yunho dove in, completely unaffected, fully submerged by the time you got up to your hips. “Fuck, it’s cold, fuck,” you had your arms tucked tight to your chest, slowly wading deeper into the water while they swam a few feet out, laying under the sun for hours would have made the warmest water freezing.
“How the hell are you guys so deep?” You yell across the waves that crashed against your abdomen, water reaching your belly button. “It’s fucking cold.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Mingi teased, grinning, hair melted around his face, flat against the curves of his cheekbones.
“And watch your mouth,” Yunho added, also teasing, smiling, on his back as he floated in the water. You scoffed, then faced the water before you, you’d have to rip the bandaid off if you were ever gonna be comfortable in the water.
“Just go underwater, baby,” Mingi called again. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
You scowled, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “It’s too fucking cold.”
Yunho’s smile widens, listening to your complaints, drinking them all in. You hissed again, dipping your fingers into the sea, up to your forearms, legs pushing against the moving water to get deeper. Up to your waist, below the tie of your bikini top, you finally said fuck it and sank beneath the surface.
Holding your nose, you gasped when you came back out to the salty air colder, ice consuming you head to toe. The two men just feet away cheered.
“Come here, baby, swim over,” Mingi called out, ushering you over with one hand. Breathless from the cold, you wiped the saltwater out of your eyes, blinking through the sting as you swam closer to them. Clinging onto your boyfriend’s front for life, he tucked one arm under your ass as you moved his hair out of his face. He smiled proudly, eyes bronzy beneath the sun, “It’s nice, right?”
You still shivered in his hold, but smiled playfully, he’s so handsome it hurts. “Fuck, fuck you.”
“Curse again,” Yunho taunts from a foot away, swimming closer, affection in his voice. His eyes go over your head, scanning the beach behind you, before they land back on you, just as icy as the water. “See what happens.”
“I’m sorry,” you whine, “it’s cold.”
“I’m in the water with you, quit whining,” he muses, coming closer. “I’ll give you something to whine about. Is that what you want?”
Arousal licks up your spine, you twitch in Mingi’s hold, but you shake your head. Yunho’s head tilts, “You sure, baby? You’ve been fidgeting all day, bet you’re feeling empty by now, aren’t you?”
You’ve been doing so good. Keeping up with his rules, being obedient, focused, you didn’t think your arousal was noticeable at all. You shake your head again even if Mingi could feel your thighs clench, “No. No, I’m fine.”
Yunho’s hands tug on your hips below the water, turning you until your back is pressed against Mingi’s chest, slotting himself between your floating legs. Mingi keeps his hands on your waist as your breath goes shaky, eyes widening, “Y-Yunho they can see—”
“Mingi is blocking us, they can’t see this far out,” Yunho cuts you off. “This body is mine. You don’t get to question me, you don’t get to worry. That’s my job.”
Even in the water, being held up by your boyfriend, he still feels so fucking big in front of you. You swallow, looking up at him through lashes coated in saltwater, voice as small as you felt, “O-okay.”
“You take what I give you, when I choose to give it,” he tilts his head, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs curling into your plush skin, feeling so soft beneath the water. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” you nod, and he grins. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hands sliding up your hips, up to your waist, over Mingi’s hands. He breaks away just to press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, too.
Your heart is racing in your chest. Intimidation, adrenaline, the press of cold surrounding you, concern about someone seeing you.
He leans back, keeping himself close. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Horny,” you blurt and he laughs. You shake your head, smile on your face, “Overwhelmed.”
His eyes look up to Mingi behind you, who responds, “Also horny. Stretched thin.”
“Color?”
“Green,” you and Mingi respond simultaneously without missing a beat.
“Don’t be scared,” Yunho shakes his head, grabbing your wrists lightly, sliding them onto his abdomen. “Do you trust me?”
You nod, “Yes, sir.”
His eyes jump to Mingi who didn’t realize Yunho was talking to him too, in a rush he responds, “Yes, sir.”
“Then make me cum.”
Mingi keeps a knee beneath you as his hands race to Yunho’s waistband, reaching in to feel Yunho’s cock that wasn’t even hard. Mingi looks up at Yunho who smiles, “The water’s real cold.”
At the shoreline, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had almost returned from their walk, fingers interlocked, legs moving at the same pace, mirroring each other’s movements. A mile down the beach, a mile back, the sun was warm, the water cooled them down, they loved everything about the beach. They’d get married on the beach, one day, soon.
Standing in the shallow water, arms stretched by how Seonghwa kicks about the waves and sand, Hongjoong stops him. “Baby, Hwa.” Seonghwa looks up, his attention grabbed, Hongjoong’s chin dips in the direction of the sea, a little ways out from where they stood, “Is that Yunho out there with them?”
Seonghwa puts a hand atop his eyes, shielding his vision, squinting beneath his glasses. “I think so. Maybe they stopped fighting.”
A theory the two had going from the time you’ve spent at San’s beach house so far, one they discussed before going to bed last night, a silly question from Hongjoong’s mouth that Seonghwa couldn’t believe he caught on to, too. From your reactions when choosing rooms to the bonfire yesterday to breakfast this morning, Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been keeping an eye on you three, reading your body language, your interactions.
“Oh shit,” Hongjoong’s jaw dropped when Yunho leaned in to kiss you. “Oh shit,” he smacked Seonghwa’s arm when Yunho kissed Mingi, too.
“What? What did you see?” Seonghwa is leaning in, bending forward, fidgeting where he stood, angling his head around to see.
“They kissed, Hwa,” Hongjoong is whispering, his voice coated in sheer disbelief, “they fucking kissed!”
“Who kissed?” Seonghwa raises himself on his tippy toes as if he wasn’t already taller than his boyfriend who could see clearly, “Joong! Who kissed?”
“Yunho kissed both of them,” Hongjoong’s hand moved to Seonghwa’s forearm, “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” Seonghwa whispers, a small mumble, his eyes widening beneath his sunglasses. “No- no, what are they doing now?”
Hongjoong breaks out in a wide grin, before a disbelieving laugh punches through his lips. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In public? In ocean water? People pee in there. Fish pee in there.”
“I feel like we’re intruding,” Seonghwa shakes his head, turning away. “We’re definitely not supposed to see this. We shouldn’t watch. This is an invasion of privacy.”
“They’re hooking up on the beach! They’re lucky there’s no one else out here.”
“This section is private,” Seonghwa turns away fully. “San owns it, or something like that, I don’t know how it works. Plus, we can’t see what’s happening under the water, they could be—”
“You mean to tell me they aren’t jerking him off right now?” Hongjoong’s orange brows bend over the frame of his sunglasses, his smile completely amused.
Seonghwa cringes, but turns around again to meet Hongjoong’s grinning cheeks. He looks out in the water, studying, frowning, “I don’t know if she’s doing anything. It might just be Mingi and Yunho.”
“Okay, but still,” Hongjoong smacks his teeth. “They’re seconds away from fucking in the ocean. Am I wrong?”
Seonghwa’s lips flatten, “Don’t say anything. They didn’t seem okay yesterday and today they’re inseparable, so clearly they’re figuring something out, and keeping it private.”
Hongjoong pouts, “Boo.”
Seonghwa smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “Do the right thing, my love.”
“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighs, looking out in the water again. "That's so juicy, though. In the middle of the ocean for anyone to see is crazy.”
You feel dizzy on your walk back up. Frustration curls low in your gut, a pestering weed left alone for too long, growing at a rapid pace through your veins, into your limbs, your chest. You needed to get off. Your composure was running scarily thin.
“Can I go to the bathroom when we get back up?” You ask Yunho, fingers laced with Mingi’s, both walking behind him, you on his left side, Mingi on his right.
“Are you gonna touch yourself?” He looks over his shoulder, brows raised.
You shake your head, “No, sir. Just need to pee.”
He nods, small, but permission-granting.
You didn’t say anything to anyone as you walked past the group, up to the house, to the outhouse tucked into the side of the property. It was more like a shack, no roof, thin bamboo walls to separate the toilet from the shower, nothing was enclosed except for the main door which was latched shut.
You eased a breath as you put the black steel hook through the matching loop, running your hands through your hair, eyes squeezing shut while the throbbing between your thighs becomes too much to bear in the silence of the bathroom.
Just for cursing.
Just for complaining about the water being cold.
He’s mean. He’s so fucking mean. You asked for this, he reminded you three times, but the words that left his mouth, so degrading, so teasing, all while being passed between them like a fucking doll. All while neither of them touched you. That was almost worse than having your orgasm ripped from you this morning, watching, listening to them pleasure each other, while being on the sidelines but also right fucking between them, you don’t know if you can do it.
You don’t know if you can take him like this. Mean, arrogant, purposely denying you pleasure because you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been good all day. You deserve it.
You sit on the toilet with furrowed brows, knees kissing, toes touching the wood beneath you. Your clit cries for attention, throbbing, buzzing, there’s a streak of wetness in your bikini bottoms that was too fucking slick to be washed away by the ocean. Your body feels tight, wound-up, aching for attention.
You could probably get away with it if you touched yourself. He’s not in the bathroom with you, he’s down at the shore with Mingi, with your friends, he’d never know. Your thighs clench at the thought, it wouldn’t even take long. You could probably get off in thirty seconds. Your jaw clenches, fingers curling to fists on top of your thighs. Don’t do it, your subconscious screamed at you. He’ll know.
You swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath. Your need to obey, to please him, outweighed the ache. At least that’s what you told yourself while you wiped. You opened the latch after washing your hands to be met with Yunho standing outside the door. You jumped, a gasp leaving your lips, “Shit, you scared me.”
“Give me your hand.”
You stared at him dumbfounded before the instinct kicked in. He pulled your fingers to his nose as soon as you lifted your palm, sniffing deeply. Just his fucking touch made your thighs clench.
“You didn’t touch yourself,” he says it like he’s surprised.
Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No, sir.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, moving to push past you and you want to scream. He’s even denying you a kiss to your fucking lips?!
“I can’t do it anymore,” you whisper.
He leans back, brows furrowed. “Can’t do what?”
“I need you to touch me,” your voice cracks on touch. “I need you to kiss me, I need you to fix whatever is happening to me right now. I’m gonna freak the fuck out.”
His eyes thin, jaw settling and god you want to sit on his face. “You don’t need anything.”
“Yunho,” you fall forward, forehead pressing against his still-wet chest, hands landing on his hips, the soft skin just above his swim shorts. “I need you. I can’t take it anymore.”
His neck cranes side to side, a heavy sigh pushing through his lips, his hand landing on top of your hair, fingers massaging at your scalp. “I’m teaching you submission,” he says into your hair, his voice steady. “It’s what you asked for. This is what it would be like. You can say red if you want to stop.”
Red feels like giving up, failing the test. You’re frustrated, but not enough to say the three lettered word that would end it all. You’re wound tight, clit still throbbing for attention, but the need to impress him aches worse.
You stare at him blankly, saying nothing. His lips curve, standing back a step. “You have your answer then.”
“Wait,” you interject, pleading with your hands on his chest. “Why did Mingi get to cum, then? How is he any more well-behaved than I am?”
“You didn’t follow the rules,” he shrugs, answering plainly. “I don’t have to give you a reason, if I don’t want you to cum, then you don’t cum. Your body is mine to do as I see fit.”
“I can’t,” you whine, hands going into your roots, frustrated. You don’t even know what was going to follow the two words, what’s left to say after that.
“Stop whining,” he bites. “It’s ugly, and you’re not ugly.”
Your bottom lip quivers, leaning into him, hiding your frustrated face. “I’ve been good.”
“And that’s ending now, I guess.” “Yunho.”
“Are you acting like this because you want to get punished?” Two hands on your cheeks, he pulls you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him. “Purposely whining to piss me off, even when I gave you clear, concise instructions for the day?”
You shake your head, ears tipping with heat. You can feel the heat everywhere. Shame, arousal, they blend together with the need to appease him, to impress him, you’re fighting against your own instincts.
“Then listen,” he snaps. “That’s the last time I’m going to say it.”
Jongin sees you as he leaves the house. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the kitchen after the group decided to go out for an early dinner, a place that served bar-food just down the street. You, standing with your head in Yunho’s chest, until he grabs you by your cheeks and tilts your head backward, talking to you… sternly? He stays pocketed behind the tall pampas grass, watching through leaves, his heart picking up in his chest. Is he catching something he isn’t supposed to?
Somehow, he moves far enough to where neither of you see him, and makes his way back down to the beach. He has to tell San, he has to tell Mingi– should he even get involved? Considering what Wooyoung told him and San earlier, there’s a chance Mingi is in on it, too.
“Got our keys,” he smiled briefly at San. “We should wait until they get back.”
San lifts a brow, “Did you see them? Any treachery?”
Jongin shakes his head quickly, not exactly sure why his gut tells him to lie. “I saw him inside, she was outside. No treachery to be seen.”
San’s lift lips in distaste. “Boring.”
Jongin feels bad lying to his boyfriend of three years, the man who changed everything about himself for Jongin, the yin to his yang. But this felt out of his control, a little too heavy for the friend group to be throwing around so easily, it's more than gossip. You, Mingi, you’ve been together for so long… longer than he’s known San. From what he’s learned, you’ve been together longer than any of the couples here.
Except for Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Maybe. He’d have to ask San for clarification on that one.
It wasn’t long until you and Yunho were bouncing back down the beach, wide grins on your faces and damn, his conscience feels heavy after lying. You bend down to press a kiss on Mingi’s lips and the way he grins with stars in his eyes tells Jongin enough. He’d keep his mouth closed for now. But if you and Yunho were any more obvious, if you take another risk— maybe someone else wouldn’t be as nice.
There’s bamboo everywhere. Sand under your feet, surf boards lining the baby blue, wooden walls, the roof coated in thatch, the tiki bar–cafe-restaraunt whatever the fuck was the pinnacle of everything Haos claims to be. An escape, another world, somewhere the wealthy pride themselves in vacationing, it reminded you to breathe. To enjoy everything around you, your friends’ laughter, how the sun just beginning to sink was now far less brutal, the way Mingi and Yunho both had a claiming hand on either one of your thighs under the long, wooden picnic table.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” with one hand on either of your shoulders, Yunho walked in the center of you and Mingi in the parking lot, one step behind you after you climbed out of Jongin’s Jeep.
You were still playing. Stomach still churning, body still wound tight, you wished you could force yourself to believe that you wouldn’t explode if someone didn’t touch you soon. Still embarrassed over your outburst earlier, not being able to handle what you asked of him, most of you was glad he didn’t give in– even if arousal kept your body temperature heated to a low-grade fever.
Mingi, free as a bird, was giggling to himself at something Wooyoung said across from you, his face sunkissed, his forehead, the tip of his nose, like the sun shone down on Mingi alone. Maybe it did, your irresistible boyfriend with a heart of gold, you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun woke up every morning hoping just to see him. The sound was music to your ears, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands holding onto the small, laminated menu.
You flexed your thighs, I missed you guys.
The answering squeezes to your skin told you they missed you just as much.
“Today went by too fast,” San shook his head of messy black hair to the left of Mingi, it was a rare sight to see him unkempt. San was always dressed to the nines, hair gelled back, face chiseled, the face of masculinity. Seeing him with pink cheeks and an affectionate grin made your heart swarm with affection, you loved it most when the group left business behind and lived in the moment instead. “I need to have you guys here more often.”
“Invite us then,” Wooyoung teased back, still shirtless, sitting on the end of the table across from Yunho. Skin bronzed and glowing, he reminded you of some kind of Greek God, like him and summer had a contract. “We’ll come when you call.”
Jongho leaned forward, his flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned and dragging along the picnic table, his dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, sunglasses still sitting over his eyes. “Says the one who lives three states away.”
Wooyoung laughs, leaning forward, looking to his right to see Jongho almost at the other end of the table, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“At the risk of being fired, I’m sure,” Hongjoong smirks, the only person to his right Seonghwa, who held the end of the table. The pair still had their matching hats on, sunglasses resting above the brim, the only two whose faces were unaffected by the sun’s rays. Maybe you should all invest in hats, the sun was inescapable in Haos.
Yunho leans in, eyes dancing between each speaker, “Are you gonna get fired?”
Wooyoung shakes his head with his face scrunched like his company wouldn’t dream of firing him. Sana’s dark eyebrows raised, glossed lips falling in a line like he wasn’t telling the whole truth, the sight made a snort fall from your nose. When Wooyoung noticed, he nudged her side, scoffing, “You know they won’t fire me, they need me. You’re supposed to be on my side, Sana.”
You lean back with a laugh, hand covering your mouth, so stupid it was funny. You missed him so much, and if the possibility of Wooyoung getting fired was any indication, you think he missed you guys just as much.
“We should take pictures after dinner, at sunset on the beach,” Tzuyu chimes in, sitting in her crochet cover up between Yeosang and Jongin at the end of the table on your side. “No dressing up, just in our bathing suits with some drinks, candid style.”
Jihyo and Sana agree, nodding, sitting next to each other like two peas in a pod. “We should get couples shots, too,” Jihyo adds, dark hair waved by saltwater covering her bikini top, “Jongho and I haven’t taken a proper picture together in so long.”
“Woo and I need pictures for our holiday cards,” Sana agrees, nodding, already leaning into Jihyo. Wooyoung, with his sunglasses pushing his hair off his face, silently groans from beside her. You giggle at his face, stealing Sana’s attention.
Before she could open her mouth, San leaned forward, talking across you and Mingi, “Yun, we need to get you a girlfriend so you can be involved, too.”
You stop laughing immediately like San had reached over and stolen the smile from your face. You blink as Yunho’s hand jumps from your thigh, your body stiffening, trying not to let your eyes widen, to show surprise or discomfort on your face while a sharp pang of something sour hits your chest.
“We could ask a random girl from the bar to pretend,” Wooyoung snickers, eyes locked with San’s.
Jongho laughs, a high-pitched, amused sound, “We’d have to pry him away from those two first.”
Yours and Mingi’s attention jumps to Jongho, who eyes you both, mischief in his eyes. Yeosang, with his elbow on the table, props his chin on his cheek, staring down at Yunho, asks, “What happened to that girl from Woo’s going away party?”
Yunho shakes his head of chocolate locks inflated by humidity. Voice clear like he wasn’t bothered at all, he answers, “Just didn’t work out.”
Your body is on fire. So badly you wanted to tell them all to stop speaking about the past, to not bring up a future that isn’t centered around yourself and Mingi. Yunho is yours.
“Are you okay?” You pick your head up to Jihyo who was eyeing you carefully, eyes pointed, jaw set. “You look sunburnt.”
You shake your head, forcing an easy smile on your face, “I’m fine, probably am sunburnt.”
“How? Yunho put sunscreen on you, like, four times,” San wore a slimy grin, the table erupting with laughter.
“It was once,” you counter, eyes narrowed, tone biting. “And I can’t reach my back.”
“You’re quiet, Mingi,” Wooyoung interrupts, and Mingi’s eyes pick up, wide and doe-like.
“What do you want me to say?” He asks, brows furrowing, head tilting like Wooyoung said something stupid. You smile. Yunho puts his hand back on your thigh.
Like a saving grace, the waiter finally approaches your table, breaking your conversation to ask for your order. Yunho orders for you, then for Mingi, exactly what both of you would have chosen if you’d ordered for yourself. You felt eyes on you as Yunho finished, but you didn’t dare meet a single person’s stare. You didn’t want to know what their eyes would tell you.
You didn’t have to guess, not when San spoke after the waiter left your table, his voice a blanket over one end of the table to the other. “Am I crazy? Is anyone else seeing this, or is it just me?”
The three of your heads pick up in a line. The table is quiet, the only thing you can hear is the reggae music, soft from the speakers, dissipating into the summer breeze. Low, far but close, it melts into the sound of waves, offsetting how thick the tension had become at the table.
San’s face bulges out, bewildered, “No one’s gonna say anything?” He turns to you three and your heart falls into your ass. “Are you three together?” You swallow the bile in your throat. “Are you fucking?”
“No,” Yunho’s answer comes before your lips could part. The word is rigid, a wall, a finality. You look at Mingi who’s already looking at Yunho, his eyes so big, so round, you can hear your heartbeat over the music, the breeze, the waves. No.
Yunho even laughs a little. “Come on, are you serious?”
You glance at Jihyo who’s already looking at you like she knows everything. Like your skin was transparent, and she could see your heart cracking beneath your ribs all over again.
“You’ve been joined at the hip all day,” Wooyoung’s grin is feline, like he wasn’t done prying for information. “Can’t blame our minds for going there, can you?”
You and Mingi don’t smile, don’t laugh. You can’t pretend. Yunho takes a sip of his drink, “They’ve been together for years, you know we’re close. It’s weird that your mind would go there.”
Weird. It’s weird. He’s not yours at all. You feel like ice under the summer sun, melting too quickly, soon you’ll be a puddle darkening the sand beneath you if you don’t remove yourself from the situation. You refuse to let any of them see you upset. You hate that a part of you doesn’t want them to know if Yunho doesn’t want them to know.
You look at Mingi, I’m going to the bathroom.
He nods once, eyes glossy, you wish you could bring him with you. Pushing yourself up with your palms on the table, you swing a leg over the bench and don’t look back, don’t listen to a single word as you nearly run to the bathroom. Your skin is on fire, there’s no air conditioning in the small two-stall bathroom with baby blue walls, it’s suffocating.
You stand at the sink, throwing cold water on your face, two hands hooked around the white ceramic to force yourself to calm the fuck down. What was last night for? What did you talk about all of that shit for? What did you fuck for? Now you feel fucking stupid for today, for thinking you’d pass a test he was never proctoring. It all felt redundant. Pointless.
The door swings open, you don’t move. “Are you okay?”
Jihyo, smiling softly, apologetically. Your lips tighten, you refuse to let tears fall. You refuse to repeat what happened last time. You should have expected this.
“All good,” you force a smile. “I think I got too much sun today.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she leans in the middle of the two sinks, shoulder pressed to the wall between the mirrors, one manicured hand on your forearm. “Did he lie?”
You huff amusement, it lacks any semblance of warmth. “Yeah, he lied.”
“Fucking asshole,” she crosses her arms. “What’s with him and commitment? That day I came over, I knew it, I knew what he was there for.”
All you can do is shake your head, “I don’t know, Ji.”
“How long has it been?”
You hum before answering. “A month? Five weeks maybe?”
“Damn,” she shakes her head. “The way he looks at you… I don’t understand him. I don’t understand the denial.”
You give her another weak smile. “Don’t tell the others. Please.”
“I won’t,” she scrunches her lips to one side. “You still have Mingi, though. And Mingi has you.”
“Thank god for that, right?” Your smile is only half-fake now, moving away from the sink, pressing your back against one of the stalls. “Although I think he’ll be more upset than I am.”
“He was holding it together out there,” Jihyo shifts to lean her butt against the sink, head tilting. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”
You shrug, lips flat. “It was instinctive, we hadn’t talked about it yet. After you left that day he freaked out, we fought, we only worked that situation out last night.”
“He said you’d tell people?”
You tilt your head, showing your bottom row of teeth, “Not exactly. More so that we’re more comfortable being in a gray area now, our feelings out on the table, working towards something. We weren’t expecting anyone to call us on it.”
“They’re such assholes for airing out your business,” she pushes herself off the sink, taking two steps toward you to throw her arms over your shoulders, tucking you into a hug. “I’m sorry, you guys will figure it out.”
You let your eyes close, sucking as much comfort as you can from the hug, “I hope so. Thanks, Ji.”
She pulls away to cup your cheeks, “You know you can talk to me, right? Let me in, I can be a shoulder to cry on.”
You nod, fingers wrapping around her wrists, “I will.”
The rest of dinner was damn near silent. Yunho was in your head with apologies, none you answered, you didn’t want to talk to him or hear him out. Mingi answered once or twice, short responses, it was clear the two of you were hurt and needed time to reset your feelings again. You didn’t want to argue, or settle your feelings in the bedroom again, you’d done that already. It clearly didn’t work. Pictures on the beach were swift, yours and Mingi’s were all fake smiles and silence, watching the live photos in your camera roll made your skin crawl. You don’t think you or Mingi said five words between dinner and bedtime, until it was the three of you in your bedroom again.
Yunho actually had the audacity to pull down the comforter. You stopped him with your palm splayed flat on the right side of the mattress, voice monotonous and bored, but your eyes shot daggers. “You can sleep downstairs.”
His brows raised, “Are you serious?”
You settled deeper beneath the comforter, Mingi still throwing on clothes after his shower. You hold his eye, “It’s weird that you’d try sleeping in our bed.”
His hands fall to his sides, all emotion wiped from his face. “I just said that so they would leave us alone.”
“You could have been honest,” you answer simply. “You could have laughed it off. You could have said anything other than it being weird, Yunho.”
His face softens, “It wasn’t my intention to–”
“You don’t seem to have any intentions,” you cut him off. “You can sleep downstairs, like you were planning to last night.”
Lips bending, a slow nod, without another word he turns around, grabs a pillow and a blanket, and leaves your bedroom. Mingi, watching from the dresser, finally crawls into bed after Yunho closes the door behind him.
You open your arms, welcoming him into your chest, fingers immediately scratching into his hair, pressing a kiss to his clean scalp that still smelled like seasalt, “You okay baby?”
“Tired,” he mumbles into your chest, voice deep and heavy. "Don't wanna do it anymore. Too confusing.”
“You wanna be done?” You pause, fingers stalling in his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes big and round, sad. You frown, one hand sliding down to graze his cheek. “We can be done.”
“I don’t want to,” his voice is so small, just barely above a whisper. “But I think it’s obvious we’ll end up being his secret forever. I don’t want to be a secret, I want him to be proud.”
“Me too,” you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m proud you’re my boyfriend, y’know.”
He smiles, “And I’m proud you’re my girlfriend.”
“That’s all we need,” you kiss him again, parting your lips for him, sinking farther down the mattress until he can roll on top of you, elbows bracketing your head. Throwing your arms around his neck, your legs over his thighs, you break the kiss to say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he smiles into the kiss, body pressing into yours, and it’s the easy reminder that you’ll always have him, no matter what, that eases weight off your chest.
It’s easy to pretend everything is okay when you lean into the reminder that Mingi will be by your side forever. It’s stuck with you since seven in the morning, when San abruptly woke up the house cracking a wooden spoon against a pot, screaming activities day over and over. He popped into your room with a wide grin, asked where Yunho was, and left your room as confused as he entered it.
Jet skiing, mini-golf, a barbecue, ending the night at Rêve, a reputable bar in town. San insisted that your last day should be filled with the best things Haos has to offer. Of course he left out the part that jet skiing was at the yacht club he was a member of, and that he owned shares at Rêve, making him part-owner; never humble until he was supposed to be, you wished he told you to be on your best behavior today.
Not that your group would ever be on their best behavior. Wooyoung was already drinking by the time you went downstairs for breakfast, he made mimosas for everyone, you had two. The first you chugged after Yunho went upstairs immediately after you entered the kitchen, the second you chugged when he came back downstairs, shirtless, swim trunks painted onto his thighs. If you were going to be forced into activities with him all day, you should make it easier for yourself.
White buildings with terracotta roofing, there were too many buildings to count, a winding paved asphalt driveway up to the front where men in suits stood under a white awning, one approaching as San put his Bronco in park parallel to the main doors. It had valet.
The yacht club was beautiful, massive, every nook and cranny of the main building screamed prestigious. All patrons you encountered were dressed up, some in sports wear for the golf course you could only assume is somewhere on the grounds, in long summer dresses or business-style suits, everyone seemed important. Everyone looked proper. Part of you felt out of place, with your group half-dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups like you were headed to the beach, but it didn’t last long when you got outside to where everything was docked.
Your mouth didn’t close once from the time you walked inside the heavy red doors all the way out to where he kept his jet skis docked, next to his boat, The Kai. Not a far walk, you realized, you assumed meant he was also a very important person here, too, the size of his boat only aided in the confirmation.
He owned four jet skis, which meant four couples could ride at a time, leaving two couples and a Yunho out. Luckily he had a cooler fully stocked on his boat, one he and Jongin brought out to the dock while the first wave of people went out on the water. On the dock were Mingi, Jihyo, Jongho, and Yunho– of course, naturally. You sipped on a seltzer, sitting between Mingi and Jihyo, your feet dangling over the side, one arm behind you holding you up.
Yunho sat on the other side of Jongho at the end and as much as you were grateful after you and Mingi threw in your white towels last night, it hurt that he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t even look at you, not once today, you think. At least when you got out on the water you and Mingi were smiling and laughing, he let you drive the jet ski, which he quickly regretted when he realized the watercraft turned you into an adrenaline junkie.
Mini-golf was ten minutes from the yacht club, half of your group in San’s Bronco, the other half in Jongin’s Jeep. A standalone establishment that had a small course on the outside, an ice cream shop on the inside, and a small kitchen for bar-type food. The alcoholic bar itself was small, connected to the kitchen-half of the indoor space, but it didn’t stop your friend group from ordering a round of shots, cocktails, and beers for all. Even better, the tab at the bar plus admission for minigolf was all paid for by San. His treat, he said, and who were you to argue after seeing The Kai?
There were too many of you for one singular game, but the consensus amongst the group was that you wanted to play together. So instead of splitting your group in half to play two separate games, you played in pairs, and once again you and Mingi were thrown into a triplet, this one you didn’t agree to so easily. One shot down and a cocktail in your palm, no one could feel the tension between the three of you, the energy should be light at mini-golf. You mentally decide you’ll be civil. Maybe you’ll even try being friends.
Mingi and Yunho both had beers in their hands, neither jumping for joy at the blue club you chose, it wasn’t the longest, and the two men you shared with were a hell of a lot taller than you. You stifled a laugh as Mingi uncomfortably hunched over the club as he lined up his feet, awkwardly swinging the club to hit the blue ball.
“This game is fucked,” he stands up straight when the ball bounces off the back wall, missing the hole completely. The first hole is the easiest.
You snort a laugh where you stand, watching his face morph into frustration, his brows knitting and lips parting like he couldn’t believe he missed. “You’ll get it next time,” you encourage, taking a sip of your cocktail.
Hongjoong goes up next, he makes it in with one swing. Tzuyu goes next, she makes it in with one swing. Sana next, she makes it in with one swing.
“This is fucking rigged,” Mingi curses, taking another sip from his beer. Yunho laughs under his breath as your arm comes up to rub his back encouragingly.
“Don’t worry,” you coo. “Yunho and I will win for you.”
“I can play golf,” Mingi argues defensively. “The club is just short. Yunho won’t be able to do it, either.”
Jongho goes next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s brows raise like he’s seconds away from losing his shit. Jongin next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s fuck is loud enough for the children at hole thirteen to hear.
“Don’t get us kicked out of minigolf, Min,” Wooyoung is still laughing, a hand clutching his belly. “We know you’re competitive, it’s just a kid’s game.”
“I know it’s a kid’s game,” Mingi bites, all in one breath, barely looking at the younger man as he says it. Your face is full of amusement when Wooyoung turns to you, brows raised in surprise.
“Don’t ask me,” you shake your head. “I’m not his keeper. When it comes to games, he’s on his own.”
It’s your turn again, the blue ball alone on the green. You’ve played enough minigolf in your life for this to be muscle memory– childhood games at arcades, random birthday parties from school friends over the years. But it’s been a long, long time since you were a kid, too long since you’ve come close to a minigolf course. Your first swing, just a foot away from the hole, you miss. The group laughs and you roll your eyes, waving a hand, “I’m just warming up!”
“Oh, I’m sure!” Sana’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and your lips tighten. Feeling hotter now, you line up your feet, the club with the ball, and swing.
You fucking miss.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff. “Someone hand me my drink, I need to be drunker if I’m gonna suck.”
Yunho’s laughing as he hands you your cocktail and you suck down half of it before lining your feet up all over again. You hit the ball this time, but it’s fueled by your rage, it bounces off the brick siding and onto the green of hole four right next door to hole one. You straighten, hand covering your mouth, eyes widening as your ball hits someone else’s ball that was currently playing hole four.
“I’m sorry!” You call as the young kid, definitely not a day over the age of eight, throws the baby blue ball back onto the faded putting green. It’s as if it was in slow motion, how he threw the ball in a perfect arc for it to land flawlessly in the hole without as much as a singular bounce. You whip around to your friend group, eyes wide, “Does that count? Can that count? Jongin, count it.”
Your friend group sounds like a clan of hyenas, loud cackles, obnoxious laughter breaking out across twelve people because of how ridiculous that unfolded.
“Are all three of you competitive?” Seonghwa asks, genuine, voice light and kind.
You shrug as you walk off the green, “I’ve never really played sports, I don’t know.” Skipping over to Jongin who was keeping score, you brush up close to his sculpted arm, tone candy sweet, “So? Are we counting it or what?”
He makes a shh motion, one finger raised, smiling behind the purse of his lips. Your hand forms into a fist and you tuck it into your body with success, “Yes, hole in two, baby.”
Mingi and Yunho are snickering when you return to them, but it’s Yunho who mocks you, “Not competitive, my ass.”
“Hey,” you point a finger at him. “You can’t make fun of me, I’m pissed at you. I said I was gonna make up for Mingi’s shit swing.”
“Yours was even worse!” Mingi’s voice is high-pitched, still defensive. You’re all giggles when you lean into him, pressing a hand to his cheek to pull him down for a kiss. Beer and home, he tastes like half of you.
You feel Yunho’s eyes, but you don’t stop, you don’t do anything to make him think it’s for him. Even if there’s the evil part of you that hopes he wants to rip his skin off his body, that he’s so enraged he sees red, you hope he doesn’t act on it. You hope he doesn’t act on anything ever again.
At hole two, Yunho surprises you both with how efficiently he makes the ball into the hole with only one swing, yours and Mingi’s jaws falling to the concrete. Yunho exudes everything smug on his return.
Smirk on his lips, rolling his shoulders, he says, “What? Like it’s hard?”
Your laugh is verbal disbelief, Mingi immediately quips, “Do not quote Legally Blonde right now.”
Yunho’s giggle is proud, his grin wide, his shoulders doing a little shake in celebration. So fucking cute you could rip out all your hair, you dig your head into Mingi’s chest to smell him, to rid yourself of feelings towards Yunho. Your forehead meets your boyfriend’s skin with a groan, “I need another drink.”
The third hole goes by quickly, efficiently, Mingi excited he got a hole in one, deservedly so. At hole four, you’re up again after a cocktail and a half, at least you’re at the starting line this time. You stare at the blue ball sitting on the green, eyes squinted, whispering, “Do not embarrass me. Okay?”
“Are you talking to the ball?” San asks, humor laced in his tone. “I don’t think it’s gonna answer, girl.”
“I’m giving it a pep talk!” You snap your head to respond and then stare at the ball once more. You line up your feet, then the club with the ball, and swing.
Your fuck is louder than Mingi’s was when you miss. You wave apologetically to the family of four that shoots daggers at you from across the course.
“I can’t watch this,” Yeosang shakes his head as he approaches you. “You're legitimately killing me.”
Your face heats with embarrassment as he stalks up to you, determination in the crease of his brow. You pull all your hair to one side as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around you, hands dwarfing yours over the handle of the club. “Hold like this,” he explains, then kicks one foot between yours, spreading your legs farther, your knees bending. “Stand like that.”
Yunho, tensing beside Mingi, snaps his head to the side to get Mingi’s attention. “Hello?”
Mingi’s brows furrow when Yunho’s shoulder bumps him, his feet staggering. “What?”
“Look,” Yunho says, like it’s absurd Mingi just asked what. He can see the flex of Yeosang’s arms as he stretches them over your shoulders, the veins swimming along his forearms while his hands clasp over yours. It makes his jaw tick, his heartbeat quicken— you’re not Yeosang’s to touch.
“He’s showing her how to play,” Mingi says casually, taking another sip of his beer, leaning towards Yunho like he was watching a sitcom instead of his girlfriend getting felt up by another man.
Yunho’s head tilts, dumbfounded and semi-enraged that Mingi doesn’t feel a shred of the possession he does, his voice a harsh whisper, “Yeosang has had a thing for her since… since forever.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Mingi’s brows raise as he turns to his best friend, a disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips. “No he hasn’t. Tzuyu is right there.”
Yeosang kicks your feet apart and Yunho’s body jerks at the action. His foot inches forward, fingers grasping his beer a little harder like he was ready to pounce. Instead, he grits his teeth, “Have you ever watched Yeosang interact with her? Like ever? He’s basically told you to your face he thinks she’s sexy.”
“She is sexy,” Mingi shrugs, rolling his neck nonchalantly. “If I’m not pissed off then you shouldn’t be either. She’s not yours, she’s mine.”
Yunho’s neck snaps, meeting Mingi’s dead-serious stare. Stunned into silence, he shuts his mouth, drinks his beer, and lets it be. Just when Yunho thought they were getting somewhere, that maybe you wouldn’t be awkward all day, he’s surprised that Mingi’s the one who put him in his place. It’s worse when you return smiling, overflowing with excitement, asking Mingi if he saw your hole-in-one three times before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. He feels sick, palms sweating, you weren’t doing this to get a rise out of him, you were leaning on each other because he was the one who fucked up. Again.
The rest of mini-golf goes by in a blur. He doesn’t speak much, he doesn’t have anything to say, his mind is on a roll, trying to come up with any sort of plan to fix this. He needs to get you two alone, he needs to apologize, he needs to say something to get the two of you to stop looking at him like you don’t care about him because that in itself is so fucking terrifying he can feel his goddamn throat close another inch every time he notices.
The drive home is quiet, wind in Yunho’s ears, he can’t even hear the soft music playing through the speakers, he didn’t care to. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you sink into Mingi in San’s backseat with the sun laying over your lap like a blanket, your eyes closed beneath your sunglasses like you didn’t have a care in the world. Like nothing was bothering you at all.
He’s never let himself learn just how terrifying it could be to love someone who didn’t want him. Two people who didn’t fucking want him.
“Who’s ready to BBQ?” Wooyoung shouts from the passenger seat of Jongin’s Jeep, emphasizing the acronym, basically hanging halfway over the door while grinning wide enough to showcase each and every one of his bone-colored teeth. You’d just pulled into San’s driveway, finally back at home to barbecue, to fill your stomachs with a good, hearty meal before you were back on the streets for Haos’ nightlife.
Everyone piled out of the cars quickly, heading inside just for the men to immediately split off into the kitchen to start prepping the grill. You watch as they gather around the kitchen island, shouting orders and ideas about cooking of all things until Tzuyu bumps your hip with her own at the base of the staircase, stealing your attention.
Pulling her hair tie from her bun, she lets it fall behind her in loose waves, scratching her fingers through her roots, “I guess the man-grill thing is genetic. Or built-in, like a default setting.”
“There’s nine of them,” you whisper. “How many does it take to man a grill?”
“Nope, I’m out!” Hongjoong raises both his palms beside his head in defeat while he retreats from the kitchen. “You’re all insane, I’m showering and napping. Call me when dinner’s ready.”
“Eight,” you correct yourself, a grin growing on your cheeks, and Tzuyu laughs from beside you.
Jihyo, her bag over her shoulder, enters the living room with Sana at her side, the two approaching you and Tzuyu with grins on their faces. Sana does a little shake of her hips, grin reading excitement, “Who’s ready to fuck up the club?”
“It’s a bar, I think,” Jihyo laughs, “but it’ll be nice for us all to go out and let loose.”
“We’ve done nothing but let loose all weekend,” Tzuyu furrows her brows.
“No.” you shake your head once. “We have not.”
“I brought face masks,” Sana’s fingertips dance together mischievously. “We should pre-game getting ready while they grill and shit.”
Out on the deck, Mingi stood over the grill in front of the railing, a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped pieces of meat and seafood on the black, steel grates. The speaker inside played music through the screen door, everyone mindlessly humming and singing along while they set the table, chatter and laughter flowing through the chilly summer breeze that ruffled his hair.
So many years these guys have been his friends, so many years Yunho has been his friend, he can’t believe it’s all gone to complete shit. This was his worst fear coming true, the lingering fear when all of this began, that he’d cross a line and lose Yunho. Yeah, they’d all still be friends, but his friendship with Yunho has always been different. Deeper. He can’t believe he’s losing it, right in front of his eyes.
He felt alive again that first night in Haos, back to normalcy, you three felt closer than before, just for it to be ruined all over again the next day. Each and every time he met Yunho’s eye today, he hated that those three words still sat in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his throat, begging to be spoken. He could tell it was the same for you, where your eyelids sat over your glazed pupils, a certain twinkle to them as you stared up at Yunho even if you tried to hide it. He knows what the words look like forming on your lips, how you tighten your smile to stop them from spilling out, he knows you like the back of his hand.
He can’t believe you both love him and you can’t have him.
“Almost done?” Mingi’s head snapped up to Yunho on his right side, his head peeking over Mingi’s shoulder, the heat of Yunho hotter than the grill. Speak of the devil.
Mingi nods, eyes sliding over his face. Big, brown eyes with clean cut brows giving them structure, cheekbones high and sculpted, lips a pretty, pale pink heart. He wishes there was no one else on the deck, he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to Yunho’s, he hates that his feelings still linger.
Yunho’s head tilts when Mingi lacks a response, amused by Mingi’s eyes locked in on his lips. “What’cha thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Mingi mumbles, bringing his eyes back to the grill.
Yunho sighs, “Mingi–”
“Don’t,” Mingi keeps his eyes locked on the burning fire beneath the grates. “I don’t want to hear it, it’s all bullshit.”
It feels like a blow to Yunho’s ribs. “None of what I want to say is bullshit, Mingi. You know me.”
“I thought I knew you,” Mingi mutters, purposely keeping his voice low. “I thought I knew how you felt about us, I thought we were getting somewhere, that even though you’re scared, you wouldn’t pretend you didn’t feel anything.”
Yunho frowns, his head dropping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Min.”
“But you did,” Mingi meets his eye. “And you knew you did in the moment. But you didn’t go back on what you said, you didn’t change your answer. You let me sit there looking stupid because I–”
Mingi cuts himself off and Yunho’s brows furrow for a second, “Because you what?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Yunho urges. “Everything you say matters.”
“Not to you,” Mingi turns sideways, his jaw locked, his brows flat. “Don’t apologize, don’t say whatever pretty words you think are gonna make it better. It was embarrassing, Yunho, sitting there while everyone laughed at the idea of us being together because you said it was weird.”
Yunho’s fingers rub at his eyes, exasperated, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, it was word vomit, I got scared–”
“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is so clear, so even Yunho stands a little straighter. “I know how you feel already. You’re twenty-eight years old, you’re old enough to know words have meaning. You know how we feel about you. We’re done here.”
Yunho’s throat is so tight he doesn’t think he could take a breath even if he tried. There’s no oxygen in the air, nothing to feed his lungs, Mingi’s words feel so concrete all he can do is turn around and walk away. Inside, toward the bathroom, he’s walking without vision, without a brain, he locks the door behind him and finally heaves a strained, verbal breath.
We’re done here.
You’re done with him. Mingi’s done with him. His back presses against the door, facing the ceiling, willing his tears to stay below the surface. He’s right. He’s grown enough to know that his fear is childish, that it’s time to settle down, he shouldn’t be afraid of what his friends think, what anyone thinks. He shouldn’t be afraid of commitment with you, he knows you won’t hurt him in his soul, he knows how you feel about him. He feels the same way toward you, if not deeper, he feels so fucking much toward you that it terrifies him.
He’s running out of time to get over it.
If this was a month ago he’d be seeing this situation as an out, he’d be thinking that this was for the best, but now his heart feels shriveled down to a husk in his chest. Hollow, like the best parts of him were gone, missing the people who made him feel whole, gave him purpose outside of sex. Outside of the role he gave himself.
When he goes back out onto the deck, the sun’s at its last moments of visibility over the horizon, the girls had made it back down, too. You sat next to Mingi at the corner, Jihyo and Jongho across from you, Tzuyu and Yeosang beside you. Yunho sits beside Hongjoong who’s next to Seonghwa, and the couple look at him with sad eyes.
Seonghwa leans across Hongjoong, his voice low. “What’d you do?”
Yunho sighs, lips flattening. He doesn’t question how Seonghwa read the situation. “You saw what I did. At dinner yesterday.”
Hongjoong makes a face, one that says you’re fucked. “That was a tough watch.”
“I know,” Yunho answers, tone flat. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t think we’re able to give you advice, this is out of our area of expertise,” Seonghwa looks apologetic, voice soft as he leans across Hongjoong to lay his palm flat over Yunho’s hand, encouraging. “You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.”
Yunho stares at him for a second and for the first time in thirty minutes he can’t actively hear his own heartbeat. He gives Seonghwa a soft, grateful smile, pulling his hands back in his lap, thinking.
You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.
He lets his eyes graze over the meal, a feast is what it was, far too much food for thirteen people to consume and feel good after digesting, but no one seemed to care. Music flowed from inside, loud yet calming, a backtrack to conversation, banter, laughter, not anything Yunho could hear over the sound of his pounding heart.
San made a toast to the last night in Haos, a small speech of how happy he was to maintain the friendships that were vital to him. Appreciation for all of you, gratitude for years of friendship, relationships he wouldn’t trade for the world, he even choked up talking about how close he holds everyone to his heart. Not often does he get emotional, but the way the table stood, clapped, clinked their glasses and took turns squeezing him tight, maybe he’ll be more inclined.
Maybe the three of you weren’t the only ones who are having an emotional weekend.
By the time dinner was over, all thirteen of you stuffed full, the impending night out seemed more like a chore than anything. Yunho’s stretched out on the couch half-asleep until he hears Wooyoung complain to San that the girls were getting ready in his room, perking his ears enough for him to wake the hell up and trudge up two flights of steps to his room, your room, to see Mingi passed out in the bed.
A white tee, briefs on his legs, he lays on his side, both hands pressed together beneath one cheek, lips parted as he snores softly. Yunho smiles to himself, staring from the doorway, leaned up against the wooden frame, he looks so peaceful. So pretty, Yunho wanted so badly to crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his lips, he knows better. Instead he creeps across the hardwood, gathering his things for a shower and leaves.
The hot water gives him clarity. Maybe it’d be easier to confess tonight with a little liquid confidence, it’d give him an easier flow, he could say everything he needs to say without the stupid fucking wall that’s embedded in him biting his tongue. He loves you, he loves you both so much he feels incomplete, the world feels tilted off its axis without you two by his side. One week without you was hell, one day watching you with each other was like living in purgatory, the in-between, where he can look but can’t touch, he thinks that might be worse.
Mingi’s still asleep while he starts getting ready, he only wakes up when Yunho’s buttoning up his shirt. He sits up slowly, wiping at his eyes, “What time is it?”
“After nine, I think,” Yunho responds, staring at Mingi through the mirror. His hair looks untouched, eyes half-lidded, he licks his lips three times just to get moisture in his mouth again. Yunho can’t fight his smile.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s top lip lifts. “You’re dressing up?”
Yunho grins, “I’m only in a button-up and pants.”
“Yeah, but they’re your good pants,” Mingi argues, “the ones that make your ass look good.” His eyes widen after he says it, like his own words woke him up the rest of the way, but he doesn’t correct himself.
Yunho looks over his shoulder like he’ll be able to see his own ass. “You think my ass looks good in these?”
Mingi stretches, a verbal noise of tightness leaving his chest as his arms go over his head, his shirt lifting at the hem, Yunho’s eyes snap to the exposed bit of skin like a moth to a flame. Mingi lays flat on the bed, arms straight out beside him, legs spread. “You know it does, don’t play coy.”
Yunho laughs a little as he buttons the last one, leaving the top three undone, one silver cross pendant sitting on his chest. He turns slowly, hands planted on the dresser behind him, taking a breath to build confidence since there was zero liquor swimming in his blood, “I regret what I said at dinner yesterday.”
Mingi sits up on his elbows, sleep still evident in his glossy eyes, his tone remains flat, knowing. “Do you?”
Yunho nods, lips scrunching to one side. “I don’t like how we are right now.”
Mingi sits up all the way, “I don’t like it either.”
Yunho’s voice is breathy, a little shaky as he asks, “Can I fix it?”
“Last time we were fixing things it took one day for it to get fucked up again,” Mingi lifts himself off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He stops right before Yunho, facing him, “You’re the only one who needs to figure your shit out, Yunho.”
Yunho watches as Mingi heads for the door, calling behind him. “What if I figured it out already?”
Mingi holds his stare from the door. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Stuck in time, Yunho stares, his tongue caught between his teeth, his heart in his throat. Mingi laughs a little, disappointment clear as he shakes his head. Before heading to the bathroom, he mutters, “Thought so.”
Yunho curses under his breath when he hears the bathroom door close, the shower turning on. He doesn’t wait around for Mingi’s return, he goes back downstairs, most of the guys already showered, dressed, ready to go. He opens a beer with the same tightness in his jaw, frustrated that Mingi just gave him an opportunity to speak and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word.
There’s music playing from the TV in the living room, something pop from a decade ago, he doesn’t have it in him to listen, or to the conversation happening around the kitchen island. San, Jongin, Wooyoung, Jongho, it’s all muted mumbling in his ringing ears, he feels pathetic.
It’s worse when Mingi comes downstairs and doesn’t even look at him. He joins the conversation seamlessly, the laughter grows, they’re talking louder than the music, it makes Yunho feel not only on the outside of his relationship, but on the outside of everything. Isolated because he can’t speak up, he can’t say how he feels, he’s trapped within his own mind, trapped beneath his feelings. He cracks another beer.
He doesn’t think it can get any worse until you walk down the stairs. On the couch now, he gets a front-row view of the black dress painted onto your body, tied around your neck, stiletto heels with straps that twist up your calves like vines. Mingi meets you at the base, picking you up off the bottom stair with one arm hooked around your body, lips pressed to yours, when he sets you down carefully he says something in your ear that makes your head fall back with laughter.
Emotion feels like bile rising in his throat. He’s jealous, but it’s different now; what was once frustrating was now driving, the words sit heavy on his tongue. You two look like you’re matching, dark clothes, hair styled, jewelry silver and offsetting one another, he looks down at his outfit and it’s almost like fate that he’s matching, too.
He looks back up to meet your eye across the room, what was supposed to be a glance lingers.
Yunho gives you the smallest of smiles, You look beautiful.
Your chin tilts upwards ever so slightly, I know, Mingi just told me.
Ouch. He leans into the backrest, I can’t tell you, too?
The corner of your lips tug upward. Thanks.
He watches as Mingi’s hand slithers around your waist. I need to talk to you.
You sink into Mingi’s hold, your back pressed against his chest, What if I don’t want to hear it?
Yunho’s jaw clenches. You do.
Sana shrieks from the staircase as soon as she sees Mingi’s lips pressed to the skin below your ear, “Do not fuck in that dress, I just bought it!”
You pull your attention away from him and he feels like grieving. You don’t give it to him again until you’ve had tequila poured into your mouth from the bottle, all thirteen of you in the kitchen fully dressed, pouring liquor like it’s water and calling it a pre-game. Outside, splitting two Escalades, rides San ordered for your group to take to Rêve across town, Yunho opted to sit in the back with you and Mingi, you scowled as soon as it left his lips. He smiles, because at least you care enough to frown.
San was immediately greeted upon approaching the upscale bar, stepping out of the Escalade to be met with two men wearing suits like it was regular, casual. Inside it was red everything, from leather booths to velvet barstools to the curtain that hung closed upon the stage; walls full of vintage framed photography, the architecture a brown so deep it appeared burgundy, dimly lit shaded lamps on tables, some traded for candles, the bar was drenched in an amber hue. It was definitely moody, a brand created off of atmosphere, it felt cozy as much as it felt expensive.
It was calmly crowded, plenty of people filling up the tables in the center of the room, a crowd before the stage that had waiters with trays between them. You spotted martini glasses, short glasses of whiskey poured neat, women in daring dresses and doused in jewels, men in suits who blew clouds of swirling smoke in the air from their cigars. All thirteen of you looked appropriate, expensive– but not old money expensive like some of the patrons you observed. You wondered about the history of Haos, about San, how deep his pockets really ran.
You couldn’t wonder for long, though, with how the group was directed past the stage to a steel door at the back of the building that seemed… insignificant. Like it’d bring you outside or to a storage room, not to a long, dark hallway that hummed louder and louder with each step he took.
Bass thumped beneath your shoes, the group quietly following the man in black like this was normal, no one questioned anything only because San followed with confidence, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Surprise wasn’t the word for what was behind the twin steel door at the end of the hallway, it opened to flashes of blue and purple, music so loud it made you jump where you stood.
Women on platforms half-dressed, swaying their hips to the beat of the song, bottle girls with buckets of ice and handles of liquor atop their heads parting through the crowd like it was the Red Sea, patrons in clothing that matched yours exactly. The room was filled with people in your age group dancing to the music at the center of the backdoor club, the walls filled with enclosed sections you assumed were VIP, all by velvet roped attached to silver poles.
“So? Are you guys surprised?” San asks from the head of the group, his smirk turned to a wide, excited grin, which everyone replied with a monotonous, confused yes. San laughed, leaning into Jongin, “We wanted to surprise you, you guys looked so confused at the front, like we were gonna smoke cigars and watch Cabaret.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Jongho shrugs, and most of the group nod their agreement, including you. You didn’t care where you ended up tonight as long as there was liquor for you to guzzle.
“This is better, no?” San raises his brows as he begins walking you toward the back wall, what you assume was your VIP section. “Music we know, people our age, it’s been a long time since we’ve all gone clubbing together.”
Tzuyu, in a red dress painted on her body, adds, “Because all the clubs at home suck.”
“Not the ones here,” San quips like he was waiting for that reply, entering the section backlit by blue lights cool enough to be white. “They love me here.”
“You own it,” Mingi snorts, “they have to love you.”
“I partially own it,” San raises a finger as he steps into the open booth, the table at the center already full of ice and champagne. “There’s a difference.”
Jongin starts pouring champagne into flutes, “Should we make another toast?”
“We don’t need to get all teary-eyed again,” Sana smiles, softly instead of the nasty smirk she usually wore with her rebuttals. This was appreciation. “We have our makeup done, Sannie made us emotional enough back at the house.”
“It’s not every day that you get to tell your friends how much you love them,” San holds the flute between his fingers, brows wiggling.
Yeosang laughs, “It could be, you just choose not to.”
You can feel the music in your blood, the dance floor calling to you, excitement in the bounce of your knee. You only spend fifteen minutes in your section, finishing a singular cocktail before Tzuyu’s pulling you out to the dance floor, after getting ready together in Sana’s room it was like all four of you had taken a breath of fresh air.
The dance floor was already swarming with sweaty bodies loosened up by liquor. Yours not quite there yet, you’re in a fit of giggles as the girls twirl you into the crowd, you stay on the outside of Jihyo and Sana who fall into rhythm, backs pressed to one another as they sway their hips, laughing as they twist around. You and Tzuyu are watching, smiling, giggling until the two pull you into their circle, forcing your hips into the same rhythm as theirs.
“I’m out of practice!” You yell over the music, and both Sana and Jihyo shake their heads, like they wouldn’t accept the excuse.
Jihyo slaps a hand on your shoulder, “You fuck, you know how to use your hips!”
Head tipping back with another laugh, you let her pull you into her, your hips so close they might as well be touching. You follow her rhythm, using a fuck-worthy roll of your hips as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you focus.
“You’re thinking too much,” Sana’s behind you, hands on your hips. “You need another drink, damn.”
Your lips tighten in a line as you look up at Jihyo again, embarrassed. She laughs in response, “She means you’ll feel looser with a little liquor in you.”
Sana stops the bottle girl holding a tray of shots, her screech for help loud as she tries to balance four between her fingers, the three of you snatch them from her hands like candy. Shooting it back in one swallow, you push a breath through your lips like it’d rid the sting from your throat, your face scrunching up at the taste. Vodka– bitter, painful.
But it helps, it’s not long until your arms lay over Jihyo’s shoulders, your back pressed to Sana’s as she moves to the same rhythm as you, Tzuyu swaying her body in front of Sana. You can feel the music in your blood now, your body thumping with the bass, bones turning fluid with each shake of your hips. You’re unable to feel the warmth spreading through your skin, your senses already overwhelmed by the atmosphere, you’re too busy watching Jihyo’s half-clothed body grinding herself against you.
Eventually Tzuyu heads to the bar for more drinks, handing you another shot before a glass full of something and tequila, you don’t realize how quickly you’re sipping it while Tzuyu is bent over in front of you, her ass pressed to your crotch. You can hear your obnoxious laughter over the music when Sana lands a few smacks to her ass, Jihyo pulling out her phone to record it, the four of you erupting in a fit of drunken giggles and snorts, bodies light, brains somewhere else entirely, not once did you remember there’s an entire club of people around you.
It’s been so long. House parties, clubs, bars, your friend group used to be outside on a weekly basis, you missed it. You missed them, dancing with them, completely carefree, like you’re twenty-three again. It was nostalgic in a visceral way, like maybe you were twenty-three again, sharing platonic kisses with your friends on the dance floor, waiting for your boyfriend to come scoop you up and fuck you in the bathroom because neither of you could wait.
You don’t realize you’re drunk until Mingi joins you on the dance floor. When you see his face, structured and beautiful, strands of hair hanging over his glossy eyes, a smile on his plump lips, you feel the rush of warmth from your chest to your toes. His pants cling to his legs like they’re tailored to him, strong thighs filling out the fabric, his unbuttoned shirt is showing enough skin for you to lick down his chest. You want to, the urge sitting at the forefront of your mind, you lick your lips as he approaches.
“I was wondering where you went,” Mingi’s loud over the music, you could get drunk off the rasp to his voice alone. You throw your hands over his shoulders, swaying your hips to a rhythm he meets you at immediately, his hands on your waist.
“I’ve been here,” you tilt your head, dazed. “We were dancing, the girls are so funny.”
Mingi snorts, “You’re drunk.”
“Nooo,” you shake your head, the word exaggerated, playful. “Just tipsy. Did I tell you how handsome you look?” Mingi looks amused, brows raising, you don’t wait for his answer. “You look sofuckingsexy.” His belly laugh makes your smile grow. “I’m serious, Min. I want you, like now.”
He leans in to attach your lips, a quick peck, he fights your strength to keep him close. “Now? Like were twenty-three again? Don’t wanna wait until we get home so I can fuck you in our bed?”
A small noise slips through your lips at the thought. “Too far away, we just got here.”
“We got here over an hour ago,” his hands curl around your waist, gripping you harder. “You’ve been out here the whole time, baby.”
It feels like you’ve been dancing for ten minutes. “Whatever,” you whine, pressing your front against his. “Kiss me already.”
He obliges, smiling before he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your body flush to his. You gasp into his lips, he tastes like whiskey, bitter but sweet, addicting. Your fingers find his hair as his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, groaning into you, your hands fall from his neck to feel him.
“Baby,” he says with caution, you swallow the warning, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He squeezes your hips as your hands fall from his hair to his chest, palms splayed over his pecs down to his abdomen, tongue dancing with his.
“I just wanna kiss,” you mumble into his mouth, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting softly. He groans, chasing your lips again, his hips pressing into you, he’s so easy it makes your core clench.
He parts your legs with one of his own, pressing into you, making you gasp a sound too lewd for where you are. Entirely bare beneath your dress, the pressure combined with the texture of his pants makes a breathy moan fall past your lips, one he drinks up with his own. Your fingers curl into his shirt tighter, hips bucking into him, one of his hands sliding up to the side of your neck.
“Can feel her on me,” his voice is deeper, almost a growl as he says the words into your mouth. “Knew you weren’t wearing panties.”
One of your heeled feet leaves the floor to grind against him at a better angle, head falling forward until your forehead lands against his, “Shit, feels good.”
He reaches behind you, fingers finding the hem of your dress, holding it taut over your ass. You moan again as your core drags over his thigh, forehead falling to his shoulder, the rest of the club melting away. He curses under his breath, “Baby, hold on, you gotta–”
You whimper into his shirt, eyes screwing shut, tequila and Mingi was a cocktail for impulsivity. Him, the smell of him in your nose, his body pressed to yours, he made you so fucking cockdrunk without even giving you an inch, without even touching you. The pleasure’s overwhelming, you needed more, pressure building steadily, you didn’t care where you were, who saw.
Yunho can’t believe what he’s seeing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he should have known not to follow Mingi out to the dance floor to find you. But he was growing antsy at the table, listening to the bullshit conversation everyone was having when all he wanted to do was kiss Mingi across the table. Sitting back against the couch with his knees spread, beer in his hand, lips wet and pink and plump, Yunho was stirring in impatience. He’s hungry, he wants to touch him, to kiss him, wants him on his knees between his legs, he wants to tell him how much he loves him with his lips wrapped around his cock. He stared with his chin in his palm, elbow pressed to his knee, his foot tapping against the floor, the liquor made him restless.
At least he waited a few seconds before following Mingi, just to find the two of you at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies and eyes while you grinded your hips against his fucking thigh like you were the only people out here. Mingi’s holding your dress over your ass, your hands in his shirt, leg hooked around his body, he stared until he understood the rhythm you were moving at, watching how you twitched like you were about to fucking cum.
He was seeing red. In his mind you were both still his, and you were letting all of these random fucking people see you like this? Seeing what’s his? He was moving before he could think about it, pressing himself up against your back, hands on your waist to shield you from everyone who could be watching. His voice comes out rough, harsh, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Your hips still like your blood was still victim to his command. Head tilting backward, you stare at him through wet lashes, lips parting, his name leaves your mouth in a soft gasp. Eyes hazy, glossed over, fuck, all his rage dissipates into the humidity of the club, just from one look at you. Disheveled, you didn’t have a frown on your face, your brows weren’t tied together, so fucking beautiful flushed with arousal he can feel it in his chest.
He looks at Mingi who’s equally as fucked out, cheeks red, eyes glossed over, he stares at Yunho like he wants to devour him, just like Yunho was staring at him in their section. His cock twitches in his pants, his heart twists, it’s been one fucking day and he misses you like he hasn’t had you in months.
He can’t take it anymore. He can’t do this anymore.
He isn’t thinking when he leans forward, sandwiching you between himself and Mingi as his fingers grab his cheeks, there’s no patience in the way Yunho kisses him, no softness, it’s all hunger and relief and driven by every single thought he’s had today. He says each one with each lick into Mingi’s mouth, he hopes he can feel it, the guilt, the fear, the ease he feels just by tasting the whiskey on his tongue.
“Oh my god,” he hears you whisper, it goes one ear and out the other as Mingi groans into his mouth, it goes straight to his cock. He feels you slip from between them as Mingi’s hands find his hair, his hands slide to Mingi’s neck, their chests pressed together like they couldn’t be close enough.
“I love you,” Yunho breaks the kiss only to say the three words into his mouth and he moans. Between kisses, he holds him close, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucking love you.”
“They’re watching,” you’re tugging on his arm, panic ebbed in your tone. “Yun, they’re watching you. They can see you.”
He pulls away from Mingi to turn to you, your eyes wide with fear, lips parted, eyes bouncing back and forth between Yunho and what he can only assume is all of your friends. He doesn’t care. There’s no shame, there’s no denial, there’s nothing inside him that could stop him from grabbing you by the waist, throwing the other in your hair, and pressing his lips to yours. He breaks it only to murmur, “Let them see.”
You’re stiff for just a second before melting into him, his kisses softer than those with Mingi, more controlled, like kissing Mingi took the edge off his impulse. “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. “I don’t give a fuck if they see me kissing you, you’re mine.”
You hook your leg over his thigh, palms on his cheeks, relief flooding you. You tilt your head to the side, smirking, “You couldn’t have said that yesterday?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop speaking,” your fingers tighten in his hair. “Your mouth gets you in trouble. Take us home.”
Your friend group watches Yunho guide you both through the club with wide eyes and parted lips, you don’t spare them a glance as you and Mingi trail behind Yunho like dogs to their owner. The Escalades are still parked out front, a few words from Yunho to the driver and he’s opening the door to the backseat for you and Mingi, ushering you inside.
You stole Yunho’s mouth the entire drive, Mingi settling for his neck, the skin on his chest, more with every button he ripped apart. You didn’t speak, you didn’t need to, you’d said everything on the dance floor, specifics could come later. The only thing left was consummation, which was the only thing on your mind as you nearly sprinted through the front door, almost tripping on your feet on the climb upstairs.
“Careful,” Yunho said from behind you when you’d taken two steps at a time, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter, amused at your impatience. You ignored him, forgoing an answer to instead steal his lips once more when you reached the top of the steps.
His hands found your hips, tongue pushing through your lips, you felt Mingi’s palms a steady wait on top of Yunho’s as he backed you into your room, then closed the door behind you. You broke away to untie your dress behind your neck, just for Mingi to trade places with you, stealing Yunho’s mouth.
“Bed,” you said into the air, and watched as they tripped over each other, stepping in each other’s line of direction as they backed closer, closer, and closer to the bed. Mingi fell backwards, Yunho’s hands flying for his belt.
You kissed your boyfriend, who hummed when your lips met his. “Tequila.”
“Tastes good, right?” You smile into the kiss, dress riding up your thighs, body bent over completely to keep your mouth on his.
You can hear Mingi’s pants hit the floor, grabbing your attention. Yunho has his shirt off, Mingi’s briefs discarded. Yunho’s eyes, always cool and collected, are wide, crazed; sparkling with the moonlight that makes a puddle of white at the balcony door, casting the room in a hue of midnight.
Reality settles, and it’s heavy. Drunk you may be, but not drunk enough to not be wondering what’s going through his mind. “Hey,” you offer. His eyes meet yours, charcoal, swirling with moonlight, not quite steady. Your lips curve, “I love you.”
His bare shoulders settle, ease washing over him. He leans over Mingi’s legs, two hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you deeply, speaking into your mouth, “I love you, too.”
“Holy shit,” you mumble into his mouth, making him giggle right back. He giggled.
He loves you. He fucking loves you.
Mingi reaches for your legs, pulling one over his chest, you’re absent-minded as Yunho keeps his tongue tangled with yours. He pushes your dress up over your hips, holding it up over your waist, and pulls you down to meet his awaiting tongue.
You gasp out a moan as Mingi groans, bare hips bucking against Yunho who was still leaning over him. Yunho leans back, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight, your hips already rolling against Mingi’s tongue.
“Fuck,” Yunho sighs, grabbing his length through his pants, his grip tight like he was pacing his own pleasure. Like seeing you with Mingi might’ve very well brought him closer than he should have been.
Mingi’s arms hook around your thighs, tongue poking out to let your hips rock against it, allowing you to set your own pace, to use him however you want. You waste no time setting a brutal pace, whimpering as his flexed tongue rolls over your clit, as your hips rock back onto his nose. Fingers curling into your skin, searing where they held you, no doubt leaving oval shapes behind, the sting only makes you grind against him harder.
Yunho’s fingers find his button, his zipper, his eyes zeroed in on the sight before him like he couldn’t rip his eyes away if he tried. Indents of strain dimple the space above his brows, just a slight furrow, his hand finds his length again over his briefs, running his flat palm over his hard cock, a moan tumbling off his tongue.
Your eyes flare. “G’na cum just like that? Watching?”
Yunho’s lips part. “Could, if I wanted to.”
You find the hem of your dress at your waist, pulling the thin fabric over your head in one quick motion. Still rocking your hips, abdomen flexed, breasts falling at your chest, Yunho groans.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. You hiss when Mingi’s nose catches on your entrance. Yunho’s eyes sink down to where Mingi’s tongue swallows your folds, how it blankets over your core, swiping through, spit sliding down the sides of his mouth. His hand picks up speed over his briefs, hips bucking into his own hand, chest rising and falling heavily, “I might.”
You lean forward, holding Yunho’s eye, moaning as Mingi’s tongue curls inside you. You take Mingi’s length in one hand, the other pressed on his chest, and Mingi’s hips jerk into your hand immediately, a sharp grunt vibrating your thighs.
Mingi’s knees spread, hips bucking off the bed, feet finding the edge of the bed, legs lifting just to spread wider. You keep your eyes on Yunho, voice a husky whisper, “Join.”
As if you were a siren, his body pulls him forward, his hand leaving his cotton-covered cock just to wrap around Mingi’s, his hand fitting perfectly right above yours. Mingi’s palms wrapped around your thighs keep your hips moving as you and Yunho pump his length, one-handed, your eyes never once leaving each other.
“Fuck him,” you nearly whisper, your voice still husky, coated in arousal. “Push his legs up to his chest and fuck him. I have his mouth.”
Yunho gasps, and it would have been silent if you weren’t so close. His face twinges, a jerk of a reaction, like he wasn’t used to someone giving him orders. But his hands find Mingi’s knees, the underside of them, pushing them upward. He leans toward you, taking your lips in his, and as his tongue pushes into your mouth you know it’s claiming. Steadying. Reminding you who he is, who he is to you.
Yunho’s hand disappears between Mingi’s legs, earning a shattered moan spat into your core, you smile through the sound that rips from your chest. Rocking your hips again, sitting up straight once more, Mingi’s fingers singe your thighs, each fingertip like iron soaked in fire.
Mingi’s heels find the bed, cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking all over the stretch of skin beneath his belly button. The skin of your thighs gathers between his fingers, but you rock yourself through it, the pain mixed with the pleasure better than any cocktail you’ve had tonight.
Your head tips back as Yunho preps him, listening to Mingi curse into your folds, whining and whimpering but giving your clit the most attention of all. “S’good, Mingi,” you moan out, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, sounding utterly dazed. “Mm, I love you.”
You barely hear him say it back, his voice lagged, muffled by a mouth full of you, head no doubt fuzzy from Yunho knuckle deep in his ass. You bring your eyes back to the older man who’s focused, taking his time opening him up, prepping him for his cock that neither of you can ever really be prepped for.
“Makin’ a mess, Min,” Yunho comments, finally noticing the painting the younger man made on his own skin. Droplets of pre, ropes that dripped down his sides, Mingi moaned in response. Yunho pushes his legs up, you catch them, palms splayed over his knees, holding him spread.
Beautiful, watching Mingi suck in every single inch. Beautiful, watching Yunho fight every fucking instinct to cum as soon as he bottomed out. It ignited the fire in your gut like you were the one Yunho was splitting open; a harsh moan pushing past your lips, clit throbbing against Mingi’s unmoving tongue. At least he stuck it out, you thought as your hips bucked against him, grinding harshly against the muscle he wanted you to use for your own pleasure.
When Yunho started moving, when Mingi started moaning like nothing has ever felt this good in his life, you could feel it like a phantom limb; brows furrowing, moans growing in pitch, watching your boyfriend fuck your other boyfriend brought you right to the edge.
“Shit… shit,” you moaned, your fingers finding your nipples, pinching, twisting. Hips bucking rapidly, watching Yunho’s abdomen flex as his hips rolled into Mingi’s ass, you neared so close you could taste it. “Gonna cum, Yun, gonna c-cum–”
“Wait,” he ground out, his voice ragged and harsh like he was nearing the brink himself. It made your eyes dart to him, he always lasted, he’s never cum this quickly. Ever. His grin is lazy, his head tipped backward, sweat kissing his moonlight-kissed skin, he utters, “Been waiting– for this, t-to tell you how I feel.” His chin dips, eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck.”
You understood then, that his release was so much more.
“Let me cum,” you urged. “Let me, want to watch you.”
Yunho’s eyes met yours, and agreement shone in the subtle spark of white dancing in charcoal. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around your neck, tugging you toward him to crash your lips onto his, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting the orgasm that washed over you as soon as you met.
Mingi’s grip rocked you through it, a sob leaving your throat, lips unmoving against Yunho’s. Whispering into your mouth, he uttered, “I love you.”
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do anything but roll off Mingi’s face, the younger man gasping for a breath, reaching his arms upward for Yunho. Yunho’s hips didn’t falter as he leaned down, as he pushed Mingi up the bed, crawling onto it himself. Head in the pillows, utterly dazed, lovesick and spent, you watched Yunho take Mingi for everything he’s worth.
Mingi sobbed, hands in Yunho’s hair, muttering I love you over and over again like he couldn’t believe he could say it. Yunho’s hips snapped against his, responding every fucking time Mingi said it, not missing a single time it passed through his lips.
And it occurred to you then, that they were yours. Both of them, finally, for real this time, they were completely yours. So beautiful together, their bodies molding perfectly, lips touching, speaking, not kissing; Mingi’s hands in Yunho’s hair, Yunho cradling Mingi’s cheeks.
You didn’t feel the tears on your cheeks until Mingi spilled onto his stomach, blurry eyes darting to where it dribbled down his side. They didn’t notice until after Yunho emptied himself inside Mingi, when the smack of hips became a sound of slick movement, and their heads turned to yours.
Mingi’s face, fucked-out turned to concerned. Brows bent, lips pouting, he scrounged to sit up on his elbows, “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, wiping under your eyes. “I just love you, both of you. That’s all.”
Yunho crawled over to you, a warm smile on his lips as he split your knees, placing a cupped palm on your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Wiping your tears, he murmured, “I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through this weekend.”
You sniffed, “I’m just… still a little drunk, you don’t need to console me. I know you’re sorry.”
After cleaning himself up quickly, Mingi curled up to your other side, pressing his lips into your bicep. The two of them watched you like hawks, taking in every micro-expression on your face.
“I’m fine,” you reiterated with a small laugh. “I swear, I’m just emotional. It was an emotional weekend.”
Yunho’s face drooped with guilt. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together. I didn’t mean anything I said to you–”
Your palms found his cheeks, guiding him down, cutting him off by pressing your lips against his. “I know,” you whispered, eyes opening to look into his. “I know how you feel, I knew the whole time. I’m proud of you.”
His lips quivered. Your smile grows, “Now why are you getting emotional?”
“Because I’ve been searching for this for so fucking long,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Searching for you, both of you,” his eyes find Mingi, “in everyone.”
“Search is over,” Mingi rolls on his back, eyes playful, lips pinned up on one side. He looks at Yunho with barely a turn of his head, “Should we throw a party?”
Yunho snorts, pressing another kiss to your lips before throwing your leg over his body, collapsing on your other side. After a moment, he adds, “I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you.”
Both yours and Mingi’s heads turn to him, listening. Yunho’s head angles toward you, but he doesn’t look as he continues, “I think it’s why I’ve never settled down. Nothing ever felt right, not until that first night with you both. I mean, after that, I never really left.”
“You tried,” you add with a grin.
Yunho looks at you just to roll his eyes. “It’s scary knowing the best thing that could ever happen to you is happening to you. I fucked it up before I even had the chance to fuck it up.”
“No you didn’t,” Mingi counters with a shake of his head. “You’re here, we’re here. Everything happened the way it was supposed to.”
Yunho’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you for letting me figure it out. For not abandoning me when I gave you every reason to.”
Before tears have the chance to fill your waterline again, you wrap yourself around him, literally climbing on top of him to attach yourself to him. Whispering into his neck, you say, “That’s what you do when you love someone.”
“And we love you very, very much,” Mingi adds, already cuddled up to Yunho’s side.
Yunho presses his lips to yours, a short, sweet kiss. Then turns to Mingi, pressing another short, sweet kiss to his lips. “And I love you both very, very much, too.”
synopsis ; you knew how much your boyfriend hated being called cute, but you couldn't help but push his buttons until he snaps.
pairing(s) ; bf!yeosang x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 1.7k
☆ ── genre ; smut
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, unprotected sex, mean dom!yeosang x sub!reader, petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart, love...), lowkey brat tamer!yeo, kitchen sex, derogatory names (slut...), slight manhandling, bondage, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, rough sex, creampie, choking, degradation, dacryphilia, biting/marking, clit play, lmk if I missed anything!!
☆ ── notes ; this was inspired by a smau oneshot I read that I can no longer find 😭 (curse blr and reloading before I can like or reblog), but I also unintentionally wrote this about the same time yeo posted... whoopsie
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
You knew how much Yeosang hated being called cute, always saying that he wasn't cute and it was 'ruining his image'. Each time, it always made you giggle because he got all pouty with a small glare. Today wasn't much different; he'd come back to your place or the dorms after practice and would eat dinner with you if he hadn't already with the guys.
However, tonight he seemed to be really tense about something, and you, being a little dense, didn't realize right off the bat. Not until you were gushing over clips of his stage performance from the previous week, mentioning how cute he looked with his doe eyes.
"Angel…" His tone held all sorts of warnings as he looked up at you from the barstool, a dark gleam in his chocolate orbs. Your words slow as you look up to meet his gaze, finally taking in his tight jaw and furrowed brows. He was annoyed—extremely annoyed, probably because of something that happened during practice.
"I'm sorry, Sangie, but look, how can I not call you cute when you're throwing confetti like that?" You asked, bottom lip jutting out as you scrolled through more videos on TikTok and Twitter, showing him a few of the videos that show the moment you mentioned. Yeosang's fingers tightened around the chopsticks that had been sitting idle in his hand, the plastic threatening to snap under the pressure.
"You're just doing it to piss me off now," Yeosang's voice dropped an octave, one that you knew meant you were in deep shit. Your lips twitched into a nervous smile as you tilted your head back up to meet his eyes, heart racing against your ribs as you watched him set the chopsticks down, the sound echoing quietly in the room.
"I'm s-sorry, look you're very sexy and dobermen, see?" You tried to backtrack, showing him another video, trying to appease your boyfriend. Your breath hitched when Yeosang stood and rounded the kitchen island and came towards you.
"Too late, sweetheart," He shook his head, a borderline predatory look in his eyes as he stalked towards you until you were backed against the counter, phone clutched to your chest. Your wide doe eyes stared up at him as his arms came down on either side of your body, caging you in.
"Yeo…" You breathe out, knees already feeling like jelly due to the intensity of the blonde's gaze.
"Have you forgotten who it is that fucks you until you're crying and whining like a pathetic slut?" His voice was low as he leaned down, the tip of his nose barely brushing over yours, and you swallowed thickly. "Who's cock splits them open while you scream it's too much, hmm?"
"Sang—"
"No, you're not gonna be able to sweet-talk your way out of this one, angel." He clicked his tongue, and your heart leaped into your throat, knowing you really screwed up. A small gasp fell from your lips when he plucked your phone out of your hand and set it on the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. Then that same hand wrapped snuggly around your neck, causing your pulse to jump. "How about I show you just how cute I can be?"
—
"Listen to you, so pathetic. Just needed some dick to set you straight, huh?" Yeosang growled, his fingers digging into the plush fat of your hips as he bullied his cock into your fluttering walls, whines spilling from your lips. Your fingers stretched straight from where they were bound by Yeosang's belt behind your back.
"Yes— fuck, yes! Yeosang, please!" You screamed as he brushed over your sweet spot, bringing you close to your climax that had been building for the better part of the past hour.
A dark chuckle vibrated from the back of Yeosang's throat, snapping his hips into yours and pulling a pitched moan from your kiss-swollen lips, tears finally spilling from your eyes. Leaning down, Yeosang presses his chest flush with your back, lips right next to your ear, his warm breath making you shiver.
"Look at you, sweetheart," He cooed condensendingly, a smirk tugging on his lips when you let out a broken moan as he slowed his hips to press right against your sweet spot. "My cute little crybaby, always crying on my cock aren't you love?"
"Y-Yeo." You cried out when he stood back up, picking up the pace, and you dug your nails into the palm of your hand to try and anchor yourself, but it was pointless when the head of his cock not only brushed over your sweet spot but also pressed against your cervix. The pleasure brought stars to your vision, breathless moans falling from your lips.
He let out a guttural growl as he pulled your body up until your hands were pressed against his lower abdomen. Your eyes rolled back with a silent scream at the sudden change in position, head falling back onto his shoulder. His hand moved from your bound wrist to your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.
"F-Fuck, Yeosang!" You choked out as he continued to plow into your abused cunt, but when he tilted your head to seal his lips over yours, your brain turned to mush. The kiss was anything but neat, a mixture of saliva and teeth.
"'S deep—" Another choked cry of Yeosang's name fell from your lips only to be muffled by his lips on yours once more. He swallowed all of your sweet sounds when his fingers found your clit once more, rubbing over it in slow circles. His chest swelled up in pride when your eyes rolled back, your walls clamping around him as you neared the edge.
"That's it, angel, give it to me." He groaned against your ear, warm breath fanning your cheek, "cum like the pathetic slut you are."
He repotioined his hips allowing him to abuse your sweet spot, the motion pulled a series of broken cries and moans of Yeosang's name from your kiss-swollen lips. You tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, but his grip was too strong—it was always too strong, and he kept you locked in place.
"Fuc— nghhh! Yeosang!" Your screams echoed in the dimly lit room when your body locked up, your high crashing into you like a freight train. Your vision blurred as your release gushed out of you in waves, coating his dick and fingers and drenching the floor underneath your joined bodies.
"Fuckkkk." Yeosang groaned at the sight, hips still slamming into yours, prolonging your orgasm and pulling as much of your sweet release out of you as he could. He didn't move his hand from your sopping cunt until your whole body was shaking uncontrollably, sobs echoing in his ears.
"P-Please… too much," you whined, hands pushing at his lower torso, but Yeosang just chuckled, knocking your hands out of the way and bullying his cock into your fluttering walls.
"No, it's not." Yeosang shook his head with a faux pout, causing you to whimper, head lolling back onto his shoulder as your brain completely fuzzed over, tears flowing like waterfalls.
Sobs of his name racked your lungs as he kept his relentless pace, fingers still snug around your throat. His teeth sank into your shoulder, threatening to break skin as he felt his dick twitch in your fluttering walls, knowing he was close to his own high.
"Shit, I'm almost there, hold on." His once deep and husky voice came out in a higher pitch, almost whiny, as he continued to bully his cock into your pussy, quickly throwing your body into a state of overstimulation. Then his once-ruthless pace began to become erratic and sloppy, a telltale sign that he was close. As he was chasing his own, he was bringing you to yet another one of your own.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yeosang!" You let out a high-pitched whine, bound hands pressing against his abdomen, and tears streamed down your face.
He tore another orgasm from your spent body, your vision turning white for a few moments, and you thought you would pass out. You turned your face towards him, lips brushing over his jaw, causing him to look down at you.
"Fuck." He cursed before his lips crashed into yours. A loud groan leaves his lips, vibrating against your skin as he pumps his hot, thick cum into your womb. The new warmth left goosebumps littering your skin, a whine falling from your lips, only to be swallowed by his. His hips slowed with each thrust before he came to a stop, burying himself completely in your warm walls. He released your throat to wrap his arms around your torso, your body instantly melting into his. The room was filled with heavy breaths as you both tried to catch your breath, Yeosang's lips ghosting over your skin.
"Are you okay?" His voice was hoarse as he kissed up your neck before stopping at your ear, the sweetness in his tone making you shiver.
Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked over at him before nodding, not fully trusting your voice. Then that same smirk spread across his lips as he leaned in, lips brushing over yours, causing your breath to hitch.
"Still think I'm cute, angel?" He asked, and your heart skipped a beat. A part of you wanted to say yes because you would always find something about him that made him cute. However, you knew that would only lead you to more trouble, so you bit your lip.
"I think you're my very sexy boyfriend who just fucked me within an inch of my life." You tease, voice hoarse as you smirked. You watched in amusement as his cheeks turned a deeper shade of red due to your lewd words, his arms tightening around your body.
Then he was rolling his hips against yours, causing you to gasp, wiping that smirk off your face. In the next moment, he undid the belt, held your hands, and had you lying back on the island counter, hips driving into yours once more.
"Such a dirty mouth, angel. It seems like that wasn't enough to teach you to watch your words." Yeosang's upper lip pulled back as he watched the white ring of his and your cum forming at the base of his cock. Your unabashed moans filled the room, and you knew that the night had only started, and you made a mental note to tease him for being cute again if it led to this every time.
