series warnings: heavy bdsm dynamics, subspace, rules and punishments, kink exploration, eventual romance, heavy/extreme kinks in later chapters. the characters engage in consensual controlling behaviour under the agreement of a 24/7 bdsm dynamic. this story does not represent ateez in any way; i merely use them as muses for my own characters. specific warnings will be in each chapter.
chapter warnings: this is the petplay chapter, so expect everything that entails. puppy play, dehumanisation, slight anal play (use of a tail plug), crawling, degradation, eating out of a dog bowl, psychological play, barking, brief mention of the um… practicalities of anal play (just aiming for realism here). mentioned/threatened whipping.
words: 10.2k
You wake around the same time the next morning, the city still quiet, the traffic and the distant noise of the city just beginning to swell beyond your window.
Your clothes are on the desk, as always—a top and panties and a skirt that’s most likely short enough to expose you when you bend over. You go to the bathroom first, then pull them on, glancing at your phone that you’d left charging next to them on the desk. There’s nothing new, really; just a few posts Maya’s sent you on Instagram.
You’re not particularly interested in what’s on your phone right now, you realise as you scroll through them. Everything you’re interested in is already in the house.
You huff slightly, softly, just enough to feel the cold air brush across your lips. You’re not sure what to do. You don’t hear any of them outside your room; no footsteps in the hall, no voices from downstairs—just silence. A thin silence, unsure, like it doesn’t know how to sit or what to do with itself.
Maybe you’ll go downstairs. Yeah, you could do that. You’ll go downstairs, maybe get a drink, and watch some TV until they come down.
You wrap a blanket around your shoulder, one a thin, loose knit that’s practically see-through You’re not trying to hide yourself, really; it’s just cold air and instinct that has you tugging it over your chest.
San is there on the couch when you shuffle into the living room, already dressed, reading something on his phone and looking up when you walk in. Something in his expression seems to spark and soften at the same time.
“Morning, pretty,” he smiles. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Did you?”
“I slept great,” he says. He pauses, hesitating for a moment. For a second, maybe two, he just looks at you; silent, a little scrutinising, like there’s something he’s trying to gauge. Something he’s trying to understand. Then his face evens out, calms, like a mess of laundry now folded into neat piles, and his smile widens. “You know, though,” he continues, and his voice is lower than before. “I was bouncing off the walls a little bit.”
“The walls?” You giggle. The look on his face—something like seriousness wrapped in intention, like there’s something you’re missing that he’s waiting for you to understand—wipes the smile off your face. You swallow. Suddenly nothing seems funny. “Why?”
“The same reason I’m wondering why you’re on your feet.”
You blink. “What?”
He stands up, not suddenly nor aggressively, but just the movement makes you cower like he’s all but run at you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes have sharpened, or how his voice dipped as he spoke—the next small indicators, now impossible to ignore, that the game has begun.
Or maybe you’re just on edge, because you know it has.
“What did we tell you you’d be doing today?” He asks, voice level, even, but not quite light. “What did we tell you you’d be today?”
Oh. The memory of last night—of their hands, their words, their promises—hits you like something solid. Your reply comes soft, shaking, face heating up already. “A—a puppy, sir.”
“Then get down.”
It feels odd to be doing it so early, in here yet with only one of them. You don’t even feel fully awake yet—but San has given you an order. That’s what matters. You’re on your knees before the words have even settled in the air.
“Good,” San says. He takes a step towards you, then another, until he’s close enough to take your chin in his hand. “That’s a good puppy.”
You keep your eyes down, fixed on the floor, and it’s as hard as it’s ever been—San sounds, feels, so confident and dominant and in control that you want nothing more than to look up at him, to see him. See the way he stares you down, eyes narrowed, like you’re nothing and everything all at once.
And today—like you’re a pet. A puppy.
You’ve definitely thought about pet play before; fantasised, and you’d taken a few tentative steps in that direction with Maya. But even those steps were barely so—certainly nothing like this. This is already much, much deeper.
“You look troubled, pup,” San says gently. “Something on your mind? You can speak. Tell me what’s going on in that head.”
“Nothing sir,” you say. “There’s nothing on my mind.”
He hums like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Eyes up.”
His face, you find, is the same as his tone—gentle, calm, but stern and very much owner. He slots a thumb past your lips and lets it sit inside your mouth. “You shouldn’t be thinking about anything,” he tells you, voice firmer now. “Nothing except being good and following directions. That’s all puppies should care about. Is that what you were thinking about?”
“Kind of, sir.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Kind of?” He repeats.
You nod. “I was thinking… I was thinking that I like this.”
“Being a puppy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well I suppose that’s good,” he smiles. “We want you to like it. I’d rather you weren’t thinking at all, but we’ll work on that. One day you’ll be able to switch your brain off on command.”
Your stomach swoops at the thought, the image, the fact that by now you have very little doubt that he’s telling the truth; your breath hitches, caught in your chest, and you see on his face him taking stock of each small response of your body to his words.
What you don’t do—pointedly so—is clench your thighs together. Because you’re not allowed to anymore. He notices, of course; he must see the way your thighs tense then start to move, like you’re about to press them together but stay stubbornly apart like you’re forcing yourself not to, and he makes a noise that sounds like satisfaction. “Good girl,” he praises. “There’s your control. You’re learning.”
You hear footsteps in the hall, getting closer, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of San. He doesn’t take his off of you, either. “Very good,” he says.
“I see we started early.”
Jongho. He sounds tired still, voice rough, but there’s a slight edge to it that betrays something else.
San chuckles and pulls his thumb halfway out of your mouth, far enough to smear your saliva over your bottom lip, tugging on it a little and seeming to enjoy the way your head moves with it without a choice. “I had to,” he says. “She came in looking like a lost puppy, poor little thing. She was practically begging someone to put her down.”
“And is she being good?”
“Wonderful,” San tells him. “Didn’t even hesitate when I told her to get down. I think we’re weeding that instinct out of her already. Starting to, at least.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Jongho emerges from behind you, coming to stand by San; he’s already dressed, too—comfy, casual, but still dressed. He frowns. His eyes narrow, honing in on your top half that’s still concealed by the blanket. “Is she covering herself?”
“Just a blanket,” San shrugs. “Harmless. You want it off her?”
“Is she cold?”
San looks at you expectantly. “Well, pup? Are you cold?”
“No sir,” you whisper.
“Off then,” Jongho says bluntly. You shrug the blanket off; it falls from around your shoulders, sliding down your back and landing on the floor around you. He tilts an eyebrow, expectant; warning. “Are you going to leave it there?” He asks, sharper now. “On the floor? You’re going to make a mess in our house?”
You falter, hesitating. He cuts you off before you can speak. “Pick it up,” he instructs, voice hardened at the edges. “You don’t make messes here.”
“Yes sir,” you mumble. You move to obey, reaching for it, but Jongho stops you before you can.
“Do dogs use their hands?” He asks.
You pause, turning to him, then shake your head. “No sir.”
“Then neither do you. Pick it up. Use your mouth.”
Your heart is pounding, heat blooming in your chest and neck as you lean down for it; you take the fabric between your teeth, biting down, then look back up at him like you’re silently asking for instruction. “You know what to do,” he says. “Dogs don’t walk, either, in case you’ve forgotten.”
You whine before you can help it; you half expect him to scold you for it, but he just breathes out a low laugh and nods towards the coffee table. “Go.”
So you go—you crawl, just as you’ve done before, under those same stern, watchful gazes, pulling the blanket between your teeth along the floor next to you, then pull it up onto the coffee table and drop it there.
“Good,” San says. “Turn around. Let’s have a look at you.”
They’re smiling now, you see when you obey, turning around on your hands and knees until you’re facing them; small, soft smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. San clicks his fingers then points down to the floor in front of him. “Here. Come. I have something for you, my girl.”
You perk up, intrigued; if you really did have a tail you’re certain it would be wagging now. They watch, silent, smiling slightly, as you crawl towards them and settle on your knees with your back straight.
“Good posture,” Jongho murmurs.
“Good puppy,” San says. There’s another, newer quality to his voice now, and you know what it is. The same thing that, for you, is making everything seem fuzzy and warm and thrilling.
“Chin up,” San orders. He grasps it in his hand, held between his finger and his thumb, then tilts your head upwards a little more. “There’s my puppy,” he breathes. “Keep your head like this, sweetheart, don’t move it. Stay docile.”
He crouches down so he’s at your level and runs his finger lightly across your neck. Gentle, without pressure, from one side to the other, like he’s tracing the outline of where a collar would be.
Then he reaches into his pocket and actually does pull out a collar.
It’s white, leather, a few centimetres thick, with a small metal ring hanging from the front. You stare at it for a moment, unsure what to say—your face, though, seems to say everything. San’s lips twitch; a small, knowing smirk. “You like it?”
You nod. “Yes sir.”
“Good,” he says. “This is just a play collar, for when you’re a puppy and we need something to tug you around with. Once you’re officially ours you’ll get a real collar; something you can wear all the time. Something formal, a little more subtle so you can wear it out. But this is sweet too, isn’t it?”
“It is, sir. Can I wear it now?”
“Yes you can. Stay still, honey, I’ll get it on you.”
He fastens it around your neck, slotting two fingers between your skin and the leather while he tightens it. “You need room to breathe,” he tells you before you can ask. “If you wanna try breath play, that’s a conversation to have when you’re in your right mind. For now you’re breathing freely. How’s that feel, baby?”
“Feels good, sir.”
“Not too tight or too loose?”
“No sir.”
“Good girl. And how do you feel?”
You pause, still for a moment, trying to find the words—to know what they’d be if you could. It feels rather like they’re running away from you right now.
You feel… “Floaty,” you settle on. “And… and light.”
“There’s your subspace,” he smiles. “You love it there, don’t you?”
“Yes sir.”
“We love you there, too. So sweet and obedient. God, even looking at you like this it feels like you were meant to be a puppy. How’d you survive so long without an owner, baby? Without someone to look after you?”
Your face is burning, you feel it; flames twist in your gut and scorch you in just the way you need it. Your breathing stutters, catching in your throat. “Not— not easily, sir,” you whisper.
“I bet,” he hums. “Poor baby. It’s okay. We’re here now. We’re gonna do everything for you.”
You nod. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” Jongho says a moment later. “No more talking, That’s not puppy-like, is it, baby? You need to get used to being a pup, keeping quiet. Alright?”
You open your mouth to reply, purely instinctual, but stop yourself just in time. Jongho nods, satisfied. “That’s it.”
“Oh my.”
Seonghwa’s voice, soft but sudden, cutting through the silence unexpectedly, almost has you turning towards it. You stop yourself just in time, just as your head starts to move; San makes a noise of satisfaction that has something warm and comfortable swelling in your chest.
You feel Seonghwa’s presence behind you, approaching from the doorway; slow, relaxed footsteps, a soft sound against the floor. You want to look. You want to see him. Fuck, you want…
“I didn’t realise we’d have a puppy already,” he says. God, he’s right there, you feel it— “She’s a pretty one. Where’d you find her?”
He takes another step; then, finally, his hand comes to rest on your head, flat against your hair. It takes everything in you not to keen into his touch.
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Jongho says to him, but he’s still looking at you. “Seems like a show pup to me, all perfect and pretty. I hope she has the temperament to match.”
“She’s been very obedient so far,” San says. “But I think she needs more training. Her previous owners seem to have been a little hands off.”
“Well we can’t have that.” You hear the smile in Seonghwa’s voice; the laughter he’s barely holding back. Everything about this is over the top, is ridiculous—should be ridiculous, and yet it doesn’t feel ridiculous at all. It feels the opposite, actually—it feels right. Natural. Needed. You feel yourself sinking into it like quicksand you don’t want to free yourself from. “We’ll have to train her up, if her previous owners didn’t. A pretty thing like her deserves nothing less.”
His hand moves forwards, tracing the path of the collar on your neck then grabbing your chin. He doesn’t move you; he just holds it there. He pushes his thumb past your lips and lets it sit there, too.
You want to suck it, badly. Maybe chew on it. But you don’t.
“She’s trying so hard to be good right now,” San clicks his tongue. “Look at her. Poor little thing. Bet she wishes she could tell us how bad she needs it.”
“Shame puppies can’t talk,” Jongho says. “She’ll just have to bark and whine and whimper if she wants something, I guess.”
“You’re doing well,” Seonghwa says; you can tell just from the tone, even before the words sink in, that this is meant for you now. His voice has dipped some, quieter than before, lower; like a secret the two of you share. “You can suck, sweetheart.”
He pushes his thumb in further, down to the knuckle, and you suckle at it; tentatively, at first, then more keenly. It’s strangely relaxing; a little instinctual. He hums. “Eager. I like it.”
“Where’re the others?” Jongho asks. He hides it well, but you still hear the faint impatience in his voice. The excitement.
Seonghwa laughs. “Excited, huh? They’ll be along. For now, why don’t we get some breakfast?”
The way Jongho smiles makes you think it’s probably not pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen. Seonghwa pulls his hand from your lips then taps your jaw with two fingers. You manage not to whine at the loss in your mouth.
“Stay still,” Seonghwa murmurs. “Eyes down. Keep them there. No matter what we do.”
He’s pulled away completely now, no longer touching you; you don’t like it, really, you want him to touch you again, but what you want even more than that is to please him. To hear him call you a good puppy. Maybe you’ll even find out what their version of a treat will be.
So your eyes stay on the ground, firmly, almost stubbornly, as San steps forward then clips a leash to the ring on your collar.
Oh fuck. You’re not surprised, exactly, but shit. They genuinely have you on a fucking leash.
“Come on,” San says, then tugs at it just firmly enough to make you whimper. He heads towards the kitchen, Seonghwa and Jongho in tow, and you follow on all fours. The only sound is their footsteps, your hands and knees padding against the floor, and the sound of your heartbeat pounding between your ears.
They don’t point it out to you. They let you spot it on your own—the little pink bowl on the floor by the table.
It’s not meant for people. The word puppy in bold blue letters on the front only affirms it.
San nudes you forward with his foot where you’ve frozen mid-crawl. “Go on,” he croons. “Breakfast.”
It’s full, you realise as you approach it. It looks like—
“It’s cereal,” Seonghwa tells you. “We’re not giving you dog food.” There’s a layer of amusement in his voice.
“I’m sure we don’t have to tell you not to use your hands,” Jongho says.
No, you think. He doesn’t.
“If you do feel tempted, though,” San adds, “you should remember what happens to puppies who don’t behave. A rolled up newspaper should remind you of your role today. If it doesn’t, a few lashes of your leash against your thighs definitely will.”
You can’t help but wince at the thought, and he laughs. “Eat up. Good puppies obey the first time.”
You don’t think you’ve ever found the act of lowering your head down and taking a bite to be quite so daunting. It’s a little awkward like this, hard to hold yourself, but you manage.
They pay you no attention—none. They just… go about their morning. Sitting at the table. Talking in low voices you can’t quite make out. Then, when you finish, Jongho beckons you over with two fingers and a “here, girl.”
You crawl over to him—not far, but your bare shins on the cold tiles makes it feel a lot further—and settle on your knees. He scratches the back of your head, between your ears, and hums.
“Good girl,” he grunts. “I’m gonna finish my breakfast. Why don’t you curl up at my feet til I’m done, hm?”
He pushes you down, gently, a hand on the back of your neck nudging you towards the floor. “Down you go,” he murmurs.
Time, you realise, passes strangely at Jongho’s feet. You’re not sure how much elapses like that—curled up, your head resting on his slippers, cold tile pressed against your bare skin, eyes half closed. But it’s peaceful. You’re not too cold, either, despite your near nudity; maybe they’ve turned the heating up a little bit, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re already feeling, well, hot.
It might well be both.
Every now and then Jongho reaches down to pat your hair, or nudges you gently with his foot, like a little silent assurance that you aren’t forgotten. It’s nice—knowing that even when you’re being ignored, they’re still paying attention.
You get so comfy like that, so far away in your own head, that you don’t realise they’re done until you’re being pulled back up onto your knees by the leash.
“All fours,” he orders, and you obey without thinking. “Good.”
He tugs at the leash again, already walking away and you pad through to the living room by his side, Seonghwa and San following closely behind.
Your face heats up a little, being so exposed, feeling their eyes on you, but you hardly register it. All you register—all you have the capacity to register like this—are the individual steps you’re taking and your desperation to do a good job of it.
Wooyoung arrives in the living room just as you do, shuffling in from upstairs. Your head is bowed still, eyes cast downwards like a good puppy; you dare to raise them for a moment, just a moment, but it’s long enough to catch his reaction; he pauses briefly, eyes widening for a moment, lips parting in surprise then curling into something more intentional. Something sly.
You force your eyes back down as soon as he meets them. For a moment you worry that’s not enough—that you shouldn’t have dared to raise them in the first place, even subtly—but no one moves to correct you on it.
Perhaps you get a little leeway like this. You dare to hope so.
“Well, well,” Wooyoung says. “I wasn’t expecting the puppy this early.”
“She was desperate for it,” San says mildly. He nudges you with his foot, a soft kick to the back of your thigh. “Sit, pup.”
You obey easily, settling on your knees, staring resolutely at Wooyoung’s feet, snug inside dark slippers partially concealed by the hems of his black pyjama pants. You want to look at him, of course, see the approval you hope you’d find on his face, but you know better. You’ve chanced it enough already.
He rests his hand atop your head, ruffling your hair gently; this time you can’t help but keen into his touch. He laughs. “So cute,” he coos. “Little pup can’t help herself, huh? Needs to be touched. Eyes up.”
He looks soft. That’s your first, immediate thought; hair unstyled, a little messy, face bare, eyes gentle if still holding a little of the sharpness they always seem to with you.
“You’re a little lax today,” he hums, but he doesn’t sound scolding—just observational. “Looking up when you shouldn’t be. Chasing my touch, but that’s okay. Puppies get more leeway than regular subs, ‘cause they’re cute and they don’t know how to talk back. You go deeper into your subspace as a puppy, so you can’t think as clearly, can’t catch yourself like you usually would. You get the leniency to reflect that.”
He’s stroking you as he talks, soft, circular motions, just enough pressure to feel grounding; it makes it hard to digest his words as he speaks, but you manage to when you concentrate. He smiles—a kind, smug, knowing smile like he’s reading your mind exactly.
“You’re a good girl,” he murmurs. “Pretty. We’ll show you how to be a good puppy, too. Come.”
You follow him to the couch; the leash is gone, you realise, unclipped some time after they’d tugged you into the kitchen, but you must have missed it in the haze of your headspace. Still, you crawl obediently by Wooyoung’s feet as if you were still attached to it, until he sits himself down on the couch and points at the floor between his parted legs. “You can kneel here,” he says. “No pets on the furniture.”
The other three are already seated, following you with their eyes; San reaches across Wooyoung’s lap to ruffle your hair. “Good puppy,” he smiles, eyes in crescents. “You just sit there.”
Wooyoung’s legs are pressing against you, not tight, no pressure, just holding you where you are and keeping you straight. You could lean against him if you get tired, you think, without breaking position. You don’t want to break position. So that’s good.
Wooyoung runs a long finger over your head, following the parting of your hair, and hums. “Didn’t we get her some ears?” He asks. “Poor little pup doesn’t have any.”
“We did,” Jongho replies. He looks up from his phone, brows furrowing a little, then looks back down again. “We got her everything she needs.”
“Well, she needs ears,” Wooyoung says. “What kind of puppy doesn’t have ears? Or even a tail? Was it docked off at the breeder or something?”
San snorts. “As if we’d let them do that to her.”
“The stuff is in Seonghwa’s room,” Jongho adds.
Wooyoung hums. “Well, go and get it.”
“You go and get it.”
Wooyoung reaches around you to grab your chin, fingers digging into your cheeks, and yanks your head around to face Jongho. You squeak, half in surprise and half in pain; they ignore you. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Wooyoung snaps. “I have a puppy to train. You go and get it.”
“I’ll go,” Seonghwa says. “You two, stop acting like children. We’ve our own little girl now.”
He leaves before the words can really settle, but your reaction is instant, instinctive. A sharp intake of breath, catching in your chest; a shudder that makes your whole body quake.
Jongho laughs lowly, knowingly. Wooyoung, his grip on your face released now, tugs on your hair hard enough to make your eyes water.
“Oh, you liked that, huh?” San’s smile has stretched into a grin now, all teeth. “She wants to be our little girl, doesn’t she?”
“Seems that way,” Jongho says. “She’d be a cute one, wouldn’t she?”
“She would,” Wooyoung hums. “All tiny and bratty and clingy. Suits her.”
“Maybe we’ll try it some time,” San says.
You’re only half following; your eyes are fixed on the empty doorway Seonghwa left through, the small expanse of hallway you can see through the opening. For a moment you heard his footsteps as he retreated, getting quieter and further away until they were gone too; you’re frowning, lips pushed out into a pout, you realise when San laughs, nudging your thigh with his foot. “Hwa will be back soon, puppy. Poor thing, you didn’t want him to leave, huh?”
You shake your head; just as you do, as if summoned by magic, Seonghwa appears again, and you straighten up instinctively, lifting your head, back arching some like you’re trying to show him how poised and proper and good you can be. He smiles, coming to stand in front of you and patting your head. “Here we go,” he says.
He’s holding a couple of things. First, a pair of floppy white ears, attached to a headband that he crouches down to clip into place in your hair. “Don’t want you losing ‘em,” he smiles.
The other is a pair of what looks like mittens, in the same colour as the ears. “Paw,” Seonghwa says. It takes you a moment to realise what he means; you hold out your hands, one at a time, and watch silently as he fastens the mittens around your hands and ties them at the wrists. “Puppies don’t use their hands,” he tells you. “This way you won’t have to remember not to.”
The last thing in his hands is a box. It’s small-ish, nondescript, and you can’t tell what’s in it; you look up at Seonghwa with pleading eyes, hoping it’ll sway him into telling you, but he just laughs. “That’s not gonna work today I’m afraid,” he says. “This is for later, if you’re good and if you want it. We’ve already given you, what, three gifts today? If I give you this now you’re gonna end up spoiled.”
“She’s gonna end up spoiled anyways, just look at her,” Wooyoung says. “The sweetest little puppy. I already want to give her whatever she wants.”
“It’s hard to resist,” San says. He’s standing now, next to Seonghwa, eyes raking over your bare, kneeling form, taking in the sight of you. He looks pleased. “Jongho, bring her bed over here.”
The words take a moment to settle; from the corner of your eye you watch as Jongho rises, walking across the room and picking up— oh. Of course.
That’s why they’d been so insistent that the thing you’d been lying on last night wasn’t a dog bed—because they were about to give you something that actually was.
Jongho puts it down in front of the couch, near to where you’d been kneeling. It’s a dark brown, soft looking, big enough to hold you if you curl up. Seonghwa nudges your attention back towards him with a hand on your chin. “Okay,” he says softly. “We’ve let you be curious for a bit. Let you get a good look at what’s going on. Now you listen. Eyes down.”
Your gaze falls, just as instructed; Seonghwa makes a noise of satisfaction that sits warm in your belly. “Good,” he says. “You remember. There’ll be no more wandering eyes today. We’ll keep you on track. Show me your panties.” He nudges your knees, pressed together, with his foot, humming when you realise what he wants you to do and part your legs accordingly. He crouches down for a better view of them, the black cotton and lace snug against your cunt. His hand wraps around your thigh and nudges your leg open a little bit further.
It doesn’t improve his view, already unimpeded; you think he just wanted to feel your body obeying him.
“Cute,” he smiles. “Are you wet? Nod or shake your head.”
Tentatively, you nod, though you’re all but certain. There’s no way you couldn’t be wet now, right?
“I’d like to check myself. Nod or shake your head.”
You nod again. Seonghwa exhales. His hand moves up your thigh, then two fingers press against your clothed cunt. You inhale, a sharp, sudden breath, and bite down a whimper.
Seonghwa’s touch feels like static, reaching you in every corner of your body; finds you in the smallest, darkest corners and crevices. You can tell he knows it. He presses down a little harder, the corners of his lips quirking in amusement, then pulls away, standing back up again. He lifts the two fingers that were pressed against your cunt and shows them to San.
“Look at that,” Seonghwa says. “Sheen. All the way through her panties. Leaking like a little faucet.”
“Good call having her wear panties, then,” San laughs. “She’d be dripping all over our floors.”
“You like it this much?” Wooyoung asks. His voice comes from behind you, landing on the back of your neck like a cold breath. “Being a pet. You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you?”
Not consciously, you think. But you’re taken aback by how natural this feels. You make to respond, mouth opening; you catch yourself just in time, and a soft, throaty whine slips out from where you’d held the words back. Wooyoung coos.
“Eyes up.” Seonghwa’s hand is on your chin now, gripping it between two fingers, forcing your attention onto him where it had started to drift away. “Good puppy. Now. I’m going to give you some instructions, and you’re going to listen very, very carefully. Yeah?”
You nod, straightening up a little; Seonghwa smiles. “Good,” he says. “You’re going to curl up in your little dog bed here. You won’t speak, unless it’s to call a safeword. You’re going to be a good puppy. You won’t bother us. You’ll wait for us to put you to use, and you’ll be grateful for what you get. Go on now. Crawl.”
He smacks your ass as you start to obey, on the patch of skin where your skirt’s ridden up; you don’t react, determined to show them you can control yourself and focused on your mission of getting to the bed.
It’s soft, more padded than you thought it would be. You take a second to get yourself comfortable, finding a position that works and allows the bed to hold you in your entirety, then let your head rest on the raised side. When you look up, you can see Wooyoung and San, but they’re not looking at you. No one is looking at you.
You sigh softly, turning your head back to where it was lying comfortable before, facing outwards; you yawn, humming slightly, and without really thinking, you push two fingers past your lips and into your mouth.
You’re not even conscious of it until someone laughs.
“Is that her version of a chew toy?” You’re not sure where Hongjoong’s voice is coming from, and by now you’re too comfy to lift your head to look, but you hear the slight sleepiness, the soft amusement in his tone. “Her own fingers?”
Seonghwa is in front of you a second later, crouching down by your bed and yanking your fingers out of your mouth. He smacks your cheek, not too hard but certainly not gentle, clicking his tongue. “Bad dog,” he says. “You don’t decide what goes in your mouth. We do. Understand?”
You nod. Seonghwa smiles gently. “Good girl.”
He reaches to pat your head, ruffling your hair slightly, and then he’s gone.
You hear them telling; at some point, the voices of the others come into the mix, but you don’t fully digest what they’re saying. It’s not about you, though, you know that; while Yeosang gives a short, fond laugh when he walks in and sees you there before turning the conversation to something else, Yunho and Mingi say nothing at all. From this angle, you can’t be certain they even looked at you.
It’s surprisingly easy to just lie there, doing nothing, even with your subspace making you so needy for them; the same subspace that makes you hot and desperate, like this, is making you calm. Floaty. Fuzzy. You’re happy just lying curled up in the warmth of your little bed and think of nothing but obeying them.
You do wonder what their intention here is, though. You know the purpose, of course, to show you what it’s like to be a puppy, but you’re not certain why. Everything they do with you seems to have a reason—that first day, when they took you apart, it was to set the tone and the expectations for this relationship; the second day, when you were wrapped up in rope and spanked into total and complete submission, it was to teach you to surrender. To show you the freedom of losing control. Yesterday, when they had you strung out and denied all day, it was to teach you control itself. To teach you to obey.
You’re not sure what it is today.
They turn on the TV, a variety show none of them seem to be watching, but with nothing else to do you start to follow along. They’re speaking quickly, the hosts, a little faster than you’re used to or comfortable with in your second language, but it’s not too hard to keep up.
They’re playing a game; the group, rookies you haven’t heard of, are split into two and playing some odd sort of playground game. It’s neck and neck. The tiebreaker round is next.
Just as it’s about to start, the channel changes. Your head lifts off of the bed, only slightly, and a confused sound escapes your throat before you can help it.
A hand fists into your hair and pulls you upwards, far enough that you’re on your knees and staring right into San’s face.
He doesn’t look annoyed. He looks amused. “Were you watching that?” He asks.
You keep your mouth shut. The corner of his lips quirks on one side. “Poor thing,” he says. “You haven’t quite learned yet, have you? Puppies don’t know how to think. That’s why they need their owners to do it for them. But I think you were thinking, weren’t you, pup?”
Your gaze drops, cheeks flushing pink, a small measure of shame breaking through the haze. San laughs. “Don’t worry, baby,” he coos, “I know it’s hard. You’ve spent so long trying to be a person, haven’t you? It must be hard to turn it off. We’ll help you.”
He lets go of your hair and you fall back down, not expecting to suddenly be unsupported; you’re kneeling with your ass against your shins now, staring up at San with an empty expression.
Help you. What does that mean?
“We need to dumb her down a little,” San says. “A bone, how about that?”
“Do we have a bone?” Mingi asks.
“I think we do,” Seonghwa says. “More of a chew toy. We never got around to using it, when we had— yeah, I know where it is.”
“And the other thing?” Wooyoung asks.
“Later,” Seonghwa says. “She hasn’t earned it.”
You wonder what it is you haven’t earned yet, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it now, because Seonghwa is walking out of the room to go and get you a bone, a chew toy, and the thought fills you with excitement and curiosity. You wonder if it really will make you go down; make the thoughts and the coherence and all the human stuff happening in your head just turn off. If the act itself doesn’t, the praise you hope they’ll give you for chewing on it so nicely surely will.
Seonghwa returns with it in hand, still wrapped up in plastic; he pulls it out, discarding the wrapping on the table, then walks over to you. “Kneel,” he says. “Eyes up. Open your mouth.”
Your lips part obediently; Seonghwa shakes his head. “Wider.”
Once it’s wide enough, so wide that it’s starting to hurt your jaw, he slides the toy in and rests it on your bottom row of teeth. “Bite down,” he says. “Carefully, I don’t want your slobber on me. If your mouth touches my hand I’ll beat you.”
You close your mouth slowly, carefully; when you’re biting down hard enough he pulls his hand away, ruffling your hair a little. “Good girl,” he smiles. “Lie back down. We have some things to talk about today—no, not with you, don’t worry—so you’re going to lie there and be good while we do it. Just chew on your toy and entertain yourself.”
You sigh, curling up in your bed again, this time with the toy between your teeth. You start to bite down on it, hesitant, still getting used to the feel of it in your mouth and— oh. It squeaks.
It’s a quiet sound the first time you hear it, your bite weak enough to only just make it go off; you try again, biting down a little harder, and it comes louder now. Oh, that’s fun. You bite down faster this time, two bites in quick succession, and the squeaks are faster and shorter in tandem. You smile around the toy, biting down again; it’s wet now, drool beginning to soak into the plastic and drip down onto your bed, but you hardly notice. You’re having fun. Someone reaches down to scratch your head, gentle, and you keen into the touch a little bit. You don’t know how long they stay like that for, and it doesn’t even dawn on you to look up to see who it is. You’re focused on your toy. On the squeaks. On the oddly soothing feeling of soft plastic between your teeth.
You hear them speaking; hear their voices, low and serious, talking about work from the few words you care to make out—practice, stage, choreography. You hold the toy between your two mitten-clad hands, keeping it steady as you bite down harder. You wonder if the plastic would rip, if you did it hard enough. You wonder how tough it is—would it still squeak if it was ripped open? Maybe it would squeak even louder, actually, if it didn’t have the plastic muffling it.
That’s something to do.
You bite down as hard as you can, dragging your teeth across the plastic, trying to tear a hole somewhere. You manage to make one near the middle, where the plastic is thinner, and the squeak is louder, just like you’d thought.
“What are you doing?” You pause, looking up; Hongjoong is standing over you, peering down with an eyebrow raised. “Get up,” he says. “On your knees.”
You pull yourself up into position, staring up at him with the toy still held between your teeth. Hongjoong holds his hand out in front of your face. “Drop it.”
You do; it lands in his hand and he lifts it, moving it so the end is held between two fingers. “Covered in slobber,” he says. “Embarrassing. Is that a hole you’ve made in it?”
“A hole?” Yeosang appears suddenly by Hongjoong’s side, a slight smile catching on his lips. “She made a hole in it?”
“Right here,” Hongjoong says, pointing to it. “I think that was on purpose, don’t you? I don’t think a little puppy could do that by accident.”
“Definitely not,” Yeosang agrees. “I think the dog—” He pauses for a second, gaze flickering down towards you then back up, “—has some lessons to learn about respect.”
“She’s just a pup,” Wooyoung says from behind you. “It’s normal for them to break things. You were just playing, weren’t you honey?” He leans down, nuzzling his face into your hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“She still needs to learn,” Hongjoong says, voice firm. “Look at me, dog. Eyes up.”
He doesn’t look angry, of course; just stern. His voice is quiet and firm and final.
“You do not break things. You do not tear holes in things. When we’re nice enough to give you something, you treat it with respect. Do you understand me?”
You nod. He doesn’t look impressed. “No,” he says, “we let you be a quiet little lap dog because we thought you could behave like one. But if you want to chew holes in things, you can act like the untrained stray you seem to think you are. So now, if we ask you a question, you’re going to bark. Understood?”
Jesus Christ. Your breath hitches, catching in your throat; Hongjoong is staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to respond, and you force out a quiet little yip that might be the most pathetic sound you’ve ever made.
Hongjoong looks delighted.
“Good dog,” he grins. “You’ve lost the privilege to play with toys, I’m afraid, so you’re going to come and sit with me. Any more misbehaviour and you’ll be whipped, understood?”
You bark again, a little louder this time; Hongjoong clicks his fingers, pointing to the floor next to him. “Come, girl.”
You crawl by his side as he returns to his seat on the other couch, next to Jongho; you feel Yeosang following behind you, hear his quiet footsteps against the floor, and when you settle kneeling by Hongjoong’s feet Yeosang sits down on the other side. Hongjoong puts the toy away somewhere out of your sight, then parts his legs. “Kneel in between them,” he says, pointing to the floor. “You’re going to learn to be respectful of your things. So instead of a chew toy, you’re going to keep my fingers in your mouth; maybe that’ll make you more considerate. I understand puppies can’t think as clearly as humans, but you knew better. You made a conscious choice to destroy that toy, so now you’re going to learn not to.”
He pushes two fingers into your mouth once you’re in position, pushing right to the back of your throat; you gag around them, but it’s more out of surprise at the intrusion than an actual inability to breathe, and when he pulls them out far enough to sit comfortably on your tongue you settle down. He pushes the side of your head gently with his hand, guiding it to rest against his thigh. “Good puppy,” he coos. “Suck on my fingers, sweetheart. We still have a few more things to discuss.”
His other hand is a firm presence on the back of your neck as the conversation starts up again, keeping you still, the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin pushing you deeper into the haze. His grip is so firm, so assured; his control of you, of your body, so palpable you feel like you could reach out and touch it.
You can’t believe how easy it is with them. How little it takes to put you into subspace; to push you further into it and keep you there. How they can do it with barely more than a glance.
You float there for a while, content, until someone speaks.
“Are you enjoying this?”
You look up, blinking, meeting Hongjoong’s blank gaze. Um.
“I think you are,” he says. Let’s see how wet you are.”
He lays you flat over his lap, your ass in the air, like Wooyoung had done yesterday with your legs spread and your toes grazing against the floor. He runs two fingers up your inner thigh, slowly, steadily, easing closer and closer to your cunt. His touch is feather-light, a tickle that makes it hard to stay still and quiet.
“Such a good dog,” he murmurs. “I can see how hard you’re trying to stay still. Sensitive, hm?”
Finally he reaches your cunt; his fingers push through your folds, grazing across your hole and your clit, gathering your wetness in his hand. He hums. “Soaking,” he says. “Wet cunt on a wet dog. She just has no shame at all.”
“She can’t help it.” Another hand, a little larger, fingers thicker and rougher, settles on the back of your thigh, pressing slightly into the skin. Jongho. “She’s gone all the way down now, I think. Exactly how we wanted her.”
“I think she’s earned her reward,” Hongjoong says.
“I agree.”
You’re moved then; lifted from Hongjoong’s lap and placed back down on the floor, on your knees the way you’d been before. Hongjoong grabs your jaw, pushing his thumb into your mouth and using it to ease it open. “Show me your tongue,” he says. “And your throat. Gotta make sure.”
You must look confused, because Jongho, sat next to Hongjoong and peering down at you with equal intensity, huffs out a low laugh. “Sweet girl doesn’t get it, do you? Puppies need to be inspected all over. That includes the mouth. Anywhere that can take a finger or a dick needs to be checked.”
Oh, right. You let your mouth open a little more, jaw falling slack, something warm pulsing in your chest at the satisfied sound Hongjoong makes in response. He looks focused, brows furrowed slightly, finger pressing down on your tongue, then pushing to the back of your throat, then running across your bottom lip. “Very good,” he says. “Seonghwa, come here. Bring her tail.”
A tail. You perk up, back straightening some, and something tightens in your gut at the thought. Hongjoong smiles. “Eager, huh?” He says. “The tail matches your ears.” He reaches to tug at one of the ears gently, the clips it’s fastened to tugging at your hair slightly. “It’s fixed to a plug. Can you take a plug right now?”
You nod, barking quietly. You can definitely take a plug now; you haven’t eaten much, and you cleaned yourself out this morning as you always do. Hongjoong nods. “Good,” he says. “Lean over, then. Ass up.”
You feel the presence behind you, then your ass grazing against someone’s crotch. His hands comes to rest on your hips, steadying you, then push your skirt the rest of the way over your ass where it has already started to fall. “Easy,” comes a low murmur. Seonghwa’s hand moves down, the other locked in place to hold you still, and slowly starts to tug down your panties. They’re pulled to your mid-thigh, far enough down to expose you but high enough that the fabric keeps your legs pressed together somewhat. The sound of a cap being undone, then liquid squeezed out, makes your breath catch in your throat.
You exhale, steadying yourself. It’s just a plug. You’ve taken things in your ass before.
It’s cold, both the lube and the what feels like steel of the plug; you gasp, flinching ever so slightly, but you manage not to react too much. Seonghwa’s hand stays firm on your hip while the other pushes the plug in past your rim; it’s a full feeling, intrusive, but not quite a stretch.
“There we go,” he hums, pushing it the rest of the way inside until your rim is curled around the base of it. He pats your ass, not quite a smack, but there’s a slight sting to it that makes you wonder if there’s still a sensitivity there from the spanking you took a couple of days ago. “Now she’s a puppy,” Seonghwa says. “Isn’t she cute?”
“Adorable,” San says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Looks natural, doesn’t it? I wonder how it feels.”
“Full, probably,” Jongho says. “Kneel, puppy.”
You feel their eyes on you as you push yourself up onto your knees; your panties are still bunched around your thighs, the fabric slightly tangled, damp and sticky at the crotch, but you don’t try to move them. You know better than that.
You wonder what their plans are for you; if they have any at all, or if they just want to have you like this. Hongjoong sighs, adjusting himself, hips pushing outwards slightly, then points downwards. “Here, girl.”
You crawl over to him as gracefully as you can, settling on your knees by his side; he rests a hand on your head and runs his thumb over your scalp. “Eyes up,” he orders. “Good girl, you’re a natural. And so pretty with your little tail, aren’t you?”
His hand moves down to grip your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, then pulls away. You hear the smack before you feel it; the loud, sharp sound that rings out on its own for a few seconds before the pain hits.
It’s not overly hard. It doesn’t knock the wind out of you. But the sound and the sting and the way his expression doesn’t change—still cool, still passive, as though nothing had happened at all—makes something in your stomach swoop and your vision blur at the edges. You bite back a whine, afraid it will come out louder than you can get away with, but something in your face must betray you, because Hongjoong breathes out a laugh then hits you again. “Pathetic,” he says, but the softness of his tone makes the word land like praise. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes.”
“She probably feels a little lost right now,” Jongho says. “All floaty and fuzzy and hardly being touched. Wondering if we’re gonna put her to use or just string her out.”
“Must be hard not knowing,” Hongjoong says. “Colour, puppy? You can speak.”
“Green.” The word feels oddly unfamiliar on your tongue; the sound of your voice, small and soft, strangely foreign. You’ve already gotten accustomed to being quiet. To barking and whining and whimpering. Speaking feels… wrong.
“Good girl,” Hongjoong replies. “Then I’ll put you out of your misery. You’re not getting off today. Clear?”
You nod. You’d sort of figured.
“Good,” he says. “Then you can get your bed and bring it over here. Save the floor digging into your poor little knees. Go on.”
You nod, turning away from him; he sends you off with a smack to your ass as you start to crawl away. It makes the plug shift inside you, reminding you of the presence that had already started to slip your mind, and you whimper.
You feel them watching you as you move. When you reach the bed, for just a moment, you hesitate.
You can’t use your hands; they’re still snug in those soft mittens, and you doubt you’d be allowed to anyway. So how…?
“Teeth,” someone says. “Come on. You’ve seen puppies pick things up, haven’t you?”
You have. It’s not as easy to pick up as your bone was, of course (rest in peace to that poor piece of plastic), but you manage to tug it along the floor as you crawl back over to Hongjoong. He takes it from you once you’re within reach, putting it down between where he and Jongho are seated, then taps it with his foot. “Down,” he says. “On your knees. Face Jongho.”
Jongho slips his fingers past your mouth just as Hongjoong had done, pulling your head to rest against his thigh; his fingers are splayed across the back of your head and neck, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin, and you can’t help but sigh contentedly.
You’re so comfy. This is so easy. You’re right where you want to be.
Nothing much happens for the next while. You stay there, still and silent, as they go about their day; people come and go, to their rooms, Hongjoong and Mingi leaving for a while to get a hook recorded before they forget it, but you don’t move. Nor does Jongho. He takes his hand away from your head after a while, but his fingers stay in your mouth, resting atop your tongue.
You’re not really thinking about much. Time seems to slip by separate from you; independently, like you’re floating somewhere it can’t quite reach. You don’t fall asleep—but you’re not exactly awake, either. You’re just… there.
They feed you your lunch by hand, sandwiches cut up into small bites, then hold a bottle of water to your lips until you’ve downed at least half of it. Your plug comes out a little while later; you don’t want it to, of course, enjoying the feeling of fullness and the softness of your tale against your legs, but Yunho’s narrowed eyes and the threat of a whipping stops your whining before it can really start.
“You’ve had it in long enough,” he says. “I can easily go and get your leash. Do you need some lashes on your thighs with it to help the point sink in?”
You shake your head quickly, biting down on your lip as if to physically trap your protests in your throat. Yunho nods, humming, a noise halfway between amusement and satisfaction sounding out in the silence as he slowly eases the plug out of you.
“Good puppy,” he murmurs. “You’re going to start to come up now. Slowly. You’ve been down for a while, haven’t you?”
True to his words, you come down steadily, at your own pace. They don’t rush you; Jongho’s other hand returns to rest against your head where it had been before, caressing you slowly, his touch just heavy enough to feel grounding and stabilising as you come back to earth.
The paws are the first to come off, untied and pulled off of your hands so quietly you don’t even notice. Your ears are next. Your collar comes off only once you’ve been lifted off of your bed and settled by Jongho’s side.
“There we go,” he says. “Coming up, huh? In your own time, baby. You can speak whenever you want to.”
“Sir.” The word is quiet, mumbled, your face pressed into Jongho’s side, eyes half closed.
“I’m here,” he assures you. “You did well.”
His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, you realise, hand rubbing up and down your back. He’s slid it under your shirt so his skin is pressed directly against yours, and his hand is warm, the skin soft.
“It’s almost time for dinner,” he tells you. “Do you think you can eat?”
“Wanna stay here,” you respond. “Comfy.”
“You can eat here,” he says. “We’ll bring the food through, just this once.”
“Once?”
“Not really,” he says. “Usually we eat at the table. But I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind you eating in here when you want to. Especially when you’ve just been so good and sweet for us.”
Another hand, larger, comes to rest on your thigh, following the curve of it where it’s angled towards Jongho. “How’s the pup?” Mingi asks, his voice a low drawl.
“Still coming up, I think,” Jongho answers. “Not sure you still calling her pup is gonna help the process though.”
Mingi huff, snorting slightly. “That has nothing to do with the scene,” he says. “She looks like a little puppy all the time to me. Tiny and naughty and eager to please.”
“I suppose she does.”
“How’s your hole, honey?” It takes a second for you to register that Mingi is talking to you.
“Fine,” you respond. “Empty.”
He laughs. “I’ll bet. You take a plug well, don’t you? Good at having your ass full. You like it?”
“Like it,” you repeat. “Comfy.”
“I’m sure it is.”
They feed you your dinner, too, noodles in a light soup that Jongho balances in your lap while he feeds you small mouthfuls of it, praising you with each one. You’ve never been praised for something so unremarkable before.
You don’t do any more scenes that day, but the small, lingering pieces of the high and the peace and the calm fuzziness stay with you until nightfall.
San comes to check on you when you’re tucked in, just before you turn off the light. He’s in his pyjamas too, soft looking blue checkered ones, his glasses sitting on his nose and his feet snug in his navy blue slippers. He looks homely. Cozy. Like something you could hide away in.
He runs his hand up your body where it’s tucked beneath the blanket, from the bottom of your legs to your cheek; his hand lingers there for a second, cupping your face, and there’s nothing but softness in his eyes. “You did well today,” he says quietly.
“Thank you.”
He leans into you slightly, just a little, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you; where his lips would land is another question, of course, but something in his expression seems to speak to an intention along those lines.
But then he hesitates. Stops. Moves back again. The smile on his face is no less genuine even as he retreats.
He’s just starting to turn for the door when you speak, the words slipping past your lips before you can consider them.
“San,” you call quietly. “Stay?”
He pauses, smile fading and for one moment, ice cold, you think he’s going to say no and the illusion of care and fondness they’ve created for you over these past few days will shatter into tiny pathetic pieces. But then the smile comes back softer, gentler, and he nods, climbing into bed with you and pulling you into his arms. “Course,” he murmurs. “C’mere, puppy.”
His hold is strong and firm but not hard; it yields and gives where you want it to and holds you tight where you don’t. He, they, seem to do much the same.
“Why do you do this?” You ask, out of the blue. Sleepiness has always loosened your tongue a little. “Like, have a sub all together.”
“As opposed to what?” He asks.
You shrug. It feels like a trick question somehow, but he’s looking at you with nothing but patience. “One sub each, or hookups, or…girlfriends or something.”
He’s quiet for a moment; thoughtful. “Think of it like this,” he starts. “Everyone needs connection, right? And release. With our jobs we aren’t really able to meet those needs in a meaningful way; too busy for girlfriends, of course, and it can get messy as idols anyway. We had hookups, as well, but it didn’t do it for us.”
“Why not?”
“Because release on its own does nothing for us. It has to be both. There has to be connection, deep connection. We couldn’t get that from just sex. We were all feeling it but we weren’t sure what else to do other than, like, fuck each other, which, no.”
He makes a face, exaggerated and you giggle softly. He glances down at you with a small smile and adjusts you in his hold a little; now, held against his chest, you feel the low, calm vibrations of his voice as he speaks to you. “Then I just… started thinking about it. Saw someone online talking about their sub and it made me think. Not just about having a sub but about sharing with the others, too. We’d all tended to take dominant roles in sex, and when we were doing hookups we’d sometimes share a girl together, in twos or threes usually. Turns out we all wanted something deeper too, and we all get a lot of fulfilment from being in control. From taking care of someone, taking charge of them. Which led us here.”
“That makes sense,” you hum. “Do you think…do you still feel lacking anything, like you did before?”
He takes a second to think. “No,” he answers. “This feels right. In a job like ours your whole life is controlled; everything is decided for you. But with you, with this, we can have control. We can have responsibility and bear it. And by having it together we find our own bond with each other deepens. Hey, look at me.”
He suddenly shifts you, tilting your head upwards by the chin to meet his eyes. “Whatever happens, we’ll never take for granted this gift you’ve given us,” he says. “I want you to know that.”
“Gift?” You repeat. “What gift?”
“Your submission,” he responds. “Your surrender. Letting us have control when we usually have none. It’s not a small thing to us. Never would be.”
“Thank you.” It slips out without any thought; instinct rather than reply. It feels a little strange, to say it, not really certain what you’re thanking him for, but he hums like he knows exactly what you mean and pulls you closer.
You fall asleep that way, in his arms, wrapped in the shared silence.
told you it was coming back! thank you so much for waiting. i hadn’t anticipated how crazy this school year was going to be but im so glad to finally be able to continue this. i promise i will not make u wait that long again!!!
your comments and thoughts are SO appreciated and make me more motivated to continue my work on this. love🖤🖤🖤
BIMBO SERUM. temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! heavy dom/sub dynamics, tag teaming (top!atz), gangbang, unprotected sex, cnc, consensual drugging, aphrodisiacs, mean doms!ateez. drugged up bimbo reader. disgusting, nasty, probably unethical, but fully consensual. this chapter: above warnings plus watersports (peeing yourself), humiliation, degradation, use of sex toys (butt plugs & dildos), extremely degrading language (bitch, dog, girl), slight manipulation (lying about certain effects of the serum purely for fun), a lot of squirting, hole inspections, dildo sucking & dildo fucking, oral fixations, you’re described as being ‘like a kid’ at one point, smacking, cunt slaps, a lot of degradation specifically targeted towards your pussy, dehumanisation, you’re called gross/disgusting/used up etc, use of master & sir, cockwarming, anal play, heavy subspace, implied somnophilia at the end.
words: 11.4k
chapter dedicated to @yestodayys thanks for your help baby<3
You wake up in Mingi’s bed, held in his arms; one of his hands rests on the back of your head, cradling it against his chest while the other is curled around the curve of your ass.
He’s still fast asleep, soft snores just audible in the morning quiet, but that’s okay. You’re not in a hurry. You’re sure whoever wakes up first (because you doubt it’ll be him) will come and get you and put you to use.
It’s a little bit frustrating waiting for them, though, when you’re wide awake and programmed for one thing and one thing only.
The need starts in your tummy, just like yesterday. Like a low hum; a buzz that hardly registers but makes you squirm without realising, toes curling, breathing a little shallower as you try to resist it.
Someone is coming soon. They wouldn’t leave you alone like this.
Mingi grunts softly, shifting in his sleep; his hand moves from your ass to a little lower, to the tops of your thighs, and slots into the gap between them. His fingers brush against your clit, just briefly, barely enough to count as a touch—but that’s all it takes.
All it has to, when you’re desperate for their touch and unable to formulate any thoughts beyond it.
You clench your thighs together, like you’re trying to trap his hand there, then shuffle down a little, so his fingers are pressed up properly against your clit. Wow. Hngh… You tense then relax, moving back and forth, up and down until the buzzing in your tummy begins to satiate—as it does, though, it spreads, until your whole body is alight with it.
It’s like… you don’t know, exactly. It’s like drinking seawater or something—the more you have, the more your body needs it. Quenching your thirst only intensifies it.
This isn’t enough. You need more than his fingers.
You manage wriggle yourself out of his hold and wrap your legs around his thigh. It’s thick, muscular, peeking out of where his loose shorts have ridden up to his hips. There’s more than enough for you to satiate yourself.
There must be, right?
You don’t ease yourself in this time; you can’t. You just hump and hump and hump, grunting and whining and crying into Mingi’s chest, until you start feeling the way you want to, you start getting where you want to be—
Then his leg moves away, so quickly it feels like whiplash, and his hand is on your throat. Tight. Strong. Dwarfing you. Your head is on the pillow, turned uupwards and Mingi is hovering there above you—wide awake. Eyes dark and narrowed, all strictness and severity and lust.
“You needy little bitch,” he spits. “Fucking me in my sleep. Fucking whore.”
“I…” You don’t know what to say, of course, how could you, but still you try. You’re cut off before it can go either way.
“That wasn’t fucking, Mingi.” Your eyes flicker towards the door, where the newer, lighter voice comes from; Hongjoong stands there in the open doorway, arms folded across his chest, staring you down with an expression that feels half stern, half amused. You whine, wanting to reach for him or run to him, but you don’t remember how to. He sees you looking at him, longing for him, and his lips quirk—a smile, except there’s no warmth or fondness or kindness. Just intention. Just knowing. Just leering. “Hi, bimbo,” he says. His gaze moves back to Mingi. “She wasn’t fucking you in your sleep, Mingi. That’s what humans do. She was humping you, like a dog. Weren’t you, bitch?”
You don’t reply; it doesn’t even register that you should. Mingi’s other hand, the one not on your neck, winds back and smacks your bare, desperate pussy. “Answer him,” he grits. “You dumb bitch, you answer your master when he asks you a question.”
“Ah,” you squeal, crying out again when he lands a second, third, fourth slap directly on your hole. “Ah, master, I— yes, sir. Yes I was, I was humping him, sir.”
Only once you finally answer, your words stammered and broken up by your cries of pain with every smack, does Mingi stop his assault on your cunt. He smiles, all gentleness now, and rubs your stinging pussy where he’d smacked it. “Good baby,” he purrs. “You always take punishment well, don’t you my girl?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically.
You see the movement from the corner of your eye; feel Hongjoong’s imposing presence getting closer and closer until he’s right there next to you and peering down at you, staring at your stinging cunt like he’s analysing it. “Does it hurt?” He asks. You nod, and he breathes out a low laugh. “Good,” he nods. “That’ll teach you.”
“Joong,” you whine.
He raises an eyebrow amusedly. “Yeah?”
You whine again, wriggling a little. “Touch?”
“You want me to touch you?”
“Please.” You’re close to sobbing now just from the desperation you feel for him.
He doesn’t touch you, though. Instead he laughs, and his hand lands on your thigh hard enough to make you yelp. “No,” he says. “You don’t tell me what to do. Get her up, Mingi. She’s gone too long without being used, she’s obviously forgotten her place.“
“Well, we can fix that.” There’s a hand in your hair now, tugging you upwards and out of bed then pushing you to the floor, sending you stumbling down onto your knees. They’re towering over you now, staring you down; Mingi kicks lightly at your knees to force them apart. “Fix your posture,” he says, and you do. “Good. Open your mouth.”
He’s sliding past your lips before you’re conscious of it; hard, throbbing, leaking a little as he pushes to the back of your throat. He stretches your mouth, your jaw straining, and the stubble that’s starting to grow around the base rubs uncomfortably at your skin. It’s sore, prickly, itchy—you barely notice. Not like this. Mingi goes fast, hard, so hard it stops even really mattering how you take it; not when his grip is so firm on your head and there’s another in your hair, and one hand on your shoulder, and— who is touching you where? Who’s talking, voice low, words indecipherable but cruel and demeaning just in the way he spits them? Fuck, you— you—
There’s a groan, a strangled sound, and then your throat is warm and filled and there’s a salty taste on your tongue. Your head is pushed forward so it’s against Mingi’s crotch and stomach, his pubes pressing into your skin, then you’re pulled off of him so fast it feels like whiplash.
“Say thank you,” Hongjoong orders.
“Thank you,” you whisper. Mingi tucks his dick back into his pants, still half hard, and slaps your flushed face. The sound is sharp and wet, your skin soaked in your sweat and his. “Good girl,” he grunts. “You want her now, Hongjoong?”
“Sure,” Hongjoong shrugs. “Haven’t gotten my dick wet yet. You.” He clicks his fingers, then points downwards. “Roll over. Ass up. Let me see your asshole.”
Your cheeks are pulled apart when you obey, firm fingers digging into your flesh; the cold air hits your puckered hole, still sensitive, and makes you shiver. Their gazes feel just as biting.
“Looks loose,” Mingi says. “Well-fucked.”
“San always opens her up nicely. Pass me the plug.”
It’s not your favourite pink one, you can tell as it presses up against your hole; this one is pink too, actually, like a lot of the toys they’ve bought you, but it’s silicone, a little easier going in despite being slightly larger than the steel one.
It also gets… even larger.
It’s an app on their phones, you think. They’ve never told you outright, but one of them always seems to be on their phone right when it changes size inside you.
“We’re gonna plug you up again, baby,” Hongjoong tells you. “Make sure you stay open for us today.”
They’ve used this plug a few times before, especially when they first started fucking your ass—when it was still impossibly tight and could take hours to open up, so it was easier to just keep you open if they were planning on fucking you again later.
You weren’t ready for the steel one at first; you needed something gentler. One that could shrink down when going in then gradually increase inside as you adjusted to it was the perfect solution.
But since you graduated to the steel one, to your favourite one, you haven’t used this one very much—if at all. You frown, unsure; suspicion must be written on your face, because Mingi snorts. “We’re not planning anything,” he says. “You need something gentle after yesterday. You had an entire cock in your ass, remember?”
“She probably doesn’t,” Hongjoong says. The plug is snug in your ass now; it’s comfortable, as much as the steel one, but knowing there’s not a pretty pink gem at the end of it, shining between your pretty plump cheeks, admittedly gets you down a little bit. They always tell you how pretty you look with it in, what a lovely little surprise it is to see the jewel glimmering at them when they pull your cheeks apart. “Mingi’s right though, honey. The steel one’s a little too big and rough for your poor little hole now. We had to take it out last night because you seemed uncomfy with it. You haven’t had your ass fucked in a while, we need to be careful. We’ll stretch you out with this plug, maybe our fingers, and then you can have your favourite one back, okay?”
“And cock?” You ask.
Mingi grins. “And cock,” he confirms. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
“Mm.”
“Serum wouldn’t be working if she didn’t want it,” Hongjoong says. “I’ll be writing a letter of complaint if she manages to want anything but cock this week.”
You just watch them as they talk, silent, gaze moving between them like a kid waiting for the adults’ attention. Hongjoong grabs your ear, not gentle but not quite rough, and pulls you up to your knees; you wobble a little at first, unsteady, but manage to balance yourself.
“There we go,” he smiles. “There’s my pretty plugged up puppy. You ready to play?”
“Play?” You repeat.
“Yeah, honey, play. You know what that means?”
You nod, dazedly enough that they can tell you’re not sure if you mean it. Hongjoong breathes out a laugh and pats your head gently. “Silly thing,” he muses. “You’d say yes to anything like this. Spread your legs.”
A hand, Mingi’s based on the size of it, comes to rest on your head, pushing down to gently press it into the floor, immobilising you. You part your legs as instructed, and Hongjoong’s hands clamp down on each of your thighs, squeezing, the pressure just enough to make you whimper in pain. He responds with a swat, sharp and heavy, against your pussy. “Shush,” he says mildly. “Good girls don’t complain. Your master’s gonna fuck your pussy now, take it for me, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agree.
He presses two fingers into your hole, already slicked up and leaking slightly; a couple of pumps to loosen you up are all you seem to need, because his dick pushes in soon after without resistance.
Hongjoong is big, they all are, and it always stings a little at first, but your pussy adjusts to him soon enough; enough for the pain to dissipate into a dull, distant stretch you’re not quite conscious of. “Fuck,” he grunts, gripping your ass cheeks in his hands as he starts to move. “Fuck, that’s perfect. I swear she was fucking made for this.”
“Yeah?” Mingi laughs. “She feel good?”
“She feels fucking amazing,” Hongjoong says. His hips buck as he speaks, unsteady for a moment, like his control was briefly wavering before he got ahold of it again. “She’s everything like this. Tight little cock sleeve.”
“Hurry up and fill her up,” Mingi replies. His hand fists into your hair, pulling your head up, forcing you to look at him. “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Good girl. I want to watch you. Wanna see your face while Hongjoong stretches you out. He’s big, isn’t he?”
“Big,” you repeat. You stare at him, your eyes wide, glassy, teary. Empty. Your mouth is half open, jaw slacked, like you’ve forgotten how to close it. Maybe you have. Mingi holds it in his hand, the blunts of his nails digging into your cheeks. “Th-thick,” you say.
“That’s right,” he smiles. “Clever girl, baby, you’re right. Hongjoong is so thick, he stretches you so nicely, doesn’t he? Does it sting?”
“Yeah,” you whine, though you’re not really aware of the feeling, your answer born more from instinct than from any conscious thought. “Stings. Too— big, Minnie, so big.”
“Yeah, sweet girl,” Mingi says. “So, so big. Bet it hurts, huh? Such a good girl, hurting so prettily.”
“You’re staying so still,” Hongjoong groans. “Fucking— shit. She’s squeezing the life out of me. I’m not gonna last long.”
“You don’t need to,” Mingi says coolly. “You’re not tryin’ to make her feel good, you’re just getting yourself off.”
Hongjoong doesn’t reply; just grunts, a low, strained sound, all hoarse and chesty and pent up. His grip on you tightens, gripping the meat of your hip where he’s holding it in handfuls. He’s saying something, something low under his breath, but you can’t make out what it is.
He shouts when he finishes; so do you, the warmth and the fullness as he unloads into you overwhelming. He stays inside for a moment, just breathing, hands resting on your hip where they’d been gripping you so harshly before, then pulls out. “Good girl,” he says. “You okay?”
You just grunt. Hongjoong laughs, patting your butt, then Mingi’s hands are hooking under your arms and pulling you up to your knees, then to your feet. “Can you stand?”
You grunt again. He snorts.
“Come on, baby,” Mingi says. “You need to go to the bathroom before breakfast.”
He says it like it’s obvious, but you pause, taken aback, as though it isn’t. Because to you, at least, it really wasn’t.
Oh yeah, you think. You’d forgotten about that. Only once Mingi said it did you realise you actually do need to pee; only then did you notice the pressure in your abdomen, tight, almost burning, that now has you shifting from foot to foot.
And you didn’t even know until he said it.
The thought sends a shiver down your spine; that you’re so deep into subspace, into this serum, that you can’t even pick up your body’s signals anymore.
He leads you to the bathroom by the hand, then down to the kitchen. He tugs you along a little bit, when he first starts to walk, a silent reminder to follow, but after that you're just trailing behind him, bare feet padding quietly against the floor like a loyal pet.
They’re all there already; Mingi settles you in his lap, holding you tight, a strong arm around your waist and pressing against your tummy to hold you gently in place while he feeds spoonfuls of cereal into your mouth. Your body seems to almost give up as soon as you’re sat down, like the moment you’re held in his arms you forget you have to hold yourself up at all; your head comes to rest against his shoulder, comfortable, no need to hold your own weight, and every now and then Seonghwa reaches absentmindedly from where he’s sat beside you to rub the at back of your neck, grounding and calming and domestic.
“Good girl,” he hums. “You’re eating so well, aren’t you baby?”
You grunt, nodding; Mingi smacks your thigh with his free hand. “Manners,” he grumbles. “Seonghwa asked you a question.”
“Sorry,” you say. You whine at the pain, at the embarrassment of being scolded in front of the others despite how often that happens, and Mingi rubs at the red mark soothingly. “Yes’ir, Hwa, m’eating well.”
“Is it yummy?”
“Yummy,” you echo.
Mingi holds the spoon in front of you, a few inches from your face, like he’s teasing you; you lean forwards trying to reach it, and you almost lose your balance; he tightens his hold on you, panicked, cursing under his breath. “Easy,” he hisses. “Fucking hell, girl, you’re getting your food. Where’s your patience?”
“Sorry,” you mumble.
He taps your thigh gently, then lets his hand run up the length of your torso until it reaches your neck. And for some reason, it’s only then, only the feeling of his hand, the contact of his bare skin on yours, that makes you realise that you’re entirely, completely naked.
You’ve done this before; spent the day naked in the house, sometimes as a punishment, as a tactic of humiliation meant to put you back in your place, and sometimes just for fun. For the game. Usually it’s a little bit cold; usually you feel goosebumps on your arms and the hairs on your body standing up on their ends. Today, though, you don’t feel any of that. You just feel Mingi; his hand, the warmth of his skin, palm slightly calloused, the familiar weight of his touch.
He’s so big. Over time, as you’d gotten used to having him with you, you’d almost forgotten how large he really is; how strong, how heavy. It’s in moments like this, when he’s touching you, when he puts a bit of pressure behind it, when you feel the strength and the weight he’s holding back, that you really feel the truth of it.
He feeds you the rest of your breakfast carefully, slowly, slapping your thigh again when you get a little too eager. He wipes your mouth when you’re done, collecting the milk that’s dribbled down your chin a little on his thumb then pushing it past your lips. “Lick it up,” he mumbles. “Suck.”
You suckle at it happily, eyes half closed, until he takes it out, a trail of your saliva following it as he pulls away. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “Let’s take her into the living room. Nowhere to fuck her in here.”
He stands without a word, and if the others respond to him, you don’t hear it. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, lips pressed against his warm, soft skin. You realise, after a moment or so, that you’re suckling at it. Mingi pulls you away by the hair as he sits down, grinning, and slaps your cheek not nearly hard enough to count. “Needy,” he says. “Christ. Had a hell of an oral fixation before, but this has just compounded it, hasn’t it?”
He puts you down for a moment, next to him on the couch, shushing you when you whine and try to crawl back into his lap. “One second, honey,” he says. You watch as he walks to the other side of the room and pulls open a cabinet; when he comes back, it’s with a bottle of water in his hands.
“You need to drink lots of water,” he says, putting the bottle down on the side table. “The serum can dehydrate you, because it makes you so wet all the time that all the liquid in your body goes straight there. It was in the video. You need to drink.”
He doesn’t really need to explain, of course; he could have just told you what was going to happen and you’d have nodded along without thinking. Of course you would have—right now, you don’t even know how to think.
If you did, maybe you would have realised you were being lied to. That there was nothing in the video about drinking. But you don’t need to know that. Mingi’s just having his fun.
He pulls you into his lap, not roughly, but not really carefully either. He presses the bottle to your mouth, murmuring small praises when you instinctively wrap your lips around the brim, then tilts you backwards a little bit to make it easier for you to swallow. “Drink up, bunny,” he says. “I’ll take care of your little cunt.”
You stop listening after that; your eyes start to close a little, drooping down far enough for the room to get a bit blurry. Mingi’s hand travels downwards, moving over your tummy, then down your thighs and slipping between them; he cups your pussy for a moment, a warm, gentle pressure that, when you’re this needy, hurts like he’d wound his hand back and slapped it. You whimper, pushing your hips out to chase the pressure of his palm against your cunt and he lets you, watching silently, a small smile on his lips as you squirm and struggle in his hold.
But he doesn’t help you. For a while, at least.
Mingi isn’t a cruel man, nor an oblivious one; he knows how much you need it right now, how much it probably hurts not to have your pussy filled or serviced or touched in any meaningful way. And he hates, more than anything else, to see his little girl suffer.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to watch you squirm. There’s nothing wrong with that—you’re not being harmed, you’re not in any real distress, and the only reason you’re in any kind of pain right now is because you’re all drugged up on a serum you begged for. And you signed a contract, too, clearly stating that, for the next week, your only purpose was to pleasure them. A contract that clearly stated they were under no obligation to grant you any kind of pleasure in return. All he’s doing is honouring it.
Your awareness seems to slip again after a while, the water starting to drip down your chin where you couldn’t keep it all in your mouth; he takes the bottle from your hands, setting it down, and rewards you with the slightest increase of pressure against your cunt. Enough for him to feel your entire body relaxing, your breathing calming, distressed whining fading into quiet gasps and soft whimpers. Enough for you to clamp your thighs together to trap his hand against your cunt and go positively dizzy with pleasure.
“There we go,” he murmurs, voice thick. “That’s my girl. You’re so easy, aren’t you? Just pathetic.”
“Sir,” you whine. “Sir, please, in—”
“In?” He asks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The sound you make in response could only be described as a sob; small, soft, but as guttural and desperate as any wail. You both know you’re in no place to try and explain anything to them, and Mingi’s using that knowledge as a weapon.
His other hand finds your face, squeezing your cheeks then slipping two fingers into your mouth. “Here, baby,” he smiles. “You suck on these for a bit. You can pretend it’s a little cock, hm? I know it hurts, not being filled, I’m gonna help you, honey. I was just enjoying watching you squirm a bit.”
Then, finally, as promised, he slips three fingers past your folds and into your cunt. It’s wet already, of course, almost obscenely so, and they slip in with an ease that would be embarrassing if you were conscious of it—still, though, somehow, your walls cling to his fingers like they’re trying to squeeze the life out of them. It’s a marvel to him, to all of them, how tight you are all over, no matter how loose they’ve fucked you, no matter how many big, thick, pulsing cocks and toys they’ve shoved into you without caution.
To Mingi, it’s just further evidence that this state, of being completely unaware and out of it and only good for and needing one thing to survive, is the way you were always meant to be.
“You’re such a nasty little baby,” he coos, all fondness. His fingers move in and out of your mouth in time with the ones in your pussy, and he won’t pretend not to take pleasure in the way your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. “Yeah, what a good girl. And I bet you’re still not fucking satisfied like this, are you? How many cocks will you need before you stop squirming?”
Your hips buck against his hand and he smiles, rubbing his thumb in circles over your clit. “Like a doll,” he murmurs. “You’re a little sex toy, aren’t you?”
You nod, groaning, drool spilling out past his fingers and pooling on your bare chest. It’s a lewd, messy, debasing sight. Mingi adores it—you’re not present enough to even register it. He pushes his fingers deeper, so they’re pushing against your g-spot and his knuckles are pressed against your wet, sticky folds. You choke, crying out, spasming around him; your legs clench and unclench, toes curling as you try to withstand the pressure.
“M-Mingi!” You squeal, the words muffled around his fingers. “Gonna— cum!”
“Oh, you are?” He croons. “Are you gonna make a mess, baby?”
You nod desperately, fervently. “G-gonna!”
“So naughty,” he tuts. “Such a bad girl, getting everything wet. Go ahead and do it then. Push yourself over the edge.”
He curls his fingers, just a little, but it’s enough; you cum with a cry, a strangled, broken noise from the bottom of your throat. Your whole body is shaking, but Mingi holds you still, the fingers in your mouth moving to hold you by the neck as the fingers in your pussy keep pushing in and out, fucking you through it.
It’s wet, messy, just like he says. You don’t remember the last time you came this hard. This… everywhere.
“Oh fuck,” Mingi groans; his voice cracks a little under the weight of arousal, the weight of what the sight in front of him is doing to him, so it comes out sounding more like a whimper. “Baby. You just fucking squirted. Everywhere. Jesus Christ, you’ve never squirted that much. Not even close.”
You’re breathing heavily, starting to fuss as you come down; he moves the hand on your neck back to your mouth, pushing his fingers past your lips and cooing when you start to suckle instinctively at them. “Oh, look at you,” he says. “Just a little kitten, aren’t you, suckling away. Good girl.”
He adjusts you slightly, sitting you up and tucking your head into the crook of his neck, fingers still pushed into your mouth down to the knuckle. Your inner thighs are drenched, juices dripping down and soaking his pants, and your pussy is still twitching, clenching around nothing, already hungry for more. He pats it gently, laughing when you jolt and whimper at the contact, then pulls away.
“You’re a good little girl,” he gruffs. “Just need to be serviced time to time. Keeps you pliant, huh?”
“Sir,” you mumble around his fingers.
“Right here, pretty.”
You don’t hear the footsteps approaching the living room, nor do you notice the new presence in the doorway. It’s only the sound of laughter, low, mocking, that makes you lift your head slightly from Mingi’s shoulder.
You must have been crying, you realise, because your vision is blurred, the sight of Jongho as he approaches you marred with tears. “Fucked out already?” He asks. “What did it take, a finger?”
“Three fingers,” Mingi says. “Three fingers in her cunt and she was squirting everywhere. Soaked the shit out of me.”
“I can see that.” Jongho sits down, behind where you’re cradled sideways in Mingi’s lap, and pats your hair. “I wonder how long she can stay still with just fingers in her mouth.”
“Her ass is plugged too,” Mingi says, “so she’s not empty, exactly. But it won’t satisfy her for long.”
You feel yourself drifting in and out, not quite of consciousness but of something; you make a small noise, a little whine, like you’re making sure the men surrounding your body aren’t forgetting your presence. Mingi just laughs, stroking your cheek. “I’m sure she’ll be squirming again soon enough,” he says. “And even if she doesn’t, someone will be wanting to fuck her. That’s what’s important this week; her use to us.”
Jongho hums his agreement. There’s movement behind you, the sound of something being picked up and then Mingi’s fingers are being pulled out of your mouth and the brim of the water bottle is pressing against your lips again. “Drink,” Jongho orders lowly. “Just a little. You lost all your juices just then, baby.”
You don’t know how long you stay like that, suckling silently, but when Jongho pulls the bottle away the others seem to have joined you too, and then you’re moving again, shifting; lifted off of Mingi’s lap and put down in Jongho’s. He settles you with your back to his chest, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder and shoving two fingers into your mouth. “Suck,” he says, although you already were.
He holds your legs apart with his own, spreading you open, rubbing his finger against your soaked sensitive cunt. “Look at this pussy,” he hums. “It’s still dripping. Hole is fluttering when I touch it even a little bit.”
“Because she’s fucked out and needy,” Hongjoong says, matter of fact, barely sparing a glance in your direction. “She probably needs to be filled again.”
“Do you?” It takes you a moment to realise Jongho is talking to you; only when he slaps your cheek, not hard enough to be punishing but enough to hurt, does your mind start to catch up.
Yes, yes, you need to be filled again. You really need it, you’re so empty right now, and it hurts, it hurts so much that you—
You’re nodding fervently, whining, squirming until Jongho stills you with a hand splayed across your stomach, pressing down. It stops you from struggling, his strength nothing you could ever reckon with, but the pressure just makes you needier. “Please,” you whimper.
“We’re not fucking you right now,” Jongho says mildly. “Do you need to be filled?”
“Yes sir.”
He glances at someone, and you hear someone getting up and leaving then returning. Jongho shifts you a little, moving you a little further down so your head is level with his chest and your pussy is pushed out a little, facing the others. They’re staring right at it. You catch Yeosang’s eye but he just smiles, tilting his head and murmuring something to San.
The feeling of something pressing against your cunt—cold, thick, silicone—pulls your attention away. You look down just in time to watch as Jongho slips the head of your dildo—the thick, ridged one they favour when they’re in a hurry to prep you—inside you. It fills you instantly, no easing you into it this time; if it weren’t for Jongho’s strong, firm hand on your tummy you’d probably have wrung yourself off of his lap from the shock of the intrusion. You gasp, hissing, legs tensing and he just shushes you, rubbing your tummy tenderly and soothingly as he starts to move the toy in and out. “You can take it,” he coos. “You’ve taken bigger than this.”
“Much bigger,” someone adds—Wooyoung, you think, but you can’t say for certain. “She’s being dramatic.”
“She’ll settle soon,” Jongho says. “When she gets used to the feeling again.”
You think they’re talking among each other now, certainly you hear voices, but as the toy pushes deeper you struggle to tune into anything but that; to notice or feel anything but the thick silicone pushing out against your walls. You’re hypersensitive now, having only just cum, and the feeling of being held still in Jongho’s arms, fucked open on a toy—the sound, the smell of sex and sweat and need surrounding you—makes everything else seem quieter, muted, insignificant. You know Jongho is affected too; you feel his length hardened and pushing against your back and twitching against you when you squirm or shudder or squeal and press your face into his chest so the sounds are muffled.
“She can’t take it,” Hongjoong says, more commentary than concern. “She’s already breaking again.”
“No, she’ll take it,” Jongho replies. He slows down, a milder pace, just as deep but a little easier to bear. The hand on your tummy relaxes too, his grip loosening some, but his hold is still firm. “Relax,” he mutters. “This is just to settle you.”
There’s a movie playing now; you hear the opening theme, something low and melodic and far away, only just permeating through the haze. Your eyes are half closed, face nuzzled into the meat of Jongho’s arm, teeth sunk into the flesh, hard enough to be just on the edge of drawing blood but not quite over the line. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s not paying you all that much attention at all.
You’re not sure how long he keeps you like that. You try to follow the movie, but nothing the characters do or say makes sense or even registers with you. The dildo is still moving in and out, at the same slower pace, but it pushes in firmly, pressing against your g-spot without gentleness or compromise. Soon enough you can feel it in your legs; the need and arousal spreading through your body down to your toes. Your thighs are clenching and unclenching, toes curling against the couch cushion, and your eyes have rolled all the way back.
You hardly register it, each time they press the water bottle to your mouth and tell you to swallow. You don’t notice it until there’s something tight and heavy starting in your tummy and pressing against your cunt.
Even like this, you recognise this pressure. This feeling. It comes on so quickly you don’t have the time to stop it.
You whine, shaking your head; your legs try to press themselves together but Jongho’s arm is in the way, blocking them, and if he realises what’s happening he seems to see little reason to care about it.
“S-Sir,” you gasp. “I n— I need—”
“What?” He coos. The dildo doesn’t slow; you’re not sure if it’s just how desperate and helpless you feel right now, but you think it might actually be speeding up. “What is it, doll? You’re not liking this? I thought you needed your holes filled?”
“Need,” you nod. “Pee—”
“Pee?” He repeats. The next thrust of the dildo is harder, faster, almost punishingly so, then it sinks back into its usual rhythm as if nothing happened at all. “No, honey. You don’t need to pee, you need to cum.”
“No,” you sob, shaking your head. You know what cumming feels like, what squirting feels like, and that’s not this. You need to pee.
“Poor thing,” Hongjoong says from somewhere further away. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her body, does she? Can’t accept she’s not in control of it anymore.”
“Listen to me,” Jongho tells you. “Sex toys don’t piss. That’s nasty. Sex toys squirt. That pressure you’re feeling right now—that’s cum.”
You know it’s not. Jongho speeds up, the dildo suddenly moving faster, harder, every thrust hitting you exactly where you don’t want it—where you can’t take it. You can’t. You’re going to—
“If you think it’s piss, then prove it,” Jongho says coolly. “Let go and piss all over me like a dog, if you’re so sure. Come on.”
You don’t have a choice—you last a few seconds, it feels like, and then you can’t stop it anymore. It comes suddenly, a fast intense stream that makes your thoughts white out for a moment, legs tense and seizing up, hips bucking through it. You think you scream at some point—you know for a fact you’re sobbing as you come down.
The dildo doesn’t stop. Jongho laughs. “You’re filthy,” he says. “God, look at you. My whole lap is covered in it. What do you think, baby, is it piss or squirt?”
“There’s one way to find out,” Mingi says. “Make her taste it.”
The words don’t reach you, of course, but they reach Jongho. The dildo stills inside you, then pulls out and presses against your lips. “Open your mouth.”
His finger is digging into your jaw again, pressing at that little sweet spot that had made you open up yesterday, and the moment your mouth falls open the dildo is pushing past your lips and settling on your tongue. You close your eyes, jaw going slack around it, and suck at it eagerly; Jongho’s other hand is rubbing at your pussy soothingly, cupping your head and pressing against your clit without breaching you as you swirl your tongue across the silicone.
“This is fucking crazy,” Mingi says. “Sucking on her own piss and she doesn’t even care as long as she’s got something in her mouth.”
“Well?” Jongho asks. “What do you think, bimbo? Piss or squirt?”
You hadn’t even noticed the taste. You just let your head fall against Jongho’s chest, a stray tear still sitting half-fallen on your cheek, and let yourself slowly collapse until all of your weight is pressed against him.
“She doesn’t care,” Mingi laughs. “She probably doesn’t even remember what you said to her.”
“Alright,” Hongjoong says. “She’s gone long enough without a cock in her. We should get her filled up before she forgets what she was made for.”
“I’ll take her cunt,” Jongho says. “Is her asshole okay?”
“I’ll check,” Mingi says. “Give her to me.”
He sits down next to Jongho, and the next thing you’re conscious of is his hand running down the back of your thigh, slow and soothing like he’s trying to calm you down. “Easy,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”
You’re bent over his lap, you realise. Your toes are still curled and you think your legs are shaking too. Mingi’s hands move to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. “Doll,” he says, one hand moving to pat your lower back. “Reach back and hold yourself open for me.”
“She’s not gonna know how to do that,” Hongjoong says. “Let me.”
When Hongjoong’s hands are on your cheeks and holding them apart, Mingi moves to rest one hand on the back of your thigh while the other presses down on the base of your plug. “Oh, look,” he hums. “I almost forgot we’d had her plugged up.”
He taps at it a few times, then his fingers are wrapped around the base and slowly pulling it out. You gasp at the sensation, leg kicking slightly against the couch, but they pay you no mind. It comes out with a quiet, wet pop.
“Let’s have a look,” Mingi says. “Alright, sweetheart. We’re just gonna make sure your asshole is ready for us. Be a good girl.”
He presses a finger, wet, coated with spit, to your rim and breaches it ever so slightly. “What do we think?” He asks. “She loose enough?”
“Push deeper,” Hongjoong says. “We won’t be able to know until then. If she’s too tight she’ll need more stretching.”
“Don’t think she will be,” Mingi replies, pushing his finger further in until it’s down to the knuckle. “Look at it, all sloppy and needy. I think I still smell San’s cum on her.”
“We cleaned her out after last night,” Hongjoong says. “But you’re right. I don’t think she’s had long enough to tighten up yet. Try another finger.”
“While you do that,” Jongho says, “I’m gonna go get changed. Little fucking piss baby’s soaked my jeans through.”
“Poor thing doesn’t know any better,” Hongjoong clicks his tongue. He watches as Mingi pushes another finger into your hole; the sight of your rim contracting around him and pressing against his fingers like it’s trying to trap them there has him biting down a moan. Fuck. If he’d known about this serum he’d have made a bimbo of you months ago. When it wears off he’s gonna paddle you for keeping it from him for this long.
“I think she’s good,” Mingi says. “Good job, sweetheart. You kept your hole all nice and loose for us. Joong, you want it?”
“Yeah, put her on all fours,” Hongjoong says, just as Mingi sits you up, eyes still closed, the toy still in your mouth. “Jesus, she’s still sucking that fucking dildo?”
“She needs something in her mouth,” Mingi says. “She doesn’t even know what she’s doing right now. Fuck, it’s like having a kid, isn’t it? You gotta do all the thinking for her.”
He positions you as he speaks, your ass high up in the air and your weight pressed onto your forearms. He lets you rest your head against the floor, putting a pillow under your face; you’re still sucking at the dildo as Jongho comes back through.
“She ready?” He asks. He’s in sweatpants now, the front already tenting with the outline of his boner.
Hongjoong nods. “Have at it. Which hole are you going for?”
“Cunt,” Jongho answers. “Might stick a few fingers in her ass too. She makes the most distressed little noises when you go in there.”
“She does,” Hongjoong agrees. “And the rest of you?” He asks. “You just gonna stand around like perverts?”
Oh yeah. The rest of them. You forgot they’d even come in. With your head held against the pillow, Mingi’s hand on your neck immobilising you, you can’t see where they are, what they’re doing; you suppose it doesn’t matter, though, because your holes are being filled and you’re being a good, pliant fuck toy for them. That’s what’s important.
Jongho’s hands are cold when they press against your cunt; it makes you jolt slightly, whining, and he laughs. He spreads you open with his hands, then there’s a low whistle and what sounds like laughter from somewhere further away. “Fucking hell,” Jongho says. “This might be the most used up, sloppy little cunt I’ve ever seen. Not even sure it’s worth fucking in this state.”
“Give it a spanking and it’ll tighten up,” someone says.
Jongho stills for a moment, then his hand comes down once, twice, three times against your cunt; you shriek, toes curling, crying out around the dildo; Mingi tightens his grip on your neck to keep you still. “Stop your squirming,” he grunts. “S’your fault for having such a nasty cunt. Should be ashamed of yourself.”
A finger pushes in, dry, and you whimper, pushing back against it as much as you can; Jongho puts a hand on your hip to keep you still while he pushes in. “That’s better,” he says. “You were right, Yeosang, her cunt tightens up when it’s hurting, like it’s trying to keep me out. Like it’s afraid of me.”
“How’s it feel now?”
“Well, tighter,” Jongho says, slipping in another finger. “Still sloppy, though. You can tell she’s been used today, dirty girl.”
“We keep you well fucked, don’t we?” Hongjoong asks. He’s crouching by your head now, smoothing your hair down with his hand. “Stay still for Jongho, sweetheart. You know it’s easier when you stay still.”
Luckily for you, Jongho’s never really been the type to drag it out; he’s never liked delaying it just to toy with you the way some of the others do. He pushes in all the way, straight away, and by the time you’ve processed the intrusion he’s fucking you with full force, full speed, full strength. He doesn’t speak, but you can hear his breaths, deep and laboured and heavy; you feel his hands on your waist, a finger circling your rim then slipping inside, his cock stretching you open around the shaft; you feel your cunt contracting, tightening around around him, his dick twitching inside you when he pauses his thrusts to take a breath. “Fuck,” he grunts. “Fuck.”
“Does she feel good?” Someone asks.
“Fucking crazy,” Jongho answers. “Jesus Christ. Sloppy and used up but she’s still squeezing the life out of me, fuck. She still feels like a virgin.”
“Put another finger in her ass,” Mingi says. “I wanna hear her squeal.”
Jongho obliges, pushing another finger past your rim; you make a noise that’s half gasp, half cry, something hollow and raw and scratchy, like there’s something clawing at the inside of your throat. “Fuck,” Mingi groans. “Yeah, that’s it. Another, Jongho.”
“Fucking hell, Mingi, she’s gonna tear,” Jongho argues. He’s thrusting again, slower now but just as deep; savouring you, savouring the feeling rather than chasing the high.
“She’s not gonna tear,” Mingi replies, his tone dismissive. “We’ve been training her ass for months, she’ll be fine.”
“She had a plug in her ass all morning, too.” That sounds like Yunho. “She’s already stretched out.”
Jongho tests it out, tracing your rim with his thumb while he keeps pumping two fingers in and out. The contact makes your hole flutter slightly, tensing around him then relaxing some. “Yeah,” he says. “I think you’ll take another.”
Something wet lands on your hole; spit, you realise, then another wad, and another, then another finger is pushing in lubricated by it—and when it reaches the knuckle, three fingers now stuffed all the way inside you, you do squeal; loud and strangled and desperate, legs kicking against the floor. The pillow is wet, you realise, spit and drool and snot sinking into the fabric and rubbing uncomfortably against your skin. Jongho’s hand lands on the back of your thigh; you barely react.
“Tighten up,” he orders. “Clench your cunt a little so I can fill you up.”
You obey; it’s a command you’re used to by now, spat out when they’re on the edge, or when they’ve been fucking you got a while and you’ve forgotten how to keep yourself well presented for them, or sometimes simply because they love the way your body obeys them automatically. You don’t even think about it anymore; your pussy just contracts of its own accord.
Jongho doesn’t take long; it doesn’t feel like it, at least. Someone is stroking your hair, slipping two fingers into your mouth and pressing them against the back of your throat; sucking at them, trying to breathe around them, gives you something else to focus on, a distraction from everything Jongho is doing to you. It makes everything a little easier to take. When he cums, it’s with a low grunt, guttural, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor you in place as he fills you up.
Jongho’s loads are always big; hard and fast, easily enough to overflow until it drips out of your hole and down your thighs. He stays inside while he finishes, while he goes soft inside you; you feel his seed leaking out around him. His fingers aren’t in your ass anymore, you notice. You don’t know when he took them out.
You whine when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness making your head spin; your hips push back a little when he moves away, like they’re trying to follow him, and he laughs lowly. “Poor girl,” he murmurs. He runs his hand across your cunt, rubbing soothingly at the wet, swollen folds and your sensitive hole. “Is there no dick in your cunt now, baby? Does that make you sad?”
“Hurts,” you sniff. Your hole seems to twitch, clenching around nothing, as if to prove your point.
“You’ve got cum leaking down your thighs,” Mingi says. “And in your hole, too. That’s really not enough?”
You whine, shaking your head. “Empty.”
“Pathetic.” You’re lifted up and settled in Mingi’s lap, still on the floor, your back against his chest, your head lolling to the side slightly until he carefully lifts it back up and pulls it into his chest. “Alright, honey,” he says. “This is what’ll happen. We’re gonna get you a bath, all cleaned up, ‘cause you look a fucking mess right now. So we’re gonna clean the cum out of your hole and get you all nice and fresh for us. Yeah?”
You mumble something that’s meant to sound vaguely like ‘yeah’ but comes out more like a soft, tired hum. You feel yourself shifting, then you’re being lifted again and carried out of the living room. You frown for a moment, not sure what’s happening, where they’re taking you, if they’re gonna fill you up again, until you remember what Mingi said about a bath. Oh, yeah. You need to clean up. Good girls are always clean and fresh and nice to look at—not used up and sloppy and covered in cum. Seonghwa taught you that particular mantra.
You’re already half asleep when they lower you into the tub. They arrange you carefully, weight resting against the backrest with your head cradled carefully and steadily as they rub the warm water into your joints, between your thighs, reaching into your cunt to clean out any of the cum that’s still lingering inside. They wipe your face, too, using a wet flannel to clean the tears and drool and snot that’s dried against your skin; someone’s humming, you think, a low soft sound. It only serves to put you to sleep.
You’re in the living room when you wake up. On the couch, where Mingi and Jongho had held you before; this time it’s Seonghwa cradling you, your head against his chest and your legs curled up and resting against his side. He’s reading something on his phone; further away, others are having low, quiet conversations amongst themselves.
It’s San who first notices. “She’s up,” he says; Seonghwa shifts you slightly in his arms.
“So she is,” he says. “Morning, pretty girl. You have a good rest?”
You nod against his chest. All you can think about right now is the fact that his hand is resting on top of your thigh, right where it starts to curve into your hip, and how warm and soft and strong his hand is and how close it is to your pussy. Fuck, you want him in your pussy. When was the last time you had him in there?
“Her cunt is crying again,” Seonghwa says. “Already needy. Powerful little serum, that is.”
“Nah, that’s her,” Yunho says. “She’s always been desperate for it. Serum just brought out her true self; the whore she actually wants to be.”
Seonghwa presses his palm against your pussy, just enough pressure to make something spark in your stomach; you buck against it, chasing sensation, and he chuckles. “No shame,” he mutters. “D’you want something in you, honey?”
Yes. Fuck, yes. You whine, nodding fervently, and Seonghwa winds his hand back and lands it against your bare cunt. It sends a current of pain and arousal, borderline electric, through the entirety of your body. “Okay,” Seonghwa says. “I’ll put you on my cock for a while, keep you calm. Hold on.”
He shifts, lifting you up a bit so he can shove his sweats down enough to pull out his dick. It’s already half hard, pre-cum smeared around the tip where it had been rubbing against his pants. He lowers you slowly, taking his time; you feel his tip pressing against your hole then sliding in. It’s a stretch, certainly, but there’s no resistance; your hole is already wet, opening up when he presses against it like it’s welcoming him inside. Like it knows its only purpose right now is to be fucked open.
He has you facing him, straddling his lap; he holds your chin in the hand that’s not wrapped around your hip and pressing you down on his cock, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can’t really see him; your vision is blurred, dim, your eyes half closed and already welling with tears, but you see his calm eyes, the slight smile that’s pulling at the corners of his lips. Your head falls forward, chin pressed against your chest; he laughs, squeezing your chin a little tighter then pulling you into him so your head is tucked into the crook of his neck. “Easy,” he purrs. “We’re almost there.”
You feel the moment he gets in all the way, when your ass lands on his lap and his tip is pressing against the deepest parts of you. It’s dizzying, the pressure and the arousal and the sting of the stretch all crashing against each other like waves against a rock and he’s not even moving, just holding you there. When you try to move your hips a little bit, just enough to ease some of the pressure, he tightens his hold on you and cracks his hand down against your ass. “You stay still,” he orders. “I’m letting you sit on my dick so you’ll stop fussing, that’s all it is. It’s to keep you behaving, not to keep you satisfied. Say yes sir.”
“Yes sir,” you repeat.
“If you’re good,” he says, “I might let you get yourself off in a bit. Bounce on it til you cum again. Maybe.”
“Be good,” you nod. “I will.”
“You want something in your mouth?” He asks.
“Please, sir. M’good.”
“Yes you are.” He pushes two fingers past your lips and lets them sit atop your tongue; you suck at them eagerly, drool dripping out around them and pooling on your chest. Seonghwa tuts. “Dirty girl.”
“Drooling again,” San notes. “Just helpless.”
Seonghwa hums. “Should settle her for a bit, though. Hole stuffed and mouth filled, she should be pacified for a while.”
“She does seem relaxed.”
“Yeah, she’s out of it,” Seonghwa smiles, peering down at you. You’re staring up at him now, jaw slacked, a faraway look in your eyes like you’re not really present. “It’s interesting,” he says. “The serum seems to affect her in waves. She’s a little more lucid at times, then she just slips away again.”
“She goes dumber the hornier she gets,” San says.
“She does that anyway,” Yunho snorts. “Serum or not. But yeah, she does go stupid when her holes are full. I think she just needs to be coaxed down a little sometimes.”
“Well, she’s nice and gone now,” Seonghwa smiles. “Settled right down when she was told to. None of that bratiness she has when she’s lucid.”
“If she could just act like this all the time,” San says.
“We’ll train her up,” Yunho responds. “Now that I’ve seen the kind of obedience she has in her, I’m not settling for any of that defiance.”
It’s a wonder, Seonghwa thinks, the way your face doesn’t change no matter what they say about you—like you're not really processing their words at all. He’d wager you’re not; that you’ve slipped so far down that their words are just noise to you now. Like television static or rain against a window; something to soothe you.
You look so sweet like this. So innocent; just a tiny little thing in his arms, in their care, too stupid to survive without them. It almost makes him feel bad for how badly he wants to defile you. For the way that it’s that same innocent look on your face that makes him want to ruin you beyond repair.
He feels himself twitch inside you, his dick responding to the thought of its own accord; your cunt clenches in response to it, tightening around him, but your face doesn’t change. The emptiness in your eyes stays steady, your breathing and your blinking slow and level.
Are you not even registering what’s happening to your pussy anymore; not even conscious of your own arousal? Do you even remember you have a stiff, thick cock stuffed inside your cunt right now?
“So sweet,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. He pushes his thumb past your lips and lets it sit in your mouth, your tongue poking at it like you’re not sure what it is or what to do with it. “My little girl. You’re so lovely like this.”
He’s pushing his hips upwards before he’s really conscious of it; just his body’s natural response to your tight, warm cunt wrapped around him. This time, you notice; you gasp softly, weakly, a quiet noise that drags out until it’s hardened into a low, desperate groan. Your eyes widen a little, something sparking behind the irises that hints to some kind of awareness of what’s going on now, and your jaw drops further, body slumping against his chest even more than it was.
Yeah, you’ve realised now—your body has, at least. Perhaps it’s the tip of his cock pressing into the deepest parts of you that did it.
His thrusts are slow, lazy, little thought or precision in the movements as there usually is, but he’s still getting deep. You don’t speak, don’t move, but your cunt is pulsing and constricting around his shaft, tightening around him when he pushes in deeper like you’re trying to trap him there. You’re making noise now, too; tiny sounds that you probably aren’t aware of, soft little whimpers and low moans as he fucks you open. He pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it down against your tongue; his other hand takes a grip of your right ass cheek, holding it firmly as he moves and using it to guide you up and down on his dick.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Good girl.”
Hands are on your neck now, snaking around from behind you; one of them creeps upwards to beneath your jaw, tilting your head back until you meet San’s gaze—calm, level, fixed on you. Hardly even blinking. Your head is pressed against his stomach, held still, his grip on your neck paralysingly firm as he pushes his thumb past your lips, just as Seonghwa did. “Hi, bimbo,” he croons. “You being fucked good?”
You mumble something around his thumb. He laughs, clicking his tongue. “Oh, you’re just stupid as hell, aren’t you? Just gone. Nothing in your little head except dick.”
Seonghwa’s hips stutter all of a sudden and he groans, breathing out a strained, strangled laugh. “She just clenched, San,” he says. “When you called her stupid. Got even tighter.”
“Of course she did,” San smiles. “She knows what her purpose is. She knows why we keep her, why we take care of her. Because she’s a stupid slut who doesn’t know how to do anything but please. Aren’t you?”
You whine; tears are welling again, threatening to spill, and San just coos. “You can cry, sweet thing,” he says. He knows you’re not holding them back on purpose, of course, you probably don’t have the facilities for that right now, but he says it all the same. “Show us how much it hurts. How full and well-fucked and stupid you are.”
He’s not certain he words register, doesn’t see any sign of it in your face, but it doesn’t take long before you’re letting go; before the tears are slipping down your face and you’re whimpering around his thumb. Just as Seonghwa speeds up, clearly getting close to the edge, his thrusts harder and more rushed now, San pulls his thumb out and replaces it with two fingers; that way, he can press them against the back of your throat with ease and feel the way you fight for breath. It’s getting hard to hold you still against him with the force of Seonghwa’s thrusts; your eyes are rolled back, half closed, and you’re grasping the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt in tight fists.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Seonghwa groans, voice breaking, then slams his hand down on your thigh. “Clench.”
You do. Seonghwa damn near weeps through his orgasm.
It takes you a moment or two to realise it’s over; you frown a little, still looking up at San, and your mouth closes slightly. “D-done?” You ask.
“Yeah, baby,” San smiles. “All done. Good girl.”
“Do you want me to stay inside you, honey?” Seonghwa asks. “I’m not as hard anymore, but it’ll keep you full, hm?”
“Don’t think she got any of that,” San says. “But I’m pretty sure if you try to pull out she’ll burst into tears.”
“She’s still pulsing.” Seonghwa laughs lowly, shaking his head like he’s in disbelief. “Still clenching around me. Don’t think her cunt is letting me out anyway.”
“She needs to eat something,” San says. He gently pushes you forwards until your head lands against Seonghwa’s chest; you nuzzle into it, humming contentedly, and San smiles. “It’s been a few hours.”
Has it? You don’t know what time it is, couldn’t even guess; it could be morning just as easily as it could be night. Seonghwa hums, adjusting you in his hold, tapping his hand against your ass. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “Get her something light, easy to swallow, I don’t think she can handle much more.”
A few minutes later—but it could equally be seconds, or hours, or days—you’re being moved so you’re held sideways in Seonghwa’s lap, San sitting down next to you, and something soft and sweet is being spooned into your mouth. Oatmeal, you think, with something sweet and syrupy soaked into the grains. “Look at you,” Seonghwa hums, “eating so well.”
“Such a good girl,” San agrees. “That yummy, sweetheart?”
You nod, grunting, swallowing another spoonful; it’s hard to keep it all in your mouth, not quite present enough to hold your jaw shut on your own. It’s dribbling down your chin, coating your lips; Seonghwa clicks his tongue, wiping his thumb over your chin and mouth. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “You eat well, don’t you?”
“Is she done?” You don’t know where Wooyoung came from; if he’s just walked in or if he’s been hanging around in here the whole time, but there’s an impatience in his voice that you just about pick up on. “I want my dick sucked.”
“She’s done,” Seonghwa says. “But I think she needs her cunt filled right now, too. She was getting fussy about it.”
“Put a dildo in her then,” Wooyoung says. “Or someone else can fuck her pussy. I want her throat.”
Seonghwa sighs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t protest; he lifts you off of his lap slowly, gradually, trying to make the inevitable shock of emptiness easy on you. You cry out when it happens, tearing up straight away, and he shushes you. “You’re fine,” he says. “Just wait a moment and we’ll get you filled, be a good girl now.”
You’re put onto your knees; Wooyoung takes a fistful of your hair and uses it to keep you upright while he sits himself down, legs spread, and pulls his dick out with his other hand. He lets go of your hair, moving his hand to tap your jaw. “Open.”
Your jaw slacks, falling open, and he slides his dick past your lips and straight to the back of your throat. He’s leaking already, the tip sticky against the roof of your mouth, and his thrusts and loose and sloppy, arousal and desperation evident in every movement. He rests his hand on the top of your head, pulling you back and forth to bob up and down on his length. “Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it. Hot little mouth.”
He’s going hard, fast, no thought or consideration for you, but your mouth welcomes him, holds him easily, pulls him deeper, even as drool begins to drip down your chin and pool on your chest; as your eyes water, vision blurring at the edges, and your breaths sound like gasps, gargles, splutters around his girth.
“She’s got a fucking mouth on her,” someone says, sounding impressed. “She even gagging?”
“Barely,” Wooyoung grunts. “Knows how to take it, anyway. Such a warm, tight throat.”
You’re not really thinking anything now; don’t think you could if you wanted to. You’re conscious, faintly, of the feeling of his dick moving in and out of your throat, but not anything else. Not the pressure building in your tummy, tightening every time he pushes your head further down his shaft; the blunts of his fingers pressing against the back of your head; his breathing quickening, getting sharper and shallower as your lips tighten around him. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Jesus, I’m go— I’m gonna—”
“Already?” Seonghwa says.
“Yes, already, shut u—” Wooyoung grunts, eyes squeezing shut; he pulls your head closer to him, dick all the way inside your mouth, you face practically pressed against his stomach as he cums. It’s fast, hot, thick; this time you do choke, gagging, spluttering, but you don’t spit it up. You don’t think you could, with his dick lodged so deep.
“God,” he breathes. “Good girl.”
He moves to pull out, slowly easing your head backwards off of him, but you whine. You don’t have anything in your cunt still, and your ass feels empty too, and if Wooyoung pulls his dick out of your mouth then—
“Okay, woah, easy.” He’s cooing now, laughing; you’re gripping his shirt in tight, desperate fists, clinging to him; he gently grasps your hands in his and eases them off. “You’re fine, honey. Hwa, do we have a dildo she can suck on?”
“Let me go clean it first,” Seonghwa says. “Stay in her mouth for a sec.”
“There we go.” Wooyoung is cupping your face in his hand, his fingers curling with your jaw to rest beneath your chin; he holds you gentle but firm against his stomach, his dick, mostly soft, now resting on your tongue. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
Seonghwa comes back soon enough, the dildo now clean in his hand. They work quickly, efficiently, so by the time you register the emptiness after Wooyoung pulls out your dildo is already sitting in your mouth, big enough to feel full without too painful a stretch. Wooyoung pats your hair, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, as you’re picked up and settled on the couch in someone’s lap.
“Come here, bunny.” Yeosang’s voice is soft, gentle, but his dick is solid against your back. He doesn’t move to do anything with it, though. Perhaps he thinks you need a rest.
“Sir,” you mutter, the words muffled around the dildo. You move back a little, pressing yourself against his hard-on; he hisses, tensing, his grip tightening around you, but he still does nothing.
“Needy,” he says, no mockery nor praise behind it; just more. Observing.
You whine, pushing back more; Yeosang’s hand lands sharp and heavy on your thigh in warning. “Enough,” he says. “You have a dildo already. Put it in your cunt if that’s where you need to be filled right now, but this isn’t about you. I’m in charge here, and I want to sit with my good girl all fucked out and pliant in my lap. Can you do that?”
You blink, processing his words. He waits for a moment, all patient, then breathes out a laugh. “Right,” he nods. “Yeah. I forgot your brain’s off. Let me dumb it down. If you want something in you, use the dildo. I’m in charge. Understand?”
You reach for the dildo unconsciously, wrapping your hand around the base; Yeosang smiles. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s your dildo. Mouth, cunt or ass, it’s up to you, but it’s all you’re getting.”
“Mouf’,” you slur out; you like it like this, sitting steady in your throat—it keeps you calm, satiated, without stretching or pleasuring you unnecessarily. You’re not certain there’s any point in stretching your cunt out for your own sake; you should keep it for them, you reason. For them to use, or for them to entertain themselves with. You press your head against Yeosang’s chest, sucking harder on the dildo, swirling your tongue around the cold plasticky tip the way they’d taught you to; the way they’d made you prove you could do on this very same dildo before they let you take them in your mouth.
Your training dildo, they’d called it back then. You’d practiced all your skills on it, under their watchful eyes, from sucking to bouncing to simply just taking it. It brings back memories, in a way, having it in your mouth like this. At the very least, it settles you. Stills you. Calms you enough to allow your eyes to slowly start to close.
Yeosang is swaying steadily, rocking you back and forth, his voice a low, distant murmur, words too far to follow.
It’s just as you’re falling asleep that you feel something pressing against your cunt.
“Easy,” someone says. “Get your rest. Keep sucking.”
BIMBO SERUM. temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! heavy dom/sub dynamics, tag teaming (top!atz), gangbang, unprotected sex, cnc, consensual drugging, aphrodisiacs, mean doms!ateez. drugged up bimbo reader. disgusting, nasty, probably unethical, but fully consensual. this chapter: above warnings plus watersports (peeing yourself), humiliation, degradation, use of sex toys (butt plugs & dildos), extremely degrading language (bitch, dog, girl), slight manipulation (lying about certain effects of the serum purely for fun), a lot of squirting, hole inspections, dildo sucking & dildo fucking, oral fixations, you’re described as being ‘like a kid’ at one point, smacking, cunt slaps, a lot of degradation specifically targeted towards your pussy, dehumanisation, you’re called gross/disgusting/used up etc, use of master & sir, cockwarming, anal play, heavy subspace, implied somnophilia at the end.
words: 11.4k
chapter dedicated to @yestodayys thanks for your help baby<3
You wake up in Mingi’s bed, held in his arms; one of his hands rests on the back of your head, cradling it against his chest while the other is curled around the curve of your ass.
He’s still fast asleep, soft snores just audible in the morning quiet, but that’s okay. You’re not in a hurry. You’re sure whoever wakes up first (because you doubt it’ll be him) will come and get you and put you to use.
It’s a little bit frustrating waiting for them, though, when you’re wide awake and programmed for one thing and one thing only.
The need starts in your tummy, just like yesterday. Like a low hum; a buzz that hardly registers but makes you squirm without realising, toes curling, breathing a little shallower as you try to resist it.
Someone is coming soon. They wouldn’t leave you alone like this.
Mingi grunts softly, shifting in his sleep; his hand moves from your ass to a little lower, to the tops of your thighs, and slots into the gap between them. His fingers brush against your clit, just briefly, barely enough to count as a touch—but that’s all it takes.
All it has to, when you’re desperate for their touch and unable to formulate any thoughts beyond it.
You clench your thighs together, like you’re trying to trap his hand there, then shuffle down a little, so his fingers are pressed up properly against your clit. Wow. Hngh… You tense then relax, moving back and forth, up and down until the buzzing in your tummy begins to satiate—as it does, though, it spreads, until your whole body is alight with it.
It’s like… you don’t know, exactly. It’s like drinking seawater or something—the more you have, the more your body needs it. Quenching your thirst only intensifies it.
This isn’t enough. You need more than his fingers.
You manage wriggle yourself out of his hold and wrap your legs around his thigh. It’s thick, muscular, peeking out of where his loose shorts have ridden up to his hips. There’s more than enough for you to satiate yourself.
There must be, right?
You don’t ease yourself in this time; you can’t. You just hump and hump and hump, grunting and whining and crying into Mingi’s chest, until you start feeling the way you want to, you start getting where you want to be—
Then his leg moves away, so quickly it feels like whiplash, and his hand is on your throat. Tight. Strong. Dwarfing you. Your head is on the pillow, turned uupwards and Mingi is hovering there above you—wide awake. Eyes dark and narrowed, all strictness and severity and lust.
“You needy little bitch,” he spits. “Fucking me in my sleep. Fucking whore.”
“I…” You don’t know what to say, of course, how could you, but still you try. You’re cut off before it can go either way.
“That wasn’t fucking, Mingi.” Your eyes flicker towards the door, where the newer, lighter voice comes from; Hongjoong stands there in the open doorway, arms folded across his chest, staring you down with an expression that feels half stern, half amused. You whine, wanting to reach for him or run to him, but you don’t remember how to. He sees you looking at him, longing for him, and his lips quirk—a smile, except there’s no warmth or fondness or kindness. Just intention. Just knowing. Just leering. “Hi, bimbo,” he says. His gaze moves back to Mingi. “She wasn’t fucking you in your sleep, Mingi. That’s what humans do. She was humping you, like a dog. Weren’t you, bitch?”
You don’t reply; it doesn’t even register that you should. Mingi’s other hand, the one not on your neck, winds back and smacks your bare, desperate pussy. “Answer him,” he grits. “You dumb bitch, you answer your master when he asks you a question.”
“Ah,” you squeal, crying out again when he lands a second, third, fourth slap directly on your hole. “Ah, master, I— yes, sir. Yes I was, I was humping him, sir.”
Only once you finally answer, your words stammered and broken up by your cries of pain with every smack, does Mingi stop his assault on your cunt. He smiles, all gentleness now, and rubs your stinging pussy where he’d smacked it. “Good baby,” he purrs. “You always take punishment well, don’t you my girl?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically.
You see the movement from the corner of your eye; feel Hongjoong’s imposing presence getting closer and closer until he’s right there next to you and peering down at you, staring at your stinging cunt like he’s analysing it. “Does it hurt?” He asks. You nod, and he breathes out a low laugh. “Good,” he nods. “That’ll teach you.”
“Joong,” you whine.
He raises an eyebrow amusedly. “Yeah?”
You whine again, wriggling a little. “Touch?”
“You want me to touch you?”
“Please.” You’re close to sobbing now just from the desperation you feel for him.
He doesn’t touch you, though. Instead he laughs, and his hand lands on your thigh hard enough to make you yelp. “No,” he says. “You don’t tell me what to do. Get her up, Mingi. She’s gone too long without being used, she’s obviously forgotten her place.“
“Well, we can fix that.” There’s a hand in your hair now, tugging you upwards and out of bed then pushing you to the floor, sending you stumbling down onto your knees. They’re towering over you now, staring you down; Mingi kicks lightly at your knees to force them apart. “Fix your posture,” he says, and you do. “Good. Open your mouth.”
He’s sliding past your lips before you’re conscious of it; hard, throbbing, leaking a little as he pushes to the back of your throat. He stretches your mouth, your jaw straining, and the stubble that’s starting to grow around the base rubs uncomfortably at your skin. It’s sore, prickly, itchy—you barely notice. Not like this. Mingi goes fast, hard, so hard it stops even really mattering how you take it; not when his grip is so firm on your head and there’s another in your hair, and one hand on your shoulder, and— who is touching you where? Who’s talking, voice low, words indecipherable but cruel and demeaning just in the way he spits them? Fuck, you— you—
There’s a groan, a strangled sound, and then your throat is warm and filled and there’s a salty taste on your tongue. Your head is pushed forward so it’s against Mingi’s crotch and stomach, his pubes pressing into your skin, then you’re pulled off of him so fast it feels like whiplash.
“Say thank you,” Hongjoong orders.
“Thank you,” you whisper. Mingi tucks his dick back into his pants, still half hard, and slaps your flushed face. The sound is sharp and wet, your skin soaked in your sweat and his. “Good girl,” he grunts. “You want her now, Hongjoong?”
“Sure,” Hongjoong shrugs. “Haven’t gotten my dick wet yet. You.” He clicks his fingers, then points downwards. “Roll over. Ass up. Let me see your asshole.”
Your cheeks are pulled apart when you obey, firm fingers digging into your flesh; the cold air hits your puckered hole, still sensitive, and makes you shiver. Their gazes feel just as biting.
“Looks loose,” Mingi says. “Well-fucked.”
“San always opens her up nicely. Pass me the plug.”
It’s not your favourite pink one, you can tell as it presses up against your hole; this one is pink too, actually, like a lot of the toys they’ve bought you, but it’s silicone, a little easier going in despite being slightly larger than the steel one.
It also gets… even larger.
It’s an app on their phones, you think. They’ve never told you outright, but one of them always seems to be on their phone right when it changes size inside you.
“We’re gonna plug you up again, baby,” Hongjoong tells you. “Make sure you stay open for us today.”
They’ve used this plug a few times before, especially when they first started fucking your ass—when it was still impossibly tight and could take hours to open up, so it was easier to just keep you open if they were planning on fucking you again later.
You weren’t ready for the steel one at first; you needed something gentler. One that could shrink down when going in then gradually increase inside as you adjusted to it was the perfect solution.
But since you graduated to the steel one, to your favourite one, you haven’t used this one very much—if at all. You frown, unsure; suspicion must be written on your face, because Mingi snorts. “We’re not planning anything,” he says. “You need something gentle after yesterday. You had an entire cock in your ass, remember?”
“She probably doesn’t,” Hongjoong says. The plug is snug in your ass now; it’s comfortable, as much as the steel one, but knowing there’s not a pretty pink gem at the end of it, shining between your pretty plump cheeks, admittedly gets you down a little bit. They always tell you how pretty you look with it in, what a lovely little surprise it is to see the jewel glimmering at them when they pull your cheeks apart. “Mingi’s right though, honey. The steel one’s a little too big and rough for your poor little hole now. We had to take it out last night because you seemed uncomfy with it. You haven’t had your ass fucked in a while, we need to be careful. We’ll stretch you out with this plug, maybe our fingers, and then you can have your favourite one back, okay?”
“And cock?” You ask.
Mingi grins. “And cock,” he confirms. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
“Mm.”
“Serum wouldn’t be working if she didn’t want it,” Hongjoong says. “I’ll be writing a letter of complaint if she manages to want anything but cock this week.”
You just watch them as they talk, silent, gaze moving between them like a kid waiting for the adults’ attention. Hongjoong grabs your ear, not gentle but not quite rough, and pulls you up to your knees; you wobble a little at first, unsteady, but manage to balance yourself.
“There we go,” he smiles. “There’s my pretty plugged up puppy. You ready to play?”
“Play?” You repeat.
“Yeah, honey, play. You know what that means?”
You nod, dazedly enough that they can tell you’re not sure if you mean it. Hongjoong breathes out a laugh and pats your head gently. “Silly thing,” he muses. “You’d say yes to anything like this. Spread your legs.”
A hand, Mingi’s based on the size of it, comes to rest on your head, pushing down to gently press it into the floor, immobilising you. You part your legs as instructed, and Hongjoong’s hands clamp down on each of your thighs, squeezing, the pressure just enough to make you whimper in pain. He responds with a swat, sharp and heavy, against your pussy. “Shush,” he says mildly. “Good girls don’t complain. Your master’s gonna fuck your pussy now, take it for me, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agree.
He presses two fingers into your hole, already slicked up and leaking slightly; a couple of pumps to loosen you up are all you seem to need, because his dick pushes in soon after without resistance.
Hongjoong is big, they all are, and it always stings a little at first, but your pussy adjusts to him soon enough; enough for the pain to dissipate into a dull, distant stretch you’re not quite conscious of. “Fuck,” he grunts, gripping your ass cheeks in his hands as he starts to move. “Fuck, that’s perfect. I swear she was fucking made for this.”
“Yeah?” Mingi laughs. “She feel good?”
“She feels fucking amazing,” Hongjoong says. His hips buck as he speaks, unsteady for a moment, like his control was briefly wavering before he got ahold of it again. “She’s everything like this. Tight little cock sleeve.”
“Hurry up and fill her up,” Mingi replies. His hand fists into your hair, pulling your head up, forcing you to look at him. “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Good girl. I want to watch you. Wanna see your face while Hongjoong stretches you out. He’s big, isn’t he?”
“Big,” you repeat. You stare at him, your eyes wide, glassy, teary. Empty. Your mouth is half open, jaw slacked, like you’ve forgotten how to close it. Maybe you have. Mingi holds it in his hand, the blunts of his nails digging into your cheeks. “Th-thick,” you say.
“That’s right,” he smiles. “Clever girl, baby, you’re right. Hongjoong is so thick, he stretches you so nicely, doesn’t he? Does it sting?”
“Yeah,” you whine, though you’re not really aware of the feeling, your answer born more from instinct than from any conscious thought. “Stings. Too— big, Minnie, so big.”
“Yeah, sweet girl,” Mingi says. “So, so big. Bet it hurts, huh? Such a good girl, hurting so prettily.”
“You’re staying so still,” Hongjoong groans. “Fucking— shit. She’s squeezing the life out of me. I’m not gonna last long.”
“You don’t need to,” Mingi says coolly. “You’re not tryin’ to make her feel good, you’re just getting yourself off.”
Hongjoong doesn’t reply; just grunts, a low, strained sound, all hoarse and chesty and pent up. His grip on you tightens, gripping the meat of your hip where he’s holding it in handfuls. He’s saying something, something low under his breath, but you can’t make out what it is.
He shouts when he finishes; so do you, the warmth and the fullness as he unloads into you overwhelming. He stays inside for a moment, just breathing, hands resting on your hip where they’d been gripping you so harshly before, then pulls out. “Good girl,” he says. “You okay?”
You just grunt. Hongjoong laughs, patting your butt, then Mingi’s hands are hooking under your arms and pulling you up to your knees, then to your feet. “Can you stand?”
You grunt again. He snorts.
“Come on, baby,” Mingi says. “You need to go to the bathroom before breakfast.”
He says it like it’s obvious, but you pause, taken aback, as though it isn’t. Because to you, at least, it really wasn’t.
Oh yeah, you think. You’d forgotten about that. Only once Mingi said it did you realise you actually do need to pee; only then did you notice the pressure in your abdomen, tight, almost burning, that now has you shifting from foot to foot.
And you didn’t even know until he said it.
The thought sends a shiver down your spine; that you’re so deep into subspace, into this serum, that you can’t even pick up your body’s signals anymore.
He leads you to the bathroom by the hand, then down to the kitchen. He tugs you along a little bit, when he first starts to walk, a silent reminder to follow, but after that you're just trailing behind him, bare feet padding quietly against the floor like a loyal pet.
They’re all there already; Mingi settles you in his lap, holding you tight, a strong arm around your waist and pressing against your tummy to hold you gently in place while he feeds spoonfuls of cereal into your mouth. Your body seems to almost give up as soon as you’re sat down, like the moment you’re held in his arms you forget you have to hold yourself up at all; your head comes to rest against his shoulder, comfortable, no need to hold your own weight, and every now and then Seonghwa reaches absentmindedly from where he’s sat beside you to rub the at back of your neck, grounding and calming and domestic.
“Good girl,” he hums. “You’re eating so well, aren’t you baby?”
You grunt, nodding; Mingi smacks your thigh with his free hand. “Manners,” he grumbles. “Seonghwa asked you a question.”
“Sorry,” you say. You whine at the pain, at the embarrassment of being scolded in front of the others despite how often that happens, and Mingi rubs at the red mark soothingly. “Yes’ir, Hwa, m’eating well.”
“Is it yummy?”
“Yummy,” you echo.
Mingi holds the spoon in front of you, a few inches from your face, like he’s teasing you; you lean forwards trying to reach it, and you almost lose your balance; he tightens his hold on you, panicked, cursing under his breath. “Easy,” he hisses. “Fucking hell, girl, you’re getting your food. Where’s your patience?”
“Sorry,” you mumble.
He taps your thigh gently, then lets his hand run up the length of your torso until it reaches your neck. And for some reason, it’s only then, only the feeling of his hand, the contact of his bare skin on yours, that makes you realise that you’re entirely, completely naked.
You’ve done this before; spent the day naked in the house, sometimes as a punishment, as a tactic of humiliation meant to put you back in your place, and sometimes just for fun. For the game. Usually it’s a little bit cold; usually you feel goosebumps on your arms and the hairs on your body standing up on their ends. Today, though, you don’t feel any of that. You just feel Mingi; his hand, the warmth of his skin, palm slightly calloused, the familiar weight of his touch.
He’s so big. Over time, as you’d gotten used to having him with you, you’d almost forgotten how large he really is; how strong, how heavy. It’s in moments like this, when he’s touching you, when he puts a bit of pressure behind it, when you feel the strength and the weight he’s holding back, that you really feel the truth of it.
He feeds you the rest of your breakfast carefully, slowly, slapping your thigh again when you get a little too eager. He wipes your mouth when you’re done, collecting the milk that’s dribbled down your chin a little on his thumb then pushing it past your lips. “Lick it up,” he mumbles. “Suck.”
You suckle at it happily, eyes half closed, until he takes it out, a trail of your saliva following it as he pulls away. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “Let’s take her into the living room. Nowhere to fuck her in here.”
He stands without a word, and if the others respond to him, you don’t hear it. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, lips pressed against his warm, soft skin. You realise, after a moment or so, that you’re suckling at it. Mingi pulls you away by the hair as he sits down, grinning, and slaps your cheek not nearly hard enough to count. “Needy,” he says. “Christ. Had a hell of an oral fixation before, but this has just compounded it, hasn’t it?”
He puts you down for a moment, next to him on the couch, shushing you when you whine and try to crawl back into his lap. “One second, honey,” he says. You watch as he walks to the other side of the room and pulls open a cabinet; when he comes back, it’s with a bottle of water in his hands.
“You need to drink lots of water,” he says, putting the bottle down on the side table. “The serum can dehydrate you, because it makes you so wet all the time that all the liquid in your body goes straight there. It was in the video. You need to drink.”
He doesn’t really need to explain, of course; he could have just told you what was going to happen and you’d have nodded along without thinking. Of course you would have—right now, you don’t even know how to think.
If you did, maybe you would have realised you were being lied to. That there was nothing in the video about drinking. But you don’t need to know that. Mingi’s just having his fun.
He pulls you into his lap, not roughly, but not really carefully either. He presses the bottle to your mouth, murmuring small praises when you instinctively wrap your lips around the brim, then tilts you backwards a little bit to make it easier for you to swallow. “Drink up, bunny,” he says. “I’ll take care of your little cunt.”
You stop listening after that; your eyes start to close a little, drooping down far enough for the room to get a bit blurry. Mingi’s hand travels downwards, moving over your tummy, then down your thighs and slipping between them; he cups your pussy for a moment, a warm, gentle pressure that, when you’re this needy, hurts like he’d wound his hand back and slapped it. You whimper, pushing your hips out to chase the pressure of his palm against your cunt and he lets you, watching silently, a small smile on his lips as you squirm and struggle in his hold.
But he doesn’t help you. For a while, at least.
Mingi isn’t a cruel man, nor an oblivious one; he knows how much you need it right now, how much it probably hurts not to have your pussy filled or serviced or touched in any meaningful way. And he hates, more than anything else, to see his little girl suffer.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to watch you squirm. There’s nothing wrong with that—you’re not being harmed, you’re not in any real distress, and the only reason you’re in any kind of pain right now is because you’re all drugged up on a serum you begged for. And you signed a contract, too, clearly stating that, for the next week, your only purpose was to pleasure them. A contract that clearly stated they were under no obligation to grant you any kind of pleasure in return. All he’s doing is honouring it.
Your awareness seems to slip again after a while, the water starting to drip down your chin where you couldn’t keep it all in your mouth; he takes the bottle from your hands, setting it down, and rewards you with the slightest increase of pressure against your cunt. Enough for him to feel your entire body relaxing, your breathing calming, distressed whining fading into quiet gasps and soft whimpers. Enough for you to clamp your thighs together to trap his hand against your cunt and go positively dizzy with pleasure.
“There we go,” he murmurs, voice thick. “That’s my girl. You’re so easy, aren’t you? Just pathetic.”
“Sir,” you whine. “Sir, please, in—”
“In?” He asks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The sound you make in response could only be described as a sob; small, soft, but as guttural and desperate as any wail. You both know you’re in no place to try and explain anything to them, and Mingi’s using that knowledge as a weapon.
His other hand finds your face, squeezing your cheeks then slipping two fingers into your mouth. “Here, baby,” he smiles. “You suck on these for a bit. You can pretend it’s a little cock, hm? I know it hurts, not being filled, I’m gonna help you, honey. I was just enjoying watching you squirm a bit.”
Then, finally, as promised, he slips three fingers past your folds and into your cunt. It’s wet already, of course, almost obscenely so, and they slip in with an ease that would be embarrassing if you were conscious of it—still, though, somehow, your walls cling to his fingers like they’re trying to squeeze the life out of them. It’s a marvel to him, to all of them, how tight you are all over, no matter how loose they’ve fucked you, no matter how many big, thick, pulsing cocks and toys they’ve shoved into you without caution.
To Mingi, it’s just further evidence that this state, of being completely unaware and out of it and only good for and needing one thing to survive, is the way you were always meant to be.
“You’re such a nasty little baby,” he coos, all fondness. His fingers move in and out of your mouth in time with the ones in your pussy, and he won’t pretend not to take pleasure in the way your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. “Yeah, what a good girl. And I bet you’re still not fucking satisfied like this, are you? How many cocks will you need before you stop squirming?”
Your hips buck against his hand and he smiles, rubbing his thumb in circles over your clit. “Like a doll,” he murmurs. “You’re a little sex toy, aren’t you?”
You nod, groaning, drool spilling out past his fingers and pooling on your bare chest. It’s a lewd, messy, debasing sight. Mingi adores it—you’re not present enough to even register it. He pushes his fingers deeper, so they’re pushing against your g-spot and his knuckles are pressed against your wet, sticky folds. You choke, crying out, spasming around him; your legs clench and unclench, toes curling as you try to withstand the pressure.
“M-Mingi!” You squeal, the words muffled around his fingers. “Gonna— cum!”
“Oh, you are?” He croons. “Are you gonna make a mess, baby?”
You nod desperately, fervently. “G-gonna!”
“So naughty,” he tuts. “Such a bad girl, getting everything wet. Go ahead and do it then. Push yourself over the edge.”
He curls his fingers, just a little, but it’s enough; you cum with a cry, a strangled, broken noise from the bottom of your throat. Your whole body is shaking, but Mingi holds you still, the fingers in your mouth moving to hold you by the neck as the fingers in your pussy keep pushing in and out, fucking you through it.
It’s wet, messy, just like he says. You don’t remember the last time you came this hard. This… everywhere.
“Oh fuck,” Mingi groans; his voice cracks a little under the weight of arousal, the weight of what the sight in front of him is doing to him, so it comes out sounding more like a whimper. “Baby. You just fucking squirted. Everywhere. Jesus Christ, you’ve never squirted that much. Not even close.”
You’re breathing heavily, starting to fuss as you come down; he moves the hand on your neck back to your mouth, pushing his fingers past your lips and cooing when you start to suckle instinctively at them. “Oh, look at you,” he says. “Just a little kitten, aren’t you, suckling away. Good girl.”
He adjusts you slightly, sitting you up and tucking your head into the crook of his neck, fingers still pushed into your mouth down to the knuckle. Your inner thighs are drenched, juices dripping down and soaking his pants, and your pussy is still twitching, clenching around nothing, already hungry for more. He pats it gently, laughing when you jolt and whimper at the contact, then pulls away.
“You’re a good little girl,” he gruffs. “Just need to be serviced time to time. Keeps you pliant, huh?”
“Sir,” you mumble around his fingers.
“Right here, pretty.”
You don’t hear the footsteps approaching the living room, nor do you notice the new presence in the doorway. It’s only the sound of laughter, low, mocking, that makes you lift your head slightly from Mingi’s shoulder.
You must have been crying, you realise, because your vision is blurred, the sight of Jongho as he approaches you marred with tears. “Fucked out already?” He asks. “What did it take, a finger?”
“Three fingers,” Mingi says. “Three fingers in her cunt and she was squirting everywhere. Soaked the shit out of me.”
“I can see that.” Jongho sits down, behind where you’re cradled sideways in Mingi’s lap, and pats your hair. “I wonder how long she can stay still with just fingers in her mouth.”
“Her ass is plugged too,” Mingi says, “so she’s not empty, exactly. But it won’t satisfy her for long.”
You feel yourself drifting in and out, not quite of consciousness but of something; you make a small noise, a little whine, like you’re making sure the men surrounding your body aren’t forgetting your presence. Mingi just laughs, stroking your cheek. “I’m sure she’ll be squirming again soon enough,” he says. “And even if she doesn’t, someone will be wanting to fuck her. That’s what’s important this week; her use to us.”
Jongho hums his agreement. There’s movement behind you, the sound of something being picked up and then Mingi’s fingers are being pulled out of your mouth and the brim of the water bottle is pressing against your lips again. “Drink,” Jongho orders lowly. “Just a little. You lost all your juices just then, baby.”
You don’t know how long you stay like that, suckling silently, but when Jongho pulls the bottle away the others seem to have joined you too, and then you’re moving again, shifting; lifted off of Mingi’s lap and put down in Jongho’s. He settles you with your back to his chest, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder and shoving two fingers into your mouth. “Suck,” he says, although you already were.
He holds your legs apart with his own, spreading you open, rubbing his finger against your soaked sensitive cunt. “Look at this pussy,” he hums. “It’s still dripping. Hole is fluttering when I touch it even a little bit.”
“Because she’s fucked out and needy,” Hongjoong says, matter of fact, barely sparing a glance in your direction. “She probably needs to be filled again.”
“Do you?” It takes you a moment to realise Jongho is talking to you; only when he slaps your cheek, not hard enough to be punishing but enough to hurt, does your mind start to catch up.
Yes, yes, you need to be filled again. You really need it, you’re so empty right now, and it hurts, it hurts so much that you—
You’re nodding fervently, whining, squirming until Jongho stills you with a hand splayed across your stomach, pressing down. It stops you from struggling, his strength nothing you could ever reckon with, but the pressure just makes you needier. “Please,” you whimper.
“We’re not fucking you right now,” Jongho says mildly. “Do you need to be filled?”
“Yes sir.”
He glances at someone, and you hear someone getting up and leaving then returning. Jongho shifts you a little, moving you a little further down so your head is level with his chest and your pussy is pushed out a little, facing the others. They’re staring right at it. You catch Yeosang’s eye but he just smiles, tilting his head and murmuring something to San.
The feeling of something pressing against your cunt—cold, thick, silicone—pulls your attention away. You look down just in time to watch as Jongho slips the head of your dildo—the thick, ridged one they favour when they’re in a hurry to prep you—inside you. It fills you instantly, no easing you into it this time; if it weren’t for Jongho’s strong, firm hand on your tummy you’d probably have wrung yourself off of his lap from the shock of the intrusion. You gasp, hissing, legs tensing and he just shushes you, rubbing your tummy tenderly and soothingly as he starts to move the toy in and out. “You can take it,” he coos. “You’ve taken bigger than this.”
“Much bigger,” someone adds—Wooyoung, you think, but you can’t say for certain. “She’s being dramatic.”
“She’ll settle soon,” Jongho says. “When she gets used to the feeling again.”
You think they’re talking among each other now, certainly you hear voices, but as the toy pushes deeper you struggle to tune into anything but that; to notice or feel anything but the thick silicone pushing out against your walls. You’re hypersensitive now, having only just cum, and the feeling of being held still in Jongho’s arms, fucked open on a toy—the sound, the smell of sex and sweat and need surrounding you—makes everything else seem quieter, muted, insignificant. You know Jongho is affected too; you feel his length hardened and pushing against your back and twitching against you when you squirm or shudder or squeal and press your face into his chest so the sounds are muffled.
“She can’t take it,” Hongjoong says, more commentary than concern. “She’s already breaking again.”
“No, she’ll take it,” Jongho replies. He slows down, a milder pace, just as deep but a little easier to bear. The hand on your tummy relaxes too, his grip loosening some, but his hold is still firm. “Relax,” he mutters. “This is just to settle you.”
There’s a movie playing now; you hear the opening theme, something low and melodic and far away, only just permeating through the haze. Your eyes are half closed, face nuzzled into the meat of Jongho’s arm, teeth sunk into the flesh, hard enough to be just on the edge of drawing blood but not quite over the line. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s not paying you all that much attention at all.
You’re not sure how long he keeps you like that. You try to follow the movie, but nothing the characters do or say makes sense or even registers with you. The dildo is still moving in and out, at the same slower pace, but it pushes in firmly, pressing against your g-spot without gentleness or compromise. Soon enough you can feel it in your legs; the need and arousal spreading through your body down to your toes. Your thighs are clenching and unclenching, toes curling against the couch cushion, and your eyes have rolled all the way back.
You hardly register it, each time they press the water bottle to your mouth and tell you to swallow. You don’t notice it until there’s something tight and heavy starting in your tummy and pressing against your cunt.
Even like this, you recognise this pressure. This feeling. It comes on so quickly you don’t have the time to stop it.
You whine, shaking your head; your legs try to press themselves together but Jongho’s arm is in the way, blocking them, and if he realises what’s happening he seems to see little reason to care about it.
“S-Sir,” you gasp. “I n— I need—”
“What?” He coos. The dildo doesn’t slow; you’re not sure if it’s just how desperate and helpless you feel right now, but you think it might actually be speeding up. “What is it, doll? You’re not liking this? I thought you needed your holes filled?”
“Need,” you nod. “Pee—”
“Pee?” He repeats. The next thrust of the dildo is harder, faster, almost punishingly so, then it sinks back into its usual rhythm as if nothing happened at all. “No, honey. You don’t need to pee, you need to cum.”
“No,” you sob, shaking your head. You know what cumming feels like, what squirting feels like, and that’s not this. You need to pee.
“Poor thing,” Hongjoong says from somewhere further away. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her body, does she? Can’t accept she’s not in control of it anymore.”
“Listen to me,” Jongho tells you. “Sex toys don’t piss. That’s nasty. Sex toys squirt. That pressure you’re feeling right now—that’s cum.”
You know it’s not. Jongho speeds up, the dildo suddenly moving faster, harder, every thrust hitting you exactly where you don’t want it—where you can’t take it. You can’t. You’re going to—
“If you think it’s piss, then prove it,” Jongho says coolly. “Let go and piss all over me like a dog, if you’re so sure. Come on.”
You don’t have a choice—you last a few seconds, it feels like, and then you can’t stop it anymore. It comes suddenly, a fast intense stream that makes your thoughts white out for a moment, legs tense and seizing up, hips bucking through it. You think you scream at some point—you know for a fact you’re sobbing as you come down.
The dildo doesn’t stop. Jongho laughs. “You’re filthy,” he says. “God, look at you. My whole lap is covered in it. What do you think, baby, is it piss or squirt?”
“There’s one way to find out,” Mingi says. “Make her taste it.”
The words don’t reach you, of course, but they reach Jongho. The dildo stills inside you, then pulls out and presses against your lips. “Open your mouth.”
His finger is digging into your jaw again, pressing at that little sweet spot that had made you open up yesterday, and the moment your mouth falls open the dildo is pushing past your lips and settling on your tongue. You close your eyes, jaw going slack around it, and suck at it eagerly; Jongho’s other hand is rubbing at your pussy soothingly, cupping your head and pressing against your clit without breaching you as you swirl your tongue across the silicone.
“This is fucking crazy,” Mingi says. “Sucking on her own piss and she doesn’t even care as long as she’s got something in her mouth.”
“Well?” Jongho asks. “What do you think, bimbo? Piss or squirt?”
You hadn’t even noticed the taste. You just let your head fall against Jongho’s chest, a stray tear still sitting half-fallen on your cheek, and let yourself slowly collapse until all of your weight is pressed against him.
“She doesn’t care,” Mingi laughs. “She probably doesn’t even remember what you said to her.”
“Alright,” Hongjoong says. “She’s gone long enough without a cock in her. We should get her filled up before she forgets what she was made for.”
“I’ll take her cunt,” Jongho says. “Is her asshole okay?”
“I’ll check,” Mingi says. “Give her to me.”
He sits down next to Jongho, and the next thing you’re conscious of is his hand running down the back of your thigh, slow and soothing like he’s trying to calm you down. “Easy,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”
You’re bent over his lap, you realise. Your toes are still curled and you think your legs are shaking too. Mingi’s hands move to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. “Doll,” he says, one hand moving to pat your lower back. “Reach back and hold yourself open for me.”
“She’s not gonna know how to do that,” Hongjoong says. “Let me.”
When Hongjoong’s hands are on your cheeks and holding them apart, Mingi moves to rest one hand on the back of your thigh while the other presses down on the base of your plug. “Oh, look,” he hums. “I almost forgot we’d had her plugged up.”
He taps at it a few times, then his fingers are wrapped around the base and slowly pulling it out. You gasp at the sensation, leg kicking slightly against the couch, but they pay you no mind. It comes out with a quiet, wet pop.
“Let’s have a look,” Mingi says. “Alright, sweetheart. We’re just gonna make sure your asshole is ready for us. Be a good girl.”
He presses a finger, wet, coated with spit, to your rim and breaches it ever so slightly. “What do we think?” He asks. “She loose enough?”
“Push deeper,” Hongjoong says. “We won’t be able to know until then. If she’s too tight she’ll need more stretching.”
“Don’t think she will be,” Mingi replies, pushing his finger further in until it’s down to the knuckle. “Look at it, all sloppy and needy. I think I still smell San’s cum on her.”
“We cleaned her out after last night,” Hongjoong says. “But you’re right. I don’t think she’s had long enough to tighten up yet. Try another finger.”
“While you do that,” Jongho says, “I’m gonna go get changed. Little fucking piss baby’s soaked my jeans through.”
“Poor thing doesn’t know any better,” Hongjoong clicks his tongue. He watches as Mingi pushes another finger into your hole; the sight of your rim contracting around him and pressing against his fingers like it’s trying to trap them there has him biting down a moan. Fuck. If he’d known about this serum he’d have made a bimbo of you months ago. When it wears off he’s gonna paddle you for keeping it from him for this long.
“I think she’s good,” Mingi says. “Good job, sweetheart. You kept your hole all nice and loose for us. Joong, you want it?”
“Yeah, put her on all fours,” Hongjoong says, just as Mingi sits you up, eyes still closed, the toy still in your mouth. “Jesus, she’s still sucking that fucking dildo?”
“She needs something in her mouth,” Mingi says. “She doesn’t even know what she’s doing right now. Fuck, it’s like having a kid, isn’t it? You gotta do all the thinking for her.”
He positions you as he speaks, your ass high up in the air and your weight pressed onto your forearms. He lets you rest your head against the floor, putting a pillow under your face; you’re still sucking at the dildo as Jongho comes back through.
“She ready?” He asks. He’s in sweatpants now, the front already tenting with the outline of his boner.
Hongjoong nods. “Have at it. Which hole are you going for?”
“Cunt,” Jongho answers. “Might stick a few fingers in her ass too. She makes the most distressed little noises when you go in there.”
“She does,” Hongjoong agrees. “And the rest of you?” He asks. “You just gonna stand around like perverts?”
Oh yeah. The rest of them. You forgot they’d even come in. With your head held against the pillow, Mingi’s hand on your neck immobilising you, you can’t see where they are, what they’re doing; you suppose it doesn’t matter, though, because your holes are being filled and you’re being a good, pliant fuck toy for them. That’s what’s important.
Jongho’s hands are cold when they press against your cunt; it makes you jolt slightly, whining, and he laughs. He spreads you open with his hands, then there’s a low whistle and what sounds like laughter from somewhere further away. “Fucking hell,” Jongho says. “This might be the most used up, sloppy little cunt I’ve ever seen. Not even sure it’s worth fucking in this state.”
“Give it a spanking and it’ll tighten up,” someone says.
Jongho stills for a moment, then his hand comes down once, twice, three times against your cunt; you shriek, toes curling, crying out around the dildo; Mingi tightens his grip on your neck to keep you still. “Stop your squirming,” he grunts. “S’your fault for having such a nasty cunt. Should be ashamed of yourself.”
A finger pushes in, dry, and you whimper, pushing back against it as much as you can; Jongho puts a hand on your hip to keep you still while he pushes in. “That’s better,” he says. “You were right, Yeosang, her cunt tightens up when it’s hurting, like it’s trying to keep me out. Like it’s afraid of me.”
“How’s it feel now?”
“Well, tighter,” Jongho says, slipping in another finger. “Still sloppy, though. You can tell she’s been used today, dirty girl.”
“We keep you well fucked, don’t we?” Hongjoong asks. He’s crouching by your head now, smoothing your hair down with his hand. “Stay still for Jongho, sweetheart. You know it’s easier when you stay still.”
Luckily for you, Jongho’s never really been the type to drag it out; he’s never liked delaying it just to toy with you the way some of the others do. He pushes in all the way, straight away, and by the time you’ve processed the intrusion he’s fucking you with full force, full speed, full strength. He doesn’t speak, but you can hear his breaths, deep and laboured and heavy; you feel his hands on your waist, a finger circling your rim then slipping inside, his cock stretching you open around the shaft; you feel your cunt contracting, tightening around around him, his dick twitching inside you when he pauses his thrusts to take a breath. “Fuck,” he grunts. “Fuck.”
“Does she feel good?” Someone asks.
“Fucking crazy,” Jongho answers. “Jesus Christ. Sloppy and used up but she’s still squeezing the life out of me, fuck. She still feels like a virgin.”
“Put another finger in her ass,” Mingi says. “I wanna hear her squeal.”
Jongho obliges, pushing another finger past your rim; you make a noise that’s half gasp, half cry, something hollow and raw and scratchy, like there’s something clawing at the inside of your throat. “Fuck,” Mingi groans. “Yeah, that’s it. Another, Jongho.”
“Fucking hell, Mingi, she’s gonna tear,” Jongho argues. He’s thrusting again, slower now but just as deep; savouring you, savouring the feeling rather than chasing the high.
“She’s not gonna tear,” Mingi replies, his tone dismissive. “We’ve been training her ass for months, she’ll be fine.”
“She had a plug in her ass all morning, too.” That sounds like Yunho. “She’s already stretched out.”
Jongho tests it out, tracing your rim with his thumb while he keeps pumping two fingers in and out. The contact makes your hole flutter slightly, tensing around him then relaxing some. “Yeah,” he says. “I think you’ll take another.”
Something wet lands on your hole; spit, you realise, then another wad, and another, then another finger is pushing in lubricated by it—and when it reaches the knuckle, three fingers now stuffed all the way inside you, you do squeal; loud and strangled and desperate, legs kicking against the floor. The pillow is wet, you realise, spit and drool and snot sinking into the fabric and rubbing uncomfortably against your skin. Jongho’s hand lands on the back of your thigh; you barely react.
“Tighten up,” he orders. “Clench your cunt a little so I can fill you up.”
You obey; it’s a command you’re used to by now, spat out when they’re on the edge, or when they’ve been fucking you got a while and you’ve forgotten how to keep yourself well presented for them, or sometimes simply because they love the way your body obeys them automatically. You don’t even think about it anymore; your pussy just contracts of its own accord.
Jongho doesn’t take long; it doesn’t feel like it, at least. Someone is stroking your hair, slipping two fingers into your mouth and pressing them against the back of your throat; sucking at them, trying to breathe around them, gives you something else to focus on, a distraction from everything Jongho is doing to you. It makes everything a little easier to take. When he cums, it’s with a low grunt, guttural, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor you in place as he fills you up.
Jongho’s loads are always big; hard and fast, easily enough to overflow until it drips out of your hole and down your thighs. He stays inside while he finishes, while he goes soft inside you; you feel his seed leaking out around him. His fingers aren’t in your ass anymore, you notice. You don’t know when he took them out.
You whine when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness making your head spin; your hips push back a little when he moves away, like they’re trying to follow him, and he laughs lowly. “Poor girl,” he murmurs. He runs his hand across your cunt, rubbing soothingly at the wet, swollen folds and your sensitive hole. “Is there no dick in your cunt now, baby? Does that make you sad?”
“Hurts,” you sniff. Your hole seems to twitch, clenching around nothing, as if to prove your point.
“You’ve got cum leaking down your thighs,” Mingi says. “And in your hole, too. That’s really not enough?”
You whine, shaking your head. “Empty.”
“Pathetic.” You’re lifted up and settled in Mingi’s lap, still on the floor, your back against his chest, your head lolling to the side slightly until he carefully lifts it back up and pulls it into his chest. “Alright, honey,” he says. “This is what’ll happen. We’re gonna get you a bath, all cleaned up, ‘cause you look a fucking mess right now. So we’re gonna clean the cum out of your hole and get you all nice and fresh for us. Yeah?”
You mumble something that’s meant to sound vaguely like ‘yeah’ but comes out more like a soft, tired hum. You feel yourself shifting, then you’re being lifted again and carried out of the living room. You frown for a moment, not sure what’s happening, where they’re taking you, if they’re gonna fill you up again, until you remember what Mingi said about a bath. Oh, yeah. You need to clean up. Good girls are always clean and fresh and nice to look at—not used up and sloppy and covered in cum. Seonghwa taught you that particular mantra.
You’re already half asleep when they lower you into the tub. They arrange you carefully, weight resting against the backrest with your head cradled carefully and steadily as they rub the warm water into your joints, between your thighs, reaching into your cunt to clean out any of the cum that’s still lingering inside. They wipe your face, too, using a wet flannel to clean the tears and drool and snot that’s dried against your skin; someone’s humming, you think, a low soft sound. It only serves to put you to sleep.
You’re in the living room when you wake up. On the couch, where Mingi and Jongho had held you before; this time it’s Seonghwa cradling you, your head against his chest and your legs curled up and resting against his side. He’s reading something on his phone; further away, others are having low, quiet conversations amongst themselves.
It’s San who first notices. “She’s up,” he says; Seonghwa shifts you slightly in his arms.
“So she is,” he says. “Morning, pretty girl. You have a good rest?”
You nod against his chest. All you can think about right now is the fact that his hand is resting on top of your thigh, right where it starts to curve into your hip, and how warm and soft and strong his hand is and how close it is to your pussy. Fuck, you want him in your pussy. When was the last time you had him in there?
“Her cunt is crying again,” Seonghwa says. “Already needy. Powerful little serum, that is.”
“Nah, that’s her,” Yunho says. “She’s always been desperate for it. Serum just brought out her true self; the whore she actually wants to be.”
Seonghwa presses his palm against your pussy, just enough pressure to make something spark in your stomach; you buck against it, chasing sensation, and he chuckles. “No shame,” he mutters. “D’you want something in you, honey?”
Yes. Fuck, yes. You whine, nodding fervently, and Seonghwa winds his hand back and lands it against your bare cunt. It sends a current of pain and arousal, borderline electric, through the entirety of your body. “Okay,” Seonghwa says. “I’ll put you on my cock for a while, keep you calm. Hold on.”
He shifts, lifting you up a bit so he can shove his sweats down enough to pull out his dick. It’s already half hard, pre-cum smeared around the tip where it had been rubbing against his pants. He lowers you slowly, taking his time; you feel his tip pressing against your hole then sliding in. It’s a stretch, certainly, but there’s no resistance; your hole is already wet, opening up when he presses against it like it’s welcoming him inside. Like it knows its only purpose right now is to be fucked open.
He has you facing him, straddling his lap; he holds your chin in the hand that’s not wrapped around your hip and pressing you down on his cock, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can’t really see him; your vision is blurred, dim, your eyes half closed and already welling with tears, but you see his calm eyes, the slight smile that’s pulling at the corners of his lips. Your head falls forward, chin pressed against your chest; he laughs, squeezing your chin a little tighter then pulling you into him so your head is tucked into the crook of his neck. “Easy,” he purrs. “We’re almost there.”
You feel the moment he gets in all the way, when your ass lands on his lap and his tip is pressing against the deepest parts of you. It’s dizzying, the pressure and the arousal and the sting of the stretch all crashing against each other like waves against a rock and he’s not even moving, just holding you there. When you try to move your hips a little bit, just enough to ease some of the pressure, he tightens his hold on you and cracks his hand down against your ass. “You stay still,” he orders. “I’m letting you sit on my dick so you’ll stop fussing, that’s all it is. It’s to keep you behaving, not to keep you satisfied. Say yes sir.”
“Yes sir,” you repeat.
“If you’re good,” he says, “I might let you get yourself off in a bit. Bounce on it til you cum again. Maybe.”
“Be good,” you nod. “I will.”
“You want something in your mouth?” He asks.
“Please, sir. M’good.”
“Yes you are.” He pushes two fingers past your lips and lets them sit atop your tongue; you suck at them eagerly, drool dripping out around them and pooling on your chest. Seonghwa tuts. “Dirty girl.”
“Drooling again,” San notes. “Just helpless.”
Seonghwa hums. “Should settle her for a bit, though. Hole stuffed and mouth filled, she should be pacified for a while.”
“She does seem relaxed.”
“Yeah, she’s out of it,” Seonghwa smiles, peering down at you. You’re staring up at him now, jaw slacked, a faraway look in your eyes like you’re not really present. “It’s interesting,” he says. “The serum seems to affect her in waves. She’s a little more lucid at times, then she just slips away again.”
“She goes dumber the hornier she gets,” San says.
“She does that anyway,” Yunho snorts. “Serum or not. But yeah, she does go stupid when her holes are full. I think she just needs to be coaxed down a little sometimes.”
“Well, she’s nice and gone now,” Seonghwa smiles. “Settled right down when she was told to. None of that bratiness she has when she’s lucid.”
“If she could just act like this all the time,” San says.
“We’ll train her up,” Yunho responds. “Now that I’ve seen the kind of obedience she has in her, I’m not settling for any of that defiance.”
It’s a wonder, Seonghwa thinks, the way your face doesn’t change no matter what they say about you—like you're not really processing their words at all. He’d wager you’re not; that you’ve slipped so far down that their words are just noise to you now. Like television static or rain against a window; something to soothe you.
You look so sweet like this. So innocent; just a tiny little thing in his arms, in their care, too stupid to survive without them. It almost makes him feel bad for how badly he wants to defile you. For the way that it’s that same innocent look on your face that makes him want to ruin you beyond repair.
He feels himself twitch inside you, his dick responding to the thought of its own accord; your cunt clenches in response to it, tightening around him, but your face doesn’t change. The emptiness in your eyes stays steady, your breathing and your blinking slow and level.
Are you not even registering what’s happening to your pussy anymore; not even conscious of your own arousal? Do you even remember you have a stiff, thick cock stuffed inside your cunt right now?
“So sweet,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. He pushes his thumb past your lips and lets it sit in your mouth, your tongue poking at it like you’re not sure what it is or what to do with it. “My little girl. You’re so lovely like this.”
He’s pushing his hips upwards before he’s really conscious of it; just his body’s natural response to your tight, warm cunt wrapped around him. This time, you notice; you gasp softly, weakly, a quiet noise that drags out until it’s hardened into a low, desperate groan. Your eyes widen a little, something sparking behind the irises that hints to some kind of awareness of what’s going on now, and your jaw drops further, body slumping against his chest even more than it was.
Yeah, you’ve realised now—your body has, at least. Perhaps it’s the tip of his cock pressing into the deepest parts of you that did it.
His thrusts are slow, lazy, little thought or precision in the movements as there usually is, but he’s still getting deep. You don’t speak, don’t move, but your cunt is pulsing and constricting around his shaft, tightening around him when he pushes in deeper like you’re trying to trap him there. You’re making noise now, too; tiny sounds that you probably aren’t aware of, soft little whimpers and low moans as he fucks you open. He pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it down against your tongue; his other hand takes a grip of your right ass cheek, holding it firmly as he moves and using it to guide you up and down on his dick.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Good girl.”
Hands are on your neck now, snaking around from behind you; one of them creeps upwards to beneath your jaw, tilting your head back until you meet San’s gaze—calm, level, fixed on you. Hardly even blinking. Your head is pressed against his stomach, held still, his grip on your neck paralysingly firm as he pushes his thumb past your lips, just as Seonghwa did. “Hi, bimbo,” he croons. “You being fucked good?”
You mumble something around his thumb. He laughs, clicking his tongue. “Oh, you’re just stupid as hell, aren’t you? Just gone. Nothing in your little head except dick.”
Seonghwa’s hips stutter all of a sudden and he groans, breathing out a strained, strangled laugh. “She just clenched, San,” he says. “When you called her stupid. Got even tighter.”
“Of course she did,” San smiles. “She knows what her purpose is. She knows why we keep her, why we take care of her. Because she’s a stupid slut who doesn’t know how to do anything but please. Aren’t you?”
You whine; tears are welling again, threatening to spill, and San just coos. “You can cry, sweet thing,” he says. He knows you’re not holding them back on purpose, of course, you probably don’t have the facilities for that right now, but he says it all the same. “Show us how much it hurts. How full and well-fucked and stupid you are.”
He’s not certain he words register, doesn’t see any sign of it in your face, but it doesn’t take long before you’re letting go; before the tears are slipping down your face and you’re whimpering around his thumb. Just as Seonghwa speeds up, clearly getting close to the edge, his thrusts harder and more rushed now, San pulls his thumb out and replaces it with two fingers; that way, he can press them against the back of your throat with ease and feel the way you fight for breath. It’s getting hard to hold you still against him with the force of Seonghwa’s thrusts; your eyes are rolled back, half closed, and you’re grasping the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt in tight fists.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Seonghwa groans, voice breaking, then slams his hand down on your thigh. “Clench.”
You do. Seonghwa damn near weeps through his orgasm.
It takes you a moment or two to realise it’s over; you frown a little, still looking up at San, and your mouth closes slightly. “D-done?” You ask.
“Yeah, baby,” San smiles. “All done. Good girl.”
“Do you want me to stay inside you, honey?” Seonghwa asks. “I’m not as hard anymore, but it’ll keep you full, hm?”
“Don’t think she got any of that,” San says. “But I’m pretty sure if you try to pull out she’ll burst into tears.”
“She’s still pulsing.” Seonghwa laughs lowly, shaking his head like he’s in disbelief. “Still clenching around me. Don’t think her cunt is letting me out anyway.”
“She needs to eat something,” San says. He gently pushes you forwards until your head lands against Seonghwa’s chest; you nuzzle into it, humming contentedly, and San smiles. “It’s been a few hours.”
Has it? You don’t know what time it is, couldn’t even guess; it could be morning just as easily as it could be night. Seonghwa hums, adjusting you in his hold, tapping his hand against your ass. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “Get her something light, easy to swallow, I don’t think she can handle much more.”
A few minutes later—but it could equally be seconds, or hours, or days—you’re being moved so you’re held sideways in Seonghwa’s lap, San sitting down next to you, and something soft and sweet is being spooned into your mouth. Oatmeal, you think, with something sweet and syrupy soaked into the grains. “Look at you,” Seonghwa hums, “eating so well.”
“Such a good girl,” San agrees. “That yummy, sweetheart?”
You nod, grunting, swallowing another spoonful; it’s hard to keep it all in your mouth, not quite present enough to hold your jaw shut on your own. It’s dribbling down your chin, coating your lips; Seonghwa clicks his tongue, wiping his thumb over your chin and mouth. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “You eat well, don’t you?”
“Is she done?” You don’t know where Wooyoung came from; if he’s just walked in or if he’s been hanging around in here the whole time, but there’s an impatience in his voice that you just about pick up on. “I want my dick sucked.”
“She’s done,” Seonghwa says. “But I think she needs her cunt filled right now, too. She was getting fussy about it.”
“Put a dildo in her then,” Wooyoung says. “Or someone else can fuck her pussy. I want her throat.”
Seonghwa sighs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t protest; he lifts you off of his lap slowly, gradually, trying to make the inevitable shock of emptiness easy on you. You cry out when it happens, tearing up straight away, and he shushes you. “You’re fine,” he says. “Just wait a moment and we’ll get you filled, be a good girl now.”
You’re put onto your knees; Wooyoung takes a fistful of your hair and uses it to keep you upright while he sits himself down, legs spread, and pulls his dick out with his other hand. He lets go of your hair, moving his hand to tap your jaw. “Open.”
Your jaw slacks, falling open, and he slides his dick past your lips and straight to the back of your throat. He’s leaking already, the tip sticky against the roof of your mouth, and his thrusts and loose and sloppy, arousal and desperation evident in every movement. He rests his hand on the top of your head, pulling you back and forth to bob up and down on his length. “Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it. Hot little mouth.”
He’s going hard, fast, no thought or consideration for you, but your mouth welcomes him, holds him easily, pulls him deeper, even as drool begins to drip down your chin and pool on your chest; as your eyes water, vision blurring at the edges, and your breaths sound like gasps, gargles, splutters around his girth.
“She’s got a fucking mouth on her,” someone says, sounding impressed. “She even gagging?”
“Barely,” Wooyoung grunts. “Knows how to take it, anyway. Such a warm, tight throat.”
You’re not really thinking anything now; don’t think you could if you wanted to. You’re conscious, faintly, of the feeling of his dick moving in and out of your throat, but not anything else. Not the pressure building in your tummy, tightening every time he pushes your head further down his shaft; the blunts of his fingers pressing against the back of your head; his breathing quickening, getting sharper and shallower as your lips tighten around him. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Jesus, I’m go— I’m gonna—”
“Already?” Seonghwa says.
“Yes, already, shut u—” Wooyoung grunts, eyes squeezing shut; he pulls your head closer to him, dick all the way inside your mouth, you face practically pressed against his stomach as he cums. It’s fast, hot, thick; this time you do choke, gagging, spluttering, but you don’t spit it up. You don’t think you could, with his dick lodged so deep.
“God,” he breathes. “Good girl.”
He moves to pull out, slowly easing your head backwards off of him, but you whine. You don’t have anything in your cunt still, and your ass feels empty too, and if Wooyoung pulls his dick out of your mouth then—
“Okay, woah, easy.” He’s cooing now, laughing; you’re gripping his shirt in tight, desperate fists, clinging to him; he gently grasps your hands in his and eases them off. “You’re fine, honey. Hwa, do we have a dildo she can suck on?”
“Let me go clean it first,” Seonghwa says. “Stay in her mouth for a sec.”
“There we go.” Wooyoung is cupping your face in his hand, his fingers curling with your jaw to rest beneath your chin; he holds you gentle but firm against his stomach, his dick, mostly soft, now resting on your tongue. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
Seonghwa comes back soon enough, the dildo now clean in his hand. They work quickly, efficiently, so by the time you register the emptiness after Wooyoung pulls out your dildo is already sitting in your mouth, big enough to feel full without too painful a stretch. Wooyoung pats your hair, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, as you’re picked up and settled on the couch in someone’s lap.
“Come here, bunny.” Yeosang’s voice is soft, gentle, but his dick is solid against your back. He doesn’t move to do anything with it, though. Perhaps he thinks you need a rest.
“Sir,” you mutter, the words muffled around the dildo. You move back a little, pressing yourself against his hard-on; he hisses, tensing, his grip tightening around you, but he still does nothing.
“Needy,” he says, no mockery nor praise behind it; just more. Observing.
You whine, pushing back more; Yeosang’s hand lands sharp and heavy on your thigh in warning. “Enough,” he says. “You have a dildo already. Put it in your cunt if that’s where you need to be filled right now, but this isn’t about you. I’m in charge here, and I want to sit with my good girl all fucked out and pliant in my lap. Can you do that?”
You blink, processing his words. He waits for a moment, all patient, then breathes out a laugh. “Right,” he nods. “Yeah. I forgot your brain’s off. Let me dumb it down. If you want something in you, use the dildo. I’m in charge. Understand?”
You reach for the dildo unconsciously, wrapping your hand around the base; Yeosang smiles. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s your dildo. Mouth, cunt or ass, it’s up to you, but it’s all you’re getting.”
“Mouf’,” you slur out; you like it like this, sitting steady in your throat—it keeps you calm, satiated, without stretching or pleasuring you unnecessarily. You’re not certain there’s any point in stretching your cunt out for your own sake; you should keep it for them, you reason. For them to use, or for them to entertain themselves with. You press your head against Yeosang’s chest, sucking harder on the dildo, swirling your tongue around the cold plasticky tip the way they’d taught you to; the way they’d made you prove you could do on this very same dildo before they let you take them in your mouth.
Your training dildo, they’d called it back then. You’d practiced all your skills on it, under their watchful eyes, from sucking to bouncing to simply just taking it. It brings back memories, in a way, having it in your mouth like this. At the very least, it settles you. Stills you. Calms you enough to allow your eyes to slowly start to close.
Yeosang is swaying steadily, rocking you back and forth, his voice a low, distant murmur, words too far to follow.
It’s just as you’re falling asleep that you feel something pressing against your cunt.
“Easy,” someone says. “Get your rest. Keep sucking.”
[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.”
the two of you join wooyoung and san for another two for one deal at treasure, the local bar. when you and wooyoung come back after a cigarette break to see hongjoong getting flirted with by that one annoying girl in your ethics class... what can you even do when he isn't yours? when feelings are (seemingly) imbalanced?
content warnings: smoking, drinking, unfounded possessiveness, jealousy, slight argument between reader & hongjoong, angst, lmk if i missed any
wk: 3k
eek eek eek! we're getting to the juicy stuuuffffff! i'm not sure how many more chapters i want to do. i'm also thinking of smacking all chapters onto a mega post when it's completed, but i'm not sure how much i want to write yet... let me know if y'all would be down for that.
previous chapter | next part
another thursday came, with hongjoong and you heading right back to the treasure to celebrate a week of passing grades on your assignments and get buy-one-get-one drinks. you were joined by two of your friends, wooyoung and san, who frankly weren't really even paying attention to anyone other than each other.
the four of you were situated in a booth, its table sticky and grimey from sugary-drinks of treasure nights' past. there were about 12 plastic cups — some empty, some still full with your heavy-poured drinks — spread between you all. you only had your two, san had his two, and wooyoung and hongjoong split the remaining 8.
you all had gotten there early, before too many people showed up and the music wasn't too loud yet. it was also the perfect time for people watching; you could observe those as they come in. you liked it that way — you weren't a fan of big crowds anyways.
you tried to avoid drinking too much tonight; not just because you're a lightweight but because you had a lot to get done tomorrow and needed to wake up early. you hated being hungover just as much as you hated being drunk.
hongjoong always allowed you to get away with everything when you were drunk, and you were grateful for how well he took care of you when you were drunk. but you hated how you never had complete control in your actions. you hated how much you talked when you were drunk, how much you embarrassed yourself. it was never an issue when you were drinking alone with friends, but treasure was definitely not the right spot for it.
you regretted how wasted you got last week, even if it meant you got to feel hongjoongs arm around your waist... his hands holding your entire weight up... the way his voice sounded when he talked in your ear... the way he had so carefully laid you on your bed... how much you wish you had just properly kissed him... how his lips would have felt and how his hands would've grabbed your—
"hey, you alright?" hongjoong gave your shoulder a slight shake to snap you out of your trance. you shook your head, blinking a few times to recenter your tipsy mind.
now if you had actually been paying attention to hongjoong as he ranted about one his classmates who always tried to ass kiss his professor, you would've noticed how he had stopped a good few seconds ago. you would've noticed how he'd called your name twice now, noticing you spacing out and thinking about...
you blinked a few times once more, trying once more to cast thoughts thoughts out of your mind. "hmm? oh yeah, sorry. just zoning out."
"you okay? do you need to leave?" as he asked this, his right arm moved up to the table. he turned towards you, resting his elbow against the table and holding up his head.
"no– no! i'm fine, i just—" you would have said you were about to reach your drink limit for the night, if you hadn't just spotted the 'NO1LIKEME' tattoo on the inside of his arm. it just barely peeked out from his loose duran duran t-shirt, and you found yourself salivating at the thought of running your— YEP! that's enough.
"i'm gonna go smoke real quick!!!" you squeaked out, grabbing your pack and lighter from your bag and almost shoving hongjoong out of the booth. san and wooyoung finally snapped out of their daze at your sudden outburst.
hongjoong finally scrambled out of the booth, eyeing you suspiciously. you found yourself unable to look back at him, so you opted for asking wooyoung if he wanted to join you outside for a quick smoke.
"YES!" he also almost shoved san out of the booth, jumping at the offer of a drunk cigarette.
"what was that about?" hongjoong asked san, dumbfounded at the sudden empty seat besides him. san, in his drunken haze, simply shrugged and returned to the drink he was nursing.
hongjoong turned his gaze back to his own drink, playing with the ice with his straw. what was that about?
you had seemed a little spacey and distracted before you left, looking anywhere but his eyes. you always smoked more when you drank, but you'd been trying to cut back lately because it would affect the new medication you were on. did he say something? why did you just suddenly—
"joongie!"
his head snapped up to find the source of that whiny cry of his name, only to find the girl you always complained about after your monday and wednesday afternoon ethics class. she approached their table with an outfit that showed far too much skin and a drink far too full for someone who looked so wasted.
"adalyn, i've told you the name is hongjoong." he looked back down at his drink, really not wanting to engage with her further. it always seemed like he couldn't ever go to treasure without her trying to leave with his number. and she always seemed to time her approaches perfectly to when you weren't next to him.
it only annoyed him more and more as time passed. plus, he hated it when anyone but you called him 'joongie.'
"aw joongie, and i've told you to call me addie!" she pouted, leaning her elbows on the booth's table, attempting to show off her cleavage.
"hi addie!!" san cut in, his voice and smile far too dopey for the present company. poor guy never had a clue when he was drunk.
"hi san." she said in a dead voice before turning back to the music major. hongjoong fought demons trying not to laugh at the pout that formed on san's face at the lack of interest. san was normally quiet when drunk, but he still tried to be polite and welcoming to anyone who came up... even if that person was a massive—
"SO! joongie!" adalyn tried to scoot into the booth, but hongjoong remained firm at the edge. she huffed a breath at the refusal, but still just kept going. "i never see you anywhere but here! why is that?"
"so!" wooyoung took his first drag from the cigarette you lent him. "you want to tell me why you all but leaped out of that booth?" smoke left his mouth, mixing with yours as you exhaled.
you'd been trying to cut back on smoking, as it could mix badly with new medication you just went on. but you needed to get the alcohol away from your decision making impulses, especially with how hongjoong looked tonight.
it was truly unfair that he had an amazing fashion sense. he always knew what to wear for each situation, how to style himself... how to unintentionally drive you mad. he had also dyed his hair back to black just the day prior, which already did enough damage for the next week. he just had to keep pushing it tonight.
"i just needed fresh air," you fibbed. but wooyoung saw right through you.
"did it have anything to do with the way you were ogling his tattoo like you wanted to bite it?" wooyoung asked, smirking at you the annoying way he does when he knows something he shouldn't. you turned and hit his right arm, almost accidentally dragging the burning end of your cigarette against his shirt.
"shut up." you took a drag, blowing it away from your stupid, stupid friend. "i really did just need some fresh air."
"you know you have to make a move at some point," he said, more seriously this time. "it's only going to get harder as time goes on."
you weren't an idiot, you knew what your intuition and feelings were telling you. you just... you didn't want to risk ruining the perfect balance you two have. if it ain't broke, don't fix it. right?
"i don't want to talk about this right now." you took another drag. inhaling in the sanity, releasing whatever pent up tension was causing these feelings to come to the forefront.
jesus, i need to get laid. that would fix this... totally. you had barely gotten action of any kind since you and your ex broke up a year ago.
god, your ex. you took another inhale of your cigarette. the mid-april night time breeze caused the smoke to blow right back in your face.
wooyoung eyed you carefully. if hongjoong knew you the best, wooyoung was a close second. he knew you were a thinker before everything else, always preferring to make feeling-based decisions of your own accord. he knew he could never convince you to do anything and also knew when to drop conversations.
"surprised you could even pay attention to anything but san's big strong arms. you had seemed pretty attached to those earlier," you joked, trying to change the subject. both your cigarettes were almost at their end by this point, only a drag or two left.
and it's true — wooyoung could joke all he wanted about your slight oral fixation, but you both knew his was worse. he had been latched onto his boyfriend's arms, his teeth occasionally nibbling whatever they could reach.
"yeah, yeah, whatever." he rolled his eyes, laughing softly. the two of you took your final drags, putting out your cigarettes on the brick wall you rested against.
you turned to head inside when wooyoung's voice stopped your movements.
"you don't have to talk about it — but don't ignore it."
you took a deep breath, your back facing him. you knew wooyoung was right, and you truly haven't been ignoring it. but you can't talk about the way your heart weighs more each time hongjoong smiles at you, takes care of you, holds you when you need. you can't act on anything when it feels unstable.
the scale continues to tip dangerously to your side the more your feelings grow for your roommate. you couldn't deal with it if hongjoong ever noticed the imbalance. the instability. this was the one thing you weren't certain he'd try to balance out. you didn't know if he'd catch you. these feelings were too shaky — too unsteady.
"i know." and with that, you two went back inside. back into the loud music and crowded bar far too small for the amount of occupants. more students had come in since you and wooyoung stepped out.
you both headed for your table, his hand in yours so you wouldn't lose each other in the crowd. you finally saw your booth in between other students and began moving quicker towards it.
you stopped in your tracks the moment you saw that one bitch from your ethics class with her hand on hongjoong's shoulder. her hand. was on. his shoulder.
hongjoong hated it when other people touched him without him initiating it. the one person that was the exception was you.
only you were allowed to touch him like that. only you.
if you were of sound mind, you would've noticed how tense your roommate was under the hand of adalyn. how much he was leaning away from her. you would've noticed how he wasn't even but no, you didn't notice that. you couldn't, not with the way your blood was suddenly rushing through your brain.
you weren't a stranger to her trying to flirt with him, she had once asked you for his number after a class. but for some reason, tonight's incident just struck a chord with you.
wooyoung bumped into you from the back, not realizing you had stopped walking. "yo why'd you—" then he saw the same sight you did.
he called your name, trying to prevent you from making a decision you'd regret. but you didn't hear him. you couldn't. you were already moving back to the table.
san — the drunk sweetheart he was — announced your presence before you had the chance to. he called your name sweetly, and that should have snapped you out of the sudden possessive rage that coursed through you, but it had infiltrated too much of your frontal lobe for you to calm down.
both adalyn and hongjoong whipped their heads up to look at you, and you finally took in adalyn's appearance.
dressed way too revealingly, as usual. a cropped tank top far too low-cut for how flat chested she was and a denim mini skirt. her hair was curled and styled neatly, her makeup far too caked on.
you had chosen to wear something casual tonight, but just nice enough. you had wide-legged cargo pants on and an off-the shoulder grateful dead t-shirt you had cut yourself. you had your usual grunge-y eye makeup with a slight lip color, and your hair was thrown into a claw clip.
the contrast made you a little sick. did hongjoong like how she was dressed? is that why she was allowed to touch him suddenly?
"am i interrupting anything?" you asked sternly. wooyoung had finally caught up to you, sliding back into the booth by san and choosing to let you handle this on your own.
"no." hongjoong immediately replied, looking at you and you only with a slight grateful gleam in his eyes. he tried to shake adalyn's hand off his shoulder. "i was just about to go looking for you, actually."
while that sated your brief moment of insecurity — because of course he wouldn't like someone so... plain — the anger would still remain the longer she had her damn hand on his arm.
"aw joongie—" she emphasized that nickname in your face. your nickname for him. "—we were having such a great conversation!"
"we were?" hongjoong replied, still taking you in. he couldn't quite decipher the sharpness of your gaze. were you... jealous?
your eyes were still glued on his arm. if she wasn't going to remove his arm, you decided you—
"aw, is your girlfriend jealous that i just wanted to talk to you?" adalyn asked hongjoong, pouting once more. he finally looked away from you, staring daggers into adalyn's face. okay, now that had done it. before you had the chance to say something back, hongjoong spoke.
"she's not my girlfriend. please take your hand off my arm."
you felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head. you aren't his girlfriend. what right do you have to get upset if he's being flirted with? the scale is tipping.
sensing she had lost with hongjoong, but won with you, she finally stopped touching him. "fine, but joongie—" once more to seal the deal it seemed — "you know i'll just keep catching you the next time i'm at treasure, don't you? just like i have been?"
what? she's been approaching him? touching him? flirting with him? calling him joongie?
and with that she sauntered off, sparing you one last smug smile.
hongjoong looked back at you. you looked distraught. he called your name as softly as he could over the music. as soon as you registered his voice, he watched your walls climb back up in real time.
you had to get out of here. "i'm gonna head home."
"i'll walk with you." hongjoong insisted. "i was about to leave anyways."
you knew he wouldn't let you walk home at night alone, so you curtly nodded. you were both stubborn in your own respects.
you turned to wooyoung. "i'll text you, okay?" he nodded in response, his eyes full of concern.
you and hongjoong bid farewell to the couple, paid your tab, and left.
for the first two minutes of the walk, neither of you said anything. you had debated pulling out another cigarette from your back at least four times, but you knew you shouldn't. but god, you needed it.
"are you okay?" hongjoong asked tentatively.
"what did she mean by 'just like i have been'?" you stopped walking, deciding against your better judgement to ask now.
he stopped a step after you did, turning back to look at you. taking a deep breath before he spoke, he said "almost every time we go out to the treasure, she approaches me and tries to get my number. i always shoot her down, but that only seems to spur her on further."
he looked at you warily, unsure what your reaction would be.
"why didn't you tell me?" you asked, trying to process the information.
he hesitated. "i didn't want you to worry, it isn't really that big of a deal."
a beat of silence passed between you two, a breeze filling the space. it was midnight by that point. jesus, you really needed to get to sleep.
you turn to keep walking. hongjoong follows. you're ten feet away from your apartment building's front door. just a little bit farther, you think as you scan into the building.
"hongjoong, it's bordering on harassment. especially if she keeps touching you." you couldn't stop the bite in your sentence as you enter the complex's elevator.
"i hate it when she does that. even more when she calls me 'joongie'. i ask her to stop every time." more silence follows as you process the information. you two exit the elevator to the fourth floor.
"i can't believe she called you my girlfriend." he adds, oblivious to the damage it would cause.
it makes you stop in your tracks in front of your apartment's door, keys in your hand. the scale is tipping. the scale is tipping. the scale is tipping.
he stops as well, confused as to why you looked so—
"right. because i'm not." and with that, you unlocked the front door and quickly took off your shoes.
he called your name, immediately noticing the emotion behind your comment, and tried to follow after you on your path to your room as fast as possible after taking his own shoes off.
he tried again when you opened the door to your room. "whats wrong?"
"i'm going to bed. goodnight." you closed your door, leaving him dumbfounded in front of your room.
the scale is tipping. the scale is tipping. the scale is tipping.
the scale, pt2! this time, hongjoong is in need of being helped after you find him hunched over his laptop early on a sunday morning, clearly having been awake for hours. he's been toying around with his composition all night, trying to fix one small section. but his knight in pajamas comes to his rescue, offering all the advice they can.
content warnings: overworking tendencies, sleepy hongjoong, lowkey slightly pathetic hongjoong, mentions of alcohol and being drunk, mentions of sloppy kiss, extreme obliviousness, two idiots who love each other, need i say more
wk: 2.2k
eeek! guys lmk what you think. i think about this version of hongjoong a LOT so i have so, so many ideas to root through for this series. also, lmk if you wanna be on my tag list!!
if you haven't already, please read the first part of this series!!!
it's been a week since hongjoong's promise to pay for your night out at the treasure after you finished your work "sooner" than him. the two of you had left the shitty campus bar just three days ago with his hand around your waist, steadying you on the walk home.
for as big of a game as you talk, you're an extreme lightweight. just four malibu sprites had done you in (although you suspect it's due to the bartenders' heavy pours) enough for the support to be needed. this was something hongjoong continued to make fun of you for, regardless of how many times he has to almost carry you home.
he had flopped you down on your bed that night, letting you situate yourself for sleep. but you didn't let him leave until after you had given him a very sloppy smooch on the side of his face. he didn't think you remembered the next morning, as you acted like nothing happened. unfortunately you remembered it perfectly well, but you can't exactly place the full blame on the four-six shots of malibu.
you get away with those kinds of drunkenly acts of affection when you're drunk. you've never once actually blacked out, you just let hongjoong believe you're sloppy enough for the alcohol to get past your brain. it's selfish, but the flushed cheeks and nervous stutter you receive from your roommate afterwards always makes your forget about the guilt.
nevertheless, the theme of your relationship with your roommate always operates on giving and receiving. while the overworking scale tips to one side of the (slightly ambiguous) friendship the two of you have one day, it doesn't take long for the scale to balance out and then tip over to the other side the next.
which brings you back to the present, where that scale now tips over to hongjoong. you always tried to wake up early on sundays, to get a head start on chores and whatever else before meetings you had later in the afternoon.
it was 8am when you finally stumbled out from your room, sleepiness prevalent throughout your entire figure. your sleep tshirt, which was printed with the logo from your hometown's college basketball team, hung loosely off your shoulders. it reached down to your mid-thigh, covering your flowy black sleep shorts.
you try your best to straighten up your hair as you walk down the hallway outside your room, but quickly realize it's futile.
you reach the living room, only to spot your roommate hunched over his computer on the floor in front of the couch, his face obscured by the hood of his jacket. for a moment you thought he might be asleep, but then you spotted movement where his hands move over his keyboard and mousepad.
"joong?" has he been here all night?
no answer. you try again, and are met with silence again. you reason that he must have headphones on behind his hood.
as you approach him slowly, you take in more of his appearance and the area around him. you spot two emptied monster cans on the floor next to him and a takeout bag on the coffee table in front of him. you see a a few pieces of crumpled paper on the floor as well.
then you get close enough to see his face. his eyes look slightly sunken, like he's rubbed them until he saw spots more than once. his mouth hung slightly open, his tongue occasionally coming out to moisturize his lips. you spotted his teeth pulling slightly at his bottom lip, too.
deciding to ignore that image as it replays in 4k throughout your brain, you kneel down next to your roommate slowly to try . well, you have to move the monster cans out of the way, so your descent is a bit less than graceful.
your struggle is what finally gets hongjoong to break out of his stupor, his head turns sharply to the right where you've finally reached his eye level.
he rushes to take out the headphones behind his hood. your faces aren't too far apart now.
"whats up? are you okay?" he asks, his voice slightly scratchy from lack of use.
with him now facing you, and your faces being close together, you can see the full extent of his presumed allnighter.
"hongjoong... how long have you been awake??" he gives a small confused pout, turning to look at the top right corner of his computer screen.
"oh." he brings his hand up to rub the back of his hand sheepishly, slowly looking back at him. "since noon yesterday..."
you hit his shoulder. "are you joking?!" he flinches backwards, moving to protect his arm. but you're faster and you hit him again.
he yelps, curling in on himself. "ack! stop it!"
you finally relent and huff a deep, short breath. "so you. have been awake. all night."
you realize now that the tall lamp by the couch was on, a light that was difficult to see with the morning sun leaking through the living room's windows. "i–i guess." he avoids your eyes, and also whatever disappointed expression you have on your face.
except he knows you better than that. you aren't disappointed, you never are. you're just worried. the two of you never do anything but support each other, even when mad at the other for overworking themself. your friends all say it was something like destiny that you became close, even more so that you live together.
breathing in a hearty sigh, you fully sit down next to him and mirror his position; back to the couch criss cross apple sauce, your sleep shirt covering your upper thighs.
you look at the orange-haired workaholic's computer screen. "what are you working on?"
he notices the peace offering you're extending, choosing to support and catch him instead of berating him and letting him fall. "dr. lee always leaves the biggest edits on my compositions, and i always have to rework them. i gave the 16 bars from last week to him, and he tore it to shreds."
hongjoong's composing professor, dr. lee jihoon, was ruthless. he was the hardest on hongjoong, but that was because dr. lee liked him the most out of all his students. you both knew it, but that didn't make the revision process easier.
"how much progress have you made?" you eye the piece of paper covered in red pen (it's remarkable that you can even still see the composition behind it all) on the coffee table. jesus, he wasn't kidding.
"i've revised almost all of it, but this one small area just lacks the depth he wants and i don't know how to fix that. i've tried everything, from adding another bass line to adding more harmonies. it just doesn't sound right." he rubs against his eyes once more, and leans his head all the way back against the couch.
"play it for me." while you aren't a music major like your roommate is, you have enough of a music background from high school and from being hongjoong's best friend to help. this isn't the first time you've found him at the base of the couch after an all nighter.
he hits his spacebar and the music starts playing. you lean your head back next to his, closing your eyes as you take in the contemporary arrangement he made.
on your first listen, you realize dr. lee is right. it's definitely missing something... but what? "play it again."
you listen again, and realize it sounds like something in the bass line. it's lacking something... OH!
"play just the base line for me." hongjoong sighs and isolates that one layer for you to listen to.
you then realize what it's missing. the entire composition has echoing lines within their respective pieces. the harmony and melody, the snare drum and the hi-hat. but the one place that didn't was the base line.
"did you try adding a counter bass line? all the other components have an echo, but this doesn't... does that make sense?"
hongjoong's head jolts up from the couch. "oh my god you're a genius," he exclaims, immediately writing something down on his notepad.
"hey what can i say, we've been here before." you laugh a little at the immediate revival of his psyche. your roommate immediately focuses back on his computer and puts his headphones back in.
you take that opportunity to get up from the floor and move over to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee and a bagel. the bread freshly pops out of the toaster just as you hear hongjoong call your name from the living room.
"COME BACK AND LISTEN~!"
"OKAY ONE SEC!" you quickly butter your bagel and grab your coffee cup before rushing back to the living room to sit next to your roommate.
he tries to sneak a sip from your coffee cup, but his hand retreats when you smack it away. "i don't think you need any more caffeine, mister."
"okok fine, but what do you think?" you settle back next to him, staring at his computer as you take a bite of your bagel. your thighs and shoulders are touching, but you try your best to ignore that.
he plays just the bass line for you. "oooo yes! so much better, now play the whole thing." he does, and oh my godddd it sounds complete now.
"oh my god joongie! that sounds so much better!!" you turn to smile at him, and you find that he's already looking at you. his lips are pursed together and curled up at the ends, his eyes wide and taking in the praise he was silently begging for.
you can't help but melt a little bit at the cute face he's giving you. "good job hun, all you needed was another person to bounce off of." it's then that you remember how close you two are, your bodies pressed against each other.
his eyes soften a bit, too. "well, i'm lucky that person was you."
the room stretches into a filled silence as you two just look at each other. your eyes search his, just as his are searching yours. it looks like he has something he wants to say... but his finger twitches on the keyboard accidentally presses play on his composition once more.
the sound jolts you two out of the trance you were in, and you both back away. you scoot slightly to your left, his skin now burning yours.
"so– now that you're done with this, you can go to bed now, right?" you take another bite of your bagel and follow it up with a sip of your coffee.
"um, not quite. i have a shift at work later that i can't miss." you and hongjoong coincidentally also both work at the same off campus job. it's how you two got close, despite being in the same friend group.
"isn't felix working tonight?" you ask, recalling the schedule you looked at last night after your shift. hongjoong nods, "yeah, but even with the help i would feel bad calling out."
"but hun– you need the rest... i'll take your shift." hongjoong opens his mouth to protest, but once again you're faster. "i need the extra money anyways, and my homework load is less than last week's. go to bed."
"but–"
"no. go to bed or so help me god i'm recruiting san to help me carry you to bed by force." san lives just down the hall with seonghwa and wooyoung, other members of your friend group.
hongjoong glances at you once more and sighs before relenting. "fine. but at least let me switch with one of your shifts later this week. deal?"
"deal." this is how the scale remains balanced. you both help each other out, always making things as fair as possible. no one gives more than they should and no one receives more than they should. the system you two develop works perfectly for each other's stubbornness. it's incredible that you two haven't fully taken advantage of other ways you're compatible.
"okay. i'm going to bed... i'll clean this stuff up later." hongjoong starts to get up, gesturing to the empty cans, crumpled pieces of paper and the trash-filled takeout bag.
"don't worry about it – i have to clean the living room today anyways." you brush him off, already getting up to put your coffee mug in the sink.
"but–"
"get rest, hongjoong." you're already walking away, unable to notice the smile that appears on his face. he really does love you, even if he doesn't fully understand or acknowledge how deep those affections are.
"thank you." he says quietly, and you stop and turn to him.
"well, duh." and you walk back into the kitchen. you really do love him, even if you yourself don't fully understand or acknowledge how deep those affections are. and maybe you won't for some time. maybe it'll be weeks, maybe it'll be months. you do know the boiling point will come soon, though. and you can't say you're opposed to finding out how the scale will tip next.
the inspiration for "this thursday, on me" was irl me stressing on a paper for a class of mine until 3am on sunday. the grade just came back on that paper and i got 40/40!
i draw almost all of my inspiration from stories from things in my life – so if i talk about a job or professor (no actual name drops tho), it's probably something im doing atm... in case anyone cares
hongjoong x reader — staring at a blank page only gets you so far, especially when it's almost 2am. your workaholic roommate hongjoong knocks on your door (as he normally does, you both never get sleep) to help you feel not so alone in getting homework done by suggesting a bet.
procrastinating doing my own work and decided this might help me (it will not). warnings: workaholic tendencies, overall fluff, platonic-ish intimacy
wc: 1.1k
the music in your ears become monotonous the longer you look at your computer screen. what was once synth rock meant to keep your brain flowing has blended into the mess of (or lack thereof) thoughts on how you could start writing this paper.
but here's the thing: you've been thinking of how to start this paper for three hours now. you've re-read the document you're analyzing so many times your body can't tell the difference between falling asleep and reading one more sentence.
just when you're about to call it a night — despite the assignment being due two hours ago — a short knock knock reaches your ears through your headphones.
you get up from your desk and open your bedroom door. in front of you is hongjoong, who looks equally as tired and braindead as you feel. his orange hair is ruffled under his hood, his glasses have smudges on them, and he has his computer and a notebook tucked under his arm.
"i heard your keyboard tapping and heard frustrated groans... great night you're having, i assume?" he says, letting himself in to sit on your bed.
you let out another one of those frustrated groans, your palms coming up to rub against your eye sockets which are probably puffy and darkened from how much you've repeated that movement tonight.
"ah, i was right!" he chucked, opening his laptop. "what's got you so... that?" he gestures to all of you.
"this stupid analysis paper for haden's class," you sit back down on your desk chair, turning it around to face hongjoong. "it's so annoyingly simple, i can write these in my sleep! but for some reason i just can't get my fingers to type or my brain to think."
"take a break then," he says as if it's easiest piece of advice he could give. you roll your eyes and glare at him. "oh, like you do?"
"okay fair point." you both laugh. "when is it even due?"
you look at the clock at the top right of your macbook. "two hours ago."
"ah! and judging by your screen and the two redbulls on your desk, i'd assume you have sooooo much done."
"hey! don't make fun of me. my brain is just mush."
"i'm not!" you glare at him again. "okay maybe a little." you don't realize you're pouting at him until he laughs at your expression.
"okay okay, first of all — put that away." you fix your face. "second of all — let's make a bet; first person to finish their work for tonight gets their drinks paid for at the next two-for-one night at treasure."
the nearby campus bar treasure, which practically lets anyone in, has one night a week where you can get two (heavily poured) drinks for just $5. having the other pay?? now that is a deal you can get behind.
"well what do you have to do?" you ask, hoping he has something equally as daunting so the bet is at least fair.
"so i actually have to compose 16 bars of a contemporary arrangement that has influence from three other composers." hongjoong sighs, flopping back on his back against your blankets.
"HA! that's so much worse than mine. okay, okay — deal!" you turn around back towards your empty document of doom and start taking actual notes on the material.
hongjoong was actually way ahead on his work than he let on. but he's seen you this week; working from sunrise to sunset (often later), eating little food, barely taking time for your hobbies. in the almost year of living with you, he knows your competitive spirit is enough to get you going.
and it works. the faster he can get you to finish your assignment, the closer you get to getting a semi-good night of sleep. if you finish in the next hour, then you're looking at six whole hours of sleep, which is essentially 12 hours for a college junior.
he may be a workaholic as well, but you guys take turns being the worst one. and you're always there to catch each other when one of you collapses out of exhaustion.
he props himself up against your wall and stretches his legs in front of him, glimpsing at you over his computer screen to observe your brain working for the first time that night. you'd turned on some soft jazz — some fitzgerald, armstrong and etta james always sets the competitive mood for you strangely enough — and hongjoong could hear your loudass keyboard firing off.
"how much do you have left?" he asks after he sees a good chunk of text on your google doc.
"ummmmm," you check your word count. "about maybe 15 minutes more? what about you soon-to-be loser?"
he scoffs. "damn i have about 15 minutes to go, too." liar — he'd finished his 16 bars a good 10 minutes ago.
under the impression this will be a close competition, you turn back to your screen again to finish your assignment. and almost like clockwork, you hit submit 15 minutes later.
"HA! you owe me drinkkkksssss!!!" you excitedly jump up out of your chair and collapse onto your bed next to hongjoong.
"darn itttt," he rolls his eyes and puts his computer away. he watches as you move your pillows around and curl against them, finally settling into bed.
"hey, hey not so fast — did you take your pills?" he laughs at the muffled groan that leaves your mouth in protest. "c'monnnnn, get up and take your damn pills."
you glare at him as you swallow them down with a big gulp of day-old water — which he decides not to comment on. you collapse again, before hongjoong SO RUDELY interrupts your attempted solace again.
"are those the clothes you want to fall asleep in?" you know he's saving you the anger you'll feel in the morning if you go to sleep without taking your pills or changing into proper pajamas. god, you know that. but he's being an annoying bitch about it, so the pillow that gets hurled in his face is deserved, you swear!!
and of course he's dramatic about it, collapsing on his side next to you.
"okokok, i'll stop bothering you." he takes your sleepy glare and short groan as a sign to leave. he ruffles your hair a bit before getting up and grabbing his things.
"this thursday, treasure. on me." hongjoong doesn't need to get a good look at you before turning your light off and closing your door to know that you're seconds away from sleep.
he knows you two will be in the same situation next week, the roles reversed. maybe you'll both realize the reason behind wanting to take care of and spoil each other so much. or maybe you'll both continue to be idiots who stay up until 2am working
warnings — shaming, edging, bratty reader & wooyoung, handjob (giving), oral (giving), mentions of oral (receiving), teasing, degrading. lmk if I missed any
thinking about wooyoung working with you at the local cinema and shamelessly flirting with the pretty cashier (you) while you're stumbling all over the box office trying to help customers.
making popcorn? he's purposefully holding the corn scoop just out of your reach, making you press against his body as he holds it higher.
pouring a drink? he's telling your customers that the "hot barista" will be back to help them soon.
cleaning a spill? he's whisking you away from the mess, professing loudly that he'll "take care of it for the sexy lady in the apron"
it annoys you to NO end, but you can't do anything about it until the movie starts.
but once the movie starts, you definitely do something about it.
your hand pumps his cock hard and slow in the stockroom. you're kneeling in front of him fully clothed, while his pants are down to his knees.
"quiet baby, customers could hear you." you say as you pull a pathetic (and loud) whine from his mouth after removing your hand from him just as he was close.
"babyyy, please pl– please let me finish. im so-sorry!!" he pleads, this being the second time he's been denied.
"aw baby you should've thought of that before teasing me all shift! you just wanted a rise out of me didn't you?" you coo, making him pout and whine once more. you put your hand back on him, glancing up to see his pleading eyes.
the return of pressure on his cock jolts him back to his pleads and begs. "i did!! baby– omigod baby– i wanted your attention so–so bad"
you coo at him once more, spitting on his cock to add extra lubrication. "you wanna come badly don't you?"
he moans at your action, his eyes rolling back as he vigorously nods his head.
"words, baby." you stop pumping his cock for a moment.
his eyes pop open, "YES! yes baby i – oh my god please baby i need it. pleasepleaseplease."
finally relenting, thinking he's pleaded enough (and you have another showtime coming soon), you go faster and spit again on his swollen cock.
"okay baby, you can cum."
"thank you thank you thank you–" he keeps repeating as his climax approaches once more, his long legs shaking from overstimulation.
"are you close wooyo?" he nods his head, sputtering out a "yes." you twist just a bit more, moving your free hand that had been resting on his thigh to his balls, softly squeezing.
"put your hand on your mouth, our customers don't need to hear your pathetic moans, do they?" he obeys, his breath hitching and moans rising in pitch as he approaches faster and faster to his peak.
you take his tip into your mouth and give one firm suck, and that's what undoes him. thick, hot spurts of his release shoot down your throat as you take more of him, making sure nothing spills out on the floor that you'll have to mop later.
his free hand tangles itself in your hair, keeping your head in place as you coax more and more release into your mouth with your tongue.
when his waves finally subside, the grip on your head loosens and you let off him with a pop. you swallow the contents of his release, licking your lips to make sure you got it all.
you rise from your knees, bringing wooyoung's pants back to his waist. you look at him as he recovers from his climax, his eyes hooded and his breath labored.
"you okay, hun?" you ask in a soft voice, moving his hair out of his face.
"how much time until the next showtime?" he asks, staring back at you with much more energy than you expected after his release.
"um–" you check your watch. "20 minutes, wh–"
you don't even get to finish asking him why when he drops to his knees in front of you, quickly undoing your pants.
nsfw – argument, possessive behavior, (assumed) judgmental behavior, sudden confession, kissing, groping, dryhumping, others? idk proceed with that basis of knowledge this was written really quick
i came up with this as i was writing my longer spiderman yunho one shot/miniseries and needed to get it down and out asap... so enjoy my scattered thoughts
spiderman!yunho who frequently appears at your window at night to chill in between or after patrols
spiderman!yunho who always acts like such an annoying bug when you're trying to do homework, or laundry, or really anything. he just wants your attention
spiderman!yunho who sneaks into your window while you're putting something away in your bathroom. it's not like that's out of the ordinary. you've come back into your room several times and he's just been there (often scaring the shit out of you, but that may be his intention)
spiderman!yunho who gets a glimpse at your unlocked phone abandoned on the foot of your bed next to unfolded laundry... a dating app chat between you and this guy open for his eyes to see
spiderman!yunho who quickly moves away from your phone when he hears your steps coming back to your room
spiderman!yunho who sits impatiently against your pillows with a sour face when you return and greet him like it's any normal night
spiderman!yunho who sees you smile slightly at your phone after you temporarily stop folding your shirts to check your notification
spiderman!yunho who asks, "what are you looking at?" trying to mask whatever possessive instincts flowing through his body
spiderman!yunho who freezes when you so casually admit, "oh, just this guy i'm talking to on tinder."
"you're on tinder? do you think you'll actually find anything on a dating app?
"hell, no. i don't think i'll ever find anything substantial on a dating app."
"then why are you on it?"
"because i'm looking for... other things?" you say, trying to get him to pick up on the hint that he's trying to deny
spiderman!yunho who immediately scoffs, setting you both off into an argument as you continue angrily putting away your laundry. "i'm a single college student in my 20s!" "why shouldn't i?" "i'm a grown woman! i can do whatever i want, whenever i want, with whomever i want!" "what do you mean i shouldn't be on there?! why do you care so much?" "what, i can't hook up with someone if i want?!"
spiderman!yunho who responds before his brain can catch up to his mouth, "not when i'm here!"
spiderman!yunho who immediately cringes at his words as you whirl around to face him after shoving your clean clothes in your dresser drawer and slamming it closed, an expression both flustered and angry on your face
spiderman!yunho who sputters, opening and closing his mouth at your insistent questioning. "yunho, what do you mean." "what do you mean 'not when i'm here'." "yunho– please– just say something."
spiderman!yunho who acts once again before thinking, climbing over a freshly folded laundry pile to grab your shoulders and pull you into a kiss before his brain could catch up
spiderman!yunho who pulls back after about three seconds once that pea brain of his finally catches up, hands still holding onto your shoulders.
spiderman!yunho who only catches a glimpse of your frazzled expression before your two hands latch onto his cheeks and pull him into another kiss.
spiderman!yunho who wraps one hand around your waist and another into your hair, pulling you back onto the bed with him
spiderman!yunho who leans back against your headboard and pillows and sets you onto his lap, hands wandering and grabbing whatever he can, never letting your kiss lose its intensity
spiderman!yunho who lets out a small whimper when you pull at the hair at the top of his nape, pulling and groping and tugging at whatever his hands can find. you feel his hands reach under your shirt and journey up your back
spiderman!yunho who finally lets his hands find a home at the meat of your hips, grabbing onto you so hard you swear there will be bruises later
spiderman!yunho who lets out another whimper when your hips buck, slightly rutting against his crotch covered by the thin suit
spiderman!yunho who brings the two of you into a slow, grinding rhythm as you rut against each other, small whimpers and moans being shared between you two
spiderman!yunho who lets his mouth and tongue move down the side of your neck, nibbling and kissing and licking under your ear, both your noises no longer muffled by each other's mouths
spiderman!yunho whose phone goes off, just as you two develop juuuuust the right perfectly-angled desperate rhythm against each other, building towards your highs
spiderman!yunho who refuses to think of anything besides the feel of your back, your hips, your ass, your neck. the feeling of the growing wetness against his barely-clothed crotch, the noises he hears when he drags his teeth against the veins on the side of your neck, the way you grind harder every time he pulls at your hair
spiderman!yunho who whines when you pull away, forcing him to look at his phone despite his protests,
"it's okay! i'm sure it's nothing"
"yunho."
spiderman!yunho who sighs deeply when he reads the news alert, knowing he has to leave and make sure everything is okay at the gas station three streets down
spiderman!yunho who doesn't let you get off his lap without leaving a quick hickey in that spot below your ear
spiderman!yunho who pulls you in for one more breath-stealing kiss before swinging off into the night, leaving you breathless over a pile of freshly-cleaned laundry
warnings — (kinda) established fwb, edging, bratty reader & wooyoung, handjob (giving), oral (giving), mentions of oral (receiving), teasing, degrading. lmk if I missed any
wc – 0.6k
thinking about wooyoung working with you at the local cinema and shamelessly flirting with the pretty cashier (you) while you're stumbling all over the box office trying to help customers.
making popcorn? he's purposefully holding the corn scoop just out of your reach, making you press against his body as he holds it higher.
pouring a drink? he's telling your customers that the "hot barista" will be back to help them soon.
cleaning a spill? he's whisking you away from the mess, professing loudly that he'll "take care of it for the sexy lady in the apron"
it annoys you to NO end, but you can't do anything about it until the movie starts.
but once the movie starts, you definitely do something about it.
your hand pumps his cock hard and slow in the stockroom. you're kneeling in front of him fully clothed, while his pants are down to his knees.
"quiet baby, customers could hear you." you say as you pull a pathetic (and loud) whine from his mouth after removing your hand from him just as he was close.
"babyyy, please pl– please let me finish. im so-sorry!!" he pleads, this being the second time he's been denied.
"aw baby you should've thought of that before teasing me all shift! you just wanted a rise out of me didn't you?" you coo, making him pout and whine once more. you put your hand back on him, glancing up to see his pleading eyes.
the return of pressure on his cock jolts him back to his pleads and begs. "i did!! baby– omigod baby– i wanted your attention so–so bad"
you coo at him once more, spitting on his cock to add extra lubrication. "you wanna come badly don't you?"
he moans at your action, his eyes rolling back as he vigorously nods his head.
"words, baby." you stop pumping his cock for a moment.
his eyes pop open, "YES! yes baby i – oh my god please baby i need it. pleasepleaseplease."
finally relenting, thinking he's pleaded enough (and you have another showtime coming soon), you go faster and spit again on his swollen cock.
"okay baby, you can cum."
"thank you thank you thank you–" he keeps repeating as his climax approaches once more, his long legs shaking from overstimulation.
"are you close wooyo?" he nods his head, sputtering out a "yes." you twist just a bit more, moving your free hand that had been resting on his thigh to his balls, softly squeezing.
"put your hand on your mouth, our customers don't need to hear your pathetic moans, do they?" he obeys, his breath hitching and moans rising in pitch as he approaches faster and faster to his peak.
you take his tip into your mouth and give one firm suck, and that's what undoes him. thick, hot spurts of his release shoot down your throat as you take more of him, making sure nothing spills out on the floor that you'll have to mop later.
his free hand tangles itself in your hair, keeping your head in place as you coax more and more release into your mouth with your tongue.
when his waves finally subside, the grip on your head loosens and you let off him with a pop. you swallow the contents of his release, licking your lips to make sure you got it all.
you rise from your knees, bringing wooyoung's pants back to his waist. you look at him as he recovers from his climax, his eyes hooded and his breath labored.
"you okay, hun?" you ask in a soft voice, moving his hair out of his face.
"how much time until the next showtime?" he asks, staring back at you with much more energy than you expected after his release.
"um–" you check your watch. "20 minutes, wh–"
you don't even get to finish asking him why when he drops to his knees in front of you, quickly undoing your pants.
