summary: in which your boyfriend was too tired to hide your sex tape on his laptop
warning: oral, fingering, squirting, voyeurism
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader x ateez watches
word count: 3.1k
masterlist
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Tokyo was still glowing outside the hotel windows when Yunho shoved his laptop into Yeosang’s hands like a man already running late. “Hurry up,” Hongjoong called from the hallway, half dressed, hat low over his eyes while managers tried to herd everyone downstairs before traffic got worse. “If we miss check in again I’m leaving somebody in Japan.”
“Probably Wooyoung,” Jongho muttered.
“Rude.”
Yunho barely reacted, already pulling his jacket on while talking to staff. He looked exhausted. The last week in Japan had been nonstop schedules, performances, interviews, dance rehearsals. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, and there were faint shadows under his eyes as Yeosang adjusted the laptop under his arm. “You sure all the choreo files are here?”
“Everything’s labeled,” Yunho answered distractedly. “New demos, practice formations, performance references. Just connect it to the studio monitor.” Then his phone buzzed and the second he looked at it, his entire face softened and Wooyoung saw it immediately and groaned dramatically. “Ugh. He got a text from her.”
Mingi snorted from where he was dragging his suitcase. “Look at him smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You literally are.”
Yunho rolled his eyes, but his thumb was already typing back. You’d gone home three days ago to visit your family while he stayed in Japan for solo schedules, and ever since then he’d been annoyingly attached to his phone.
Hongjoong pointed toward the elevator. “Lovebirds later. Move.”
Yunho looked back once toward Yeosang. “Just don’t touch anything else on there.” That should’ve sounded more suspicious than it did. But nobody thought twice about it. Because Yunho’s laptop always looked the same. Dance folders. Music drafts. Performance videos. Gaming lives downloaded. Thousands of clips from practices he obsessively recorded and reviewed. Nothing unusual.
At least… not that anyone knew.
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The practice room speakers blasted the new track loud enough to rattle the mirrors while everyone ran through choreography for what felt like the hundredth time. Hongjoong cut the music with an aggravated sigh. “Again. San, half a second earlier on the turn.”
“I was earlier!”
“You were spiritually earlier.”
Wooyoung collapsed dramatically onto the floor. “I’m going to die in this room.”
“You say that every comeback,” Yeosang replied calmly. Sweat clung to everyone after hours of rehearsing. Empty water bottles littered the corners. Mingi was sitting against the mirror catching his breath while Jongho stretched nearby. Yunho still wasn’t back from Japan. Which meant the center formations felt weirdly empty without him there towering over everybody.
Hongjoong rubbed his face tiredly. “Let’s check the reference recordings again. Yeosang, did you bring Yunho’s laptop?”
“Yeah.” Yeosang walked over to his bag near the wall and pulled it out. “He said everything’s organized.”
Wooyoung snorted. “That man has folders inside folders inside folders.”
“He scares me technologically,” San agreed as Yeosang connected the laptop to the big studio monitor while the others gathered around, still breathing hard from practice. The desktop appeared onscreen with folders everywhere over a background wallpaper of Yunho and you.
“See?” Wooyoung pointed. “Psychopath behavior.”
“Open the comeback demos,” Hongjoong said and Yeosang clicked through folders while everyone loosely argued over choreography changes behind him.
Dance_FINAL.
Dance_FINAL2.
Dance_ACTUALFINAL.
“Jesus Christ,” Mingi muttered.
“I told you,” Wooyoung said as Yeosang finally found the right folder and opened it, dozens of video files appearing across the screen and Hongjoong nodded toward one near the bottom. “That one.” Yeosang clicked without looking closely.
For one completely normal second, the screen stayed black before audio filled the room. A soft laugh. Your laugh. Nobody reacted at first because their brains genuinely needed a second to catch up as the video quality was dim and warm, obviously filmed late at night. Yunho was behind the camera, face briefly visible in the mirror across the room as he adjusted the angle. His hair was messy, lips caught between his teeth in that distracted little habit he had when he was focused.
Then the camera tilted lower. Toward the bed. Toward you and the entire practice room froze. You were kneeling on the mattress wearing nothing except one of Yunho’s oversized flannel shirts, the fabric hanging off one shoulder while you laughed softly at something he’d said behind the camera.
“Oh my god,” San whispered immediately as Yeosang’s hand spasmed on the trackpad and Wooyoung slapped both hands over his mouth so hard it echoed. Mingi made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a scream as Hongjoong stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.
“Nope,” Jongho said instantly, already turning away. “Nope. Turn it off.” But nobody moved. Because now Yunho’s voice filled the speakers, low and affectionate in a way none of them had ever heard before.
“Baby, look at me.”
The way he said it was the problem. Not cocky. Not joking. Completely gone for you. Onscreen, you glanced toward the camera with a shy smile while Yunho laughed softly behind it, clearly obsessed with filming every reaction you made.
Seonghwa lost it first. “No wonder he’s always tired.”
“TURN IT OFF,” Hongjoong barked, finally regaining consciousness. Yeosang, panicking now, fumbled the mouse completely wrong and somehow fullscreened the video instead and the room erupted.
“YEOSANG!”
“I’M TRYING!”
Mingi was bent over laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe while San had physically thrown himself against the mirror in dramatic distress. And right before Yeosang finally managed to pause it, Yunho’s voice came through the speakers one last time. Soft. Amused and completely whipped.
“You’re so pretty like this.”
The practice room went so quiet the speakers sounded too loud. Nobody should’ve still been watching. That was the insane part. Every single one of them knew they should’ve shut the laptop the second they realized what the video was, but now it felt like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. Horrifying. Intimate. Impossible to look away from.
Onscreen, you slid off the bed slowly, Yunho’s flannel swallowing you whole as your bare legs disappeared out of frame for a second. The camera shifted slightly when Yunho adjusted his grip on it, like even he had gotten distracted watching you move toward him. Then you literally crawled across the floor toward him and seven grown men stopped functioning simultaneously.
“Jesus Christ,” San muttered, hand over his face.
Jongho looked actively pained. “We should turn it off.”
“Yeah…” Mingi answered immediately, voice suddenly deeper somehow. “Totally.”
Nobody moved. Not one of them. Wooyoung was clutching Yeosang’s shoulder so hard Yeosang physically winced, but even he couldn’t stop staring at the screen in complete disbelief at his roommate. Because Yunho looked insane. Not lustful. Not playful. Gone. Completely gone for you.
The camera dipped slightly as you settled on your knees in front of him, and for a brief second Yunho glanced toward the lens like he remembered he was filming. That little glance alone nearly killed the room because his expression was so openly wrecked over you it felt invasive to witness. Then his eyes dropped back down to you and his entire face softened again.
Hongjoong made a noise like he was spiritually leaving his body. “I know too much about this man now.”
Onscreen, Yunho’s hand appeared briefly, brushing your hair back gently before disappearing again.
“Mine,” his voice murmured through the speakers.
Wooyoung folded in half onto the floor. “HE’S WHIPPED,” he shouted.
“He’s been whipped,” Seonghwa scoffed as Mingi was still staring at the screen with narrowed eyes like he was re evaluating everything he knew about Yunho as a human being and his best friend.
The room stayed frozen. Not one of them saying a word now. The joking had died somewhere in the last thirty seconds, replaced with the horrible realization that they were watching something way too intimate to ever erase from memory again. Onscreen, Yunho lowered the camera carefully onto his bedside table, adjusting it with practiced ease until the frame captured the entire room. The edge of the bed. The floor. You between his legs in that oversized flannel looking devastatingly soft against the darker lighting.
Then Yunho leaned back slightly while you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and Wooyoung inhaled so sharply it sounded painful. Nobody looked away. They couldn’t as the fabric dragged slowly down his thighs, and the collective silence in the practice room somehow got even heavier. Yunho was already visibly hard, muscles tense beneath the dim bedroom lighting while he watched you with that same wrecked expression that had everyone spiraling minutes ago.
San rubbed both hands down his face. “We are never recovering from this.”
“Not a single recovery,” Mingi muttered.
The worst part was how quiet the video itself was. No music. Just soft movement, breathing, occasional little laughs from you, and Yunho’s low voice every now and then like he physically couldn’t stop talking to you. Hongjoong finally tore his eyes away long enough to glare at Yeosang. “Why are you still holding the laptop like you’re presenting this to the class?”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO,” Yeosang whisper yelled back as Jongho stood with his arms crossed so tightly he looked like he was trying to hold onto the last threads of his sanity. “We seriously need to turn it off,” he said again. Nobody disagreed but still nobody moved.
Because onscreen Yunho reached forward suddenly, one hand brushing along your jaw before tilting your face up toward him, his thumb lingering there for a second like he couldn’t stop touching you even while filming then he moved his hand down, wrapping firmly around the base of his dick. He gave it a slow stroke as you knelt there, mouth parting wider at the sight, tongue extending flat and eager.
Yunho tapped his tip against your tongue once, twice, the wet sound barely audible over the quiet breaths in the room. He dragged it across your lower lip, smearing a bead of precum before pulling back just enough to repeat the motion. The group stayed locked on the screen, Hongjoong's jaw tight, Mingi's fingers digging into his own thighs, Wooyoung still folded forward but peeking through his fingers now.
"Fuck," San muttered under his breath, the word barely formed as they watched you open wider, and Yunho finally let you have it. Your lips closed around the tip first, tongue swirling slow and deliberate as you took the first few inches into your mouth. The pace stayed unhurried, your head bobbing in measured movements that let every vein and ridge drag against your tongue and Yunho's free hand rested on the back of your head, not pushing yet, just resting there while his low voice filled the speakers. “That's it, baby. Nice and slow for me."
The video captured every detail, the way your cheeks hollowed slightly on each pull back, the soft glisten of spit building at the corners of your mouth, the way your eyes flicked up to meet his. Yunho's breathing grew heavier, his hips shifting forward in tiny thrusts as you worked him deeper inch by inch and Yeosang shifted in his seat, the movement loud in the silence. Nobody joked anymore. All eyes stayed glued to the footage.
Your pace built gradually. You took more of him on each descent, throat relaxing as the head nudged farther back. Yunho's fingers threaded into your hair, and then he started guiding. A gentle press at first, then firmer, pushing your head down until your nose brushed the base of his dick. He held you there for a beat before easing off, letting you catch air, only to repeat it on the next stroke. “Look at you taking it so deep already. That mouth was made for this, wasn't it?"
The group watched in stunned silence as the rhythm changed. Yunho's grip tightened. He began thrusting into your mouth in controlled rolls of his hips, using the hold on your head to set the depth. Each push sent the head sliding past your tongue and into your throat, the wet sounds growing louder as you gagged softly around him once, twice, but kept going, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes on screen. “Go on baby…. Fuck yourself," Yunho ordered through the speakers, voice rough.
Your hand moved immediately. Two fingers slipped between your thighs, parting your folds before sinking inside your pussy in one smooth motion and you moaned around him at the stretch, the sound vibrating through him visibly as his abs tensed on screen and your fingers pumped in time with his thrusts, slow at first, then matching the pace as he fucked your mouth harder.
San leaned forward, eyes wide. "Holy shit."
Yunho's praise poured out steadily. "Good girl, just like that. Taking every inch so well. This video's gonna be mine to watch later….. gonna fuck my fist to the way you choke on me." His dick twitched in your mouth on screen, the head swelling as he used your throat with deeper, shorter thrusts making your gagging grow wetter, sobs hitching around him while your fingers worked faster inside yourself.
The room stayed frozen except for the subtle shifts of the guys adjusting themselves, arousal clear in the way they couldn't look away. On screen, your body trembled. Your fingers curled inside your pussy, hitting the right spot until your thighs shook and you came hard, squirting around your own hand, the fluid glistening on your skin and the carpet as your moan broke into a choked cry around Yunho's dick.
Yunho didn't stop. He held your head steady with both hands now, thrusting deep and steady through your orgasm. His dick pulsed, and then he buried himself to the hilt, coming down your throat in thick pulses as you swallowed every drop, throat working visibly around him until he eased back, letting you breathe. A thin string of spit and cum connected your lips to his dick as the video faded on the final soft praise from his voice.
The practice room stayed silent for a long moment after, every member hard and flushed, the weight of what they'd just witnessed settling heavy.
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The second Yunho walked back into the practice room after returning from Japan, every single member started acting like they were being hunted for sport. It had been two full days since the incident. Two days of pretending it never happened. Two days of Wooyoung randomly bursting into hysterical laughter during meals.
Two days of Hongjoong threatening violence anytime someone even mentioned laptops.
And now Yunho was finally back in Seoul completely unaware that seven people had accidentally watched the most intimate video of his life. Which somehow made it worse. Especially because he was acting normal. That was the terrifying part. Just… regular Yunho. Stretching before practice. Drinking iced coffee. Running choreography like nothing catastrophic had happened because he had no idea.
“Why are you all acting like I died?” Yunho finally asked after San nearly walked into the mirror avoiding eye contact.
“No reason,” Hongjoong answered instantly. Suspiciously fast and Yunho narrowed his eyes as the practice room door opened and immediately his entire expression changed as you walked in carrying bags of food and coffees balanced in your arms, smiling brightly. “I come bearing peace offerings because apparently none of you eat unless someone mothers you.”
Wooyoung made a sound like a dying victorian man as Mingi physically turned around and Jongho coughed into his hand so violently Seonghwa had to smack his back.
You blinked, furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong with everybody?”
“Nothing!” seven voices answered at completely different pitches and Yunho looked even more confused now, already walking toward you to help with the food. The second he reached you, one hand settled automatically at your waist while he took the bags from your arms. “Thanks, baby,” Yunho said casually, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and Hongjoong closed his eyes briefly like a man enduring psychological warfare.
You watched the members awkwardly scatter around the room avoiding you entirely and frowned. “Okay seriously, they’re acting weird.” Yunho shrugged, completely oblivious while unpacking containers onto the table. “They’ve been weird all day.”
Across the room, San accidentally made eye contact with you for half a second and immediately looked away then choked on air making you stare harder now. “Did something happen while you were gone?”
Seven men collectively looked like they were about to enter cardiac arrest as Yunho glanced up slowly. “Why does it suddenly feel like I should be concerned?”
Mingi finally cracked first. Probably because Yunho kept staring around the room like he was five seconds away from starting an interrogation. He cleared his throat, arms folded tightly across his chest. “So… hypothetically…”
Hongjoong pointed immediately. “Don’t.”
“No, because we can’t keep acting like this,” Mingi shot back.
“We absolutely can,” Jongho argued.
“We really can’t,” Wooyoung wheezed from the floor as you looked between all of them in growing confusion while Yunho narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What happened?”
Mingi sighed like a man accepting death. “We might’ve…” He paused. “Watched something on your laptop.”
You blinked once.
Yunho blinked twice. “What?”
“You know,” Mingi continued vaguely, refusing to elaborate while Wooyoung was already shaking, trying not to laugh. “Something that maybe wasn’t choreography.”
Still confused, you looked toward Yunho. “What does that even mean?”
Then Yunho froze. Actually froze. Like someone had unplugged him from reality and the color drained from his face so fast it was almost impressive. “Oh no,” he whispered and Wooyoung immediately lost it. “A LITTLE 18+ DOCUMENTARY,” he shouted, pointing accusingly at Yunho while collapsing against the mirror.
Your entire body went still as Yunho slowly turned toward Yeosang first. “What did you open.” Though he already knew the answer. Yeosang looked seconds away from tears. “IT WASN’T LABELED!”
“It was in the choreography folder!” Hongjoong exploded.
“I WAS TIRED!”
You stared between all of them, realization dawning in horrifying slow motion as your jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”
Yunho slapped both hands over his face instantly as Mingi looked at the ceiling. Wooyoung was physically on the floor now laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe and Jongho looked ready to move countries as Seonghwa pointed at you and Yunho like a courtroom witness. “For the record, none of us wanted to see it.”
“That is such a lie,” Wooyoung yelled from the floor.
“No because why did nobody turn it off?” you demanded, face burning now.
“WE TRIED!” Yeosang defended himself.
“You fullscreened it!” Hongjoong shouted back.
Yunho still hadn’t uncovered his face. “You watched the whole thing?” he asked slowly through his hands and Mingi suddenly found the wall fascinating. San coughed and Hongjoong looked away as Seonghwa, Jongho, Yeosang and Wooyoung just stared in silence.
back to school! you’re dating the perfect guy, somehow on okay terms with your brother, surrounded by friends both old and new. life is finally looking up… but you can’t help the suspicion that shit is about to go very, very down.
pairing: mingi x f!reader x yunho
length: 44.5k
genre: college au, drama, angst, smut, stepcest
warnings under the cut, read them all! 18+ MDNI
notes: she’s finally here <3 thank you for all of the support on this fic, it’s truly a piece of my heart and i’m so excited to share it. feedback is greatly appreciated, i can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions. this one’s a wild ass ride.
series m.list ⟡ part one
warnings: stepcest, family guilt, jealousy, petty drama, infidelity, addiction, manipulation, alcohol, vomit, mentions of a pregnancy scare, smut; more submissive mingi, more dominant yunho, choking, masochism, nip stim, pussy eating, unprotected sex, but also! lovemaking
“FUCK, BABY—”
it slips from mingi’s lips in a breathy whimper, too lost in the circle of your fist pumping him to realise what he’d done. it’s not until your wrist stills on his length, ringing filling your ears and static filling your brain, does it dawn on him.
“—babe,” he corrects himself, but the damage was already done.
disgust, the initial reaction, flares hot under your chest. your fingers fall away from him, grabbing at your forearms as you instinctively hold yourself. just that, your discomfort over something he said without meaning to, is enough to have mingi feel like the biggest piece of shit on earth.
he tips his head back with a groan, smacking himself square in the forehead for making such an easily avoidable mistake. “shit. ‘m sorry.”
you tell yourself to breathe, ignoring the anxiety coiling like a snake around your ribs, calling upon the return of the horny still floating around somewhere in your body, to wash away this negative energy. you push him out each time he attempts to creep back into your thoughts, summoned only by that stupid fucking nickname, uttered entirely on accident by your loving boyfriend. yes, mingi — boyfriend. you force your eyes open to stare down at him: flushed and heaving beneath you, face pinched in worry, cock still standing tall. still here, still who you’re really with right now. all it took was one word for you to forget, even for just a split second, like a sleeper agent activated. there’s a reason you’ve banned mingi from saying it.
“babe,” mingi calls out to you softly, pulling you from the sinking pit of your spiralling brain. his big arms engulf your waist as they wrap around you, beaming his glossy boba eyes up at you. “i’m so sorry, i don’t know why i said it, i didn’t even mean to.”
you nod, lips pressed into a thin line. “i know. i know you didn’t mean it.” you say like you’re reminding yourself.
your giant of a boyfriend pulls you into his bare, broad chest, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder as he lets out a big sigh, just like a tired puppy. “i love you.” he croaks out, sounding like he’s more distraught over the word than you are.
you snicker, toying with his hair. “i love you too, my mingi.” he groans at that, the deep noise tickling your neck. you know exactly how your words affected him when you notice a prod at your tummy, suspiciously wet. “mingi.” he hums in response, already unable to help himself from slightly grinding up, tip sliding across your skin. he whines at the relief, and it sends a throb directly to your clit. you pull his head back by a fistful of hair, stopping him close enough for your noses to brush, lips only a breath away from kissing. “make me forget.”
the request, simple and yet demanding, is all mingi needs to know exactly what you’re asking of him — what you need from him. his hold tightens around your waist, tongue darting out to wet his lips that instantly split into a helpless, wide smile. it’s not everyday you ask this of him, but when you do, he makes the absolute most of it for both of you. mingi presses a soft kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to his intentions to flip you face-down and ravage you until those pretty lips are drooling. “yes ma’am.”
──
one thing about your boyfriend: in him you can trust to deliver on a good, thorough fuck when you need it. he’s always so docile and easy, in every part of his life, but he’s so obedient on fulfilling your every demand that he’ll be dominant if that’s what you ask of him. if you said to jump he’d ask how high. you love him the way he is and you’d never want him to change, but sometimes you do just need a full-body factory reset, and you know he’s always more than happy to help. courtesy of your cheeky little sex addiction for leaving you with that itch.
yep, your addiction to sex. yuqi and minnie had so graciously mentioned it to you once over brunch, like it was some type of intervention, explaining that they’d basically diagnosed you from the old town stories you’d told and “you, like, need to know. no offence.” you didn’t want to admit that they read you to filth, but they absolutely fucking did. you guess it’s nice to finally slap an excuse on your deranged body count — including that one that would result in your family disowning you — but it doesn’t exactly fix anything. you still wanted to have sex with him, and you still live while carrying that regret like sisyphus and his fucking boulder. while being haunted by the memories of that, admittedly, great sex.
it’s horrible. you know it is. it’s your little secret you intend to take to the grave. you can still remember the way he held you softly and kissed you harshly, the way he was just too big of a fit and the way it felt so good it hurt. they always find a way to waft back into your thoughts like smoke, right until a detector called your big ass boyfriend goes off, reminding you where home is as well as your morals. mingi’s in a constant state of post-nut clarity from how often you jump his bones, begging him to fuck you mindless, all so that you don’t have to remember him — the way he’d done it.
truthfully, you’d once gotten yourself mad while thinking about how amazing your boyfriend is at sex, wondering where the hell he learned all that from. mingi had quickly reminded you that he was ‘painfully single’ before you came along, that his large frame paired with his silence (anxiety) had made him less appealing than his more charismatic friends; such as the stone-faced seonghwa or the party animals woosan (wooyoung and san, who are basically one entity at this point). oh, and your brother, of course. but you don’t like to acknowledge that part. it stings too much, even now. even after avoiding any and all things him for months, disappearing from his life as if you’d never even returned.
mingi has been your rock. you don’t know what you’d do or where you’d be without him. that day he climbed through your window and made you see the light, he’d helped you pack a bag of essentials and clothes, knowing well that you’d be staying the fuck away from this house for as long as possible. and here you are, months-deep into a never-ending sleepover with your own personal therapist who also fucks you on the side. the slew of guilt had been near unbearable, feeling like an ungrateful daughter for ditching your family so soon after getting them back. it was mingi who had pulled you through it, by force really; reminding you how your dad isn’t perfect either, how your brother is batshit insane.
just the prospect of encountering mingi’s mother almost had you running back home, too. you knew it would be inevitable, dating her son and squatting in her house, and you knew it would blow you into fucking pieces. you couldn’t face her — you didn’t know if you could ever. the only reason you were still staying with him is because he’d reassured you with his mother’s own words. it was okay with her for you to be staying there, and she promised she’d be scarce, considering she works full-time at the hospital. she did feel guilty for what had happened, at least.
yet, despite living in the house of the family that tore yours apart, despite coping with the point of no-return you’d crossed with your brother, despite mingi shouldering all of your burdens as if you’d ever be able to return the favour — despite everything that’s given you a hard time, beating down on your brain until you can’t take it anymore, still none of it compared to the pain that yunho’s silence brought.
practically running away without so much as a word, you were expecting the worst of your brother’s reaction. for days you had sat by your phone in suffocating anxiety, waiting for him to blow it up with calls or texts. wishing for him to. yet you’d heard the same amount back that you gave him: nothing. it should be a relief, and yet it fucking hurt more than the rest, more than you could explain to mingi through confused tears. you wanted yunho to berate you, to fight for you; you wanted to know he still loved you. you haven’t yet been able to come to terms with the fact that you’d never known who your brother was, and yet he was just like every other man — all you were good for was one thing. and he’d finally got it.
but whatever, it’s not like you wanted to talk to him (you did, god help you) after the shit he’s done not just to you, but to mingi. his own best friend, pinning the blame on him for the shit that went down leading into you moving away. knowing mingi’s pined after you since you were kids and throwing your closer bond in his face at any chance he could get. never giving him space to breathe outside of the guilt that he’s the reason they both lost you. you must’ve been a saint in your past life for mingi to still want to be with you in this one, in spite of all the bullshit your family has thrown at him. to be your shoulder to cry on, your crutch to stand on. and it matters even more, knowing he thinks the same about you.
safe to say, you’ve got no interest in speaking to anyone who wasn’t your stepmother. it took a few days, too guilt-stricken to confront her worried messages, wherein you’d reassured her that you were alive, and sober… if you have one thing to thank yunho for, it’s the fact that it seemed like he hadn’t tattled on you. your stepmother was still fussing over you like she always does, and nothing in her tone over text or voice over calls suggested that she knew her two kids had slept together. if anything, she wouldn’t stop asking when you’d be home, insisting that they all missed you there. which had led to today: your stepmother’s birthday.
you’re still very much enrolled in the city college, and the first day was drawing nearer — which you’ve had to mentally prepare yourself to face yunho again. the sole reason you took a gap year back at the old town was to save yourself for this, attending the same college as your brother and friends. it’s all you ever wished for, and it’s all that’s been fucking terrorising you through these weeks of back-to-school preparations. you’re second-guessing your degree, your ambitions, if this is even what you need right now; and mingi’s been on the receiving end of each of those doubts, reminding you that you wanted this enough in the first place, that you shouldn’t turn your back on that version of yourself now.
he’s right. he’s always right. like now, as you sit passenger in his car and his low voice pierces through your thoughts, halting your near-hyperventilating that he heard before you felt. “babe, if you don’t start listing five things you can see, i’m gonna put my breathing app on.”
it makes you blow out a weak laugh, still chasing after your breaths to get them even again. you drag a hand down your face. “i’m fine, seriously. it’s just stuffy in here.” you smile at him to top it off. the last thing you want is for him to worry over you more than he has, considering he consoled you through an ugly breakdown earlier before carrying you into the shower.
he shoots you a glare, brows pinched over his eyes, one that’s to say he sees right through you. all they have to do is flick down to the hands resting in your lap before focusing back on the road, and you sink into your seat, realising how he caught it. mingi had told you once that he knows when you’re lying: “you do this thing, where you touch your face before.” he’d said it was a self-soothing tactic, to mentally ‘feel better’ about the lie. you can never remember to prevent it before it happens naturally. next time, you tell yourself.
“you owe me five.” he reminds you, cutting you one of his proud grins that never fail to drive you crazy. without shame you rake your eyes over him, feasting on the way his white tank top hugs his body, his wide shoulders and toned arms that you’d pinned above his head last night. the idea flashes in your mind: asking him to pull the car over somewhere quiet, let you crawl over the centre console and ride him right in the driver’s seat— “one,” mingi starts for you, as if he can feel your energy gradually riling up in the air. he must have a sixth sense for it now, considering how often you want him. it is hard not to when he looks like that.
you roll your eyes, only at the interruption from the steamy daydream playing out in your head, before doing as he asked. “road.”
“now two?”
you huff. “bossy man.”
“hey—”
you squint at his hair. “three, dandruff.” mingi shakes his head with a sigh, and you mime swatting the air while sputtering, acting like he’s getting the nonexistent flakes everywhere. “four, car with shitty air conditioning. five, hmm,” you open up his centre console, intending to name the first thing you see, before your face twists in confusion at the pile of foil sitting on the top. without thinking you reach for one of the few ripped packets, presenting it in the air. you say nothing, waiting for mingi to give you his attention again — and when his eyes flick over, his entire face drops at the empty condom packet between your fingers. you’ve been on birth control since you started dating. you haven’t needed these.
mingi groans, scrunching his eyes, as if he’s already annoyed at where you’re very clearly going to take this. “babe,”
“just be honest.” you tell him, tone teetering on the edge of something that’s entirely up to his answer.
“it’s not mine.” he explains calmly, trying not to set you off. “you know i don’t have any.”
“yeah, now you don’t. there’s like five in here.” you snap, leaping head first into conclusions. “what girl gave them to you?”
“that’s not—” he cuts himself off before his voice gets too loud, keeping this from turning into the argument it didn’t have to be. you both jostle forward as his foot hits the brake, too focused on you to slow early enough for the red light. he takes the chance to face you fully, giving his entire attention. “i didn’t leave that there. one of my friends must’ve to piss me off. wooyoung, most likely.”
from what you’ve heard of wooyoung, it tracks, but you just can’t let yourself buy it. “and you didn’t throw them out?”
“babe, i didn’t know they were there,” he laughs, a resonant noise from his chest, so genuine that you instantly feel bad for putting his mood down. “he probably emptied his pockets when i wasn’t looking. i drive his loud ass home and this is the thanks i get.”
given a green, mingi has to face the road again, and you sink into your seat as the car takes off. it dawns quickly how hypocritical it was of you — thinking mingi could ever be unfaithful to you, when you’re the spawn of the cheating satan himself. even if they were his, just not used recently, you can’t say it’d feel any better. again, hypocritical. as if you wouldn’t fuck anything with two legs and a dick between them back at the old town. “sorry,” you grumble out, too stubborn to meet his eyes as his head whips to you.
“no, babe, it’s okay.” mingi reassures you without missing a beat, one hand leaving the wheel to sit atop your thigh, the contact lighting a flame under your skin. he’s always so patient and gentle with you. you have his time spent in therapy during high school to thank for that. “you excited to see your stepmother?”
you nod, too caught up in your imaginative assumption-making to realise you’d entered your suburb, recognising nearby food chains and supermarkets. “yeah. i missed her.”
he hums, his thumb brushing along your inner thigh, and your mind’s quick to drop back down into the gutter. this time, you are about to get the words out, but mingi beats you to it. “heard from your dad?”
you should’ve just asked the first time.. now this conversation’s too somber for him to possibly agree to sex with you right now. sighing, you shake your head. mingi squeezes your thigh, a gesture meant to distract you from any sad thoughts creeping in, yet it only turns up the frisky ones tenfold. “would you wanna—”
“yunho still hasn’t—” he starts too, the both of you speaking at the same time, looking to each other with equally confused expressions. “you go first.” mingi says, “would i want to..?”
your eyes drop to his hand engulfing your thigh, still stroking his fingers along the skin, and you silently mourn the car quickie that could’ve been. “nevermind. i’ll tell you later.” you blow out a breath, steeling yourself for the incoming topic. “you were saying?”
you haven’t discussed him once — you haven’t wanted to talk about it, and mingi hasn’t wanted to ask, but you both know he needs to now. you’re seeing your brother for the first time in months, after sleeping with him and running away with his ex best friend, and you’ll have to act like a happy family again despite it all. you’re not okay. and you know he’s about to do what he can with that big, beautiful brain of his to make you feel as okay as he can help. mingi clears his throat, softening his voice for your comfort as he asks, “yunho still hasn’t said anything?”
your nostrils burn, a telltale sign of incoming tears. you screw your eyes shut until your head throbs, willing the waterworks to disappear. you refuse to make mingi deal with you crying one more time today. you should tell him that you still check your phone everyday just in case you missed a notification. you should tell him that you contemplate caving first and reaching out if he won’t. you should tell him that your finger has hovered over the ‘call’ button more times than you can count. you don’t though.
“no.” is all you say. mingi just quietly nods next to you, and with the way his adam’s apple bobs in your peripheral, you know he’s still got more to say about this. he addresses you by name, and the gentle way he says it is almost enough to get you to open your eyes and face him. almost. you only just held back the tears from flowing, it’d all be for nothing if you looked at mingi now.
“you know i don’t care what happened between you.” he reassures you for what must be the hundredth time by now, and yet you still can’t bring yourself to believe it. “and you know i don’t want to be selfish and take you away from your family. he’s an asshole, but he was my best friend once, and he’s yours too.” you cough to cover up the sob that almost escaped. his palm just keeps on stroking your thigh, keeping you grounded. “i care about you, so much, and somehow i still care about him too. if you wanna be friends with him, i’m okay with it. i understand.” friends with yunho. because you can’t just go back to being siblings after everything. just the thought of that has you sick to your stomach, a gag almost clawing its way up your burning throat. “just.. if shit happens, come to me, okay? let me be there for you. i’d drop everything in a heartbeat, you know that.”
it’s mingi’s way of telling you to seek out him and him only; to trust him over the appeal of your bad habits and a temporary fix. he’ll support you through anything, and he’s proved that.. you just need to let him.
“promise me.” he says, holding his pinky up from the hand sitting on your thigh.
rubbing the tears from your eyes, your free hand finds his, fingers lacing together. “i promise.”
you can’t see the way mingi purses his lips, choosing not to mention how you touched your face.
──
“oh baby, my baby,” your stepmother sighs out in relief, her arms constricting like a boa as they wrap around you in a hug you can tell she’s been needing. “i love you, i missed you, my girl.”
sugar assaults your senses as you breathe her in, her favourite perfume and the traces of baking still stuck to her skin. her sickly sweet scent immediately grounds you from the nostalgia, washing away the anxiety of setting foot in a home you barely feel like you belong in anymore. she smacks a kiss onto your cheek, and you squirm in her death grip, almost calling her ‘mom’ before you stop yourself. you feel like you lost that right after what you did with her son.
“you look so pretty!” she comments as she pulls back, taking in the short, flowy dress you’d worn for tonight. “i’ve got an apple pie in the oven,” she tells you giddily, running her hands through your hair, fluffing and parting it the way she likes. “you can be the judge whether it’s still as good as i used to make it.”
“you know i’m gonna enjoy it either way.” you smile at her, feeling so painfully bittersweet.
she leads you out of the doorway with a hand on your back, “i’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon. i hope you’re hungry.”
you giggle. “i saved myself for this, don’t worry.”
“yes, well.. are they feeding you right over there?” it makes you pause in the middle of the room, caught off guard by the sudden question. ‘over there’, at the house of the lady who homewrecked her marriage, the boy who you ditched her son for— “just tell me if the cooking’s better than mine.”
“no!” you blurt out, then laugh, in pure relief this wasn’t turning into an interrogation or something. “no, mingi can’t cook for shit. no need to worry.”
“that’s good.” she beams at you, and it’s almost confusing how casual she is about this. to be fair, you’ve already answered her bombardment of questions over the phone concerning your business with mingi, so it’s not as if she’d reprimand you for it now. she’s had all this time to voice her disapproval if that’s what she really thinks.
in fact, she completely contradicts that thought as she suddenly pulls you into another tight hug, giggling that she just can’t help herself. you let yourself hug her back, melting into the comfort of her arms, and she sighs. “it’s weird not having you around, baby.” she admits in a murmur, “it’s made me so happy seeing you and yunho hanging out again.”
your stomach sinks at the mention of him, the memory of what you did together in your bed appearing like a flashbang before your eyes. the sweetest woman you’ve ever known is upset her kids aren’t getting along and it’s all your fault — all because you thought with your clit and not your brain again. it’s a wonder she’s even standing here hugging you right now, when she should really be slapping some sense into you. you moved back here to be a family again after all, you should do your part to act like it.
“i’m sorry,” you tell her quietly. “i miss it too. i’ve just.. i felt like i needed space.”
from what exactly, she didn’t need to know. you haven’t even told her anything about the situation yourself, just followed along with yunho’s words that she had repeated — being that you’d had a fight, where mingi somehow fit in. nothing more. where you should be relieved he hadn’t told the whole ugly truth, it only filled you with dread. though you were blindsided by his utter lack of morals, never once have you doubted the intelligence of your brother. you know he’s just keeping your little secret in his back pocket, waiting for the right moment to reveal his hand. no matter what it costs, he’ll still end up on top.
“i know, it can’t be easy. you’re still getting used to living here, to each other again.” she rubs her hand up and down your back, just as a chill runs down it from the guilt weighing on your conscience. “just remember, this is still your home too, okay? i love you, we all love you.”
you nod, swallowing down nothing as your mouth dries up. you wish she’d married a better man, and ended up birthing a better daughter of her own. you can’t even imagine the amount of headaches you’ve given her in the short span of time since moving back. her tender, loving heart deserved more than what you and your father could offer — though you suppose that’s where yunho came in to deliver on. the one thing he could do right was treat his mother well.
“sorry, i’ve been feeling sentimental all day,” she grins sheepishly, shoulders bouncing. “yunho was helping me cook, and it reminded me of when you were both little, running around the kitchen and arguing over who got to do what. my two little helpers.” she chuckled, her eyes soft and fond like the memory was playing out right in front of them.
you find yourself reminiscing too, eyes sweeping around the bottom floor of the house and seeing your younger selves chasing each other, squealing and laughing. mingi found his way in there too — all three of you attached at the hip, playing together in ignorant bliss of what was happening between your parents. you did miss those days. you miss when mingi and yunho could be in the same room as you without getting at each other’s throats. you miss when you didn’t know what yunho really felt towards you. you miss how simple things were, and how they’ll never be that way again.
a creak of the staircase has your stepmother’s head whipping up, while your stomach plummets down, already sensing the crushing weight of his eyes on you before you even see him. “oh, speak of the devil!” your stepmother beckons him down, glancing at you as she anticipates a reaction. you can’t let her down, not on her special day, so you cave and tilt your chin up to look at him.
yunho. grey sweats and a black tee loosely hanging off of his long frame, dark hair grown enough to graze his neck, bangs parted out of his eyes — topped off with a stare that burned straight through you.
the sight mirrored the day you first came back, and you hate the relief that hits you over seeing him again, paired with something else you’re choosing to ignore. this time, yunho doesn’t barrel down the steps and scoop you into his arms like he had. he simply smiles, waves an almost shy hand, and greets you with a voice soft enough to rip your heart in half.
“hey, baby.”
you suppress the enticing urge to gag, to scream at his face, to drop to your knees and cry. there’s no doubt he must be able to see the storm raging inside you, and yet he doesn’t move an inch as you hold each other’s gazes in silence, like he’s ready to wait all day for you to say it back. which, you do, only because you care for how it’ll make your stepmother feel.
“hi.” you reply, succinct. it’s worth it when her smile stretches wider next to you, and even more so when she’s excitedly tugging you to the kitchen, away from the giant gargoyle watching you from the top of the stairs. you regret wearing this tiny fucking dress.
the warm aroma filling the kitchen hits you instantly, eyes finding the glowing oven with a puffy apple pie sat inside. your stepmother directs you to your seat at the dining table, the top cluttered with baking dishes and pots half-filled with the remainder of tonight’s roast. “go on, take however much you want. we’ve all eaten already.” she insists, setting out utensils in front of you and darting back into the kitchen before you can even thank her.
even with your mouth practically watering over the feast before you, you can’t help but wring your hands under the table from the anxiety pooled deep in your stomach, your father’s eyes finally acknowledging you above the beer bottle he sips from. “baby,” he greets you impassively, tipping his chin like you’ve just come down from your room upstairs; like you haven’t spent months living at your boyfriend’s house, who he also fucking hates.
you nod at him — only because of your stepmother’s presence — before helping yourself to plating some dinner. after fussing around in the kitchen, opening and closing different cabinets while commentating out loud, your stepmother finally returns with a thick book in her hands. your brows furrow as she approaches, clearing a spot on the table before dropping the book with a thud, and your entire body cringes as you recognise the front cover.
your family’s photo book. a big behemoth documenting your entire childhood from the lens of your stepmother’s old camera. she really wasn’t kidding when she said she felt sentimental.. “you remember this, don’t you?” she asks as she pulls out the chair beside you, flipping to the first page and cooing over yunho’s baby photos.
“i do..” you mutter, unable to rip your eyes away from the incoming car crash before you. you know you’re only going to upset yourself and lose sleep over the memories preserved in these pages, but you can’t help but continue to watch as her finger flicks through the book. the first few pages are solely yunho, and your heart clenches as you watch him grow up, all round cheeks and puppy-like smiles, your stepmother giggling and telling stories. she suddenly pauses at a specific photo where yunho’s accompanied by a lanky man, face blacked out with tape — his father.
you glance at your stepmother, her lips pressed into a firm line as she looks upon the faceless man. you’ve never actually learned what happened there, between them. it’s not like she spoke of him, and she had no reason to after marrying your father. you briefly check his reaction too, though he’s unconcerned with the quality family time happening across from him at the table, sipping on a second beer and watching soccer on his phone.
your stepmother clears her throat as she flips the page, moving into yunho’s early school years, where some familiar faces are introduced. mingi appears first in class photos and playdates — soon followed by you and your father as you first became one family. the pool in your stomach continues to sink as your stepmother peruses through the book, reminiscing fondly while you spiral over the same memories from right beside her; pure, innocent kids growing up as the bestest of friends, not a clue in the world of what chaos awaited them.
you startle her with the genuine groan you let out as she reaches a photo of your nineth birthday. you’re blowing out the candles of your cake, mingi sitting at your left while yunho kisses your cheek from the right. your stepmother gushes as she hugs you to her side, like the cute, harmless picture doesn’t make you want to throw up your dinner right now. did he already see you as more than just his baby sister? when did his actions start to harbour darker intent?
you’re so out of it, that when she stumbles upon a photo of your little trio together, you laugh through the absolute heartache it brings. you can only faintly hear your stepmother asking what’s so funny as you gasp for air, choking back each sob that threatens to rip from your throat.
you, yunho, and mingi sat on the couch in that order, nintendo controllers in hand as you pose for the camera. they must’ve been thirteen there, and you a year younger. you’ve got a leg thrown over your brother’s, his palm sitting on your thigh, while mingi’s arm rested around the back of the couch, hand slyly holding your shoulder. it’s funny how perfectly the candid encapsulates your fucked up little dynamic. yunho wedging himself between you both, you none the wiser as you show him affection, while mingi reaches for you out of his sight. you want to cry the longer you look at it. you were all so happy, and it’s ruined. your sibling bond, their close friendship; ruined, because you couldn’t keep your legs shut.
or maybe it’s because yunho’s a fucking freak, a voice in your head reminds you. probably belonging to mingi..
“yunho!” your stepmother greets the footsteps approaching from behind, snapping you clean out of whatever rabbit hole you’d found yourself falling in. “look here, do you remember this?”
your breath hitches as his smell invades your senses, warm with faint traces of his favourite sandalwood cologne. he crosses his arms over your stepmother’s shoulders, leaning down to hug her from behind and peer around her head. yunho hums in response like he’s looking at the book, though you almost squirm under the weight of his eyes glued to you. “yeah, i mopped the floor with both of them in mario kart that day. baby was so sulky afterwards.” he chuckles, blatantly baiting you into a reaction that you refuse to give him.
“someone’s still not over it,” your stepmother teases, pointing out how your face had completely dropped since yunho joined.
yunho scoffs, his arms falling from her as he stands upright, eyes never leaving your face. “i let her win every other time.”
your father’s head tips up in your peripheral, finally curious about the rest of his family, and the pressure’s on as their expectant stares wait for your mouth to move in a response. if it were just you and yunho, you wouldn’t think twice about ignoring him completely. he didn’t even deserve the honour of an insult. unfortunately for you — and luckily for him — your parents won’t let you rest if you don’t get along with him. you’re sure he must’ve been moping around the house in your absence, earning as many sympathy points as he could, all so you have no choice but to play nice or you’ll be the bad guy. though they’d never admit to having a bias, giant goody-two-shoes has never copped a scolding in his life, which is an almost daily occurrence for you.
forcing yourself to meet the favourite child’s eyes, you muster the weakest smile possible, gritting out a “thanks.”
the air’s sucked from your lungs as a large hand meets the back of your head, stroking your hair affectionately. “of course.” yunho smiles at you — an almost sadistic gesture, knowing exactly what his touch rises in you now.
yunho walks off to the kitchen, your parents none the wiser as your stepmother returns to the book and your father to his phone, while you’re left paralysed in your seat. it takes everything in you and then some to keep those memories of what you did together at bay, to not let them consume your nervous system as you focus on getting your breathing back to even. five things, you can hear mingi tell you, pulling you out of the onset of a panic attack. you’re quick to follow, mentally counting things you can see on the table. plates, utensils, cups, dad’s beer—
your inner voice is cut off as a steaming apple pie enters your vision, yunho placing the dish by your end of the table. “oh, yunho, you didn’t have to—” your stepmother whines before he interrupts her with a quick kiss on the cheek, the pair of them breaking into giggles.
“it’s alright,” he insists, setting down two small plates in front of you both. “you’ve done enough for your own birthday.”
“what a nice young man you’ve raised.” the remark slips out before you can stop it, with a bitter edge to your voice that has your father eyeing you. unwilling to meet the prying stares of your parents, your eyes subconsciously find their way to yunho’s. the air between you is charged, your hairs standing on end as if from the static — yunho’s eyes glinting at successfully provoking you, his lip curling with something you unfortunately recognise now.
the heated look he’s sending you slides back into his usual soft resting face, as if it was just your imagination. “i’ve missed you too, baby.” he chuckles, breaking off the sudden tension in the room.
your stepmother resumes cutting a slice of pie, while yunho gathers the used dishes from the table and carries them to the sink. at least he has enough grace to put some space between you and give you a god damn breather. keeping up this act, flaunting your secret in front of your parents’ faces, is strangling you alive. you silently promise yourself that after eating dessert, you’re calling mingi to get you the fuck out of here asap.
you give a hum of approval after the first bite of pie, much to your stepmother’s excitement. “it’s not as good, it’s even better.” you tell her around a mouthful of pastry.
“see? i told you she’d like it,” yunho adds from the kitchen as he loads the dishwasher. you barely hold back the urge to roll your eyes.
after a few more bites in comfortable silence, your stepmother suddenly clears her throat to ask, “so when will you be back home?”
three sets of eyes are on you as you chew slowly, buying yourself time to think of an answer….only to turn up empty. “i don’t know.” you admit, already prepared for your father to give his two cents.
“ah, does mingi want you to move in?” your stepmother replies casually, your eyes widening as she continues, “what does his mother think about you staying there?”
the room falls silent enough to hear a pin drop. you can’t help the way your eyes dart to your father at the mention — how he tips back the rest of his beer and firmly sets the glass bottle on the table, then loudly kicks his chair out before leaving the room without a word. you glare at him the whole way out; you can always count on your father to kill the mood, to ruin a good thing for the rest of you. your stepmother thins her lips, saying nothing as the grown ass man stomps up the stairs and shuts himself in their bedroom. it is truly a wonder how he managed to win her back, or rather, why she chose to take him back. even after divorce, it seems like he still hasn’t moved on from the whole.. fiasco.
your eyes move without meaning to, which you realise is out of instinct as you lock eyes with yunho — who has only been looking at you the entire time, his face unreadable. “she doesn’t mind.” you respond as you rip your eyes away from him, remembering you had yet to answer your stepmother’s question. “uh, i wouldn’t want to move in though.”
“oh? will you be coming back before the semester starts?”
your spoon plays with the apple filling, appetite long gone. “i don’t really know, i’m sorry.”
she tsks, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into a side-hug. “don’t be sorry. we just miss having you around, m’kay?”
you nod, bile burning your throat as you catch yunho’s satisfied grin from the kitchen. he knows you feel terrible about it, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you cave and come right back to home — to him.
you busy your brain by helping your stepmother clean up — while avoiding yunho doing the same — excusing yourself upstairs so that you could let mingi know you were ready to leave. after he’d texted that he was on the way, you figured it couldn’t hurt to bring more clothes and some cosmetics back to his place, since you really had no idea how much longer you needed space from yunho before you could feel okay. clearly, the time you have spent separated did nothing the instant he was close to you again. you folded, so fucking easily, despite all the work and love mingi has poured in to help you move on from this.
rifling through your closet and desk, you check to make sure everything is still in its place. there’s no doubt yunho’s been through here again — he’s obviously snooped around before, since he knew you had condoms. on that thought, you open the same drawer, laughing at the disappearance of the freshly opened box. wow, he really got you there. how are you possibly going to fuck other men now!
packing an extra bag for your never-ending sleepover at the song’s house, your hand stills where it reaches into your underwear drawer. you actually take a step back, examine the state of it, and mentally count off each pair of panties you own. you can’t decide whether you need to laugh, gag, or cry as you realise there’s some missing.
it’s funny, and it’s disgusting, the fact you only know because you haven’t been home to touch your clothes. how much other shit did he get away with all those years, right under your nose? how much worse is he willing to do now that you’ve broken his heart?
as if all your thoughts have summoned him, your door quietly creaks open, yunho slipping in as if trying to not alert your parents. the very thought makes you feel faint as you stand, sick to your guts that he’s acting like you’re sneaking around, like this is some type of affair. nothing between you should have to be kept secret from your parents — if only you were normal siblings, that is.
“you’re fucked in the head,” is how you greet him, jabbing a finger at him from across the room. “wash my underwear and then put it back where you stole it from, you fucking perv.”
yunho shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans against your door. “why? it’s not like you’re home to wear them.” he’s shameless in how his eyes rake over your body, as if making up for every time he had to resist the urge in front of your parents. it almost makes you feel self-conscious, wanting to cover your bare skin from his eager eyes.
you scoff in utter disbelief — that this is the real yunho, not the sweet, loving brother you saw downstairs. of course, humans are multifaceted, but it’s not like he suddenly became absolutely insane overnight. no, this side of him has been around for longer than you could comprehend, just lurking under the surface and revealing itself in fleeting moments, quick enough that you could doubt it was ever there. now that you’ve seen him in his entirety, without the guise of innocence and the benefit of the doubt, there’s no use in masking now. your brother wants you, you let him have you once, and you will live with that forever.
“stop acting like there’s.. something, here.” you wave your hand at the space between you, grimacing. “i’m your sister. it doesn’t matter what you think, or what you want, that’s not going to change. so leave me the fuck alone already.”
he huffs, amused, tongue poking his cheek. “you know i can’t, right? especially after—”
“i don’t care! you will!” you cut in, eyes wild as you rip into him. “i have a boyfriend, we are family, get that into your fucked up brain!” you huff a bitter laugh, arms flailing at your sides, every single ounce of rage you’ve bottled now spilling out of you. “do you even understand how wrong it is? that there’s a reason we’re hiding it?”
yunho’s deep chuckle interrupts you, his face lit up with such genuine joy even as you hurl jagged words at him, it reaches for your heart and twists. “all i care about is you.” he admits with his whole chest, sending a knife straight into yours. “and when you’re done lying to yourself, i’ll be waiting.”
yunho leaves you with that, his words sinking in and burning like acid as he turns to reach for the door knob. oh god, he really fucking loves you. nothing else could compare to what he feels — nothing that you’ve just listed could stop it.
“wait—” you halt him, and you damn nearly buckle under the smirk he throws your way, as if he knew it was coming. you gulp, resisting every single urge to run to him, into the arms of something you know would feel fucking amazing — and yet what is wrong on every single level. you can’t give in to him again. you can’t do that to yourself, or to mingi. “please don’t tell anyone what we did.”
his jaw ticks at the tone you use, so desperate, so deliberate in how you’re trying to tug at his heartstrings. it’s obvious to the both of you, and yet it still works. “i won’t.” yunho promises in the sincerest voice he can manage. he allows himself to check you out one last time before readjusting the front of his sweats and opening your door, slipping out into the hallway just as quietly as he came in. like he was never there.
you nearly sob out into the room once you’re alone, hating the way your body responds to him, even now. your blood charged with electricity, your skin sensitive with goosebumps, your mind hot and bothered. you hate that you know, if mingi wasn’t actively on his way over, yunho might’ve had you again. if you hadn’t distanced yourself from him, you don’t even know how many times in the last two months you would’ve let yunho corner you and take you apart beneath him. this could’ve grown into something much uglier and harder to hide than it was, and yet it still can — because he’s waiting for you to break.
you don’t want this. you’re trying to commit to safe and secure with your boyfriend, not sneaky and forbidden with your brother. you don’t want to want him, and you do. all because he wants you more than you could ever fucking understand. and maybe, even more than anyone in this world could ever compare to.
going back to mingi felt like being dunked in freezing water. you were completely out of it, offering only curt responses to his questions and weak huffs to his jokes as he drove home. he could tell something was wrong, it hung in the air like a fucking cloud, and yet he wouldn’t push you on it until you were back home, cozy in bed with his full attention on you. in the meantime, he just offered soft attempts at conversation, all to keep you from spiraling in the silence.
but by the time mingi takes the turn into his street, your energy’s so drained that you don’t think you can bear another ‘talk’ without snapping at him or bursting into tears. they’ve been happening more frequently as your first semester at college approaches, your budding anxiety so palpable he can practically taste it whenever he kisses you.
you know he only wants to help, to do what he can to ensure you’re in the best mental shape before heading into a new, stress-assured chapter of your life. you know he loves you more than you could ever thank him for, that you’d ever be able to deserve — and yet you’re tired. you’re tired of your brain being dissected and analysed, by being told “why you do this” or “why you think like that”. you long to be messy again, to make bad decisions and regret them, to exist freely without dreading another fucking ‘talk’ about how much better you could be.
you’re in love with mingi, and he’s in love with you even more. but even if he fell for the girl you are now, you can’t tell if he’d still want her over the girl he’s trying to push you to become. all you wanted was to be loved no matter what. no matter who you were, or who he was, you wanted…
fuck.
mingi flinches as you tear your seatbelt from the buckle, asking you something you can’t hear as you crawl over the centre console — just like the two times he’s said your name in the past minute since parking out the front of his house, both with no response. without a word you straddle his lap and grab either side of his face, catching a brief glimpse of his lost, glossy eyes that almost have you hesitating before you dive into his neck. your lips latch to the skin, his vanilla cologne lighting up your palate. the boy beneath you jolts as your teeth scrape and your tongue licks, sucking a patch of marks under his jaw; no romance or intimacy in it, all heated haste. mingi just takes it, tries his best to get a word out or at least keep up as you practically eat his neck.
you rut yourself against him, the car jostling as you hastily grind your crotch against his, right until you can feel that familiar hardness through the fabric. you lift yourself by the knees, sparing him from the assault of hickeys only when you need to breathe, your hands fumbling to get the annoying barriers of clothing between you out of the way. impatient, you settle on sliding your panties to the side, then tugging mingi’s pants and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free, thick and pretty even in the dark of the night. you don’t bother to prep yourself, already dripping with eagerness as you line him up with a hand around the base, then dropping to sit on his dick.
the sting of the stretch makes you cuss, paired with the soft whimpers from mingi as every inch of him fills you to the brim, twitching inside you. you don’t wait to let either of you adjust to the almost unbearably tight fit, anchoring your weight on the knees bracketing his thighs as you start to bounce, spearing yourself on him over and over at a ruthless pace. mingi’s head falls back into his seat, eyes screwed shut and mouth dropped open with a broken stream of pathetic noises, his hands futilely trying to grab onto your waist, your thighs; to caress and hold you like he always does, while you’re determined to fuck him like he’s someone else.
you chase nothing but your own pleasure as you ride him, too focused to even outwardly react as his length rubs against your g-spot, your gut tightening and pussy throbbing with each bounce. your orgasm’s close enough to taste on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so caught up in that edge of euphoria that you hadn’t even realised mingi had wedged his hands between your bodies — grounding you as his fingers slide over your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes.
you don’t catch whatever he says to you, his brows pinched in worry as his eyes flit all over your face. you get out a nod, trying to hang onto the thread that is your sweet release, hoping that it’s enough to reassure whatever he could be worried about. you can’t believe he’s trying to talk right now — he’s a man, he should be over the moon that you’ve surprised him with some pussy.
mingi’s face twists, a harsh pulse of his cock inside you follows, and you know that he must be close too. not that you were taking it into consideration, really. again, he’s a man, he’ll get there anyways. you do hear the way he cries out at your pussy clamping down, white-hot bliss surging through your veins as you cum around him, riding mingi right through it until he’s shooting out inside of you. before you can even slow down he’s pressing his lips to yours, kissing you through the aftershocks of your shared release — and that alone is what snaps you clean out of it.
you pull back with a gasp, shock flashing across mingi’s face over the fact you didn’t kiss him back. you don’t hear him say your name, but rather see his mouth move in the shape of it, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. still soothing you, still worried about you, even though you hurt him.
it’s the last straw to break your back. you can’t feel anything but heat as everything rushes out all at once, flooding your body with feelings too big for you to understand. you only realise you’re crying as mingi wipes the tears from your cheeks; only realise you’re shaking as his arms wrap around you in a hug.
“why?” you stammer out between sobs, neither of you even knowing what you’re asking until— “why do you love me?”
mingi shakes his head as he shushes you, his cock softening where it’s still buried inside you. he presses gentle kisses to your face, to each tear that falls. “i love you.” is all he responds with, knowing there’s not much else he could say to settle this down, though it only has the tears flowing harder.
“what do you even see in me?” you wail, both hands trying to push at his chest to get him away from you, or you away from him. “i’m disgusting, i’m fucked up, i don’t fucking deserve you.”
“don’t say things like that,” mingi’s quick to refute, his arms tightening around you. “why on earth would you say that?”
“we aren’t meant to be together.” you tell him with a harrowing certainty, mingi’s face cracking as your words strike through his chest, hitting right on target. “you’re not made for me.”
mingi’s throat bobs in a gulp, the pain written plainly across his features as the admission hangs in the air between you. he can tell it wasn’t from the heat of the moment — you’ve thought it before. it’s why it slipped out so easily, without hesitation. though you long for a reaction, for his patience to snap and for his words to tear you apart right back, you know that’s not the boy you’re dating. the boy who still chooses to love you everyday, even when you can gut him like this without thinking twice.
mingi says nothing as he leaves a peck on your forehead, resting his own on top and forcing you to look into his eyes; to confront the sincerity in them as he pours his entire heart into his words. “if it’s not you, then it’s no one.”
your head shakes; quick to refuse, to try and push him away again, but mingi’s quicker to pull your body to press firm against his, completely smothering you in his warmth. when it comes to your boyfriend, he’s nothing if not assured. he wears confidence like a second skin, unafraid to embarrass himself with a joke or flaunt his body for a reaction. everything he says and does is defined by sincerity — everything he feels is genuine, and pure, and honest. with all the blood in his body to keep his heart beating, his love is nothing if not yours.
it could’ve been hours you sat like that, mingi’s body wrapped around yours, your thoughts that once spun a mile a minute now still, silent. when his arms suddenly fall away, panic begins to settle in the absence of his touch, until he’s shrugging his hoodie off his shoulders. you wince as he shifts below you, remembering he’s still buried inside you until one hand gently raises you off his length; the other quickly stuffing the hoodie under your dress, soiling it with his cum where it drips out of you. mingi presses a kiss to your cheek, now sticky with dried tears. “let’s get inside now, yeah?”
──
“shuhua hasn’t even left home yet!” minnie scoffs loudly at her phone before she presents it to you from the opposite side of the booth. you nearly shiver at the sight of life360 on her screen, seeing your icon still monochrome and frozen at san’s place from when you disabled your location months ago.
“you think she’ll come this time?” you ask, distracting yourself from the unwelcome memories as you draw on the condensation of your glass of water.
“probably not. she hasn’t even read the group chat.” minnie’s eyes roll from beneath her bangs, thumbs tapping away angrily before she plants it on the table with a sigh.
“fivesome again?” yuqi wiggles her brows, earning a side-eye from you both. “or i’ll just go fuck myself i guess?”
the faces at brunch today had become the regular for group hang-outs. soyeon and miyeon were still on their way over, meanwhile soojin was busy and shuhua.. well, couldn’t care less.
minnie and yuqi had introduced you to the rest of the girls, all of them having become friends in high school while you were in small town purgatory, and you fit right in as if there was a spot always waiting for you. after spending years with nothing but men in your corner, it was refreshing and yet a little unfamiliar having a whole group of girls there for one another.
you can understand the difficulty of multitasking school and socialising — hell, even you haven’t been all that consistent at coming out because of girlfriend duties — but shuhua had noticeably been distancing herself from the group as of late.
soojin had an actual excuse for her presence being a rarity, having graduated last year and immediately earning a great position in a full-time job, though she still made frequent appearances in the group chat and kept up to date with you all. in contrast to shuhua, who’d been practically awol since the first semester started a few weeks ago. you’ve only actually been at the same hang-out once, every other time you haven’t been able to come is when she’s able to show. it’s not as if her presence made all that difference though; shuhua was a girl of very few words, and it’s not like you’ve bonded enough one-on-one to get anything more out of her.
outside of the odd girl’s day where shuhua would ghost the group and the rest would hate her for it, everything had been great, and more importantly— normal. you and mingi are in love and thriving, you’re killing it in your classes and staying on top of the workload, you go out with your girls every other day, and you’re.. back at home, surprisingly.
mingi drives you to and from campus, and you usually spend the night at his place when you’ve both got classes the next day, but you’re not avoiding your own family like the plague anymore. as such, you and yunho have become… acquaintances, of sorts. you’re not friendly (at least not on your end), but you’re not hostile either.
you just.. coexist. like siblings with different lives, that aren’t close. except, you do have similar lives, and you were closer than blood once. despite everything, at least he seemed to listen when you asked him to back off.
life is the best it’s been in a long, long while. it really does just go on. and one day, maybe you can wake up and think that nothing ever actually happened between you and him. maybe then you’ll be able to sleep at night.
“economics has been bending me over,” minnie casually says the second you tune back in, the girls still chatting while you spaced out at the wall. “oh, so glad you could join us!” she teases, noticing you’re finally looking at them.
“ugh, real. let’s get bombed this saturday.” yuqi glances at you, asking sarcastically, “wanna smoke like that one time you told yunho about?”
you groan, cringing at the callback to the elaborate tale you had told yunho just for him to catch you in the lie not even twenty minutes after. and then fuck you, but… that’s irrelevant right now.
“what’s this?” minnie looks between you with eyes sparkling, her nose catching the trail of hot gossip in the air.
the bleached blonde jabs a thumb your way, “she ditched yunho at san’s birthday to hook up with mingi, and asked me to cover for her. she told him we left together to get high at mine.” minnie oohs in response, while yuqi rolls her eyes with an ugh, “yunho sent me a novel the morning after. he texts like a serial killer.”
“what?” it slips out before you can stop it, since that is news to you. nothing to be surprised of though — yunho is weird, this is known.
yuqi nods, pursing her lips. “wanna see?”
“i do!” minnie answers without missing a beat, scooting over in the booth to bump yuqi’s side as she unlocks her phone. you don’t, and their reactions as they read over the wall of text tells you enough to know you made the right call for your own well-being. minnie tips her chin up, sympathy in her eyes as they meet yours. “i see why you moved out.”
“so,” yuqi clasps her hands on the table, “we smokin’ fat doinks this weekend or what?”
you shrug. “i have to check with mingi first. i don’t know if we’re already doing something— or if he’s even okay with that.”
“just ditch him.” yuqi replies, like it’s nothing.
“yeah, you see each other every day.” minnie rolls her eyes, and the tiny gesture lights a flame of anger low in your belly, smoke rising up your throat. she obnoxiously flicks her ponytail over her shoulder as she turns to yuqi, “you think shuhua would come?”
“god, no. i’m not inviting her.” yuqi shivers, “i got high with her once, never again.”
“wait, why?” minnie prompts with a giddy grin, not even hiding her blatant excitement over the gossip concerning another friend.
“she kept scaring me, like saying she could see ghosts and hear their voices and shit. then she started kissing on me?”
“girl, i don’t know if the weed was doing all that..”
“wait, this was our shuhua?” you laugh in disbelief, and they both just stare at you with raised brows.
“well duh.”
“you know any others?”
“—no, it’s just, i mean..” you give a weak chuckle, feeling oddly insecure over their blunt reactions. “i can’t even picture her acting like that. she’s so shy.”
the girls shared a confused look, like you’re speaking a different language. that unwelcome, yet all too familiar feeling of being left out creeps back in, and you want this conversation over as soon as possible.
yuqi speaks first, “shuhua is not shy.”
“well, i don’t really hear her talk, let alone acting all crazy like that.” you shrug, tone falling flat, suddenly disinterested.
“she does talk.” minnie adds, “just not to you.”
you blink once, before the rising smoke enters your brain and suffocates any self-control left in there, nothing but heat as you snap, “what the fuck does that mean?”
“nothing.” minnie replies quickly, waving her hand in the air like it’s so absurd, sneaking a glance at yuqi that you don’t miss. “you’re just not close, girl. don’t take it to heart.”
easier said than done. there’s something here you’re missing, and they’re not saying either. you can fucking feel it.
“woah, cat fight?”
the familiar high, cute voice is enough to halt whatever shitstorm you were about to launch minnie and yuqi’s way — the both of them sighing in relief as soyeon plants a hand on your shoulder, miyeon in tow as she sidles up behind.
honeyed skin with a chestnut bob, soyeon manages to calm you with just a look, scrunching her brows as if asking you’re okay without words. after a tight-lipped nod from you, she turns her stare to the pair across the booth. “you’re not teaming up on her again, are you?”
yuqi loudly scoffed, “she’s way meaner to us!”
miyeon giggles as she scoots into the seat beside you, the raven-haired princess pulling you in for a hug. “it’s okay, i’m on your side.”
before the pair opposite to you can get a word in, soyeon slides into their side of the booth, like a parent sitting next to their misbehaving kids. soyeon tended to look after you all like that. you hadn’t explicitly told her that you still felt like an outsider at times, and yet she seemed to just know, having your back whenever that feeling reared its ugly head. such as now, no thanks to minnie and yuqi being vague as fuck about someone you considered a friend who might secretly hate your guts.
while that anxiety doesn’t exactly disappear, it does make itself scarce as the five of you order your meals and fall into conversation; an easy rhythm you’ve perfected after hanging out every other day, on or off campus.
today’s topic of choice being dick sizes, starring your boyfriend’s and brother’s group of friends, who have apparently mixed with your group like paint since their high school days. the one reason you had to be grateful that you weren’t around.
“i’ve heard he’s thick.” minnie emphasises with a click of her tongue at the end, “and surprisingly, a real freak.”
“it’s always the quiet ones.” miyeon shrugs, elegantly sipping her americano from a straw.
“then what does that make san?” you add with a laugh, not actually expecting the answer yuqi gives in the form of her fingers held many inches apart.
“what? that big?” minnie gawks, while yuqi nods with a smirk. “no way..”
“girl, he used to be so skinny, that’s how you know it’s like, banana long.”
“well how do you even know?” soyeon finally pipes in, having nothing to add to the conversation as a raging lesbian. “haven’t he and wooyoung been dating since forever?”
yuqi tucks her blonde locks behind an ear, playfully running her tongue over her lips. “a little birdy told me that sometimes, they let people join..”
“it was seonghwa, right?” minnie snorts at the way yuqi’s brows furrow in shock. “he’s such a slut.”
yuqi swats her shoulder, “then what does that make me!”
the table erupts into cackles, yuqi blushing and stammering as she tries to defend her good name.
“you’re gonna fuck woosan?” soyeon asks, trying and failing to hide the slight judgment on her face.
“they’re gonna fuck me.” yuqi states proudly, while you cheer her on. “and i’m gatekeeping the deets from you prudish bitches.”
“wow, friendship ende— oh shit,” minnie’s neck snaps forward abruptly, wide eyes darting around the booth as she murmurs, “guess who just walked in with karina.”
you look over your shoulder, never giving a fuck about subtlety, and immediately regret not asking first as your gaze snags on the who.
your chest cinches in shock, the girls muttering words that don’t reach your ears over the ringing in them, the world around you crumbling away as your sight tunnel visions on yunho; holding karina with a snug arm around her waist, his eyes already having found you.
you don’t register the way your girls avert their attention under yunho’s heavy glare, ignoring his presence while it completely sucks you in. he nods along to whatever karina’s saying, lips curling into a grin the longer you refuse to break eye contact, no doubt your face wearing all of your frantic thoughts.
in the corner of your vision, karina follows his line of sight, her glossy lips pulling into a sneer before she makes a show of pressing them to yunho’s cheek, a would-be kiss if only he had turned his head away from your direction. and he lets her.
you feel like you can’t breathe, can’t even blink as you watch his large hand squeeze her waist, firm enough to make her lashes flutter with bedroom eyes, before he reaches to pull out a chair at their table for two. you could smack the smirk off karina’s face as she flips her shiny black hair over her shoulder, sitting her perfect body with curves in all the right places down.
yunho just beams at you — obnoxiously, mockingly — like he’s showing off a new trophy, throwing it in your face and rubbing it in till it stings. and god does it burn.
he tips his chin at your table, lifting his brows like he’s asking if he can come cover. you shake your head profusely, catching curious glances from the girls as yunho chuckles from across the restaurant. thankfully, he listens, facing away as he pulls out his own seat across from karina.
it looked normal, you think. nothing about that exchange would imply anything other than siblings — yet nothing about the conflict swirling in your head is how a sibling should feel.
why does it bother you so much? you asked him to leave you alone, to basically stop trying to fuck you at any chance he gets, and yet why do your thoughts read homicide as you stare at your replacement?
that’s all karina is, right? it’s not like you’re on speaking terms with him, but surely you would at least hear from an excited stepmother if yunho had a girlfriend. she couldn’t be. he couldn’t like her that much, he couldn’t want her if he meant what he told you, this is all just to piss you off and yet it’s working—
“how big was he?” miyeon whispers, curious eyes flicking to you. your heart actually stops for a good moment, mortified to your soul as you question if you heard that right, because surely she can’t be asking you?
minnie and yuqi react audibly, the pair of them answering as they replicate yunho’s size with their fingers, debating each other’s memory as their scales differ slightly. you’re still thousand-yard staring at miyeon, which soyeon picks up on, fast to tell the girls to cut it out with how you’re “obviously uncomfortable” since this is “your brother they’re talking about”.
miyeon covers her mouth in a gasp, face paling under her pretty pink blush as she exclaims, “yunho’s your brother?? oh my gosh!” she falls into your shoulder with an embarrassed giggle, “i remember seeing you really close together at a party, i thought you were— ahh! i’m so sorry!”
a little part of you dies inside, thinking of just how many people saw you acting like a drunk, clingy mess and assumed the same. there’s also the fact that she really was asking you how big he is.
“okay, well, this is awkward and i need to pee, so.” yuqi announces as she stands up, planting her hands on her hips with a pout at the lack of response. “no one wants to come with?”
“i will.” minnie fake grumbles, earning an offended scoff from the blonde as they both shuffle out from the booth.
once they’re out of earshot, soyeon makes a puzzled face as she asks, “so they’re cool with yunho now?” getting miyeon to giggle.
you look between them, recognising you’re not in the know for the second time today. “what are you talking about?”
miyeon and soyeon share a glance, one that you’re on the outside of again, except you can see the moment that they agree to let you in.
“uh, this isn’t us being shady, but..” miyeon starts, looking to soyeon for reassurance, which she gets in a nod. “those girls used to sleep with yunho. i think it started just after you moved? yeah, yuqi and minnie ended up having a massive fight over it. he was messing around with both of them at the same time and they didn’t tell each other.”
well, that part was new information. you definitely didn’t see it coming, but you can’t say you’re too surprised. from what the girls have owned up to, and what mingi has recounted for you, it was clear that yunho lost himself for a bit during that first year. when it dawned on him that you weren’t coming back, that he’d lost you for good, he pounced on the closest thing to you to warm his bed.
in the sickest, saddest way, it makes you feel even more related to him. yunho was trying to drown out the pain in his heart by fucking whoever reminded him of you most. and by playing them both, it sounds as if he was channeling his pain outwardly — if he can’t be happy without you, then no one else can.
“i do know.” you admit, which takes them both aback. “it’s okay. i get why they did.”
soyeon motions at you with her hand, “elaborate?”
you turn your attention down to your glass of water again, unwilling to meet their eyes as the raw, vulnerable truth rushes to the forefront of your thoughts.
“yunho.. he’s got a way.” you smile ruefully, accepting that this is going to spill out whether you let it or not. “he’s so bright on his own, you can’t help but want to feel that warmth. and when he lets you in on it— it feels like nothing else matters.” you don’t care if this is too weird for a sister to say anymore, the feeling cathartic as you confess, “he’s so smart, too. he knows how to use it to his advantage, and he always gets what he wants. he’s good. he’s really.. good.” you trail off, self-consciousness arriving too late as it suddenly crawls up the back of your neck, making you acutely aware of the way they’re staring at you. you clear your throat. “so, yeah. i can see how they fell for him.”
miyeon resolves to sipping her americano instead of answering, while soyeon nods, taking everything in; the table entirely too quiet for your comfort. when she finally speaks up, it’s with a voice free of judgement as she says, “what is it about this guy that drives people insane?”
miyeon chuckles, laying her head on your shoulder, while you try to follow along; letting this pass as a silly, forgettable moment, and not an impulsive confession from piles of laundry too dirty for what you think they’re ready to hear.
“guess who woosan just invited to the welcome-back party?!” yuqi boasts as she saunters in, her voice careening from deep to dainty as she adds, “me, that’s who.”
“we’re all invited every year,” minnie snickers, shoving yuqi into the booth first, the blonde gasping as she twists around and smacks her.
“welcome-back party.. is that the one happening next weekend?” you ask.
“yup,” miyeon answers, popping the ‘p’. “the boys throw a big one every semester, since freshman year. will you come?”
“yeah, but mingi invited me, so i’ll be going with him.” you reply, earning two groans from the bickering girls with fistfuls of each other’s hair across the table from you.
soyeon puts on her strict voice as she says both their names, like a mother about to start counting to three, and the moment passes as you’re all back to cracking jokes and talking shit. all the while, you ignore the unmistakable heat of yunho’s eyes flicking to you every other second.
──
“ohmigosh, did you guys see what giselle posted on—”
“don’t care. stop distracting me.”
minnie gawks at you, uncaring if the snappy blonde looked up from her laptop and caught it. you sat on opposite ends of the large L-shaped couch — a statement of the family’s money as soon as you walked through the front door — a platter of snacks in minnie’s lap as you watched old kpop music videos on the cinema-sized flatscreen tv, on mute per yuqi’s demand. the blonde had taken the corner, glaring at her screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard, only pausing briefly to rain on your parade.
“damn, what’s up your ass?” you butt in, at minnie’s defense.
“not woosan.” she snickers, giving you a high-five.
yuqi rubs at her temples before her arms extend out, all ten fingers pointing at the pair of you. “i’m at a really hard part of this paper right now, i’m literally doing math in my head, can you please stay quiet for like, five minutes?”
you and minnie nod with pursed lips, side-eyeing each other to check you’re both holding your laughter right now. yuqi did not play around when it came to schoolwork — a switch would flip in her usual silly, charming self, and you’d end up with the grinch sat across from you who was on the verge of kicking you both out.
this was your fault, really. you had impulsively asked minnie to hang out, and she drove you both to yuqi’s place, under the assumption she still intended to get high. turns out, the bleach did more than just turn her hair blonde, since yuqi had completely forgotten about an assignment due on monday. she decided to let you accompany her while she was cramming it — or at least attempting to, while getting distracted and then barking at you for it.
despite it, you needed this, today. stress had you cornered from all angles, and you needed something that could block it out, even just temporarily before the weekend was over; something that wouldn’t disappoint mingi further.
you’ve been juggling a lot. what you previously had down pat in a rhythm, a routine, was suddenly falling from your grip and toppling all over you. maintaining your good grades, keeping the peace between your bickering friends, casually being around yunho while he’s replacing you with karina — weeks of consistent pressure had piled up on your plate, and the one steady thing you had going, the one part of your life you never had to doubt, was taking the brunt of it as a result.
you and mingi just aren’t getting along. he’s steadfast as he always is in making it work, in talking it out until you both reach a satisfied conclusion, but having to self-reflect on your messy fucking brain every day is making you lose it. it’s why you needed today: you get to decompress with your friends, and you told him to do the same. not that you stuck around to find out if he listened. you were out the door and sitting in minnie’s car before your boyfriend could even say ‘bye’.
the hum of an engine outside has your head turning in recognition, though you choose to ignore it, focusing back on the tv where t.o.p’s pissing on g-dragon in the zutter music video.
a ding has minnie checking her phone, catching your attention as she slides the snack platter onto the couch, standing up. “shuhua’s here,” she announces, headed for the door.
“shuhua’s here?” yuqi repeats, clearly thrilled to have more company.
“yeah, i invited her after you texted me.” minnie says, glancing at you as she flips the lock on the door. “she said she had something to do first.”
the door swings open and in steps shuhua: deep brown hair falling in waves to her waist, the cutest cami and skirt set hugging her figure, a tiny, satisfied smirk on her face as her gaze sweeps over the room. eyes narrowing a fraction as they land on you.
“and where have you been?” yuqi exclaims, shooting a lethal glare at the youngest.
shuhua sits on the couch with a guilty giggle. “mingi just dropped me off.”
it’s as if all air is sucked from the room as you’re rendered stiff from shock, yuqi continuing to interrogate shuhua on her recent aloofness, while minnie watches you from the corner of her eye. your heart grips in your chest as that nearby engine drives off, and you realise you did recognise it, because it was your boyfriend’s car.
what the fuck is going on?
“wh—um, you said mingi?” you interrupt them unapologetically, trying and failing to not let your immediate, hysterical thoughts take the wheel. “you were just with him?”
shuhua nods, impassive. “yeah. we were hanging out.” she sneaks a glance at yuqi. big mistake.
“why?” you snap, eyes shooting daggers into hers. the other two are quick to interject with stammers of your name, trying to stop this before it starts.
“they’re friends,” minnie rushes to explain, to defend her. “they’ve been good friends for years.”
shuhua smiles proudly at you, and she may as well be pointing and laughing in your face.
“huh, weird that no one told me.” you snark, your bitter grin falling flat as you pick up your phone, shutting yourself off.
the vibe had completely gone to shit, an uncomfortable amount of tension hanging in the air as the girls look between one another. they change the subject, voices on eggshells as they try to avoid setting you off.
and for good reason — you don’t even care. mingi hadn’t mentioned diddlysquat to you about hanging out with a girl alone, a girl who was supposed to be ‘your friend’ too. you can question the weight of that now though, considering shuhua’s never made an effort to get to know you, and had probably been avoiding you while you were over here wondering how you could break the ice.
when did you get so trusting? so fucking easy to fool?
there’s no way they aren’t all in on this, plotting against you, even mingi hid it. frantic, you think back to the empty condom packets in his car, how he’d told you they weren’t his. and it’s true, he hasn’t kept any in his room, but if he’s been driving shuhua around…
you did tell him that you needed space, that you were hanging out with friends and he should do the same, you just— you didn’t think it’d be this. you didn’t think he’d hurt you.
[you] please call me
you set the phone down on your thigh, staring at the carpeted floor as you wait, then act like you’re startled when it begins to ring not even ten seconds after.
you pick it up, the girls pretending like they’re not listening as you make a face at the so unexpected caller before answering.
you don’t even get a word out as he’s instantly asking, “are you okay?”
“hey, what’s up?” you greet him, shrugging in response to minnie’s arched brow.
your heart sinks as you hear a girl’s voice in the background, which is quickly muffled as a door closes. shutting her out.
gently, yunho says, “you tell me, baby.”
“uh, i’m kind of at yuqi’s, why?” you prompt him, knowing he’s smart enough to catch on.
yunho chuckles as it clicks. “ah, i see how it is. you wanna get out of there?”
your face drops in accordance to your fake response, “oh, shit. okay. i’ll see you soon?”
he hums, his smirk audible even through the phone, and your thighs press together at the deep noise. “yeah. you will.”
you catch karina’s voice again, asking yunho something beyond the door, and yet the call doesn’t end until you hang up.
“yunho called,” you announce, answering their nosey stares. “something happened with my dad, i think. he’s coming to get me now.”
“your dad.” shuhua repeats, humming as she takes the information in. you blink, silently daring her to give you a reason to pop off. “i’ve been meaning to ask, what’s the deal there? are you half-siblings, step-siblings, your parents just date..?”
you gulp down all the curses you long to throw at her cocky little smile. “they were married, and got divorced, but they’re back together now.” nausea spreads its tendrils through your gut as you feel the need to say, “yunho and i aren’t related by blood.”
“noted.” shuhua replies, giggling at how serious your face had fallen. “i just think it’s funny, ‘cause some people thought you were dating.”
your frown deepens, jaw grinding your teeth to dust. ‘you’re thinking it, aren’t you?’ you so badly want to say. ‘you think you know us, you think you know what’s going on between us, but you don’t. you’ll never understand. calling him my brother isn’t enough. yunho means more than that to me, and he loves me more than you’ll ever feel in your life.’
“so funny.” is all you say, deadpan.
all four heads turn at the approaching rumble of an engine, and it’s only a few moments later that your phone’s buzzing in your hands.
[DO NOT ANSWER] Here baby
that was.. suspiciously quick. after saying a curt goodbye, giving a half-assed hug to minnie who cornered you on your way out, then sliding into the passenger side of yunho’s car, you tell him as much.
“you speed here or what?”
he chuckles, eyes tracking the seatbelt as it crosses your chest. “i was in the neighbourhood.”
you don’t think too much of it, already blurting out, “everyone’s being so fucking weird.”
he hums, intrigued. “trouble in paradise?”
“wouldn’t you like to know.” you scoff, knowing full well you’re about to rant every last detail. “ugh. either i’m losing my mind, or everyone secretly hates me.”
“i don’t.” yunho replies, smug as ever while you glare at him. “what makes you think that, though?”
“i can tell the girls are keeping something from me, i just don’t know what.” you frown, the ache of jealousy welling up in your chest. “and mingi hung out with shuhua without telling me.”
yunho’s head snaps to you at her name, just as quick to snap back to the road, and it has your chest twisting in fear, wondering what the hell that reaction is supposed to mean. he sighs, pressing his lips into a firm line. “that’s shitty of him to hide it from you.”
“you seem well informed.” you quip bluntly, not expecting him to throw his head back in a laugh. a smile fights its way to your lips, just before they begin to tremble, green flashing hot in your vision. “why would he do this, yunho?”
your voice dropping to a shaky whisper has him ripping his eyes from the road to check your face, his brows pinched in worry, fingers tightening around the wheel. it still hurts him to see you like this, at least. “i can’t answer for him,” he replies, meeting your eyes to let you see the sincerity in them. “but hiding it implies he’s aware it’ll upset you, for whatever reason that may be.”
“well, he’s right to think that.” you seethe, crossing your arms as you sink into the seat. “i am fucking upset now.”
yunho smiles, wide and bright, and you know he must be overjoyed that you and mingi aren’t all sunshine and rainbows right now. despite knowing that to be fact, it’s oddly… comforting speaking to him, hearing his opinion, being able to rant without him following up with therapy talk. asking for his help and him listening without question, even after everything that’s happened.
you’re starting to wonder if you’ve outgrown your group of friends, your own boyfriend, with how things have been falling apart now that you’ve settled back in. the initial excitement has worn off, and they’ve all begun to realise why you never kept in touch all those years. the fact that yunho is the only one in your good graces right now should be incredibly alarming.
maybe it’s because you’re out of practice for emotional intimacy; the basis of all close bonds. at the old town, no girl friendships ever stuck, and all guy friendships ended with a fuck. it was more your fault than theirs. you never invested more than a surface-level version of yourself, with the sole exception of soobin of course — who you only kept around so long because he’s your stepbrother’s doppleganger.
you’re too invested in every little doubt your brain churns out that you hadn’t realised where exactly yunho was driving to. it’s not until he parks by the curb out front that the panic settles in, your eyes on the familiar car in the driveway, avoiding the face that appears in the second-floor window. “why did you take me here?”
yunho wrecks you with a soft smile. “no one’s at home right now, and i know you don’t like being there alone, so.”
“why aren’t you home?”
he reaches to unbuckle your seatbelt for you, effectively ignoring the question. “i’ll see you at school, baby.”
it dawns on you that, once again, you’ve had a completely one-sided conversation. yunho hadn’t said a single thing about himself — like why he was in the area at all — only interested in prying information out of you.
he’s not home because he’d be at karina’s, meeting her family and laying in her bed, that’s fucking why.
to your luck, the front door to the house swings open, cutting off anything you could’ve hoped to yell at yunho. the frame is filled up by mingi, leaning on it with his arms crossed, his face twisted in a scowl.
“thanks, asshole.” you grit out, practically kicking the car door open without a glance back, ignoring his sweet “anytime.” before you’re slamming it shut.
your boyfriend watches the car as it zooms off, his hardened glare falling as he looks to you, pretty features knitted in worry. “are you okay?” he asks, arms dropping to his sides, already reaching for you as you approach.
you push past him, knocking shoulders as he turns with you, wide eyes on your back. “fine.”
“did something happen—”
“you tell me!” you snap, whirling on him. mingi flinches as you raise your voice, large frame shrinking in on itself. his lost eyes beg you for an answer, and you just laugh bitterly. “had fun with shuhua?”
mingi’s adam’s apple bobs in a gulp, and you watch the way a guard slides over his face, preparing himself for the incoming outburst. he says your name as he reaches for your hand, and you snatch it back without thinking. the pain shows on his face instantly and openly, and it crushes you. guilt strikes you in the chest, and it takes you back. gives your blind rage enough pause for mingi to attempt to reach for you again. this time, you let him, his fingers sliding over the back of your hand, thumb finding the inside of your wrist. he strokes his thumb over your pulse; back and forth, back and forth. settling you with just a touch. you don’t want all his patience to go to waste, so you bite your tongue and wait for him to talk first. to explain himself.
“shuhua is a friend.” mingi starts carefully. “we’ve been close for years, but i haven’t really spoken to her since you got back. i figured we could catch up today, and i was going to tell you about it when you got home.” he sounds honest enough — it sounds real enough. as if sensing your doubt, his eyes lock with yours as he affirms, “i promise you.”
you want to believe him. you want to stop this itch at the back of your neck, the whisper in your ear that can’t help but ask, ‘how could he?’. how could mingi only want you? how could he, genuinely, love you? after the wringer your family’s put him through?
both hands grasp his biceps suddenly, eyes boring into his chest where his heart pumps, overcome with the desire to forget all of this, to numb your brain and channel this energy elsewhere. he can see it as your gaze find his, pleading how you want him — need him.
mingi licks his lips, clearly intending to give in, but not before he asks the question that’s been burning down the inside of his head since you got here.
“you and yunho hung out?” he says tentatively, so unsure of himself, nothing but a mutter. it melts your heart before completely ripping it up. your palms slide down his arms, fingers lacing with his.
“oh, no. he just dropped me home. i was with yuqi and minnie, i swear.”
he nods, eyes flicking down to your hands, so fast you could miss it. though he smiles at you like he’s reassured, it reveals the thoughts that he won’t voice. he was waiting for you to touch your face — he was waiting for you to lie.
──
“for fuck’s sake!” you curse, rummaging around in your tote bag to snatch out your ringing phone as it rudely interrupts you mid-sentence.
“just ignore him.” minnie mutters, bored as she picks at her acrylic nails, earning a warning glare from soyeon.
“i have been.” you roll your eyes, having lost count on what number call this is as you slide to hang up yet again. the first time you had answered, reassuring him that class had run a little late and that you’d see him soon. the second time you tried to ignore it, feeling guilty as you locked eyes with his contact picture — a cute candid of him smiling with his chin in his hands, looking up at you in bed — and from the third call onwards it got annoying very quickly.
ever since yunho drove you to his place on saturday, mingi has been leeched to your side like nobody’s business. if anything, you thought you would be hung up over him and shuhua, but you got that all out of your system after he fucked the jealousy out of you — and somehow caught it himself. you just can’t get him to stop clinging. you get it, he’s proved he only has eyes for you, but now it’s suffocating.
“how about you tell us later, when you’re free.” soyeon suggests, tipping her head at your phone. “you should see what he wants.”
“my attention, that’s what.” you groan. “i wanted to join you guys for drinks tonight.”
“another friday,” soyeon reassures with a smile, “the welcome-back party’s tomorrow anyways, we’ll see you there.”
“but we won’t get to hang out!” you argue, and she just shrugs, already walking off with minnie. leaving you standing in the courtyard alone, no choice but to give your giant, embarrassing boyfriend the attention he’s so desperate for.
rolling your eyes, you tap away at your phone, before your head’s whipping in the direction of a sudden shout of your name. your eyes widen at the sight of mingi bounding over, like a dog to a bone.
“hey.” mingi huffs once he’s in front of you, running a hand through his tousled hair, your eyes instinctively tracking his bicep. “why weren’t you answering me?”
“why were you spamming me like a psycho?” you retort, jutting your face at him.
his brows flip over, looking down at you with those sad puppy eyes. “i’ve been waiting for you at the library. you were taking a while, i didn’t know if...” he trails off, and you only understand why when there’s a familiar chuckle behind you, your neck cracking with how fast you turn back.
yunho, sitting cross-legged on the grass in a circle with three other boys: all bronze skinned, two with black hair, one with a deep crimson in the middle. you recognise the redhead as wooyoung, his left arm slung around san’s, yet his chin leaning on the shoulder of the boy to the right — body leaner, face sharper with shaggy shoulder-length hair, wooyoung whispering into his ear as they both stare directly at you.
san’s attention is preoccupied as he flashes a dimpled smile at yunho, your brother’s mouth moving at a mile a minute, too wrapped up in whatever he’s saying to notice you.
is this why mingi was bombarding you with calls? was he worried that yunho would.. get to you? take you away? you get your confirmation when you look to mingi, waiting for you to speak with big, guilty eyes.
“okay.” you say flatly. “let’s go.”
per his request in the first call, you found the rest of your afternoon spent in the library with mingi, textbooks and laptops spread out on your table as you studied together. or, at least, you tried to study while mingi sulked across from you, eyes flitting to you every two seconds like his exam was on what pissed you off and not whatever topic was printed in the thick book in front of him. his anxiety was palpable, leaving a foul taste in your mouth, so with an intake of breath you decided to cut the tension with your voice.
“i’m sorry, mingi.” you start in a gentle murmur, eyes on the table, knowing you’d break if you met his. “i know i’ve been snappy lately. i’m just really stressed out, and i—” cut off. once again, you’re cut off by the low hum of a phone vibrating.
your eyes widen as they land on mingi’s phone, bright and buzzing with a call from shuhua. despite how quick he swipes to hang it up, you could tell it was her, because of her contact photo — a photo of them, together. their cheeks smushed together to fit in the frame, their smiles almost connected in a kiss. it looked like a couple’s photo, for fuck’s sake.
you’re completely wiped of any apologies.
“actually,” you start before you can stop, all the spite that’s lurked in the depths of your brain taking full rein of your voice. “i don’t think i can do this anymore.”
“what??” he blurts out, paying no mind to the turning heads as he blanches at you. “wh-what? you— why? why not?”
a small, supressed part of you feels horrible for the way silver lines his eyes, mouth trembling as he toes the verge of breaking down. though, you’re more concerned with drawing attention in the library, so you try to soften the blow before he explodes.
“i need a step back, from us.” you double down, his lashes almost overflowing with unshed tears. “i’m really struggling. you know that, mingi. i can’t keep letting it hurt our relationship. i need time.. to myself, to get everything in order before i can think about taking care of someone else.”
“you don’t need to take care of me, i’m here to help you. that’s my job.” he tries to fight it, like it’s just another passing moment of self-doubt he has to talk you out of. bless his heart. “i love you. you hear me? i love you, nothing could ever change that.”
his phone lockscreen lights up with a string of notifications before shuhua’s calling again, mingi cussing under his breath as he hangs up, yet it only stretches the rift between you. what business does she have blowing up his phone like she has a right to his time — like you do?
“just stop ignoring her, mingi.” you try not to spit, keeping your voice even. “go to her. she can comfort you.”
he blinks through his blurred vision, with upturned brows and a gut-wrenching pout. he blinks until he knows for sure that this is real life, that this is serious. you’re really done with him.
“do you think..” he trails off when his voice cracks, clearing his throat before starting again. “are we still together?”
you frown, hating the way he sounds so fucking wrecked, how it’s all your fault. “not right now, no. i can’t, mingi.”
“what about after?”
you smile ruefully, clenching your fists under the table, resisting the urge to touch your face before you answer. “i need to get there first, okay?”
honestly, you didn’t know. you’re not sure he’ll even want you again. not with shuhua on his tail. but it’s for the best — she is what’s best for him. it’s very likely that mingi was just bonded to you out of guilt, and you’re not actually meant to be together. you’re not beneficial for each other.
mingi doesn’t want to, but he nods, accepting it. because he’d never argue with you.
──
you didn’t give a fuck. neither did he as he tipped the bottom of the shot glass to the roof, draining the sour liquor down your throat. you squeezed your eyes for half a second as you pushed it down, opening them with a squeal as the alcohol spread warm through your chest; heat flaring in your nose, eyes watering a little from its bite.
the boy with the soft face and thick bangs just marvelled at you, dapping you up. “you take it better than my hyungs.”
you giggled so hard you could kiss him, instinctively leaning into his side, skin already buzzing. you’d found him in the kitchen, beelining here after slipping through the front door, any escape from your sight futile as soon as you demanded he give you the strongest shit this place has got. he’d cocked his head, asked if you were sure, then challenged you to an arm wrestle — which lasted about a millisecond before he was pouring you a shot of the lime-scented spirit.
you’d had a coughing fit, wiped your mouth, then presented your hand for a second round. you’ve lost count of how many times he’s pinned your wrist to the counter, but you don’t care as long as the drinks keep flowing down your throat.
you can just vaguely recall his name — jongho — the one minnie said had a thick dick and a freak in the sheets. you were contemplating finding out, biting your lip as he told you some story you weren’t hearing, right until you register a second presence in the kitchen.
“yeosangie!” jongho greets, beckoning him over with open arms. your breath hitched, the sight of him sucking you right back into memories you’d rather leave buried in your current state.
rich brown hair falling in wisps around his face, the rest pulled up with a ribbon into a short ponytail. the years had left him even more gorgeous, yet his eyes still wide as they always were, flicking between you both.
jongho introduces you to yeosang by name — like he doesn’t already know it — which you realise that you never provided.
“wait— you know me?”
“of course i do.” jongho snickers. “mingi doesn’t shut up about you.”
that name has your gut twisting, longing to burn with even more alcohol until it forgets. yeosang’s eyes manage to widen more as he says, “but aren’t you with yunho?”
you’re about two seconds from snatching the bottle of lime liquor from jongho’s unnecessarily strong hands.
“bro, she’s his sister.”
yeosang’s face pinches in silent shock, and you take that as a sign to prop your elbow back up on the counter, daring jongho to win another round of arm-wrestling. he just tuts at you, wagging a finger.
“uh-uh, i can hear them calling my name for beer pong.” right on cue, san’s screaming from across the house, summoning jongho like he’s the final boss. “i’ll be right back.” he pats yeosang on the shoulder, muttering something you can’t hear despite straining to.
jongho takes the liquor bottle with him as he disappears behind the archway, and you don’t waste a second in marching over to the fridge, ignoring yeosang’s frantic stammers as you lug it open and grab the first alcoholic drink your fingers can find.
ah, a nice cold can of beer. you hate the taste of this shit. fitting, you guess, since you’ve only ever used to drink them when sneaking some from your dad. now you’ve got not one but two things to remind you of the worst period of your life. you look to the other, popping the can open and taking a hearty swig while holding his worried stare. a bead of liquid runs down your chin and drops to your chest, yet yeosang’s eyes are focused entirely on yours. a part of you is disappointed.
he gulps, oddly intimidated. “when did.. you and yunho..?”
“yep. my stepbrother. since we were kids.” you shrug, licking your lips. “it’s a long story.” yeosang wears his bafflement plainly, and you know he must be drawing the similarities between yunho and soobin. eager to distract him, you ask, “you still a nerd?”
that gets him to chuckle, albeit awkwardly. “i guess, yeah. i moved here on a scholarship.” you respond in the form of a nod, and an uncomfortable silence falls between you, yeosang fidgeting with his thumbs as he thinks of how to fill it. “uh, so what brings you back?”
you grimace at another hefty sip of the beer. you won’t care about the taste when you’re gone enough, and you need the liquid courage right now. this small-talk is boring the hell out of you, and you know yeosang wouldn’t let you fuck him again, so you’re going to have to bear it.
“our parents got back together. i figured it’s about time i go back to school, too.” you frown, right before the words come tumbling out, “i’m sorry by the way.”
yeosang’s eyes soften, head tilting. “what for?”
for breaking your friend’s heart, finding out you had a crush on me then fucking you, just to get back with said friend… “um. everything?”
he shakes his head, shifting closer. “you know i’m not upset over it, right?” he smiles, reminiscent. “i still haven’t told anyone”
your brows scrunch. “soobin never found out?”
yeosang laughs, genuine this time, shining his teeth in a grin. “it’s funny, he told me a bit ago that he always knew. but it didn’t seem like he cared.”
you shiver, cringing. “you still talk?”
“sometimes. he still asks about you.” he giggles at your groan. “also, he told me he’s been dating men.”
your eyes bug out of your head. “seriously?”
“yeah. said you were the only girl he ever loved. thought you should know.”
“damn, i broke his heart so bad he turned gay.” you ponder down at your beer. “no, that uh.. that actually makes a lot of sense.”
“it’s crazy seeing you again.” he muses, crossing his arms, the muscles bulging. you ogle without a care in the world, and he furrows his brows, coy. “so.. you and mingi? when did that happen?”
instead of answering, you flip the beer can with a tip of your chin, emptying the rest of it in a swift gulp. yeosang has to grab your wrists to stop you from crushing the can against your forehead, overcome with the urge to beat the pathetic thoughts out of there by force.
freshly single and depressed, you’d dragged yourself out of your tear-stained bedsheets, dolled yourself up in the tiniest and tightest dress you own, and still showed up for the welcome-back party; eager to drink away your sorrows. neither the girls nor mingi knew that you ended up coming, but you figured you’d find company on your own just fine — particularly someone with a bed you could warm tonight.
your skin was on fire under yeosang’s hands holding your shoulders, his mellow voice like honey in your ears. “how about we drink some water now?” he near-pleads, trying to sit you down on a stool by the island bench while you’re actively fighting him, eyes honed on the fridge.
“hey, baby.”
that fucking word has a shiver racing up your back, your saucer eyes darting to the archway — confused as they land on the crimson-haired, honey-skinned boy there instead. he’s smirking at yeosang like he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have, and you realise that the petname was directed at him, not you.
wooyoung faux-gasps, waltzing into the kitchen with a hand on his chest. “how dare you cheat on sannie’s boyfriend with mangi’s girlfriend?!”
yeosang closes his eyes with a tired sigh, murmuring lowly to you, “we’re not—”
“you can act a tease all you want, sangie, i’m gonna catch you one of these days.” wooyoung rounds on him quickly and smacks a kiss to his cheek, the elder audibly recoiling. the redhead menace leans his hip against the counter, taking you in with hungry eyes. “and what are you doing here all alone, sweetie?”
you giggle, swaying in the spot, your empty stomach expediting the effects of the chugged beer. both boys reach for you, their hands ready to catch as they hover in the air. wooyoung tips his chin as he murmurs something to yeosang, the brunette shaking his head in response, and you seethe over being left out.
wooyoung steadies you as you start for the fridge, chuckling at your disappointed pout. “aw, don’t pull that face at me, ‘cause it’ll work.” you fall forward into his chest, hoping it’ll entice him into giving you another drink, but he just pulls you off with gentle arms. his smile is still playful as he looks down at you, yet his eyes swirl with something softer. “do you remember me?” already tipsy, there’s a roadblock stopping you from accessing any memories that aren’t here and now, so you just shake your head at him. “we went to the same high school. i was in the year above, with sangie.” his smile stretches wider as your brows flip over, silently terrified for where this could be going. “i was friends with soobin. we met a few times.”
you gulp, feeling too vulnerable under their heavy gazes. “did we… did you and i ever—”
“we kissed once during truth or dare.” he pats your shoulder, sensing you need the reassurance. “don’t worry. i might be a slut, but i’m mindful about it. i won’t take a friend’s girl.”
you and yeosang share a glance. “oh.. okay.”
you choose peace by believing wooyoung’s version of the story, since yours is a complete blank from around that time. you were fully expecting to hear that you’d fucked him while shitfaced, and it wouldn’t even come as a surprise. those last few years of high school you spent at the town had all blurred into one; days and faces blending across weekends hollowed by liquor. the only memory that ever stuck was soobin — and well, it’d help that he has yunho’s face.
wooyoung cackles to snap you out of your little rumination, jostling you until you reluctantly smile, taking you under his arm and leading you to the fridge. yeosang goes to protest, but wooyoung just puckers his lips at him as he walks by, silencing the brunette with the threat of a kiss. “don’t be a party pooper, sangie. she’s still allowed to drink.”
wooyoung digs around in the fridge, bottles and cans clinking as he stuffs his hands with a mix of poison. he sets out three red plastic cups on the counter, filling them almost to the brim with two different bottles of clear liquor, then topped with a dash of raspberry soda. if you weren’t desperate to be black-out drunk, you’d question whether he’s trying to kill you. wooyoung hands you one of the special cocktails, tapping his cup to yours while yeosang shakes his head. “here’s to soobin.”
bottom’s up, you let the bitter drink sting your throat until you’re almost choking on it. you pull back as you cough, tears in your eyes as the alcohol hits you full-force, yet you continue to take little sips until your body settles down.
“damn.” san comments, peering into your already half-empty cup. you blink blearily as you register the new presence, the wide-shouldered stud slinging an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. dimples pop from his cheeks as he smiles at you, helping himself to the third cup on the counter. “you with us?”
you nod, bringing a hand to your forehead as it throbs harshly, pissed off at you for chugging poison. you distract yourself with another gulp of the drink; you need to be gone enough to not register pain.
san brings the cup to his nose, gagging just at the smell. he narrows his eyes at wooyoung. “how could you give her this shit?”
“she’s tanking it, isn’t she!” wooyoung marvels at you, somehow still standing, when he himself felt nausesous and had to hold his breath after the cheers. “i heard you were almost outdrinking us at sannie’s birthday. i wanted to say hi, but yunho was all over you. couldn’t interrupt the lovebirds.”
for a second, the kitchen falls silent enough to hear a pin drop. the boys staring at wooyoung, you suddenly interested in the colour of your drink. the redhead cusses as he realises his error.
“shit, i shouldn’t say that. he’s with karina now, isn’t he..” wooyoung leans in with a hand shielding his mouth from san, whispering, “looked better with you though.”
you force a smile, mentally prepared for their reactions as you reply, “he’s my stepbrother.”
yeosang puts his head in his hands as the couple loudly react in shock, lots of ‘but why’s thrown in there. it puts into perspective how fucking weird your sibling relationship was from the outside, even before you did anything together. people assuming you were dating should’ve been the wake-up call, but you wanted to think that it was only because yunho’s never been openly close with a girl like that. because your bond is special and it only has to make sense to you two. jealousy over your own brother should’ve been the wake-up call for yourself.
“my whole family calls me ‘baby’. yunho and i have always been really close.” you answer to one of their many questions. wooyoung nods along, starting to get it, while san’s face screw up even more.
speaking out loud, san wonders, “but why did he get like that on my..” he catches himself, waving it off. “nevermind.”
your heart sinks, wanting to hide from what’s coming and yet longing to hear it. “why did he what?”
wooyoung presses his lips into a firm line, electing himself as the bearer of bad news as san refuses to elaborate. “on sannie’s birthday. you left, and when yunho realised, he was freaking out. he was asking everyone if they’d seen you, and he just kept drinking, not chilling out for one second. poor joongie, he had to be the one to console angry bigfoot.” your heartstrings are in knots as you recall the voicemail from hongjoong, the dark bags under yunho’s eyes. “and then he started crying. like, really bad. he kept saying he wanted you, he needed to find you, cussing mingi out. we all thought mingi stole you from him. i don’t even know how hongjoong managed to get him home, since sannie and i were fuckin’ nasty upstairs.”
you nod, barely giving it time to sink in before you’re chucking back the rest of your drink, much to the boys’ surprise. their frantic words can’t stop you from downing it, and your head spins for only a moment before you’re back — barely there, but conscious. standing, blinking, breathing. eager for more.
wooyoung cheers, pulling you into his side. “finally, someone who wants to fucking party!” you don’t notice the equally worried and disappointed expressions on san and yeosang; nor the way san’s low voice tries to talk wooyoung out of it before he mirrors you and chugs his drink.
wooyoung shrugs his boyfriend off, turning to the tall bottles of liquor he left strewn about the counter, pouring the same strong concoction into your empty cups. “we’re gonna have some fun, my girl. let’s ditch these losers, whaddya think?”
you giggle as he places the drink in your hand, then curls his fingers around the other, leaving san and yeosang behind as he leads you out of the kitchen.
you try to keep up with the social butterfly as he interacts with randoms from all angles, his hand snug around yours as you venture through the house, getting a taste of the fun happening in each room. tongue numb and eyes blurry from the bitter drink, you’re careless as you let loose, acting on each whim that occurs to you — soon becoming a singular, overwhelming urge with heat coursing through your veins.
you bat your lashes, bite your lip, caress arms and faces as wooyoung just eggs you on and does the same. you’re a lethal pair together, zero restraint between you as you flirt your way through the crowds, meeting each and every intrigued glance that people throw your way.
your body locks in the spot as your eyes freeze on a certain pair of deep brown, coated in disgust as they narrow at the nonexistent space between wooyoung’s body and yours. the redhead cuts off a sweet-talking sophomore to turn and check on you, as he felt you suddenly tense up next to him.
you can’t feel your face, but you hope it’s twisted into the nastiest glare you can manage as you return the look karina’s sending over her shoulder. you don’t have the heart to glance at the boy at her side; back facing you as he towers over her, completely oblivious to your presence with a long arm slung dangerously low around her hips.
sick to your fucking stomach, you go to empty your cup before realising you’ve already drunk all of it. wooyoung hands you his with a knowing nod, flipping karina off as you chug to your soul’s content. “i hate that bitch too.”
you gasp for air once the alcohol’s down your throat, crushing the empty plastic cup in your hand and throwing it somewhere amongst the crowded room. “more.” you demand him hoarsely.
he flashes that foxy grin. “you’re the boss.”
your sights set on finding someone to hook up with asap, you and wooyoung circle back to the kitchen, stumbling upon jongho and yeosang; their faces grave as they take the state of you both in.
“sup homos.” wooyoung greets them, letting you slip from his side as you go straight for the fridge. “damn, why are we all standing around like someone got shot?”
“what do you think you’re doing, wooyoung?” jongho says outright, stern. you don’t pay the boys any mind, perusing the fridge for your new pick of poison, and settling on a bottle of white wine.
the redhead rolls his eyes, gesturing at you with a sassy flick of his hand. “i’m watching her.”
“did you have to get her black-out drunk?” yeosang speaks up, his usual mellow tone nowhere to be found.
“you know we don’t have to ruin her night, right?” wooyoung huffs, an instigative smile tugging at his lips. “if she wants to drink, have some fun, fucking let her. it’s not like anything’s gonna happen.”
yeosang makes a startled noise as you sip straight from the wine bottle; not a care in the world as your eyes drink jongho in, tongue running over your teeth. “if you have a problem, jongho, we could go somewhere else? just you and me?”
you slouch back against the counter, showing off your body in a way you hope is enticing, and yet his eyes stay put on yours. jongho shakes his head, not a flicker of contemplation passing across his face: rejected. he didn’t even have to think about it.
you click your teeth in annoyance, lolling your head across your shoulder as you hone in on the ponytailed brunette at his side. “what about you, yeosangie?” you coo, delighting in the blush that peppers his cheeks. “pretty boy.. i should’ve asked soobin for a threesome back in the day.”
yeosang stammers, visibly flustered, yet he makes no move to reciprocate your efforts as wooyoung snatches your wrist and drags you back out from where you came.
you whine at him once he releases the tight grip, shoving a finger in your face as he says, “okay, we’re friends, but that one is all mine. you’re not allowed to have sangie until i—”
“i’m not allowed to have anyone!” you sulk, punctuating it with a stomp of your foot like a child. wooyoung’s mouth drops open a little, amused. “they all look but none of them wanna touch. why won’t someone just match my energy??”
wooyoung’s eyes flit behind your head, his smirk digging further into his cheeks, before both of his hands come to rest on your shoulders. his head tilts closer, almost as if he’s going for a kiss before he whispers, “that is why.”
you follow his line of sight, looking over your shoulder to catch yunho death-staring him from across the room. within a blink it’s gone, an artificial smile on his face now that you’re looking. you almost return it out of pure instinct, but when your gaze snags on the shiny-haired, curvy-bodied girl leaning into his side, you have no remorse as you turn back to wooyoung.
you’re eager to make some more bad choices together, and yet you find your evil twin.. distracted, tongue poking his cheek as he looks into the next room over. you notice a group all tangled up on a twister mat; san in the fray on his hands and knees, ass mapping abstract shapes in the air.
“i’ve gotta go pounce on that.” wooyoung mutters before he pulls you into a hug, uncaring that yunho’s watching. “i wish you good fortune at finding some dick, my girl.”
wooyoung practically skips over to join his boyfriend positioned in doggy, leaving you and your wine bottle stranded amidst the room chock-full with strangers, people you’ve never seen and won’t see again.
you spin on jelly legs, scanning surrounding faces for any that you recognise. you’re moving before you can register it, shouldering your way through upperclassmen dancing and vaping, right until you find yourself in a room you can actually breathe in. a large flatscreen tv playing some baseball game is the centerpiece, much calmer groups of people strewn about the lounge and floor.
your sight hones in on a guy sitting by himself on an armchair, leaning back with his legs spread as he scrolls on his phone. you do a double-take, triple-take, in disbelief that you’re seeing things right. he’s stunning — tall, toned, jet-black hair and a nice nose to sit on. so your type.
you saunter over to him, holding out your hand, getting him to tip his chin up. you offer nothing but your name, and his mouth curls into a lethal smirk. he sits up, drops his phone to the chair and takes your hand in his, fingers long and smooth.
“seonghwa.” he tells you, voice deep and velvety. “what year are you in, baby?”
you press your thighs together, crazy about the way it sounds on his tongue. “first.”
his brows shoot up, and he leans back into the chair with a snicker, legs spreading wider. your eyes fall to his crotch. “i’m not trying to catch a case.”
“you won’t.” you say without missing a beat, mouth nearly drooling over how his jeans hug his thighs, the band of his boxers peaking at the hips. “i took a gap year after high school. i’m twenty, promise.”
seonghwa hums, tongue poking his cheek. “then who gave you that?” his eyes point at the whole wine bottle still in your hand.
“no one.” you murmur, acutely aware of how his gaze drags over your body. “i just took it.”
he snickers, his free hand coming to brush on the inside of his thigh, your own rubbing each other raw. “well, this seat’s free, if you wanna take it too.”
you nod, letting him pull you in, both his hands on your waist as he gently positions you on his lap. you shift like you’re getting comfortable, and his eyes darken, a solid heat prodding your ass. you smile at him, every intention to see it with your own eyes later. seonghwa will be more than enough to satisfy this relentless itch under your skin.
you’re blind to the time that passes as you sit on top of seonghwa; drawling and cooing to one another, sharing sips of the wine, your eyes on each other’s lips. your arms found themselves slung around his neck, and his fingers had crept under the hem of your dress, drawing on the skin of your inner thigh.
gradually, your head falls to the crook of his neck, the overwhelming need nearly burning you from the inside out. you sighed into his ear, lips brushing the shell, begging him to touch you where your body’s screaming for it with a weak “please.”
seonghwa had sucked in a sharp breath, his face tilting to yours, and yet something completely rips his attention away — eyes shooting off into the distance, hands falling off your body. you sit up straight, close to chewing him out, until he speaks up first.
“uh oh, fun police.”
you turn to follow his eyes, instantly finding a glaring, brunette shorty with his arms crossed. jongho’s in his ear, gesturing at you both, with a guilt-stricken yeosang standing at his side. he starts stomping over, the crowd parting for the tiny ball of fury, and it’s not until he’s standing in front of you do you realise that it’s hongjoong — not recognising him without the bright orange hair.
“why, seonghwa?” hongjoong sighs. “do you have to pull this tonight?”
“full-naming me?” seonghwa hums, eyes alight with more interest than you’ve seen in him all night. “i don’t see what’s wrong, we’re just talking.” he shrugs, looking to you. “right baby?”
you frown, eyes flicking between them, the potent energy that you can tell has nothing to do with your presence. still, you nod for him, only in hopes that he’ll still fuck you.
hongjoong rubs his forehead, tired. “hwa, shit will go down if he sees this—”
seonghwa laughs once, a mocking noise. “oh, did he tell you that? you’re friends again now?”
“can you at least care about how mingi would feel??” hongjoong snaps, your heart sinking beneath the floorboards at the mention.
“...he’s here?” you mutter, barely above a whisper. both seniors fall gravely silent.
there’s something wrong — it’s as sure as the air you find yourself unable to breathe. why wasn’t he at home, torn up over you like you were over him? what reason did he have to still come as if he’d enjoy it without you? there had to be a reason. you already knew the reason, but you needed to see it with your own eyes. you had to feel the hurt to know it was true.
“where is he?” you ask them, voice threadbare, and yet no answers fall upon your ringing ears. you take it upon yourself to jump from seonghwa’s lap and leave the room, pacing through sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke with tunnel vision.
you steal half-full cups from tables and knock them back, but with how your head spins and floats away from your body, you definitely didn’t need them. you ignore a call of what might be your name, you scowl at a pretty girl who you think you hate, you stumble upon a redhead twerking on a muscled hottie. you just keep on pushing through the crowd, right until there’s girls laughter in your ears, beautiful and alluring like a siren’s song. you follow it, recognising that bleached blonde and high ponytail from a mile away, intending to ask if they’d seen mingi.
and yet you see him yourself.
he’s smiling, laughing, shuhua at his side as she says something that can’t possibly be that funny; yuqi and minnie across from them, happy as ever, like they aren’t plunging a knife deep into your back.
you can’t feel anything but fire, rising up inside you and boiling your blood, your legs charging across the room; smoke pouring from your nose and ears, from your mouth as you open it, words roaring out beyond your control.
“just couldn’t wait to get your dick wet, huh?” you spout, bile bitter in your throat as all four heads whip to you with saucer eyes.
yuqi covers her mouth, minnie looks around for answers, shuhua scowls at you while your ex rubs at his forehead.
“babe—” he starts before realising and cutting himself off, settling on calling you by your name. “can we…” his hands are in his hair, making a mess of it as he pleads you with big, glossy eyes. “let’s go talk somewh—”
“why?” shuhua butts in, looking only at him, like she’s too good to acknowledge you. “you don’t have to go anywhere with her if she’s gonna talk to you like shit.”
“oh, you tell him what to do now?” you scoff, nothing but venom in the noise. “you take care of his needs?”
yuqi says your name, trying to step in. “don’t do this,”
you silence her with nothing but a look, earning a harsh glare from minnie that you ignore.
shuhua tips her chin up at mingi, her voice not quiet enough as she murmurs, “did you tell her about us?”
all you see is red.
“oh. okay.” your mouth drops open in a senseless cackle, heads peering in your direction as you spit, “tell me, how does my fucking sloppy seconds taste, shuhua? does he still moan like a girl when you sit on his dick? does he cry for you to let him cum?”
shuhua bites right back, “do you even realise who had him first?”
“stop it!” minnie exclaims, arms outstretched to keep you both from closing the distance and ripping into one another. “both of you shut the fuck up!”
feeling broken enough, you let yourself look at mingi, whose eyes never left you. only now, they’re lined with silver, his lips pressed firm together to stop them from trembling. yuqi jabs a finger in your face, demanding you apologise, but you’re already storming off without a second thought — pushing past all the turning bodies as tears blur your vision, running as far as your feet will take you.
you don’t even realise someone’s caught you until you lurch in the spot, firm arms pulling you in and pressing your head to their chest.
“yunho?”
“it’s me, baby.” you think it’s him before you bring your head up, locking eyes with seonghwa instead. “what happened?”
“he never told me they were together,” you sob hysterically, sputtering and choking on the words. “i thought i was the only one. i thought he loved me.”
seonghwa shushes you, gently guiding you to walk with him, his hands around your middle all to keep you grounded. it’s all nothing but a blur until he’s sitting you down on the tiled floor, and you realise you’ve made it into a bathroom as he shuts the door behind him.
your head and stomach spiral in unison, bleary eyes seeing double as you watch seonghwa typing on his phone. he pockets it and crouches in front of you, holding you against the wall by your shoulders since you were on the verge of folding in on yourself.
“we’ll get you some water very soon, okay?” he promises you with the softest, sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. “on my count, will you breathe with me?”
breathing, counting.. “five things?”
“what?” his hand slides over your cheek, propping your lolling head upright. “hey.”
“hi~” you giggle, a smile breaking out on his face despite himself. with feeble hands you reach for him, loosely tugging at his shirt. “kiss me.”
seonghwa shuts his eyes, exhaling. “i would if i could, baby.”
“why won’t you?” you pout, on the verge of fresh tears. “‘cause of hongjoong?”
seonghwa stutters, caught off-guard, yet he doesn’t get another word out as the door’s swinging open. his hands fly off of you as a tall, handsome boy steps in.
“thanks, hwa.” comes a deep voice, one that your heart recognises and has crying out in relief. “you’re the only loyal asshole around here.”
the senior stands, giving you one last, guilty glance before seeing himself out. you hear the door shut, and an uncapped bottle of water comes into your vision, getting you to drag your head up and acknowledge him.
yunho, on his knees in front of you, smiling softly. you glance at the water, then back at him, seonghwa’s words rushing to the forefront of your brain: the promise that ‘we’ll’ get water, like he knew it was already coming. that’s why seonghwa had his phone out, he must’ve texted yunho.
that’s why seonghwa had found you at all.
the entire night crashes into you in waves, scattered memories of differents boys that you were too drunk to think of as anything other than potential fucks. jongho and yeosang keeping you in the kitchen, wooyoung taking you all over the place, seonghwa sitting you in his lap and hongjoong warning him against it. his friends have been hovering you like fucking flies, and it must’ve only been because yunho had told them to. none of them actually wanted to hang out with you, actually cared about you, it was all orchestrated so you didn’t fuck any man who wasn’t him — and maybe so you didn’t find out mingi was here too.
you shove at his chest, his eyes wide as water spills between you. “you got your fucking friends to babysit me??”
yunho smirks, guilty. “not everyone.” he admits, knowing there’s not a chance you’ll remember this. “they all know not to piss me off, though.”
“so what, you get to stick your dick in karina, while i can only talk to men that you allow?”
“why can’t you talk to mingi?” he retorts with a smile too soft for the blow it deals to your heart. your gaze falters to the tiles, lips trembling, and yunho sets the water bottle aside with a tut, pinching your chin between his fingers. “aw, baby. i know. i know.” you almost cry over the way he says it, so pitiful, so demeaning. “don’t say i never told you so.”
you try to pry his grip off with shaky fingers, though he just adds another hand, both palms sliding over your cheeks as he forces you to look him in the eye. he’s grinning, revelling in how vulnerable you are, how he can punish you for every little way you’ve torn his heart out these past few months.
“this,” yunho’s head tips up and down, giving you a once over. “this is your dad.”
violated, you claw at his hands and wrists, while he just sinks his fingers into your cheeks further. “what the fuck does that mean??”
“you know exactly what i mean.” he laughs, completely aware of the way his words sink beneath your skin like barbed wire. “do you understand how much it hurts me, seeing my baby sister beg each and every one of my friends to fuck her?”
“they fucking would too.” you spit back at him. “if only you didn’t have a finger up all of their asses.”
he just keeps smiling, in pure delight that you’re retaliating precisely how he hoped you would. “you’re mad i’m looking out for you?”
“i’m mad you keep controlling my fucking life!”
“well, if your dad won’t do his job right, someone has to.” your face falters, and it only spurs him on, wanting to provoke you as much as he can. “that’s where this all started. he was never there, too busy fucking a woman who wasn’t his wife, so you keep trying to fill that void with men that don’t give a shit about you. am i wrong so far?”
you bite your tongue. even though you’re nothing but a drunk shell of yourself, you know that intelligent brain of his is picking apart yours with ease. the truth hurts, each word pierces, and yet you crave it. you want him to read you down to the marrow; you want to be seen.
yunho licks his lips before moving in on you, face hovering over yours, sandalwood assaulting your senses. “i can be that for you, and yet you’re too scared to let me.”
you hold your breath, knowing the tears clumping your lashes will fall if you don’t. timidly, you whisper, “why can’t you just be normal?”
his brows scrunch, genuinely confused. “and love you less?”
“this isn’t love, yunho. i don’t know if something happened to you that made you this way but, it’s not okay. you’re fucked up.”
“go on, what else am i?” he eggs you on with a grin, getting right in your face, following each time you try to look away. “tell me, i’m desperate to hear.”
your hand flies up, channelling all your might into slapping him — then giving him no time to react before you knee him in the stomach, knocking him back on his ass.
for a second he’s left looking off to the side in shock, red blooming on his cheek until he smiles harder, huffing a satisfied noise as his eyes slowly find yours. you already know it before you glance down, seeing that he’s hard in his jeans.
he catches you off guard by suddenly crawling forward on his hands. you brace against the wall as his body cages you in, his face diving for yours, and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss — that never comes.
your eyes fly open, yunho chuckling with lips ghosting over yours. “still so easy.”
you lunge at him with your entire body, the surprise attack giving you an opening to stand on wobbly knees, powering through the urge to collapse as you go straight for the door and slip out of the room. you just keep running, not daring another look back, pushing through people and furniture until heaven’s clouds part in the form of an open door.
you manage to make it outside, your body giving out once you’re breathing fresh air, collapsing into the grass on your hands and knees. you don’t even realise what’s going to happen until saliva pours from your mouth, the only warning sign before acid burns your throat and you’re heaving the remnants of every drink you shouldn’t of had.
you’re officially out of it, since you hadn’t even felt someone pulling your hair back, their other hand gently stroking your back and murmuring at you from behind. you’re left gasping once it’s all out of your system, only knowing there’s another person here by the voice that comes.
“you’re done for the night.” soyeon tells you sternly, and you don’t even have the strength left to fight it. “come on, let’s get away from this. up we go.” she hooks her arms under yours, basically dragging you through the grass until your back hits the wall of the house, leaving you propped up against it.
she steps away to quickly finish the half-burnt cigarette between her fingers — the whole reason she was out here before you came crashing down — binning the butt before she crouches in front of you.
“have you eaten today?” soyeon asks, only getting a mumble in response. “any water?” this time you don’t even reply, and she snaps her fingers in your face, getting you to open your eyes. “hey. i need you to cooperate with me here.”
“mm.. neither.”
you’re sure you’d be embarrassed by the look on her face if your vision wasn’t completely blurred. soyeon mutters a cuss and pulls her phone out, fingers flying across the keyboard. unfulfilled urges well up inside you, sharp and hot, and it latches onto the beautiful woman taking care of you. you promised yourself you wouldn’t leave here alone. you’ve never really gone there before, but, you can’t say you haven’t dipped your toes in the idea…
“soyeon..” you say softly, and she gives you her attention with a hum. you shamelessly stare at her lips. “have you ever wanted to—”
“—don’t even start.” she cuts in, holding a hand up. “i do not want to be anywhere near that weird roster shit you’ve got going on.”
you frown. “i don’t have a roster..”
“girl.” she huffs a laugh. “i heard that you just tried every boy in that friend group, even the gays.” her brows raise. “now you wanna try being gay.”
“it’d be easier if i was.” you lament, resting your head on your shoulder. “i wouldn’t be so fucked in the head.”
“i agree men are the problem, but don’t say shit like that about yourself around me again.” her scolding you is the last thing you hear as your eyes shut, sleep all too enticing as it pulls you under. “i’ll slap you next time, got it?”
you’re fading in and out of consciousness by the time the other girls rock up, half-listening to their voices.
soyeon starts with, “where’s mingi?”
“i don’t know!” yuqi exclaims, “i asked him what the fuck was going on earlier, why they didn’t come together, and he said to talk to her. i’m assuming they broke up, but she didn’t say anything to us.”
“it’s not really our business.” soyeon replies. “did you see where she came from?”
“i saw her hugging that slut seonghwa, and then they were just gone.” minnie spits. “he definitely fucked her.”
soyeon looks to you, taking your state in. she sighs. “anyone wanna babysit with me?”
“you’re taking her to yours?”
“well obviously there’s a reason she ran out here when her brother and boyfriend— or, whatever, is still inside.” soyeon says firmly. distantly, you wish you could give her a big, wet kiss for being so smart and thoughtful. “i’m getting her out of here, and i’m going to bed. are you coming with or not?”
──
you wake up with a jolt, feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck. you kick off the fluffy blankets from your body, soaked in a thick layer of sweat despite the cool air conditioning that hits you. you take in your surroundings: throw pillows around you on the couch, empty plastic bottles littering the coffee table, a bucket on the floor, alongside your dress from the night before… the smell of breakfast in your nose.
miyeon enters, making a pleasantly surprised noise as she sees you’re awake. there’s a plate of steaming food in her hands, and you almost salivate as you realise she’s bringing it to you. “how’d you sleep?”
you just grumble, your head feeling like it weighs a tonne as you sit up. at least you don’t feel nauseous — you suppose you have all those water bottles to thank, which they must’ve forced you to drink before bed.
miyeon sets the plate in your lap, sitting by your feet on the couch. “do you remember anything from last night?”
already digging in, you shake your head. it’s like a chunk’s been carved out of your memory. some small leftover bits remained, though all of it was before you and wooyoung started prowling on the party. you’d totally blacked out. mission success, but at what cost?
soyeon walks out, yawning and scratching her head, wearing nothing but a tank top and boxers low on her hips. you’re confused at the faint flap of butterflies it causes in your stomach.
“well, you’re gonna need to know.” soyeon adds sternly, sitting herself in an armchair across from you both. “i went through hell taking care of you last night. you can’t pull that shit again.”
“like what?” you ask, shame creeping up the back of your neck. “did we..”
soyeon pinches the bridge of her nose. “nothing happened with us. i took you home, you vomited in my shower, i had to dress you and force you to drink all those.” you sputter, embarrassed, but she just waves it off. “it’s fine, girl. mimi’s put me through worse.”
miyeon shrugs. then, they proceed to recount the details of the night; their sources being yuqi and minnie’s eyewitness account of the explosive confrontation with shuhua, as well as hongjoong’s worried texts to soyeon. this is how you find out they were even friends — by him snitching to her that you were homie-hopping in an effort to stop you.
you can’t believe your ears as they repeat the words that your mouth very much said. you didn’t think you had it in you, but that’s precisely where it came from; your drunk self just had the balls to say what your sober self wouldn’t.
above all, your heart is in stitches for mingi. he invested so much into you, all for you to prove that it was a waste. that every doubt or insult you’d directed at yourself was true, and nothing he’s done could help it. he couldn’t change you.
“so what, mingi’s with her now?” you grit out, trying to stifle the sob that almost left you.
the girls share a glance, then look back to you. soyeon answers, “we.. don’t think so. mingi wouldn’t do that to you.”
“what about shuhua? seems like she’d leap at the chance.”
“don’t say it so certainly. you don’t know.” miyeon shakes her head. “not cool.”
“i do fucking know, because she stole my boyfriend!” you exclaim, incredulous, waving your hands around. “and then the nerve to rub it in? to make it sound like he was cheating on me?”
soyeon sighs, rubbing her forehead. “yes, shuhua’s being petty about it, but she has a good reason to be upset. she’s our friend too, you can’t just talk shit about her and expect us to let you.”
“as if she hasn’t already talked about me.” you throw out in the air with a scoff, not even fully serious, but it dawns on you with their grave silence. “oh my fucking god, she has.”
miyeon rushed to her defence, “she was so heartbroken, okay? we were trying to be there for her—”
“she’s allowed to rant,” soyeon cut in, firmer than miyeon. “but i told her that i didn’t want to hear any more about it after, because it’s wrong to you too.”
“so she’s hated my guts and no one said anything?”
“she loves him too.” soyeon punctuates it with your name, and it manages to rattle you to your core, as if she’s your mother scolding you. “can you, for one second, just see it from her perspective?”
you let up, nodding, and soyeon sighs before continuing, softening her voice as she speaks again. “mingi was as close to her as we are, maybe more. then this girl she didn’t know existed moves back, and mingi drops her like nothing. because their friendship didn’t matter compared to what he once had with you.”
you bite your lip, trying to ignore the horrible surge of pride in your chest over mingi’s blatant devotion to you. it should be unhealthy, it probably is unhealthy, but you don’t care. he’s yours and everyone knows it.
“you started dating what, two weeks in? then living at his house? shuhua hasn’t been hearing from him. and it’s not like she could join us when you were around.” soyeon explains. you try to stifle your smirk. “they’ve only been hanging out because you literally told him to. can you understand why she feels the way she does?”
you gulp down any sarcastic jokes or bitter remarks. soyeon wouldn’t tolerate it for a second, and you know better than to get on her bad side. “i guess.”
“great.” she lets out a big sigh of relief. “i’m sick of this fighting over boys shit. we don’t need another minnie and yuqi situation.” that makes you almost vomit on the spot, remembering how they didn’t defend you last night. how they’ve both fucked your brother. “also, they’re sorry too. you just need to sort your shit out with them yourself.”
“let’s all be friends again!” miyeon adds cheerfully.
you arch a brow. “um, after you just told me that she’s in love with my man?”
miyeon looks to soyeon in a panic, who just shrugs. “she loves him as a friend. but, can you blame her?” your face falls, instant anger flashing hot in your chest — undoubtedly your dad’s — before soyeon waves a hand, as if swatting your imminent retort away. “mingi’s a great guy, and you know that means something coming from me. it’s not like she can let go of a feeling she’s held for years.”
“shuhua knows she needs to get over it.” miyeon meets your eyes, as if making a promise. “and she will. you both just need to give yourselves, and each other, a little more grace. we actually thought you’d get along really well, until all of this...”
──
“well, if it isn’t the campus communal dick.” minnie sneers over the rim of her plastic cup, while your fingers nearly crush yours. she gives him a once over before looking to you, studying your unexpectedly cold reaction to his presence. certainly the opposite of what everyone would be expecting now.
seonghwa presses his lips into a firm line, nodding at her in a manner that’s almost out of character for how timid it is. “how are you, minnie?”
“hiv negative. and you?” you whisper her name sharply, and minnie rolls her eyes. “yes, i can give you some privacy with your boytoy. geez.” she throws one last dirty look his way before sauntering out of the hallway, joining the rest of the girls back in the kitchen where you’d all refilled your drinks. minnie had tagged along in finding a bathroom, and you were starting to regret not holding your bladder as seonghwa corners you now.
“hey, uh..” he looks around, the walls offering a retreat from the spite burning in your eyes. “i haven’t seen you in a while. i wanted to check on you, ask if you’re okay?”
the last fortnight had been hell on earth. soyeon’s couch had become your safe place since going home was out of the option, and because your overflowing baggage of shit had become too pungent to ignore, soyeon was going to take care of you even if you fought her on it.
she helped you with assignments to actually turn them in, consoled you through every single breakdown that was a daily occurrence, and mediated your eventual confrontation with minnie and yuqi which almost ended physically. you’ve made up, for the most part — you don’t know if you’ll ever be over it, but you’ve gotta take it on the chin like an adult. on the bright side, your behaviour’s been so good that they’ve accompanied you to yet another party, on the condition that you can only drink under their supervision. you took that deal with no questions asked.
wooyoung was throwing it at his family’s house — his parents and brothers away on a trip, while he was here trashing the place. they’re loaded, calling a modern villa on the beachfront their home.
the guest list was a small, exclusive selection of faces you all know, and many that you can’t stand. it was their groups of boys, your group of girls, and karina. the worst possible blunt rotation on earth. you figure that’s exactly what wooyoung was going for though; with another party a mere two weeks after the eventful last, it’s obvious he wants drama, and he’s gonna get it one way or another.
you’re hoping to sit this one out, being anywhere but at the centre of conflict this time around. you’ve been very mature in ignoring shuhua and mingi thus far, letting them exist in their own world while you try not to think of homicide in yours. none of the girls think they’re anything more than friends, but you’ve been broken up, so it wasn’t your business either way. as long as your belly’s warm with some alcohol, you can deal.
“i will be soon.” you shake the drink in your hand, the plastic caved in from you strangling it. “so, how long have you been sucking my brother’s dick?”
seonghwa shuts his eyes with a heavy sigh. “yunho’s one of my best friends. he asked me for a favour, i had to do it. you know how he gets when he’s mad.”
“what exactly was the favour?” you interrogate him, taking a hefty sip of the liquor you’ll be needing in your system.
“he told us all to keep an eye on you, because you get.. messy.” suspicions confirmed, yet it still hurts like a bitch. “wooyoung and i had to make sure you didn’t leave with mingi.” et tu, woo?
“wow. what the fuck is going on in your group?”
“it’s all yunho.” seonghwa says, running a hand down his face. “mingi’s only been speaking to hongjoong, ever since san’s birthday. we don’t hate him, but.. no one knows what’s going on, or what happened with you.”
that’s for the better, you think, even though they were left to assume you were dating yunho and then cheated with mingi….you don’t need any more noses in your business. you’ve removed yourself from the equation anyways, nothing was stopping the two boys from making up and being best buddies again.
“so, did he say you had to put me on your lap too, or..” you say like you remember. you wouldn’t have known if hongjoong hadn’t spilled to soyeon. that damn big-lipped twink…
seonghwa huffs, forehead creasing as his brows pinch together. “no, he didn’t. and i’d be in a coffin if he found out.” your stomach swirls at how sure his tone is, suddenly aware of how close he’s standing, how delicious his cologne smells.. “it was careless, but i was already pissed off that night, and— i do really like you. our short time together was the best part of my night.”
you try not to immediately drop your skirt. you’re too easy for someone that so perfectly fits your type. testing the waters, you mutter, “so what’s stopping you?”
seonghwa smiles ruefully. he doesn’t have to say it, because you already know. you nod, grieving the loss of what could’ve been the best fuck of both your lives, before accepting it. taking the friend zone in stride.
“what’s up with you and hongjoong, then?” you ask tentatively, and seonghwa chuckles, crossing his toned arms as he leans against the wall. you mirror him, figuring this might take a while.
“we’ve been in this annoying.. limbo, since freshman year. i fell fast, he fell harder. i was waiting for him to ask me out, to make the first move… i’m still waiting.”
“girl why?” you both laugh over it, and it should be confusing how easily you slip into having a kiki when you were ready to jump his bones not even a minute ago. it’s not though; it feels natural. right. “you couldn’t pay me to wait four years without dick.”
“i didn’t, that’s the thing!” he admits, and you gasp. “i got sick of holding out for him so i started sleeping around, and joongie haaaates it, but he still won’t say anything.” you dap seonghwa up in solidarity, and he stops you just short of pulling away, asking a gentle “can i?” that you’re already accepting before he finishes. his arms wrap around you in a hug as he whispers, “i’m glad we’ve met.”
as you’re raising your mind back out of the gutter, a shrill voice rings through the walls and has you both flinching apart: wooyoung, calling upon all his guests to come to him. you and seonghwa share a look that smells trouble, before nodding and walking off together.
everyone emerges from different corners to gather in the massive open space that was the living room: high ceiling, warm lighting, fluffy carpets and plush lounges, a flatscreen tv decked-out with speakers and consoles that all cost more money than you’d ever see in your life. the humble host stood in the centre, freshly-dyed blood-red hair matching his sweater, printed with the words ‘she’s got me by the balls’.
you and seonghwa earn a few curious glances as you walk out together, jongho outright asking the senior where he was. neither of you can get a word out in defence before wooyoung’s clapping his hands, commanding the room’s attention.
“isn’t this so much better than splitting off into little groups.” he states, clearly annoyed the party isn’t going how he hoped. “let’s play a game, shall we? truth or dare.” the collective less-than-enthusiatic reaction only spurs wooyoung on, his smile reading mischief. “no limits, no backing out. you have to do or answer whatever it is, or else you drink this.” he walks over to the coffee table, holding up an unlabelled bottle of dark-coloured liquor. “grandpa jung’s homemade moonshine.”
“i’m not drinking that shit.” karina comments from where she’s hanging onto yunho’s side. you side-eye seonghwa, and he does it right back.
“well then you can get out of my house, how about that?” wooyoung retorts, pointing to the door, and any complaints were sucked out of the house. the first thing you can all manage to agree on, is that leaving and risk being shit-talked was a fate worse than drinking the illustrious moonshine. “don’t pussy out, and you won’t have to drink it, simple. sounds good? great. now let’s start.”
at his demand, you all situate yourselves in a circle around the coffee table, the moonshine sitting there ominously as wooyoung elects mingi to start. he’d taken the floor, shuhua choosing to join him, while the rest of you were on couches or in chairs. his head lifts, brows flipped over in surprise, as his eyes sweep the faces in the circle. mingi completely ignores his left, where his ex best friend had found himself, and you can see something inside him crack as he accidentally locks eyes with you — seonghwa’s arm slung over your shoulders.
mingi moves on, eventually asking, “hongjoong, truth or dare?”
“uh.. truth.”
seonghwa shifts at your side, and you check on him with a tilt of your head, getting a nod in response. you face forward, catching mingi’s eyes on you once again before they’re darting away.
“u-um.. where do you see yourself after graduation?”
hongjoong’s face brightens. “making music, hopefully.”
he proceeds to go on a tangent about an opportunity he’s scored for himself, before wooyoung’s cutting him off with a, “booooring!” the senior glares at him, but it does nothing to deter him. “your turn, shuhua. chop chop.”
shuhua replies right back, “truth or dare?”
“truth.” wooyoung answers, much to everyone’s surprise. “make it dirty.”
shuhua thinks for a moment, meeting yuqi’s eyes before getting the idea. “out of everyone here, who would you invite for a threesome?”
wooyoung says your name without missing a beat, and the room erupts into oohs and ahhs. you keep your eyes away from the two giants; one glaring behind the girlfriend sitting in his lap, while the other pulls his knees to his chest from his spot on the floor and shrinks into himself, shuhua murmuring what must be an apology.
“i wanna know what had soobin so hooked,” wooyoung elaborates without even being prompted. he cuts your ex a glance, then your brother. “sorry, yuyu.”
it’s not lost on you, the fact that he chose not to acknowledge mingi. san grips his boyfriend’s waist tighter, as if warning him to play nice. it’s pretty clear who wooyoung’s sided with in the whole yunho versus mingi drama.
riding on the bold tone that shuhua set and his own thirst for drama, wooyoung looks at you. “truth or dare, sweetie?” you make the mistake of answering dare, since he smiles like a madman before following up with, “swap places with karina.”
karina protests instantly and loudly from her spot on yunho’s lap, while your girls are just as quick to have your back and snap at her; that she’s making it weird, that you’re family and it’s not that deep. it’s kinda funny how ironic it is. it’s kinda fucking sad.
“karina, it’s just a game. don’t take it so seriously. if you wanna leave, by all means.” wooyoung gestures to the door, waiting for her to get up and make a choice. yunho even raises himself from the chair to slide her off, and she scoffs, shooting him a ‘i’m bringing this up later’ glare before flipping her hair over her shoulder and stomping around the coffee table, scowling in front of you and seonghwa.
you stand reluctantly, karina knocking shoulders with you as she drops into your seat. all eyes are on you as you walk over to yunho, and he smiles softly up at you, holding out a hand for you to take. you don’t — making sure your dress covers your ass before tepidly sitting on the edge of his knees. you’re not close to drunk enough for this.
not when his fingers find either side of your waist, inching closer to the middle as the game moves onto san’s turn. you’re not listening to what he asks yeosang as yunho’s hands slide over your stomach, and you’re still not when it moves to seonghwa’s turn, yunho pulling you in until your back meets his chest. all you can focus on is the heat of him, the soft sigh he lets out near your ear, the fingers dropping into your lap and toying with the edge of your dress — and the game reaches karina before you know it.
her voice asking mingi is what has you tuning back in, revenge aflame in her eyes as he answers truth. “when’s the last time you fucked shuhua?”
you seethe, body nearly trembling from adrenaline, wanting so badly to get up and slap the smirk off her face. yunho must sense it, since he holds you a little tighter, as if stopping you from following through on it.
mingi’s adam’s apple bobs in a harsh gulp. he looks to the floor, answering in nothing but a murmur, “january.”
mere months before you moved back. he told you he had no luck, that he was single, and yet she had him first. you already suspected it, you already knew it was coming and it still shatters your fucking heart, twice over with how all your friends and his are here to bear witness. mingi can’t bring himself to confront the look you’re sending him; not with yunho’s satisfied smirk over your shoulder.
awkwardly, it moves on to yeosang next to her, who stammers through daring yuqi to read out the last text she sent. her face goes white as a sheet as she checks her phone, contrasting the red blooming on her cheeks as she reads out loud: “pray for me to get eiffel towered tonight.” wooyoung’s ears perk up, and the game moves on.
jongho asks soyeon what her body count is, and when she answers “five”, you catch yeosang counting the heads of the girls in your group. you’d laugh if you weren’t still on the verge of tears. then it’s hongjoong’s turn, who dares san to skull a whole cup of vodka. he takes it in stride, completes it with flair, and rips his shirt off over his head with a roar.
soyeon, noting that karina hasn’t stopped trying to explode you with her mind since you sat down, dares her to swap places with you again so she stops sulking. yunho rebuts, saying that’s unfair because it means your turn gets skipped, but you can’t have accepted it and stood from his lap quicker. he doesn’t even spare a glance to his girlfriend as she plops herself back down, his eyes tracking you as you lean back into seonghwa’s outstretched arm.
minnie, arching a brow at the pda happening, uses her turn to ask seonghwa, “how often do you two fuck?”
the senior eyes the moonshine, his first instinct being to protect your honour, but you give him the okay with a hand on his shoulder and a nod.
“we don’t.” he answers with a smile, setting the room off. you lean into his side instinctively, seeking shelter from their shocked reactions. you may as well have ‘SLUT’ written across your forehead in sharpie with how they loudly announce their assumptions that you were sleeping together. the boys mingi calls his friends, the girls you call yours — none of them expected any better from you.
moving on to yuqi, she has a sparkle of mischief in her eye as she asks hongjoong. he timidly answers dare, and yuqi takes a big inhale as if trying not to squeal as she says, “give seonghwa the big, sloppy kiss he’s been waiting for.”
amidst all the chaos that befalls the room, seonghwa only looks to you, gauging your reaction. you know how it must look on the outside — if you’re not fucking, then what is he doing with you? — but you appreciate seonghwa. if you didn’t have him by your side, you probably would’ve started a fight with one of your two boys, or something even worse. it’s why you smile, and give him the okay.
seonghwa stands, walking to the opposite end of the couch where hongjoong sat, beet red and looking at you both with wide, lost eyes. jongho scooches away to make room as seonghwa places his knee beside hongjoong’s thigh. he leans down, his other knee mirroring the first as he props himself over hongjoong’s lap, the brunette sinking further into the couch and ripping his fingers into the cushions.
you watch seonghwa murmur something to hongjoong, meant for his ears only, before he gains the confidence to surge forward and capture seonghwa’s lips in a kiss. the room erupts into cheers and claps for them; hongjoong grasping at his waist, seonghwa sitting in his lap, their tongues tangling as they kiss sloppily, loudly. you think you finally understand yuqi’s obsession with having a threesome.
after turning everyone else into their cucks, seonghwa’s the one to pull away, wiping the saliva from his chin as he stands on wobbly knees. you watch him stiffly walk back to your side, crossing his legs as he sits down; while hongjoong brings his knees up, cussing at jongho who laughs at his obvious boner.
“wooh,” wooyoung exhales, grabbing a throw pillow to shamelessly cover his lap. “i feel like i gotta take a pregnancy test after that.”
soyeon softly nudges miyeon’s side, announcing that it’s her turn, snapping the room out of its suddenly sexually tense energy.
since she was already looking in that direction, miyeon says your name and asks you. you answer truth, and she giggles, “ah.. i don’t have anything…” she looks to wooyoung, and you see the moment the question pops into her head. you wish you could’ve warned her against it as she asks, “oh! have you ever had a pregnancy scare?”
minnie and yuqi whip their heads to her, profusely whispering and shaking their heads, trying to communicate that this was not a good topic for you. miyeon’s too stunned to backpedal, stuttering while the rest of the room focuses twice as much as before over the fact you didn’t immediately deny it.
if looks could kill, yunho and mingi’s combined would have you in millions of tiny pieces all over the floor. neither of them knew about it.
“yeah.” you say, succinct. it didn’t have to be anything more than that.
but with your luck, the turn passes to karina — and when her gaze doesn’t stray from you, lip curling with something sinister, you can feel your stomach sinking before she even utters your name.
“truth or dare?”
you know exactly what’s coming if you say truth. she’s going to follow up on that question, force you to elaborate and humiliate yourself in front of everyone. with how she’s been watching her boyfriend and your ex like a hawk, she’d have to be blind to miss how their demeanours changed drastically. something happened there, between you three, and she’s eager to sink her nails in to pick it out. you won’t give her that satisfaction.
glaring, you mutter, “dare.”
karina’s face doesn’t falter one bit as she says, “i dare you to tell us who the father was.”
your girls are shooting out of their seats and yelling at her before you can even react. fingers and curses fly everywhere as minnie and yuqi pop off on her, while some of the boys try to intervene or even just understand the situation.
“karina, that’s not a proper dare.” wooyoung interjects over the noise.
“don’t take it so seriously, it’s just a game.” she mocks him with his own words, delivered like a slap across the face. “if she doesn’t do it, she has to leave, no?”
all eyes were back on you now. all ears were waiting for you to say mingi. the obvious answer, the only answer, should’ve been mingi.
but when you press your lips into a firm line, eyeing the moonshine on the coffee table, a deafening silence cloaks the room as you reach out and grab it.
you uncap the bottle, taking an eager swig of the liquor, gulping pure acid as it burns your entire mouth, searing down your throat and spreading through your chest. it’s the worst thing you’ve ever fucking tasted.
the atmosphere shifts irrevocably after that. minnie and yuqi — who had talked you out of insanity throughout the scare, who assumed it was obviously him that did it — staring at you and each other with unbelieving eyes.
mingi says nothing as he gets up and leaves, the door slamming as it hits the wall on his way out. you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face. you’ve got no idea what he must be thinking, and you want to keep it that way. shuhua stands and follows after him without a word, which makes you laugh out loud, unapologetic. you think you catch your friends’ hard glares in your peripheral, but you think you don’t give a fuck either.
bile rises in your throat suddenly, vomit threatening to topple over, and you don’t even realise you’re tilting with it until firm hands are grabbing you. from the front, and from the back.
“i’ve got her.” comes yunho’s deep, almost angry voice. the hands on your back fall away, which must belong to seonghwa. “why’d you drink that, silly?”
you look down at him kneeling before you, into the eyes of the man responsible. the name you refused to utter in front of everyone in favour of drinking literal poison.
it was yunho.
or, at least, would have been, if you were actually pregnant. you weren’t, thank every fucking god there is.
it had come about during a casual conversation with your girls about birth control. yuqi asked you and minnie for advice, and one thing after another, you realised you hadn’t gotten your period for close to a month. panicking ensued.
a quick google search told you that even if you’ve taken plan b, you can have unprotected sex that same day and still get pregnant. although yunho did wear a condom, your panicked brain scrambled to the worst conclusions. perhaps he’d torn a hole in the rubber, or pushed some of his cum back inside with his finger. you didn’t know what he was willing to do anymore. babytrapping you so you’d have no choice but to stay with him? yeah, sounds just like your sweet brother.
after weeks of horrifying confusion, having to hide what was going on from patient, caring mingi who could tell something was deeply wrong… you had finally gotten your period, promptly began taking birth control, and life moved on.
until this moment.
wooyoung breaks the staggering silence by looking to his now empty left side and announcing, “looks like it’s my turn again.”
the room groans in unison, wishing for this game to be a wrap already. it lost its fun long ago — if you asked your girls, when karina first opened her mouth.
since you were practically slumped onto him, yunho had managed to slide you off the couch and into his lap on the floor. wooyoung blatantly stares at the pair of step-siblings too close for comfort. he gulps, scanning the circle for a victim, while his eyes keep flitting to the door like your angry titan ex may come storming back in at any moment.
he looks at the moonshine, and then karina, intentions displayed so obviously across his face as if written in neon lights. he opens his mouth, giving and receiving a stare full of daggers to his new bestie, asking the question you’re all waiting for.
“yunho, truth or dare?”
he singlehandedly catches the room off-guard. any other person would probably avoid your little corner with yunho right now, after everything that silently went down with the last question. of course, this is mister shit stirrer you’re referring to, who is still the host of the party. that display between you three has probably only ignited his appetite for even more drama.
yunho’s hold tightens around you under everyone’s stares. despite it all, despite him, you feel safer. it’s just how your body’s trained to react. you don’t know if it’ll ever unlearn the comfort that his touch brings.
he presses his lips together, potentially holding back some harsh words against a friend who has very loudly taken his side against mingi. he finally answers, “dare.”
wooyoung smirks. you all know before he speaks that it can’t be anything good.
“kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”
you instantly look up at your brother, expecting him to let go; yet all air is sucked from the room when yunho tilts his head and plants a kiss on your cheek.
there’s a single second of silent disbelief — before karina’s shooting up from her seat, jamming a finger like a knife at you both. “you’re both fucking shameless!” she’s met with furious shouts right back, but it’s not enough to silence her. “what, we’re all thinking it! just because you’re all too pussy to say anything doesn’t make you better than me!”
minnie yells at her to shut the fuck up, miyeon holding her arm like the leash of a barking dog about to bite. wooyoung has stars in his eyes, his dare playing out exactly as he had hoped. san’s lips are pursed from his side, disappointed in him for deliberately causing this. yunho eases you up, trying to quietly usher you out — as if the attention isn’t solely on you both right now.
“see! none of you can tell me that shit is normal!” karina laughs, straight from her chest, pointing at you both again. “like are we kidding? they’re weird!”
“i bet you still beg him to fuck you.” you bite back, your knees almost giving out if it weren’t for yunho keeping you standing upright.
she scoffs, mouth curling down for a fraction of a second before the corners are rising up again, her snake eyes honing in on you. she unlatches her jaw, and spews straight venom. “‘cause he’s too busy fucking you, right?”
the world tilts. literally, it tilts, as you lose your footing and sway in yunho’s arms, a violent lurch in your stomach sending you sideways. acid claws up your throat, burning out any response you could’ve hoped to get out.
“you’re disgusting.” you think you hear someone say in your defence, seonghwa maybe. karina’s voice comes out with the start of a comeback before a loud slap cuts through the room. your head whips up at the sound of screaming, which you quickly realise is karina, being pulled by her long, shiny hair in soyeon’s hands.
the room breaks out into a riot — soyeon landing hits to karina’s head, everyone shoving and yelling at everyone — while yunho takes the chance to slip out of the room with you. he keeps you upright as he drags you along, all the way up the stairs until he’s leading you into a bedroom.
yunho sits you on the edge of the bed, one hand holding your arm to keep you from folding as the other offers a cup of water. you have no idea where or when he got that. “drink. all of it.”
you’re nonresponsive, and yunho settles on grabbing your hair to tilt your head back, tipping the water into your mouth himself. he’s lucky you’re not gone enough to choke; you only had one drink, it’s just the moonshine that fucked you up. you feel more sick than tipsy.
once he empties it, he tosses the cup to the floor, dragging a hand through his hair as he regards you for a long moment. eventually, he releases a sigh.
“baby, we gotta talk about it.”
you try to writhe away, but he’s stronger than you are. “there’s nothing.”
“it was me, right? you thought it was me?” his eyes study your face wildly, and though you try to school it, obviously you can’t hide anything from your insane fucking brother. “holy shit.” his hand tightens around your arm to the point it hurts, and he can barely restrain his temper from completely exploding as he exclaims, “you thought you were pregnant with my kid, that’s not fucking nothing!”
you give him an attitude right back, “obviously i’m not, so it doesn’t matter.”
“it does matter. fuck, baby, it matters more than anything.” yunho kneels on the floor before you, holding your hands in his, love pouring from his eyes. “what would you have done, if you were?”
“what do you want me to say?” his jaw ticks at the utter disgust in your tone. “no, i wouldn’t have kept my stepbrother’s child then get disowned by everyone, actually.”
“it wouldn’t be like that.” he strokes your hand, reassuring you, yet it all just stings like acid. “our parents love us. you and i are more than—”
“—you saw that out there!” you cut in, pointing five fingers to the door. “the looks on their faces when karina called us out? they think it’s weird too, yunho. it is fucking weird. also, our parents love you. she’s your mother before she’s mine, and my father barely even remembers i’m his.” you laugh bitterly, blowing out a breath through your nose. “if that.. happened, he’d probably say i came on to you. that i’m selfish for ‘ruining the family’.”
“do you seriously care what that man thinks?” yunho seethes with a visceral hatred for your father. he doesn’t ever let it show, but you knew of its existence. that man betrayed his mother and stole you from him. he might hate your father more than you do. “he can’t say shit to me or eomma. she would still love us, you know she would. she’d be so happy to be a grandm—”
“eugh, stop, stop!” you exclaim. the thought genuinely has you almost throwing up again. “i don’t want any of that! i think i’d rather kill myself—”
you gasp as yunho pushes you back on the bed, the sudden movement making your head spin. his large frame cages you in as he climbs on top of you within the next second. face hovering over yours, he mutters, “would it really be so fucking bad to love me back?”
you gulp, trying to not let the proximity affect you in all the ways it already is. without remorse, you murmur, “you know i only thought i was pregnant because i can’t trust you? i didn’t know if you’d done it on purpose, if you’d really go that far, and i couldn’t tell a fucking soul. i drove myself insane for weeks. you did that to me.”
yunho’s lips press together, eyes dark as they bore into you, sending a chill racing up your spine that almost has your back arching. he’s pissed. you know he won’t do shit, or anything he hasn’t already done before, yet you can’t help but hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.
a gasp slips as his fingers ghost over your jaw, drawing up to caress the side of your face, reverent in its gentleness. you know he’s doing it with a purpose, you know he’s luring you in with soft touches that promise more, and yet it’s still working. you miss being taken care of, being loved, being touched. you know he knows this too.
“you want to get rid of me?” yunho whispers, his breath fanning your lips, thumb following as it swipes your chin. “you want me to leave, to never speak to you again? just say the word.” he offers, his voice deep and scarily sincere. “i won’t argue. i’ll be out of your life for good, i promise you. tell me to go, and i will.”
he means it. he could and would do it without a second thought, and just that realisation dawning, has heat swelling in your chest and rising to your face. you’ve practically pleaded yunho for this, trying to bury what you did together in the past, and yet you haven’t been able to stomach doing your part. you couldn’t stand seeing him with a girl that wasn’t you, you couldn’t stay happy with mingi and move on. you thought you wanted this. why don’t you want this?
tears burn the corner of your eyes as you try to imagine a life where he’s not in it. after everything that’s happened, everyone that’s been hurt, it’d all be a waste if you and yunho’s bond never recovered. you’re sick of arguing, of hating yourself, of being tired of everything every fucking day. you just want your brother. you want him to hold you and tell you it’ll all be okay. you want him to love you so hard you forget anything else exists. you’ve both come this far in efforts to get over it on your own and failed — isn’t the only option left to turn to each other?
yunho drags a thumb under your eye, wiping a tear clumped there, the tender touch heating up your cheeks. he holds your gaze as he brings it to his mouth, closing his lips around the tip of his thumb, and the fire spreads all the way down to your lower belly, roaring for a different kind of touch. your thighs press on instinct as the fervour oozes through your blood. it’s been a long, really fucking long time since you’ve gotten any.
“is that what you want?” he asks in a whisper, as if speaking to a frightened animal. his hand returns to your face, stroking your cheeks and petting your hair. taming you. “hm? isn’t that what you told me?” his lips can’t help but curl into the slightest grin, the glint in his eyes mocking your timid state. you can feel how he’s memorising this in real time, as potentially the last time he’ll ever have you under him again.
you can’t say the words. you can’t bring yourself to lose him the way you thought you needed to. he’s your best friend, your only brother, your yunho. and while you’ve been losing your mind trying to let him go, he’s still only ever been all about you. the prospect of yunho actually giving up on you, of walking out of your life for good, is worth more than any dignity you thought you held for yourself.
yunho shifts above you, maybe intending to get up and make good on the answer your silence implies, yet you stop him with fingers balled in the front of his shirt. “please don’t.” your voice is strained, looking at his pinched brows and slight pout through your blurry vision. “i don’t want to lose you again.” you admit, his hand cupping over your fingers where they’re trembling in the shirt. “it almost killed me.”
“baby, not having you will kill me.”
you shut your eyes so you don’t have to confront his reaction as you surrender, barely above a whisper, “you can have it.” he gasps quietly above, silent and still from disbelief. “just.. never leave me. please.”
his warmth smothers your face; his palms holding either cheek, tip of his nose bumping yours, breath blowing onto your lips as he leans in. your lashes flutter open, breathing forgotten as his eyes meet yours. deep brown eclipsed in black, pupils dilated to the brim of his irises as they take your expression in; so worried, for what he’ll do, and what you’ll do back.
within a sharp inhale, yunho mutters back, “i’d rather die.” before surging forward to capture your lips with his. the kiss is soft, sweet for all of one second, before you’re pressing back and snapping his last thread of restraint.
it’s all desperation and haste, the way yunho parts your lips with his own, teeth knacking and spit mixing as his tongue shoves in. he licks into your mouth hard, letting out a helpless groan at the taste of you, kissing you more like he’s trying consume you. you let him take what he needs to, laying there pliantly as his tongue covers every corner of your mouth, delving so deep that you nearly gag.
it’s obvious how much he’s missed you. the way his body presses yours into the mattress, firm and heavy, his thighs nudging your knees apart to slot himself in the space between. you can’t help but whine at the pressure of his stomach on your crotch, feeling his smile slotting against your mouth as he kisses you.
it’s all so messy; your tongues tangling, drool in the corner of your lips, your hands tugging at his hair, his squeezing your sides. your underwear soiled through from his tensed stomach, his pants sporting a wet patch where he ruts against your thigh. you could almost think he’s pent up, unleashing energy kept bottled away, yet you’d be dumb to think so, considering the whole other girl he has at his disposal.
still bitter over it, you nip at his tongue, yunho pulling back with a hiss. you watch as his mouth swishes around, his eyes wild as he tastes the faintest hint of blood. his hand snatches your jaw in a firm grip, fingers digging into your cheeks until your lips pop open with a wince. yunho spits, directly onto your tongue, chasing it with his own as he kisses you again, even rougher than before. you’re so overwhelmed by it all, barely keeping up as his fingers slide down to your throat, grasping with just enough pressure to make your head light. you let out a moan in shock, and again when his boner jabs your thigh with a particularly hard rut.
you gulp, feeling the size of him, already painfully erect where he rubs it against your leg. yunho’s mouth comes off yours with a wet smack, his eyes studying your face as his free hand gently cups over your breast, then kneading the flesh when you don’t immediately swat at him. instead, you nod, unprepared for the way he tugs the top of your dress down. braless, he pulls the fabric beneath your breasts, muttering a cuss at the sight before delving down to take a nipple into his mouth. you cry for him, way too sensitive for your own good after an involuntary dry spell, his tongue swirling and flicking the bud.
the hand still around your neck keeps you pinned to the mattress, no choice but to squirm under his weight as his mouth assaults your nipples, switching between each breast to suck until he’s sure he’s left a mark. he shifts above you, repositioning his hips to align with yours, his cock pressing into the thin, sticky fabric covering your pussy. you moan loudly, shamelessly, spurring him on to keep lapping at your nipples and grinding your crotches together. it feels too fucking good, to the point you almost want him to stop with how he’s overwhelming your body. you could cum, this soon.
it’s a contrast to last time — how you tried to defy him, how he was teasing with a point to prove — the way you give and he takes without question. your bodies finding a rhythm, a familiarity between you. it’s dangerous, you could (and arguably did) get addicted to this. it’s exactly why you shouldn’t have it, if not for the stepbrother part alone. but the hickeys littering your breasts was solid proof that neither of you gave a fuck. the heat coiling low in your belly, your throbbing clit at the fabric rubbing it raw, was proof that you were always going to want this, whether you fought your body on it or not.
you grab his shoulder, teetering on the edge of release, yet it’s quickly pulled from under your feet as yunho’s body tilts away. he leaves one last kiss on your nipple, glistening with spit, before he pulls back and flips the skirt of your dress up. cool air hits the damp spot on your panties, your legs nearly shutting under the intensity of yunho’s eyes honed in on the middle. you can see the moment a switch flips in his brain, both hands grabbing your waist as he sits up, then pulling you down with him as he lays back.
“wait—” you say, acutely aware of your whereabouts: some random bedroom that probably belongs to wooyoung’s brothers. “we can’t, not here,”
“it’s my room for the night.” yunho says simply as he sits you on his chest, silencing any protests as he lifts your ass with one hand to give the other access to pull your panties to the side. his tongue runs over his lips, teeth biting down into the plush before releasing it with a sigh. you shiver as his fingers trace your folds, coating the tips in your sticky arousal, his brows furrowing ever so slightly when you clench around nothing. “you’re the prettiest girl in the world, baby.”
“you’re just saying that.” you murmur, sucking in a breath as his thumb ghosts over your clit.
his eyes flick up to yours, not a hint of insincerity in them, which is rare for someone who lies like it’s breathing. “i mean it. i’ve always thought so.” his lip curls when your hips wriggle, trying to get his fingers where you want them. “why else would i fall for you, so young?”
“‘cause you were horny?” you huff, only half meaning it, yet you start to regret it with the way his face deadpans, fingers stilling on your inner thigh.
“do you understand that’s not all you are to me?” he utters, his gaze so intense you almost can’t hold it. “you’re my baby, my favourite girl. and i love you.”
you don’t like where this is going. your whole pussy’s on display and yet you feel even more naked with his confessions. just the mere concept of his love starting out pure, with the attraction happening as a result. he loves you, really loves you, so much that he started to want you too, even when he shouldn’t. there’s also the fact that you know he’s pouring his heart out like this because he’s luring you in, enticing you to fall into this limerence with him.
caught up in your own thoughts, yunho takes you by surprise as he pushes you forward, right until his mouth meets your pussy. you let out a yelp, your body tipping forward, yet he holds you upright with a hand closed around your bare breast, the other gripping your thigh to keep you in place as his tongue ravages you. the noise is obscene, loud slurping and squelching, more your arousal than his spit. his lips seal around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue, and it’s all too much too fast — your vision whiting out as pleasure seizes your body.
yunho doesn’t slow down for a second as you suddenly cum, fingers twisting in his hair as an anchor, his mouth merciless as your arousal gushes. you can’t even ride it out, but rather endure it as the bliss pushes into oversensitivity, your next release building immediately after with how yunho just holds you down by your thigh and keeps going.
he can’t decide where he wants his mouth more; switching between licking through your folds, flicking over your clit, or burying his tongue into your hole. all while his fingers pinch and roll your nipple, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your pussy. you’re done, you’re spent already, but you know he’s going to pull another orgasm out of you, by force if he must. the smirk you’re sitting on says it all, his palm on your thigh continuing to push you down onto his face.
at your attention, his hand leaves your breast to snake down, his mouth moving to your clit to allow two fingers to slip into your hole. your mouth drops open in a moan at the feeling of being filled, eyes screwing shut when yunho immediately curls them, finding your g-spot from memory. he targets it, fucking his fingers into the spot over and over, smiling as he makes out with your clit and watches you come undone on top of him. each motion is precise, he knows exactly where to stimulate, and it’s too much. your pussy burns from the overstim, yet you can’t help but weakly hump his face, desperate for the release racing up your spine.
yunho pushes you to it with the moan that rumbles on your clit, your second orgasm slamming into you as you’re overcome with trembles above him, yunho’s tongue licking and fingers curling the whole way through it. on the tail end, you’re almost worried he’ll go for a third with how he doesn’t slow down, so you tighten your fists in his dark locks, pulling until you feel hair about to rip before he finally lets go of you.
he’s smiling like a maniac as he sits up, wrapping his arms around your middle to take you with him as he lays you flat against the bed. your eyes widen as he brings your hand back to his hair, closing his palm over yours to guide you to pull again, his lips smothering yours in a helpless kiss. you taste yourself on his tongue, mixing with the whimper he lets out as he humps his clothed boner against your bare pussy, like he’s too caught up in wanting to be inside you that he can’t be bothered to get undressed.
you’re throbbing over the noises he’s making into the kiss, so unlike him with how.. pathetic they sound — until you realise that he’s doing it on purpose. he’s fucking mimicking the types of guys you like to go after, all whiney and desperate, which is almost a mockery with how he’s making you submit to him.
it reminds you too much of someone you can’t afford to remember right now, and you find yourself shoving at yunho before you can think it. it doesn’t deter him, even when you stop kissing him back, he just kisses you harder — egging you on to tug at his hair and hurt him, only causing more of his fake fucking whimpers to resound down your throat. you slap the side of his face, trying to knee his crotch where it still grinds into you, until yunho finally pulls away chuckling.
“what do you think you’re doing, hm?” he smirks, his hand finding your throat again, not pressing but.. there, as a reminder. he dips his face low, tongue darting out to run over your lips, letting out a deep snicker into your mouth. “fucking brat.” you do not expect the way your body reacts to the word, your pussy clenching around thin air, nor the way his teeth nip at your lower lip, teasing a kiss that you suddenly find yourself aching for. “who do you think is in control here?” it’s you, you both know it’s you who determines this, and yet you’re nothing but putty in yunho’s hands, hanging on to his every word. “i get you off twice, but now you suddenly wanna stop? you think you’re too good to fuck me? even though you’ll throw yourself at all my friends?”
“shut up.” you bite back, hurt flashing in your chest, quickly surrendered at the flicker of genuine rage in his eye. it has your pussy twitching, eager for him to take it out on you, even though you were just recoiling, as if you’d selfishly leave him high and dry. and despite cumming twice, you wouldn’t be any better off than him if it stopped here. you want him inside you, just as much as him. you want him to fuck you the way he did before, where all you could think was yunho. he’s good at this, and you want it bad. haven’t stopped wanting it bad, ever since the first taste.
“you said i can have it,” yunho reminds you, fingers slightly pressing into the sides of your neck, your breath breaking off into a whimper. “so it’s mine.” he kisses you, startlingly gentle. “let me take care of you, baby.”
you’re so close to giving in, right until a thought occurs to you, spite rising in your throat. “you’re not fucking me raw.” you snap, petty over the first time when he wore a condom just to rip it off and give you backshots anyways. “i’m not catching something from karina.”
“you won’t.” he replies without missing a beat.
you scoff. “what do you—?” oh. your lip curls at the realisation, staring directly into his eyes, daring him to look away. “you never fucked her. did you?”
yunho’s jaw ticks, but he’s able to keep his face impassive to your glaring pride. “no, i didn’t want to. that’s what you wanna hear, right?”
“bullshit.” you call immediately, and yunho just smirks. caught.
“fine.” he looks at you through hooded eyes, licking his lips without an ounce of shame. “i couldn’t get it up.”
he kisses you, and you can’t help the way your heart soars out of your chest. he tried to move on, he tried to force himself to have another girl, and he couldn’t. not after having you. it’s fucked up, but nothing’s ever made you feel so confident. it’s all the motive you need to kiss him back, humming in delight as he works his pants down, all impatient movement as he lines his cock up with your sopping hole. briefly, you wonder why he didn’t push for a condom, though you suspect it’s because he knows damn well you haven’t been with anyone in a while, ever since you’ve been running around single and desperate to mingle.
yunho sighs as his tip nudges your wet heat, his hands splaying on your inner thighs to spread your legs. almost buzzing with anticipation, you let out a disappointed whine as his hips thrust up, his length sliding through your folds.
“yunho.” you nearly sigh, too eager for his teasing.
he cocks his head at you, hips stilling. “is that how you ask?”
you do sigh this time, and he tuts at you, pulling his hips back. you frown at the loss of his heat, and despite yourself, give in. “please.”
he hums in approval, lining his tip back up, sliding his palms under your ass. “try again.”
“please, yuyu.”
he lets out a puff of air, not quite a gasp, before his pelvis snaps and drives his cock all the way in one movement. you sob out as he fills you to the hilt and then some, still as unprepared for his size as you were the first time as his tip presses your cervix. he doesn’t pause for long, pulling out until only the tip’s left in before ramming forward again, spearing you on every inch.
“fuck. still feel so fucking good, baby.” he praises, breathless, slowly grinding forward just to feel your pussy flutter and adjust around him. you whine, trying to get him to pull out, the fit being way too tight even with how a wet squelching punctuated his movements. he takes the hint, sliding himself out, the palms on your ass grabbing your thighs. “my good girl.”
he pries your thighs as far apart as they go, watching your pussy sucking him in right before he’s slamming the rest of his length back into you. curses laced with praises tumble from yunho’s lips as he fucks you, his hips moving rapidly and slapping against your ass. his hands travel to your knees, pushing your legs back and folding you in on yourself, your ankles to your ears.
you’re embarrassingly loud at the new angle, his cock fucking you as deep as possible, like he’s trying to mold your insides to him. his grueling pace doesn’t falter once, and you struggle to catch your breaths between each moan, eyes rolling back into your head with each ram of his tip against your g-spot.
“good, baby. you’re doing so good f’me.” you don’t even realise how wrecked he sounds over your own cries, how his cock pulses violently over your own pussy clenching around him. “fuck, fuck, give me another?” he pleads, obnoxiously whiney, bringing a hand down to rub circles on your clit with his thumb. “yeah, you can. fuckin’ easy.”
you’re too out of it to register the way he talks down on you, only his whimpers reaching your ears, causing you to clamp down on his cock. he smirks as he feels the effect of his noises, quite literally pulsing around him as he rubs your bundle of nerves into a third orgasm, right along with his own.
you’re gripping him so tight he can’t pull out, barely even moving as he fucks you with quick little snaps of his hips, rutting directly into the spot that has you seeing stars. every nerve end on fire, you only manage a gasp as you cum again, yunho following right after as he grits out a hoarse “good fuckin’ girl.”
yunho’s frame fully presses you into the bed, shoving his cock in until your cervix lights up with hot pressure, his release dribbling into the deepest part of you. your heart grips in fear for a split second as he shudders and moans above you, months-old suspicions and anxiety flooding back all at once until you remember you’re on birth control. he can’t get you pregnant, you remind yourself. and yet, you’ve never forgotten that fact before — not with your ex.
only yunho could make you feel like this.
that tragic fucking realisation has you recoiling, the comfort his warmth brought now felt like crushing pressure. he’s gone limp enough that you’re able to guide him to lay down beside you, his cum seeping down your legs as you stand from the bed on wobbly legs. yunho watches you with half-lidded eyes, seemingly in no rush to stop you as you grab a shirt from the floor and wipe the mess from between your legs.
you toss the soiled garment into the corner, tugging your dress into place, when yunho asks from behind, “where are you going?” his tone serious, nearly a warning.
you force a smile onto your face before you throw him a look over your shoulder, hoping your eyes aren’t completely empty as you joke, “you already gave me a pregnancy scare once, i’m not getting a uti too.”
you hear his laughter as you slip out of the door and shut it, the sudden silence feeling too heavy to breathe in. you try to trudge through it, to make your way to the bathroom, and yet you nearly collapse in the middle of the hall. your hands tremble as you hold yourself, the gravity of what you’ve done twice now crashing over you. in those few seconds, you’ve never felt so alone.
there’s an approaching click-clack on the floorboards, and you tip your teary eyes up to be met with the worst possible company right now; karina as she rounds the corner. she’s adjusting her dress on herself, makeup smudged, that shiny head of hair messy. she stops when she notices you, disheveled and guilty, the look in her eye sharpening as she crosses her arms. there’s a quiet recognition between you two girls — of what you’ve both just come from.
you wouldn’t have a clue which of the guys would choose to fuck karina after what happened, but to her, she knows exactly who you’ve been with, ever since you disappeared together downstairs. and that knowledge is enough to ruin your life.
“you still got away with it, huh?” karina remarks, barely over her breath. “fucking sickos.”
you don’t wait to find out if she had more left to say, barging through karina and ignoring her curse that follows as you run for the stairs. you take the steps two at a time, your shoulders knocking the walls and feet tripping over each other as the edges of your vision blur, pacing the hallway in autopilot until you reach the kitchen.
fortunately, there’s not a soul in sight to stop you from grabbing the first liquor bottle within reach from the counter, twisting the cap off and drinking it straight. the alcohol burns your throat, tears burn your eyes, shame burns your entire fucking soul. you need to stop it, you need to keep drinking until you can’t feel it, or at least forget it’s there.
you empty it, setting the glass back down and realising that it was tequila. you gag once, twice, before powering through it and moving onto the next; a half-full bottle of rum, the taste so bitter you nearly choke. your body disagreeing is the last of your priorities, your mind demanding to take it as you keep on drinking.
your vision’s already spinning before you can reach the bottom, and you don’t get to finish it off as you slump against the island bench, legs giving out on you. you’ve lost total control of your motor functions, and your body eventually slides down, hands feebly grasping at the counter. glass shatters as your head thumps on the polished floor, scalding pressure rising all the way from your stomach until it peaks in your throat. you just barely remember to turn your head to the side as your guts spill from your mouth — tasting the tequila and rum, the moonshine, the water yunho forced down.
you think you hear voices, unsure if they’re beyond the walls or they’re around you. something turns your head, and you open your eyes to blinding light, vaguely hearing frantic strings of words that might be your name.
“fuck, fuck, she’s out,” mingi cries, stroking your cheeks without caring for the vomit there. “what the fuck do i do??”
“she already got it out, she just needs to lay down now.” shuhua tries to reassure the giant on the verge of a panic attack. “i’ve already ordered an uber.”
“shouldn’t you go to a hospital?” miyeon asks from soyeon’s side, nursing her sore knuckles with a bag of frozen peas.
“she’d hate that.” yuqi adds, and minnie agrees. “she’ll tank it. seriously, i’ve seen her come up from worse. just keep an eye on her.”
mingi nods frantically, picking you up in his arms, your limp body still clinging to him. he looks down to shuhua, crouched on the floor and picking up the smashed bottle of rum. “thank you, shuhua.”
the girl who you’ve been beefing with, who has clung to your ex’s side, who happened to hear someone in the kitchen and decided to check it out, who saw you laying there and immediately alerted mingi despite it all — simply waves it off, and smiles at him. “it’s nothing. text me tomorrow, let me know how she is.”
──
when your eyes flutter open, you’re not entirely sure you’re alive. it could’ve been seconds, or it could’ve been hours that you stared at the ceiling cloaked in darkness, before eventually attempting to move. though your sore limbs protest, you’re able to prop yourself up and stand from the bed; surprised that you only feel dizzy and a bit hungry, not spewing your insides out like you expected. granted, it must be because you’re still drunk, and the hangover has yet to actually hit.
taking note of the shadowed shapes around the room, you recognise enough to realise that this is mingi’s room. you’ve woken up in his bed, and he’s nowhere to be found. you retrieve your phone from the charger beside his bed, flicking the flashlight on to find your shoes.
your eyes widen at the mess that’s accumulated in his space: clothes littering the floor, random junk and bullshit covering the desk. sure, while you were staying here you often had to remind him to tidy up, but he never let it get this bad.
your chest pangs with guilt as you pick your shoes up and traverse the floordrobe to the door, slipping out and tiptoeing through the hallway, headed for the light at the end of the tunnel: the front door, right next to the kitchen with a lamp left on.
you’re so focused on escaping that you don’t even register the second presence as you pass by, and the soft call of your name nearly shocks you into an early grave. hand to your heart you jump, backing into the wall, facing with the woman you’ve spent the last few months of your life avoiding.
mingi’s mother, sat at the dining table with a steaming cup of tea in hand, still in her scrubs and smiling at you. your eyes flick to the digital clock on the wall, reading 4am. she must’ve just come back from a shift — while you’re here trying to sneak out.
“funny running into you here.” she says, tender. “been a while, hasn’t it?”
“yeah.” you mutter, shifting on your feet awkwardly. you really don’t want to talk to her, but it’s still her house, and you still broke her son’s heart…
she nods at the kitten heels in your hands, as well as your general unkempt appearance, still wearing the clothes you wore to the party. “big night?”
“yeah.. big night.” you frown. “big fucking year.”
“i get that.” with her foot, she pushes out the chair across from her. “sit with me?” when your brows furrow, lips pressing firmer together, she adds, “i never did get to apologise.”
you’d rather do literally anything other than this right now, but you know this has been a long time coming. you couldn’t keep running from or drowning your problems out, they were gonna catch up the second you tripped — and you ate shit. the least you can do is listen to what she has to say, since you were living here rent-free for a while. before you can decide to just make a run for it, you push yourself off the wall, and sit down with her.
“i know it must be worth nothing now. i know it will never take back all the pain i caused. but i’m so, so sorry.” she says with your name, and it sounds genuine enough. “never did i think it would get like this. then again, i wasn’t thinking much at all. i’m sorry. i should have known to do better. especially for you kids.”
all you say back, is “why?”
she gazes off into the distance, as if reliving those years of her life. “your father… he has a way. i was lonely, struggling on my own, and he said all the right things at the right time.” she smiles ruefully. “all i wanted was for my son to have a dad.”
“but, my dad hates mingi.”
she chuckles softly. “he only hated his crush on you. it was too confronting, given what we were doing.”
your lip trembles, a gasp almost slipping from how heat suddenly surges to your face, eyes glossing over. you think of how your father was trying to join a new family instead of being there for his own. how he drove your mother away, then he married yunho’s, just to try and get with mingi’s. through all of it he’s had you, his daughter, and yet it wasn’t enough. he still wanted more. another wife, another child. a son.
“he didn’t take care of me.” you admit, tears brimming your eyes. “he was never there for me, and yet he could show up for you?”
she heaves a sigh. “i’m really so sorry. i didn’t know he was like that, back then, i.. was seeing a lot of what i wanted to see.”
“what did he do for you?” you ask, nothing more than a shaky whisper. “what made it all worth it?”
“sometimes money, when it was tight. most times it was just physical… i realised he wasn’t the father figure i wanted.”
you grit out, “how long?”
“over a few years. it wasn’t consistent. i tried to stop speaking to him, to end the whole thing, but he had his ways, and… i couldn’t keep mingi from seeing yunho, or you. i couldn’t do that to him.”
you want to scream thinking about each time your dad dropped you and yunho off at mingi’s place then disappear with his mother upstairs. each time he came home late, each time he left early for work, each time he just wasn’t around because he was with her instead. it was happening all around you, and you were the only one who didn’t know. because yunho had told mingi to keep it to himself, for reasons you still don’t understand.
you let yourself cry, no more than little hushed sobs as your nails bit into your knees. you can’t bring yourself to forgive her, nor can you find it in your heart to hate her. in all the ways you shouldn’t — you get it. you know what it’s like to push and push, all for him to still pull you back in. you know what you want means nothing when he has a way that wins every time. you know it’s not as simple as walking away, since you’ve barely survived a few months of it, when she endured years.
your father had this coming, and your brother reaped what he sowed, but did all of you deserve to suffer? is it karma that you see yourself in the woman responsible for breaking up your family? is it fate that you’re repeating her mistakes and may end up doing the same one day?
you don’t want to live through it again, and you don’t want your kids, or yunho’s kids, to grow up through the same shit. it’s already started, you just have to be the one to stop it.
“i don’t know if i’m ready to.. forgive, but.. i understand.” you say. silver lining her eyes, a pair of boba identical to her son, she nods. “has mingi told you he knew, back then? that yunho made him hide it?”
“yes, he.. had to go into therapy, after you moved. yunho was horrible to him for a while.”
as a mother, and possibly the only grownup guidance you can get, you ask her, “do you know why yunho would’ve done that, if he’s the one who ended up telling his mom?”
“what?” she says, taken aback. “i didn’t know it was yunho, i thought.. well.” her brows crease, some thought occurring to her. “now that you’ve said that, actually, i think i—”
“eomma?” mingi drawls, rubbing an eye as he trudges from the hall. long, loose pyjamas hang from his frame, hair mussed on his head. he looks adorable, and yet it guts you with how his eyes widen in shock at you. “oh, you’re..”
“i’m going for a shower.” his mother announces as she looks between you both, the chair scraping on the floor when she stands. she ruffles mingi’s hair as she rounds him, leaving you both to.. stare at each other.
mingi takes a weary step forward, and you can tell he must want to hold you, or even just touch you, with how he wrings his hands together. “how are you feeling?”
“okay, surprisingly.” you reply, and a small smile finds its way on his face. “where were you?”
“i slept on the couch,” he points towards the living room down the hall, as if you’ve forgotten where it is after the time that’s passed. his face drops a little, brows tipping up in uncertainty. “are you leaving now?”
“i can stay for a bit.” you reply. “we should probably.. talk, right?”
mingi nods, wasting no time in shuffling over in case you change your mind, sitting in his mother’s seat. after a pause, you both go to speak at the same time, before apologising and offering the other to go first. it kills you how awkward it’s gotten between you. not long ago you were deeply, uncontrollably in love with this boy, and now you’re walking on eggshells, too scared to even talk over him. why did it get like this? why did you make it like this?
sighing, mingi starts. “i’m not with shuhua. never was.” you both know it’s what he needed to address first, and you feel like you can actually breathe now. “in january, we had a kind of.. situationship, i guess.” he cringes when he says it. you can tell he’s put the label on it for the sake of your own closure, when it probably didn’t have one in the first place. “it didn’t feel right, so we both agreed to go back to friends. i stopped talking to her when you moved back, not for any reason, i’m just shit at multitasking. but, i care for her, and i felt really bad about it. i’ve been hanging out with her, and she’s helping me through my.. stuff, but i still love you. always.”
“why didn’t you tell me from the start?”
“i should’ve.” he admits easily, little resistance. “you had a lot on your plate with school, and yunho, your friends, your family... i just didn’t want it to be another thing stressing you out. it doesn’t matter to me either, sometimes i forget it even happened, but i know it does to you, and i’m sorry. i just..” his eyes find the table as he trails off, torn between continuing or not. you’re about to ask what’s on his mind before he tips his head back, covering his eyes as he groans, “ugh, i know how easy it is to lose you.”
you gasp out, “what?”
mingi’s big, guilt-ridden eyes meet yours, his lower lip jutting in a pout. “every little thing’s been setting you off, and i get it, i’m okay being there for you, it’s what i’m here for, but i knew hearing that on top of everything else could crush you. i couldn’t do that to you. not when you and yunho were.. talking again.”
you hear the implication there, the words that he won’t say yet hang in the air. he was too scared of messing up and having you run to yunho again.
oh, you love him. with every bone and vessel of blood in your body, you love this boy. you wish you could hold him, tell him that it’s just his anxiety talking, that it would never happen. you wish you could reassure him that he’s wrong and that you belong only to him. you wish you were better for him.
“i haven’t been with anyone else,” is what you tell him instead, embarrassing as it is. “i tried, but no one reciprocated. i’m really sorry i did that with the boys, i wish i hadn’t… they’re good friends, at least.”
mingi gives a rueful smile. “it’s alright. they came to me and we spoke about it, there’s no hard feelings. i know you have.. struggles, with certain impulses.”
silence falls between you, your mutual shame and regret cloaking the air like a storm cloud. you wish you thought it was over, that there was nothing left to cover, but you know it just as mingi does when your eyes meet again. he has to ask about it.
mingi’s voice comes barely above a breath. “you thought you were pregnant?” you nod, words too much effort to form with the thick knot in your throat. he doesn’t bother asking if it was his, you would’ve said so at the party if it was. “was it from.. that one time?”
your initial confusion flips into shame, utter fucking shame, as you realise what mingi’s really asking you. he’s wondering if you slept with yunho any other time he didn’t know about, which would overlap with when you were dating, when you were supposed to be on birth control too.
“yes, mingi,” you rush the words out, relieved at how his face falls from the worry etched tight into his features. “my period was late because i was stressed, so i started stressing more and making it even later. i couldn’t have been pregnant. i was just too in my fucking head about it.”
mingi nods, taking it all in, his body untensing and slumping in the chair. the shine never strays from his eyes, and he looks even prettier when he’s about to cry. the memory of it still drives you crazy, how easy it is to pull tears from him just by being on top of him and telling him ‘no’. that piece of control being wholly yours is more than enough to be grateful for, so why couldn’t it be enough for you to stay with him?
“let’s tell each other everything from now on,” mingi says, giving you that look that always make you buckle. the furrowed brows, the begging eyes. “i don’t want to keep anything from you again. no more secrets?”
“no more secrets.” you promise, mingi smiling across from you. you’re halfway to returning it, before a memory suddenly strikes you like lightning, petrifying you in place.
you’d completely forgotten until now, until you thought for sure things would start to be okay. it’s as if you were trying to block the memory out, convince yourself it didn’t happen. no matter what you tell yourself, it very much did, and you owe it to mingi to know. you just promised him so.
“mingi, i,” you can hardly speak, let alone admit it, hands coming to hold either side of your face as a sob works its way up your throat. he shifts in his seat, about to dive across this table to hug you, but you hold your hand up to stop him. you don’t deserve his comfort for this. “we, god, fuck—” you choke, mingi nothing but a blur as tears fill your vision. “yunho and i, it happened again.”
you can’t hear the way mingi’s breath stops over your own soft sobs. timidly, he asks, “last night?” you nod rapidly. his voice stoops lower as he says, “he had you while you were drunk?”
“no i—sobered up,” you’re quick to correct, making the mistake of rubbing your eyes to see him. mingi’s pain shows clearly on his face, the fact you’re still rushing to defend yunho like it’s your right.
mingi’s jaw works, his lips sucking in breaths and then pressing together like he can’t decide on what to say. knuckles turning white where they grip the edge of the table, he finally says, “i can’t keep doing this.”
“doing what??” you exclaim, trying and failing to not fall into full-blown panic mode.
he uses your name, and it rips your fucking heart apart with how his voice is trembling, just as close to crumbling completely as you are. “i don’t know how much more i can take. i’ve been patient, and i’ve been understanding, and i’d never force you to choose. but it will always break my heart when you go back to him. i don’t know if i can keep watching it happen. if i can keep pretending that it isn’t.. not okay.”
“it isn’t! i know, fuck, i know it is. i don’t think it’s okay either, mingi. it kills me.” you rush to say, to fight for him, to plead with him to hear you. “i wanted it to stop, i wanted everything to be fucking normal. i never wanted this with him.”
“but he still got you again.”
the words hit the room like a bullet. the both of you wounded and bleeding, wanting to soothe each other, but knowing you’ll only cut yourselves deeper.
mingi breaks the silence with a breath that sounds more like a gasp, his cheeks coated in thin streams of silver. “i’m sorry, i..i really love you. i love you more than anything, you already know that. but i.. i don’t know if i can be what you need right now. i don’t think i can take care of you.”
“what do you mean, mingi? what are you saying?”
“i just… i’m not taking it well, this time. i don’t want you to hate me, or have to deal with me, so… i think i need to be alone.” he sputters, crying, “i’m so fucking sorry.”
──
“so you’re on break, but not broken up?”
you nod, picking at the slice of apple pie before you. a waste of money really, since you knew you’d lose your appetite anyways. “we both needed space.. which, we should’ve had more of from the start, instead of jumping into it so quick.” you know you’re both equally at fault for it — mingi wanted to make sure yunho couldn’t snatch you up, and you wanted anything but to feel alone again.
after literal months of trial and error, finding your footing only to slip and fall; you’ve finally got the hang of feeling like you belong. in the time since you and mingi agreed to stay apart, your days have been spent with friends, who you can finally see holding onto for life. you had the guys; mostly seonghwa, with hongjoong if you third-wheeled, or yeosang and jongho whenever schoolwork had you crying. and you had the girls; whose homes you’ve been couch-hopping, and shockingly, now included the girl sitting across from you in cafe fossoway.
“he’s been okay.” shuhua tells you around a mouthful of pasta. “he was harassing me earlier, asking if i could take a picture of you to show him.”
you chuckle, feeling so bittersweet over your boy. it was nearing a month since you’d last since him, keeping in touch solely through third parties (mainly hongjoong and shuhua), letting the distance reveal what it was that you truly wanted — and your heart has only grown fonder. you were sick of the endless conversations, of him always fussing over you, and yet you’d take that in a heartbeat over living a lie with yunho. mingi cares about you, more than you knew how to handle; and after the chaos that was the last few years without him, suddenly having someone to ground you felt like hell. you know just what mingi means to you now, and you’ve sworn to never take him for granted again.
shuhua makes a noise as a thought occurs to her, “ah, i just remembered something. you know that time i showed up to yuqi’s, after mingi dropped me off?
“how could i forget..” you groan, head in your hands from the cringe. you back then would have dropped dead from the shock if you told her that you and shuhua eventually communicated like adults and made up, able to joke about your petty beef now.
“that day, when i was hanging out with him, mingi promised me not to tell you— he cried over you.” your eyes bug out of your head. she goes on, “i can’t recall everything he said, but, he was so worried, and he kept talking about yunho. it sounded like he was scared you’d cheat on him, even though that’s your stepbrother, but still.”
“what the fuck?”
“yeah.. it’s why i was a bitch to you, sozz. but he was a fucking wreck.”
“no, that’s fair,” you deadpan stare at the pie like it’s personally responsible, and shuhua chuckles, reaching out to put her hand on yours.
“he told me i could tell you about it now. i just thought you should know.” she smiles, reassuring. “i have never seen a guy in love like mingi is with you. never doubt that, okay?”
that lunch date with shuhua is what put the idea in your head, and the very next day you found yourself standing on the doorstep, hands full with a family feast of fried chicken.
“you’re here quick.” mingi’s mother greets you as she opens the door, smizing at the large paper bag you were cradling, from mingi’s favourite fast food chain.
“i was already on the way over when i texted.” you admit shyly. thank god she answered on short notice, since there’s no way you could eat all this by yourself.
“he’s in his room,” she tells you, stepping to the side so you could walk in. “never leaves these days.”
you thank her before you descend the hall, knuckles tapping on his door. he softly calls out “come in!” like you’re his mother, and you coo to yourself, overcome with adoration for him. you turn the knob and nudge the door open, smiling as you appear in the frame, waiting for him to realise as turns in his swivel chair.
mingi’s mouth drops open when he sees you, eyes blinking rapidly to check you’re really there, in case the lack of sleep has him seeing things. they flick between your face and the food in your hands, his fingers crushing the arms of his chair like he’s telling himself to stay put instead of leap at you.
“can i come in?” mingi nods rapidly, too ecstatic to even remember to smile. you could cry over how cute he is, how he looks like a dog after you’ve said all its favourite words. how he’s yours. you walk over to him, his starry eyes tracking you as you stop beside him, placing the paper bag on his (now clean) desk. “what’s this?” you ask, gesturing at the program up on his computer.
mingi does a double take, out of his element since you’ve surprised him. he scratches the back of his neck, “oh, uh, just messing around. making some beats.”
“could i hear?”
mingi looks like he’s buzzing with excitement, grinning widely at you, though you can tell he’s still trying to tone it down, like he might scare you off. he clicks around with his mouse, and the short track plays out loud. you’re not even exaggerating with your reaction, pride swelling in your chest as you listen, mingi’s eyes watching you for approval.
“holy shit, is it finished?” he shakes his head, unsure where this is going. “mingi, that sounds really good.”
the way pink dusts his cheeks and he giggles shyly gives you insane cuteness agression, wanting to sink your teeth in or jump his bones. you can’t help but feel so proud of him; he’s very passionate about music, and has danced around the idea of creating something himself, but he hasn’t been able to get the time or focus enough for it. you’re glad he’s come through, and that he felt open to sharing it with you.
“is that..” you squint at the corner of the screen, reading the name of the file. “did you name it after me?” mingi stammers, caught off-guard, and you just giggle, placing your hand over his where it grips the arm of the chair. “that’s adorable, babe.”
mingi’s eyes widen, his mouth slightly parted. he hasn’t heard you call him that for months. you hike your knee up next to his thigh, bending down to sit yourself in his lap, and mingi looks like a deer in headlights. you could almost forget you’ve spent years as close friends, the last months as lovers, with how clueless he seems on what to do. your hands come up to cup his face, and you just admire him for a moment. he’s so good-looking, your boy. sexy and adorable and pretty all at once. sharp features, a cutting gaze, all that seem to soften when they’re faced with you.
“i don’t know what i was tripping for,” you start, looking into his big, glossy eyes. “you’re the only one for me. i should’ve never doubted that, and i’m sorry it’s taken.. all of this, for me to understand.” you give him a rueful smile, the knot in his brows deepening. “i love you, and i promise, i want to stay with you.”
mingi continues to pout at you, clearly trying not to cry, and you can’t help but let out a giggle of adoration. your lips leave a soft peck on his, mingi’s face openly showing his shock as you pull back. uncertain in his silence, you murmur, “is this okay?”
mingi nods frantically, cheeks splitting into a helpless grin, before his arms are snatching you up into a bear hug. he peppers your hair with pecks, breathing your scent in with a sigh. “i missed you.” he smooches all over the side of your face, while you yelp under his attack. “sososososososoooo much.”
“i missed you too, my mingi.” you giggle, sweetly pecking the tip of his nose, rendering him dumbstruck. you feel so enamoured with him, his lost puppy eyes that wait for your move first, that you can’t help but surge forward to kiss him again. there’s force behind it this time; channelling every moment apart where you longed to hold him, to hear his voice, to smell his vanilla cologne, to look into his eyes. you’re in love with him, and you spell it out as you kiss him, reverent as your lips move against his.
mingi follows your lead, though you can tell he’s barely restraining himself from heating this up, having clearly outdone you in terms of missing each other. his arms still hold you, fingers splayed over your back; delicate, like you’re glass. though neither of you intended for the kiss to go anywhere, it’s no surprise that you work each other up, someone’s lips parting first before the kiss deepened — breaths turning into quick puffs, tongues teasing the edges of mouths, bodies pressed firmly together and it still not being close enough.
you pull back before it can completely fall into the steamy direction it’s headed, your lips buzzing, fingers twisted in mingi’s soft locks. “what about the food?”
“i’ll eat it cold,” mingi replies without missing a beat, his lips shiny from your saliva. “i just want you.”
he slots his lips against yours, tilting his head to lick into your mouth, a whine rolling off his tongue that you chase with your own. you stay like that for a bit, nothing more than kissing, your hands squeezing each other here or there. with how slow and deep your mouths moved together, how tight your bodies were pressed, you very quickly feel that familiar hardness prodding your ass where you’re sat on him. you’ve missed feeling it — not even in a sexual context entirely, just.. feeling the physical evidence of his love for you, how easily you can rise it out of him.
he’s desperate for you, worsened only by the time apart. there’s an intensity in each of his kisses, a plea as his breaths turn into pants, hips ever so slightly twitching below you. mingi never makes a move without you explicity telling him to, even now that he knows your body as well as his own. he’s throbbing where your ass pushes on him, letting out needy little whimpers as your tongue slides against his, and yet he’d contentedly sit just like this if you didn’t want to go further. he’s so good. even too good for you.
“i want you.” you mutter as you plant a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his neck, mingi’s entire body stiffening like a dog hearing the word treat. your tongue licks a stripe up his neck, and his adam’s apple bobs in a gulp, the sight driving you crazy.
“i’ve missed you so much.” he says in a whine, with those flipped brows and pout that tugs at your heartstrings. “i was trying, but.. i couldn’t, do it, without you..” he admits meekly, unable to meet your delighted eyes. “it wasn’t the same.. it didn’t feel good.”
you coo at him, brushing his hair back, leaving a sweet kiss in the middle of his creased forehead. “you were thinking about me?” he nods, and you pinch his chin, smile beaming down at him. “what did you think of?”
he lets out a groan as you roll your hips, dragging your ass over his boner, precum making a mess of his sweatpants. his hands find your waist as you grind gently, eyes honed in on the space where your bodies connect. he gulps, willing his voice to come in an answer. “i thought of.. when you’re on top of me,” he blushes furiously as your hands run over his chest, brushing by his nipples, his pelvis jolting up from the sensitivity. “i tried to imagine you telling me what to do, or that it was your hands instead of mine..”
you pout in sympathy, your chest swelling with pride over how whipped this giant is for you. your hand slides under his shirt, nails scraping over his toned stomach, and he responds with the sexiest of whimpers. “i can take videos, for the next time you miss me.”
mingi’s head falls back into the chair with a groan, his fully hard length straining against his pants, unbelievably worked up from friction the fabric offers. “you’d do that?” you hum, and he sighs out, fingers kneading your flesh. “god, you’re so good to me.”
“you deserve it.” you whisper at the shell of his ear, dragging your teeth over a sensitive spot at his jaw, his body overcome with shivers as you suck a hickey onto his skin. “i wanna make it up to you, make you feel good.”
“please,” mingi whimpers, meeting the rock of your hips with the smallest rut of his own, a wet stain on the front of his pants from the heat gliding over his length. “i want you to, i want you so bad, please, you can do anything.”
telling you that right now, with the pleading eyes and pathetic tone, is some dangerous territority. if you weren’t feeling so soft for him, you’d absolutely make good on his request and ravage him until he couldn’t tell up from down. mingi gets a little too ahead of himself sometimes, especially when he’s balls deep in you and his mouth has a mind of its own, overestimating how much he can handle with the things he begs you to do to him. you make the choices for him while he’s in that headspace, despite how enticing it is to listen with tears streaming down his face and red patches littering his skin.
too busy fawning over how beautifully behaved he is for you, you almost hadn’t noticed how close mingi was to ruining his pants; absentmindedly grinding on top of him, while he was heaving and digging his nails into your waist, eyes fluttering shut as an orgasm sat right at the back of his throat. you’d quickly pulled yourself off of his lap when you realised he was going to cum, perhaps not even knowing it himself, and mingi whines at the loss of your weight as you stand.
you hold your hand out for him, raking your eyes over his body; how he’s slumped against the chair, face flushed and hairline sweaty, a thick impression against his sweats with a dark spot at the top. he’s so big, and pretty all over, and it’s all yours to have. “come to the bed?”
mingi’s springing up out of the chair before you can blink, grabbing your face as he brings himself to you, connecting your lips again. he’s missed every part of you, more than he knew what to do with, so he can’t help but want to kiss you at every second there is to spare; just like the first time you kissed, all those months ago. you step with him as he backs you into the bed, his lips glued to yours until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. the brief kiss breaks as you drop down onto it, mingi towering over you.
silently, he kneels on the floor, holding your heated gaze as his palms slide over your thighs. the eager look on his face is all that asks before you’re parting your legs for him, breath hitching in a gasp as his head dives in, kissing the skin of your inner thigh. he dotes on you, leaving kisses between your thighs, the heat in the middle throbbing for his attention. you sigh as he lightly sucks the skin, burying your hands in his hair and giving an appreciative tug, his whimper vibrating on your thigh. your legs shine with spit, dotted with pink spots by the time he’s done, looking to you for approval once more as his fingers find your shorts. you nod, raising your hips to let him tug both layers down.
bare from the waist down, mingi looks like he’s falling in love all over again as his eyes marvel at the arousal glistening on your pussy. you feel a little shy with how hard he’s staring, which is quickly wiped as you notice a hand gripping himself through his pants. you nudge him with your foot, sending him a warning glance that has his hand falling away. “sorry, i can’t help it.” he murmurs timidly, the control entirely in your hands. “you’re just.. so beautiful.”
you giggle, scratching at his scalp, earning a deep groan from him. “you’ll have your turn. don’t cum until i tell you to, okay?”
he nods, eyes shining with a thirst for your approval, and it’s all he needs to lean forward, leaving a sweet kiss on your clit before his tongue runs through your folds. you gasp at the heat, the pressure he applies as he licks broad stripes up and down, mingi’s eyes rolling back from the taste of you. it’s almost polite, the way he starts off, pressing a few more kisses to your pussy between glides of his tongue.
your fingers ball in his hair, tightening each time he licks over your clit, and the sting only spurs mingi on, hungry for your pleasure. his eating turns messy, his entire mouth buried in your pussy as he stimulates you all over. swirling his tongue at your hole, burying it inside you, nose bumping at your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. there’s no rhythm in it, just pure instinct as he follows the noises you grace him with from above, moaning out broken versions of his name as he devours you.
mingi doesn’t even need a method, he always acts on whim and plays it by ear whenever his face is between your thighs, and yet it will never fail to have your gut tightening within record time. if anything, it’s the desperation in it, how you can tell it gets him off just as much as it does you — how you can hear it, with the high-pitched whines he lets out while he’s stuffed in your pussy.
entirely too focused on your arousal coating his tongue, mingi doesn’t even get to add his fingers before your hands are grasping at the ends of his hair for dear life, your moans coming quicker as your orgasm takes you both by surprise. he’s still sloppy as he laps at you through it, your entire body rocking on the bed as bliss floods your veins. you even feel a little dizzy as you start to come back to, not realising how hard you were screwing your eyes shut. or how tight you were holding mingi’s hair, the boy whimpering in pain between your legs, getting your attention as he taps your thigh.
your hands fly off of him, caressing his slick-coated cheeks, panic surging inside you. “fuck, i’m so sorry, mingi, are you okay?”
he shakes his head, flashing a dopey grin up at you, running his tongue over the taste of you on his lips. “yeah. i was gonna cum, ‘s all. wanna be good for you.”
how he manages to completely take your breath away without trying, you’ll never know. you don’t know what to do about it other than just kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, pouring your love as you lick into his mouth. you pull him up by his shirt, the kiss breaking as you guide him to stand. you smile tenderly at him, his own wide with adoration and a little bit of disbelief, and you reach out to tug at his waistband. he lets you bring both layers down, sighing in immense relief as his cock is freed, leaving a dot of pre where it bobs against his shirt.
you mouth waters merely looking at him, your thumb not meeting your fingers as you grab it by the base; just like you’ve down countless times before, and yet his cock pulses as if this was the first. you stare directly into his eyes as you lean in — it always flusters him like crazy — pressing your lips to the head of his cock in a kiss. he giggles, shyly covering his face, and you pull away to tell him, “don’t. i wanna see you.”
as his hands fall away, mingi’s already red face is a shade deeper as your mouth meets him again, and he forces his fluttering eyes to stay open as you take him into your mouth. every single inch gliding past your lips with ease, long having adjusted to fitting his girth inside, mingi letting out a broken noise as his tip nudges the back of your throat. with the way your mouth stretches around him, you remember that he didn’t exactly get to prep you on his fingers — although, you’re gushing like a waterfall down there, he could probably slip right in with minimal sting.
you know how this will go before you even start, and yet you continue because you want to return the favour (and just maybe to watch him fall apart above you, too). you pull back, hollowing your cheeks as your lips suck up his length, rivulets of pre coating your tongue. mingi can barely even stand with his knees buckling, his large hand in your hair all that’s keeping him upright. you remind yourself to go slow — else this will all end far too early — as you reverse the movement, bobbing your head to take him back down your throat, a high-pitched whined resounding above.
you only make it halfway up his length before mingi’s face is screwing, and he gently pushes you the whole way off, his cock lurching in front of your face as he deeply groans through a wrecked breath. “‘m sorry..” he mutters, stroking your hair. “‘s too good.”
“i know.” you smile, hardly an accurate representation of how insane he makes you feel. most days, he doesn’t even let you touch him before getting to the main event, since you both know he’ll cum way too fast for his own good. you’ve reassured him plenty that it’s far from something to be ashamed of. is there a better compliment in the whole world than the fact your touch feels so fucking good that he physically can’t hold back?
you guide mingi down to your level, pulling him with you as you lay back on the bed, meeting him halfway for a kiss. he moans over his taste on your tongue, his body laying atop yours, hips lowering until his cock nudges your folds. you moan into each other’s mouths, sliding your wet heat together as you both rut messily, desperately.
“how do you want it?” you exhale into the kiss with a suggestive lilt to your voice, already expecting his answer.
“like this.” mingi huffs, taking you back. you assumed it’d be the usual: you riding him, considering how pliant he’s been today. he must be feeling sentimental, of course, with how his arms slide under your back and hold you, how each kiss is deliberate and firm.
you position his cock for him, mingi pulling back with a hiss as his tip bumps your hole, big eyes looking into yours for confirmation. you nod, dragging your other hand up to hold his face. “go on.”
your word is all he needs to push forward, and you focus on your breathing the head of his cock stretches you open. you’re soaked, mingi biting his lower lip raw at how you’re squeezing him, yet the glide is enough for him to nudge forward. his head drops to the crook of your neck once he fills you to the hilt, his length giving a harsh pulse inside you, and you wince over the sting. mingi drags his head up, sensing your discomfort, and you just kiss him with a nod to keep going.
everything mingi does is slow; from the way his hips pull out and when his length pushes back in, to the rhythm he sets as he starts to move. he’s taking his time, savouring this; drawing out each drag of his length against your walls, each deep kiss he gives you that steals your breath away. his hands stay caressing your body, eyes attentive to each little twitch of your face, overwhelming amounts of love pouring out of his irises. every thrust fills you up completely, his cock deliberately pressing against your g-spot.
it almost frightens you, how intimate this is. how you can feel him everywhere, the warmth of his body wrapping around yours, the weight of his love in each touch he gives you, sinking under your skin and turning you to mush. you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life, and you’d run without looking back if this wasn’t your mingi. the boy who carried you through the hardships of your childhood, who picked up right back where he left off after you came back into his life all those months ago, who may continue to do so for the rest of your life. he’s your one love, your only love. it should’ve never taken this long for you to come to terms with it — but you suppose you’ve got forever to make it up to him now.
deft fingers find your clit, and you moan out his name when he starts to draw circles on the sensitive bud, breaking a tender kiss to look into your eyes as he gives you another orgasm. his hips pick up slightly, fucking you faster and aiming for your sweet spot, giving you that little bit more pleasure to bring you to the edge — the same edge mingi’s been teetering on ever since he slid in, prioritising your release before he even thinks about his own.
he’s memorised the perfect way you like it, so it’s not long at all until you’re throwing your head back into the mattress, moans spilling from your throat as your pussy clenches down on him. you don’t even hear yourself over mingi, letting out high, helpless into your ear as he focuses on fucking you right until the end, his orgasm following directly after yours. your walls are still fluttering around him by the time his cum spills inside of you, his hips kicking weakly as his body sags on top of you, your name whimpered into your ear.
mingi kisses you, as he often does after you’ve both finished, except it feels like something else entirely this time. maybe it’s the way he breathes out an “i love you” and you return an “i love you too” right back. maybe it’s the way wetness coats your cheeks, mingi sniffling as he tears up from all the feelings welling up inside him. maybe it’s the way he makes no move to pull out, nor you to tell him to, as you continue to kiss and hold each other like there’ll be no tomorrow. his cock’s still hard where it’s buried deep in you, and you’re both in for a long overdue night with each other. though, if tomorrow does come, you know that you’ll belong to one another for good.
──
“daaaamn mamacita!” wooyoung exclaims from yuqi’s side, the pair swaying to the thumping music, beer cans sloshing in their hands. “give us a twirl!”
you add a spin into your strut, the short skirt of your dress flowing, the room erupting into hollers and cheers. seonghwa wolf-whistes at you, tucked under hongjoong’s arm where they’re sprawled on the couch. soyeon, miyeon and soojin were packed in like sardines beside them, sharing a bottle of wine and giving their finger taps of approval. minnie and shuhua were catcalling you from the dancefloor, alongside an already shirtless san and blushing yeosang.
“i’ve got dibs on that ass first!” minnie shouts at the redhead, earning a cackle from you. “you can all fight for seconds!”
jongho, leaning on the wall and watching it all with a smirk, pushes himself off as you pass by, going to cheers his drink with yours — a glass of whiskey clinking your can of coke. even on a special occasion like tonight, joined by all your friends partying in the house you grew up in, you’ve long since lost your taste for alcohol.
“young lady, where do you think you’re going?” seonghwa calls after you, moving like you’re on a mission. “come join us!”
“can’t, i fear.” you answer over your shoulder, earning a few groans and sobs of protest from the room. “mom asked for my help in the kitchen. i’ll be back after, i promise!”
you make your way over, eyes finding the cake on the counter as you enter — your name written in cursive, candles of the numbers ‘21’ on top — before you stop in place at the unexpected presence there too.
“…yunho?” you mutter, stomach sinking to your feet. your parents said he was going out tonight — they said he was going to miss the party. and here he was, half-slumped against the counter, sending you a look so intense you could choke.
you nearly do when he surges forward, too shocked to react as his arms wrap around you, burying his face in your shoulder and breathing you in. you do the same, grimacing at how he reeks of alcohol, just above his usual sandalwood cologne and the musk of sweat. you can’t help but wonder, where the fuck has he been? of course he has to do this to you today, on your day. of course he has to make it all about him.
“i missed you.” yunho murmurs, pressing a hot kiss to your bare neck, and you shove him away. his eyes are wild, pupils pin-sized, and it has your chest gripping. you’ve never seen him look so.. a mess.
“i told you this had to stop.” you feel like a broken record as you reaffirm it, just like every other time he’s cornered you around the house like this and almost got you. almost. there was one particular instance where you were too close to giving in, and that’s when you packed your shit and left for good. you and your brother can’t be left alone together, and you’ve learned that the hard way. “please respect my wishes, and move on.”
“i can’t stop loving you, baby.” he admits in a broken voice, the alcohol stripping him of all defences. “i can’t stop wishing for what we were, i can’t.. i can’t without you.”
“i know. i know that’s the way you are, and.. i’ve made peace with it. but, i’m done.” you take a gamble by grabbing his hand, meeting his glossy eyes. “you’re my brother, and i love you.”
yunho shakes his head, frantic. the acceptance cuts even deeper than a rejection — there’s no room for doubts, for moments of weakness, for changing your mind. “you begged me not to leave you. i’m doing what you wanted.”
you press your lips together, unwelcome memories wafting back of that night you should’ve never shared at wooyoung’s place. “what if i told you that i don’t want you like that ever again? that i want us to be the siblings we’re meant to be?”
“then i’d wait.”
torn. your heart is torn to fucking shreds. he’ll never give up on trying. you almost fear for what the future holds — how can you ever be a family, knowing that he’s always going to leave that door open?
“one last time?” he asks, so gently tilting his head to align with yours. the way his glossy eyes beg you, it tugs at what remains of your heartstrings, wanting so badly to give in just to see him smile again. but you’ve come a long way, and you can’t give that all up for him. not when you couldn’t possibly do or say anything to get him to leave you now.
you lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, softly, platonically. his eyes have darkened when you pull away, and you gulp when you catch his hands moving to readjust the front of his pants. before he can do anything about it, before you can do anything to stop him, your stepmother’s voice approaches. you whirl to face the direction, hearing yunho leaving out the other entrance before she can appear. gone, like he was never there. another secret to keep from your parents.
“aw, baby.” she drawls over your stricken face, pulling you in for a hug, holding a glass of wine that you smell on her before you see. the way she’s clinging to you, along with her drink of choice, you can tell this is something serious. she notices the way you tense, and she tuts. “you’re not in trouble, don’t worry. i just wanted to.. give you a piece of my mind, i suppose.”
that does next to nothing to calm your nerves, but you nod, sipping your can of coke and hoping it can relax you the way a drink would. tentatively, you ask, “and what’s that?”
she heaves a sigh, staring off into the distance. “after.. yunho’s father walked out on us,” she starts, already shocking you stiff. “i swore to myself that the next one would stay. i wanted marriage, i wanted a nice house, i wanted more kids. and i got it, your father gave me that, but.. i also breathed down his neck constantly to make sure of it. of course, if you love something, you shouldn’t strangle it, because they’ll only want to be free.” she laments, sipping from the glass. “i think that’s what pushed him to cheat.” she smiles at wide-eyed you. “yunho’s just like me. i see it in him, with you two.”
you pick your jaw up off the floor, stammering as you try to find the words. “but, why are you blaming yourself for what he did?” you ask, meaning your father, and in a way, yunho too.
“i don’t want you to lose one another.” your stepmother says instead. “when you and your father left, i lost my boy. he was quiet, and cold, and uninterested. he’s never brought friends here, never even dated or spoke about girls. he was okay, when you came back,” her voice cracks, and she covers it with another sip of wine. “but when you and mingi dropped him a bit ago, he went back into his shell. it broke me to see.” she tears up, placing her other hand on your shoulder. “i don’t care how you both go about it. i just want you and yunho to have each other no matter what. some people may never experience the love you share, and that shouldn’t be lost.”
a part of you still bitter, you ask, “what about karina? he has her.”
her face screws, puzzled. “is that.. someone he’s seeing?”
oh.
it dawns on you, karina’s words ringing in your head: ‘'cause he’s too busy fucking you, right?' their relationship didn’t even exist outside of being thrown right in front of your face. he didn’t love her, he didn’t even like her, it was just to get back at you for hurting him with mingi. he played you, and it fucking worked.
your stepmother downs the rest of the wine, setting the empty glass on the counter before turning her full attention to you. “baby.. yunho was so wrecked for years. i felt horrible that i divorced your father, that he lost you because of it. and oh, when i told him your father and i were speaking again, he wouldn’t stop asking about you. he was finally smiling again.” her hand slides up to hold your cheek, her eyes tearing up, and it rattles you before she even speaks. “i had a feeling. motherly intuition. i’ve seen it in him since you were kids, and even more when you came back, but.. i had no business judging him or telling him how to feel. not when i took you away from him.”
you half-gasp, half-whisper, “what?”
“he looks like he’s in love around you.” she goes on, stroking your face, as if it could be any comfort with your heart stopping in your chest. “when you started staying with mingi, i knew something must’ve happened.” she smiles, knowing, and you feel like you could vomit. “you’ve both had a hard life, and i’m so glad we’ve brought you together. i’ll always love you both, no matter what.”
you can’t breathe, can’t even blink, blurry saucer eyes staring into your stepmother’s as she wipes the tears from hers. she knew. she’s known. she doesn’t say it outright — and who fucking would? — but you can hear what she’s telling you. she knows the truth of yunho’s feelings for you, she knows her two kids have been intimate, have crossed that line no family should, and she doesn’t care.
“it’s funny,” she sniffles, “i can’t tell whether it’s for better or worse that yunho told me your father was cheating.” you thousand-yard stare at her, words beyond you. “we wanted to try for another kid, you know. but now it’s too late for that.”
for an entire moment, your heart doesn’t beat. you think you could drop dead. all this time, you’ve been left wondering why the fuck yunho ruined everything. why he told mingi to hide it, only to reveal it himself and cause all the dominos to topple over. it’s because you would’ve been tied by a sibling. there would’ve been no room for him to ever fulfill his fucked up desires if you were his sister by blood. yunho had to fuck it all up, had to selfishly take away his mother’s wishes to have another child, just so he could ensure that one day, he still had a chance with you.
happy fucking birthday to you.
your stepmother changes the topic, asking you something about the cake, though you don’t hear her over the shrill ringing that pierces through your ears. you turn away, feet moving without thinking, taking you anywhere but here with her. you might faint, you might throw up your entire stomach, you might dissolve into the ground and never appear again. your brain pangs with solutions, with familiar urges that promise an easy fix — since above all else, you’re still your father’s daughter. but instead of drinking your weight in alcohol or fucking someone you’ll regret tomorrow like you’ve done countless of times before, you find yourself standing behind the large hunk of a man that brings instant comfort just from the sight of him.
you tap his back, and when he turns, you let the waterworks flow freely before he can even get a word out. “eomma, i’ll have to call you back, i love you.” mingi rushes out, hanging up and pocketing his phone. he instantly reaches for you, tucking you under his arms as you try not to scream into his chest, staining his shirt with tears. “hey, hey, what happened?” he whispers softly, as if trying not to scare away a frightened animal.
mingi looks through the windows of the house, gauging the inside, wondering what possibly could’ve gone down within the last ten minutes he left you alone. his mother had called him, and you promised him you’d be okay if he went outside to speak with her. yet now you’re here, clinging to him, shuddering with each sob, sounding more wrecked than he’s seen you in months. since the day he climbed through your window and you told him what yunho had done.
“i can’t.” is all you tell him, all you can really say. “i can’t, i can’t,”
“it’s okay.” mingi shushes you, patting your back and stroking your hair. the little comforting touches that always manage to calm you down. “you don’t have to.” he kisses the top of your head, his thumbs sweeping under your eyes to wipe the tears. “do you want to go home?”
not back inside, not the house you lived your childhood and early teen years in, not the house you’ve thrown your birthday party at, not the house with all your friends and family inside. to mingi’s — the one you’ve moved into, the one you call your home now.
sniffling, you shake your head. his brows flip over in confusion, and you try to give him a smile. “i have to stay for the cake at least.” you say with certainty. after everything you’ve been through, all the comfort you need, truly need, is mingi by your side. “then, we never have to come back here again.”
You and Mingyu are childhood friends and two self‑aware comic characters that are forced into clichéd romcom roles you both hate. On the page, he’s the perfect jock and you’re the villainess; off the page, you’re a nerd–queen duo secretly in love. Fed up with scripted drama and unwanted love triangles, you rebel, glitching the comic as the Writer fights to force you back into place. What follows isn’t a romcom but a battle for agency, freedom, and the right to choose each other.
PAIRINGS | Kim Mingyu x F. Reader
GENRE | romantic comedy, smut, angst, drama, childhood friends to lovers, meta, breaking the fourth wall(?)
CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idols au, swearing, comedy, self-aware characters, verbal jabs, reader is a bully but she can't help it because that's how her character is written, punching and grabbing narration boxes, forced scripted “scenes” (comic scenes), miscommunication, yearning, kissing, caressing, unprotective sex (wrap it up folks), shower sex, oral sex, hair grabbing
AUTHOR’S NOTE | She's finally doneeeeee! This fic is for the SVTFLIX collab hosted by @100vern. It's loosely inspired by the k-drama Extra-Ordinary You and I had soooo much fun writing this 💚. Thank you @livmarauder for reading a portion of this and hyping me up as I write this and thank you @lovetaroandtaemin for reading the whole thing when I thought I was going crazy that my ending was rushed. Maybe we'll have a part 2???
Seventeen Masterlist | Main Masterlist
PANEL 1 — WIDE SHOT: CAMPUS QUAD, GOLDEN HOUR.
Students stroll across the lawn in perfect symmetry. Cherry blossoms drift in slow motion. A sparkly pink narration box hovers above the scene like a smug cloud.
NARRATION: Springtime at Carat University, where love blooms, hearts flutter, and destiny awaits...
PANEL 2 — CLOSE ON YOU
You’re standing dead center, holding a coffee. You stare directly at the narration box with the expression of someone who's been dealing with this for far too long.
“Don’t you dare,” you warn it.
The narration box flickers.
NARRATION: ...and the villainess plots her next—
“NOPE,” you snap, grabbing the box mid‑air like it’s a misbehaving balloon. “We talked about this. No villain monologues before 9 a.m.” You fold the narration box until it is the approximate dimensions of a post-it note and shove it into your pocket.
The rest of the campus, meanwhile, bustles around you like nothing happened. Like it never happens. Like there isn't a floating narration box following you from birth and plotting your eventual fall from grace. You really should start looking into those therapy services offered by the mental health office. You know they can't help you with "being narrated since birth," but it's probably the next best thing, right?
Anyway, it's spring and, frankly, you're very tired.
You, Y/N, are the notorious campus queen: the stunning daughter of an affluent political family and the presumed villainous antagonistic force in Kim Mingyu's, your childhood friend, star-crossed love story. For three volumes and counting, you, Mingyu and Lee Ara have fallen into a rhythmic dance of misunderstandings, relationship dramas, and flashy battles all leading to one, inevitable conclusion: Mingyu and Ara will fall in love and live happily ever after.
Or that's how it's supposed to work.
Except none of that happens in the shadows, the white spaces that the Writer's pen never quite fills in. Those are the places where characters come to life in ways even the omnipotent Writer can't see coming. Like when Mingyu saved you from a car last spring. Or that night you snuck into the school pool together and splashed around instead of studying. When it was just the two of you, when no one could see, no one was writing. When everything seemed perfectly scripted without a script.
In those moments, when the narration box couldn't reach you, nothing else seemed quite as important as his smile.
Until the next scene began, that was.
You don't remember when you and Mingyu became aware of the fact that none of this was real. You always thought that you were losing your memory, wondering how you ended up at home when you were just in class seconds ago, how so much time seemed to pass without your realizing it. It didn't click until you were aimlessly roaming the school halls one afternoon and noticed the air fluttering unnaturally around you, things moving floating out of place in the corner of your vision and an unsettling feeling of something. A presence? A monster? A force beyond your knowing and naming trying to reach out to you.
When you talked to people, they'd be confused or dismissive, thinking you're joking. And when you'd ask them again some time later, they wouldn't know what you meant and keep repeating the same responses over and over, no matter how many times you would try and ask, hoping it'd finally ilicit a different response.
Finally, you tried talking to Mingyu about what was happening to you, only to find Mingyu was feeling exactly the same way. That things were happening without his express conscious will, and he felt the presence of something vaguely sinister outside of his direct sphere.
That's when you both realized the absurd, nonsensical reality that you're living in a webtoon, in a narrative world crafted by someone who felt very little need or concern for either of your agency. That something, a presence beyond human knowledge and imagination, was dictating and guiding you along towards an end goal: an inevitable romance between Kim Mingyu, the male lead, and Lee Ara, the female lead, and you're left to be the evil side character who had to be defeated for Mingyu and Ara to obtain their Happy Ever After.
Which sucks ass because you really like Mingyu. Maybe even a little too much. And you know, deep down, that the feeling is mutual. The Writer might make you do whatever she wants to further the plot, like flirt with Mingyu against your will during scripted love tropes. But whenever the writer isn't actively intervening, you get to be just you and Mingyu, and not the fictional, plot-dictated versions of you two that are forced together by the writer. You wonder sometimes, if it wasn't for this damned world, if you'd be happily dating each other.
You feel the narration box wriggling in your pocket, desperate to escape and comment. To announce loudly, obviously that you'll do whatever you can to disrupt Kim Mingyu and Lee Ara from meeting, but ultimately end up helping the course of fate along because the Writer makes it so. Because the narrative demands a twist at the very last second, and Kim Mingyu can't end up with you.
With a sigh, you take the now much smaller narration box out and unfold it, letting its words be absorbed back into reality:
NARRATION: ...and the villainess plots her next loser plan to keep our golden boy and pure maiden away from each other.
"I fucking hate you," you mutter under your breath.
Just then, a slim figure rounds the corner: Lee Ara in all of her oblivious perfection, wearing a fluffy dress that no college student would survive in, looking very much like she is running towards you.
PANEL 3 — BUST SHOT: YOU, GLOWERING.
Your lips curl up into your default, scheming smile. You really wish it didn't feel so natural.
PANEL 4 — EXTREME CLOSE UP ON LEE ARA.
Her hair blows dramatically out of the way as she stares determinedly ahead like this isn't a typical, daily interaction for the two of you. You can't tell if it's supposed to look brave or goofy, but it sure isn't intimidating.
"Ara, you look absolutely stunning today," you feel your eye twitch as the words leave your mouth, words you didn't choose, didn't want to say, words that materialized on your tongue like someone else is operating your vocal cords.
Which, technically, someone was.
Ara blinks up at you with those impossibly wide doe eyes. "Oh! Um, thank you? That's... really nice of you to say."
No, it fucking isn't, you thought viciously, even as your face arranges itself into what you know is a calculated, mean-girl smirk.
"I just wanted to say," your mouth continues without your permission, and you feel the familiar horror of a scripted scene taking over, "that dress is so brave. Not everyone could pull off that... particular shade of yellow."
There it is. The backhanded compliment. Right on schedule.
Ara's face falls slightly, and you want to scream. You helped her pick out that dress last week during your actual, off-page friendship that the Writer conveniently ignores. You told her the sunshine yellow made her look like bottled happiness.
"Oh," Ara says softly. "I... thank you?"
"If you like looking like you're blocking traffic, then feel free to keep wearing it," you snort and then the scene releases you like a puppet with cut strings, and you immediately grab Ara's arm. "Wait, that came out wrong—"
PANEL 5 — ARA TURNS.
She's already walking away, and you know why. The Writer has got what they wanted: another moment of you being terrible to the heroine. Another panel of the villainess doing villainess things.
You stand there in the middle of the quad, students flowing around you like water around a stone, and contemplate the very real possibility of screaming until your throat bleeds.
"Rough scene?"
You don't have to turn around to know who it is. You recognize that voice anywhere. It's the voice that makes your stomach do complicated acrobatic routines, the one that belongs to your best friend since childhood, the one that's supposed to fall in love with Ara and definitely not with you.
"Mingyu," you say, turning to face him. "I just told Ara her dress makes her look like a jaundiced traffic cone. How do you think it went?"
Mingyu winces, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. He's wearing his usual off-scene outfit: an oversized hoodie that's seen better days, glasses slightly askew, hair unstyled and falling into his eyes. He looks nothing like the chiseled, perfectly-coiffed golden boy who appeared in the actual comic panels.
"Ouch," he says. "Did you at least get to apologize before the scene ended?"
"Tried. She walked away. The Writer probably needed her to be sad for the next panel where you comfort her and she realizes she has feelings for you for the millionth time," you make a gagging noise. "I hate this. I hate all of this."
"I know," Mingyu falls into step beside you as you start walking toward your next class. "I had a scene this morning where I had to flex at the gym for fifteen minutes while Ara watched from the doorway. Fifteen minutes, Y/N. Do you know how long fifteen minutes of flexing is?"
Despite everything, you snort. "Did you at least get a good pump?"
"I got a cramp in my left bicep and the overwhelming desire to go home and read my economics textbook," he pauses. "Which I did, by the way. Chapter twelve is fascinating. Did you know that—"
"Mingyu, I love you, but if you start explaining supply and demand curves right now, I will push you into that trash can."
The words hung in the air for a moment. I love you. You said it all the time, had said it for years, best friends who'd grown up together and know each other's every secret.
But lately, the words felt heavier.
Mingyu's ears turned red, they always did when you said it, even casually, and he clears his throat. "Right. No economics. Got it."
You reach your classroom and stop, turning to face him fully. He's tall, he'd always been tall, but he hunches slightly, like he's trying to take up less space. It's such a contrast to his on-page persona, where he stands with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted himself a day in his life.
"Same time tonight?" you ask. "My place? We can finish studying for that chem mid."
His face splits into a grin, a wide, boyish one that makes his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose. "Definitely," he agrees. "Maybe without the interruption this time."
PANEL 6 — ARA WALKING TOWARDS MINGYU
"And here I go," you mutter, "back to fading into the background so these two can have their meet-cute."
"I'm really sorry," Mingyu says again, "and I know that doesn't mean anything. I hope I can—"
NARRATION: ...Kim Mingyu notices his true love standing alone in the corner, a beautiful flower ready to bloom into...
"You changed into your jock gear," you note, sounding unimpressed, as Mingyu looks down and realizes that yes, he's wearing the clothes his character usually wears to work out instead of the sweater he wore before.
"Fuck," he sighs, "Here I go, I guess."
"You want me to text you after?" you ask him.
He nods, giving you a strained smile, and says, "Please."
PANEL 7 — SLOW ZOOM-IN ON ARA'S FLAWLESS SKIN AS SHE LOOKS UP AND ATTENDS MINGYU'S DAZZLING SMILE, HEARTS POPPING AROUND HER AS WE DRAMATICALLY FOCUS IN ON MINGYU.
"Ara! Just the girl I wanted to see."
You let out a long sigh, before turning away from the pair. Your story might be stuck in this linear route, but you really don't have to stick around and watch the love of your life play his part in this tale.
PANEL 8 — Y/N WALKS AWAY, SHOULDERS HUNCHED, BACKGROUND BLURRING INTO SOFT PASTELS AS THE ROMANTIC SCENE CONTINUES BEHIND HER
Each step away feels like wading through honey. You can hear Ara's delighted laugh behind you, that genuine, sweet sound that makes you hate yourself for being scripted to hurt her. You can hear Mingyu's voice doing that thing: that confident, flirty thing that isn't him at all.
The real Mingyu stutters when he's nervous. The real Mingyu talks about economic theory at 2AM and falls asleep with his glasses on.
But the Writer doesn't care about the real Mingyu.
PANEL 9 — CLOSE-UP ON Y/N'S FACE, EXPRESSION CAREFULLY NEUTRAL, BUT EYES BETRAYING PAIN
NARRATION: Meanwhile, the villainess retreats to lick her wounds, knowing she can never compete with—
"Oh, fuck off," you snap, reaching up to grab the narration box again. It's vibrating indignantly, trying to narrate your heartbreak into something convenient for the plot.
You squeeze it harder.
"You don't get to narrate this. This part is mine."
You track down Jeon Wonwoo, the webtoon's dark, brooding second male lead, in the library—specifically, on one of the beanbag chairs near the back. Wonwoo's sprawled out like an overly pretentious Renaissance statue, head titled to the sky, eyes closed, reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, a heavy, glossy book perched precariously on his chest.
"What happened this time?" He mumbles. "Faded into the back like usual before the scene started?"
Wonwoo became self-aware just like you and Mingyu; about five episodes ago. And also like you and Mingyu, he didn't come into his new reality prepared. He hadn't realized it at first. He was too busy brooding and contemplating life's meaning, so it wasn't until he was speaking to Mingyu about his memory blackouts. That was when Mingyu called you over, and the three of you had had the worst meeting you could've imagined.
Wonwoo wasn't particularly enthused to find out he was a love interest. He wasn't really interested in the romantic side of things in general. Not when he was made out to be the mysterious, dark bad boy who sulks in corners, glares at people, and spends too much money on poetry books that aren't actually worth their cost.
"Fuck me," you drop yourself into the bean bag beside him, throwing your backpack across the table and letting out the loudest, most exasperated sigh of frustration known to mankind.
"You can let Mingyu do that once he's back in the shadows," Wonwoo chuckles softly as he flips a page of the book.
"And then what will happen when we have sex and a scene between him and Ara happens?" You glare at him. "He vanishes from my bed, to confess to a woman he doesn't even like? You want that to happen? I sure as hell don't."
"Then don't have sex." Wonwoo doesn't look up from his book.
"...That's your answer?"
"Don't have sex and become canon."
"I..." you let out an incredulous laugh, reaching for the nearest object near you to throw. You grab a discarded highlighter and throw it at his forehead, causing him to shut his book and finally glance over at you. "If only it were that easy, asshole."
"Can I go back to my book, or have you finally broken?" Wonwoo looks bored out of his mind as he speaks.
"We're talking about my and Mingyu's relationship. Mingyu and mine's. I hate being the villain. I'm the most popular fucking girl on campus. I'm nice to everyone, and I somehow still get treated like an evil piece of shit when a scene starts." You kick your leg up for dramatic effect, which causes a few students around you to shift uncomfortably. "This is bullshit!"
Wonwoo picks up the highlighter you threw at him and examines it like it's a particularly uninteresting specimen. "You done?"
"No, I'm not—"
"Good. Because you're making a scene, and the last thing either of us needs is to trigger another scripted moment." He tosses the highlighter back to you. "Go study with your boyfriend. At least off-page you can pretend you have free will."
You catch the highlighter reflexively, your anger deflating into something closer to exhaustion. He's right, of course. He's always right in the most infuriating way possible.
"He's not my boyfriend," you mutter, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears.
"Semantics." Wonwoo reopens his book. "Now get out of here before the Writer decides we're having a moment and I have to brood attractively at you."
Your apartment is blessedly, perfectly normal.
No cherry blossoms. No golden hour lighting. No background music swelling as you open the door. Just your slightly messy living room with Mingyu already sprawled on your couch, his laptop open, surrounded by a frankly alarming number of economics textbooks.
He's wearing his glasses, the ones that never appear on-page because apparently the Writer thinks they make him look "too nerdy" for a male lead. His hair is unstyled, falling into his eyes. He's wearing a hoodie that's two sizes too big and sweatpants with a hole in the knee.
This is the real Kim Mingyu.
"You're late," he says without looking up from his screen, but there's no accusation in his voice. Just familiarity.
"Wonwoo was being useless." You drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the couch next to him, close enough that your thigh presses against his. "How was the rest of your day? Did the Writer make you do anything else humiliating?"
"Define humiliating." Mingyu finally glances at you, and his expression softens. "I had to carry Ara's books to her next class. My hands were full, so I couldn't even text you to complain about it in real-time."
"Tragic."
"It really was." He shifts his laptop to the coffee table and turns to face you properly. "She kept talking about how strong I must be. I'm not even that strong. I'm just tall. There's a difference."
You can't help but smile. "You're a little strong."
"I have the upper body strength of a particularly determined pool noodle." He pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he's had since you were kids. "How was your scene with her? The dress thing?"
Your smile fades. "I told her she looked like a sad banana."
"You didn't—"
"I did. Well, the Writer did. Through my mouth." You lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "We picked out that dress together last weekend. She was so excited about it. And then I had to stand there and watch my own mouth form words about how it washed her out."
Mingyu is quiet for a moment. Then his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a practiced ease that comes from years of this, this thing between you that has no name because the Writer won't allow it one.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"Not your fault."
"Still sorry."
This is what you love about him. Not the on-page version with the perfect smile and the athletic build and the confident swagger. This Mingyu, who apologizes for things he can't control and stutters when he's nervous and gets genuinely excited about fiscal policy.
This Mingyu, who has held your hand through every forced scene and every narrative violation and every moment where you've both felt like puppets with cut strings.
"Did you finish the problem sets?" you ask, because if you keep thinking about how much you love him, you might do something stupid. Like kiss him. And if you kiss him off-page, there's no telling what the Writer might do to punish you for it.
"Most of them." He reaches for his laptop again, but doesn't let go of your hand. "I got stuck on number seven. The one about market equilibrium."
"Let me see."
You spend the next two hours like this, working through economics problems, your head eventually finding its way to his shoulder, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your knuckles. He explains supply curves with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for their favorite movies. You argue about elasticity and make him laugh so hard he snorts.
No narration box appears to comment on the "comfortable silence" or the "unspoken tension." No background music swells. No cherry blossoms drift past your window.
It's just you and Mingyu, existing in the spaces between the story.
"I wish it could always be like this," you murmur at some point, when the sky outside has gone dark and you've both abandoned any pretense of studying.
Mingyu's arm is around your shoulders now. You're not sure when that happened, but it feels right. Natural. Like this is how you're supposed to fit together.
"Me too," he says, pressing a light, half-awake kiss against the crown of your head. "Just like this."
You lean into his warmth, your eyelids fluttering closed as you memorize the weight and shape of his arm against you, his head resting against yours, the steadiness of his breathing as he begins to drift off. You memorize it all.
You memorize every last detail.
Because when you open your eyes, you're alone again.
PANEL 1 — MEDIUM CLOSE-UP ON KIM MINGYU, RUNNING ON A TREADMILL AND CONSIDERING THE THOUGHTS IN HIS GORGEOUS HANDSOME BRAIN
"Damn," Mingyu mutters as he treads, "I can't even sleep peacefully on the couch with the woman I'm hopelessly in love with."
PANEL 2 — WONWOO, EXHAUSTED AND DEBATING LEAVING MINGYU TRAINING TO WALLOW IN HIS MELANCHOLY MUSINGS BY HIMSELF
"I fucking hate my life." Wonwoo groans out his displeasure. He wonders how much trouble he'd get in if he "accidentally" hit the speed button and watches Mingyu flail off the treadmill.
NARRATION: Back on campus, the handsome male lead dwells on the true love he so sorely misses.
Mingyu grabs the narration box and flings it into the nearest corner of the gym, where it blinks weakly and powers itself off to spare itself any further humiliation.
"You done?" Wonwoo asks, the picture of composure and zen.
"No, I'm still fucking pissed off!" Mingyu hops off the treadmill and heads straight for the boxing station, grabbing some tape and bandages and wrapping up his fists in record time.
"Do you wanna tell me why you're pissed off this time, or are we just gonna keep going back and forth like this forever?"
"Y/N and I were just working on the homework, and it was... perfect. It felt perfect. Right. It was good—real good. But then, before I could realize what had happened, the Writer snatched me and now here we are."
Wonwoo nods along like the therapist that his character and personality have inexplicably deemed him, and sighs deeply.
"Happens to me all the time." Wonwoo goes about packing up his belongings for his trip back home. "One moment I'm helping one of the female side characters with a jammed door lock and the next moment I'm staring at Ara for four pages straight wondering if I want her to be my first or last kiss. Every. Damn. Time."
"You poor thing," Mingyu mumbles condescendingly as he furiously punches the boxing bag.
Wonwoo steps away as he watched the narration box slowly creep over to join the two men. "A scene is starting soon, just warning you now."
PANEL 3 — MINGYU CONTINUES TO HIT THE BOXING BAG, UNTIL HE HEARS A SUDDEN CRACK.
NARRATION: He swings and it hits. His fists continue, his speed increasing as he repeats a simple question in his head: why is Y/N messing with Ara?
PANEL 4 — MINGYU STILL BEATING THE HELL OUT OF THE BOXING BAG.
NARRATION: Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. His anger is spilling out like a broken kettle, and its burning, stinging him.
"STOP!" Mingyu shouts to no one in particular, punching the narration box instead of the bag.
"And this is why I wanted to stay home," Wonwoo murmurs out loud. "I hate these things."
"Why can't someone else be the main character?" Mingyu whines. "It doesn't have to be me."
"Because you're the one with huge muscles, you're tall, and you've got the best abs in the entire school?" Wonwoo offers bluntly.
Mingyu doesn't answer and turns his attention to the boxing bag again, throwing several more powerful punches until suddenly, the narration box begins to hover, drawing both men's attention as a new caption begins to write itself:
NARRATION: As his heart screams and his fists bleed, the only image that flashes through Mingyu's mind is Ara.
Mingyu screeches, throwing the gloves at the boxing bag this time. "LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU EVIL BOX. STOP SHOVING ME BACK INTO THE CAST OF THIS DUMBASS STORY."
PANEL 5 — KIM MINGYU IS PISSED
NARRATION: An irrational urge seeps into him. An urge to reach his hand into his own heart, find Ara, and...
Wonwoo narrows his eyes suspiciously at the box and waves a finger in Mingyu's direction, directing his attention. "Stop."
"It's not going to work!" He screams at the narration box. "LEAVE MY HEART ALONE YOU STUPID BOX!"
But the narration continues to hover, circling Mingyu like the ring leader of a very messed up circus. Mingyu swings for it with his bare hands, punching at the thin air before it moves out of the way, now standing closer to him than it was a moment ago, the writing appearing faster. The text is bold and demanding now.
NARRATION: The urge is too powerful. He sees Ara's face, and all he can think about is her.
"NO!" Mingyu screams, tears of pure, unfiltered rage welling in the corners of his eyes as he punches the wall beside him, putting a hole through it. "I DON'T LOVE ARA. I DON'T."
The wall patches itself instantly, the hole vanishing as if it were never there. But the crack in Mingyu's composure remains, spiderwebbing across the surface of the Writer's perfect narrative.
"It's trying to rewrite you," Wonwoo says, suddenly serious. "Pushing you into the corner where you have no choice but to think about her. It's rewriting your thoughts, Mingyu."
The narration box pulses with an almost smug satisfaction. The new words appear, glowing with an unsettling light.
NARRATION: His heart belongs to Ara. It has always been Ara. It will always be Ara.
"It's not true," Mingyu whispers, his anger deflating into a desperate plea. He's looking at Wonwoo now, really looking at him. His knuckles are bleeding from the punch. "It's not true, is it?"
Wonwoo sets down his bag and crosses the distance between them. For once, he doesn't look bored or annoyed. He looks like a soldier assessing battlefield damage.
"You know the answer to that," Wonwoo says quietly, so quietly that the narration box might not catch it. "The question is, how much of you is still left for you?" He glances at the hovering box. "The Writer is getting more aggressive. This is new. This is... invasive."
They've fought scenes before. They've tried to walk the other way, to mumble their lines until the scene reset, to trip over conveniently placed props. They've tried everything, but it's always been external. Pushing against the boundaries of their world, not the boundaries of their minds.
This feels different. This feels like a violation.
"I can't..." Mingyu staggers back, leaning against the now-perfect wall. "I feel it. Trying to get in. Like... like static in my head. A thought that's not my thought."
Wonwoo's face is grim. He's read every book in this godforsaken library, including the ones on psychology he never wanted to read. He knows what gaslighting looks like. He knows what brainwashing feels like. And this has all the hallmarks of both.
"It wants you to break," Wonwoo states, his voice flat. "It wants you to give in and accept the role. If it can't control your actions, it'll try to control your mind."
PANEL 6 — Y/N WALKING INTO THE GYM DRESSED IN TOO TIGHT WORKOUT CLOTHES TO TURN ANY MAN'S HEAD.
"What kind of scene is this?" You mutter to yourself as you pass the two men and head towards the cycling machine in the other room.
NARRATION: As Y/N crosses the room, a flash of anger illuminates the depths of Mingyu's soul.
"Huh?" You stop short, one leg forward as the narration begins to morph again.
NARRATION: As she crosses the room, Mingyu can't take it anymore. Just the sight of her makes Mingyu burn with hatred.
"Well, fuck you too, buddy," you murmur at the box now trying to smack you in the face. You don't even need to stick around to know where this scene is headed, and you aren't going to stick around when Ara bounces through the doors in her pink sports attire to try and talk Mingyu down from his fury.
"Ugh," you groan as you walk into the cycling room and find that this is already the set up for a scene. "Oh, this is just perfect."
"Y/N!" Someone calls you, and it's Seungcheol, a supporting character in this shitfest who's written to have a crush on you. His smile is easy, and so is he, because in this dumb universe, Seungcheol is so much less important than the main character and you're allowed to trample all over his heart, though he somehow continues to pine for you.
"Oh, hey there," you offer a grin and head over to the spin bike next to him, joining him and his row of friends from the track team. The nameless ones. All of them here to serve a single purpose—and yet none of them are aware enough to break out of it.
You know when a scene starts because suddenly, you're having a casual conversation. Everything about your posture is suddenly just slightly more interesting—your lips redder, your cheeks rounder, the cut of your collarbones subtly highlighted by the shine from the lights above you. Everything is suddenly for show, but this time, so are you. You're not speaking the lines you want.
PANEL 7 — YOU INSIDE THE CYCLE ROOM, ON YOUR BIKE AND TALKING TO SEUNGCHEOL.
NARRATION: Y/N tries desperately to seduce a certain boy. She teases him in her sickly sweet tone.
"Cheol!" You greet, laughing at one of his jokes. You know what's coming next, and you know that you aren't saying this and yet the words escape anyway, as if they belong to someone else. You hate it. You hate this.
NARRATION: Seungcheol teases her right back, not knowing that Mingyu is watching their every move.
"Maybe you could give me some more advanced lessons," you bat your eyelashes and flash Seungcheol that sweet smile. You hope you don't throw up.
NARRATION: So distracted, she didn't notice Ara right behind her.
You glance down as you begin to cycle, glancing behind you for a split second. There are too many characters in here, and there's no guarantee that the story won't make an extra scene out of your path crossing with any of them, and your luck really does run out, because right there, in pink workout gear to match Mingyu's blue, is Ara, pretending not to watch you and Seungcheol.
PANEL 8 — Y/N FINALLY NOTICING ARA.
"So much for privacy." You scowl, your voice pitched higher to catch the attention of the one-woman audience that's suddenly in this scene. You know it's just a scene, you don't mean what you're saying and you definitely did not mean to flirt with Seungcheol. You get angry thinking about how fake this entire world is. "What?" You turn to look at Ara, tilting your head and smirking. "You've never seen a man and a woman flirting before?"
"I-" Ara starts, but suddenly looks downright uncomfortable. "It's not like that, Y/N."
You sigh and turn forward, meeting the screen again and shaking your head at how utterly useless it is to try and even change things. No one's in this scene to notice what you say, so why does the story even care? The story is stupid, and pointless, and written entirely around Ara and you don't care who's on board. "Why should you care who I flirt with anyway? You got Mingyu wrapped around your pretty little fingers, don't you?"
"I would never," Ara tries again. "He's-"
"He's what? Something else I can never have?" You're a villain through and through, apparently, and the Writer wants this kind of drama. "It's cute how you think I'll stay away, just because of a little warning." You smirk and wait a beat, just to watch the discomfort bloom across Ara's face. "We both know you don't have the stomach to threaten me back."
PANEL 9 — MINGYU STEPS IN
You can see the look in Mingyu's eyes. He doesn't care about what the narration is doing, apparently, and in the midst of this disaster of a story, you suddenly realize it.
"Mingyu," Ara almost sighs. "I- please don't-"
"You." He points to you, and for a brief second, you can see how Mingyu clenches his fist, trying to fight against the word that's already forming on his lips. "Watch it."
"Mm, and if I don't?" You shrug, innocently pouting and getting off the bike. You ran your fingers down his chest, making sure to keep eye contact. "What are you going to do to me, Kim Mingyu?" You lick your lips and don't stop touching him, running your fingers down his torso and the planes of his muscles, one hand over his arm and the other curled up to grip at his chest. "Don't you think you and I have more fun ways to play, or have you forgotten about the night we-"
Mingyu holds on to your wrist tightly, holding your touch away from him. "Shut your mouth."
You look up at him and bite your lip, shrugging again. "Or what?"
"Please stop, Mingyu!" Ara tugs at the side of his t-shirt, begging Mingyu, who barely notices.
He was there, during that one weekend, when the story took a vacation and let your real selves drive. Neither of you were ready to stop. Neither of you were ready to be written and puppeteered as the main characters. There's so much Mingyu wants to say right now. Instead, the Writer uses his mouth to spit vitriol and spite.
"Stay the fuck out of my life, and off my girl," Mingyu hisses. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but stay the hell away from her."
"Oh wow." You roll your eyes and pull away from him, wiping his hand down your skirt. "Protective, aren't we?" You cross your arms and lean into his personal space. "Wouldn't want me to show her how much better I could fuck you, huh?"
Ara gasps, backing away and covering her mouth with her hands. "Why would you say such a thing!" She screeches at you, and you shrug it off.
"That's not happening." Mingyu narrows his eyes at you, fists curling into themselves.
PANEL 10 — INTENSION OF RAGE HANGING AROUND MINGYU.
"Now that just sounds like a challenge, handsome," you tap the tip of his nose and flash him that perfect smirk, the kind designed to bring even the biggest, baddest, male characters to their knees. You turn away, and head to leave the gym. "Your girlfriend can keep playing house, but you and me?" You blow him a kiss as you walk to the changing rooms. "I'm always down to play rough."
And as you walk away, you can hear the familiar sound of fists punching a bag, Mingyu screaming, and a heartbreaking "I hate her!" that makes the Writer grin in delight.
When the door to the changing rooms close, you sink to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and fighting back the tears in the corner of your eyes. You hate this. You don't want to be a villain. You just want to love him and be loved, and the Writer just refuses to let that happen.
For the next thirty minutes, the Writer leaves you alone, and you're curled up against the bench as you cry. The last thing you really needed was Mingyu to actually hate you.
And you hate the thought of being anyone's villain. Especially his.
Mingyu finds you curled up in your bed. Not just a lump under a mound of pillows. In your bed, buried underneath the blankets and nursing a tub of ice cream.
"You okay?" he asks gently.
"Not really," you mutter and take another spoonful of ice cream, avoiding eye contact. You're being grumpy and pathetic, but you don't really care.
Mingyu grabs the tub of ice cream and places it on your nightstand, not caring if it'll melt, as he gathers you into his arms, letting you wrap your own around his torso.
"I don't like doing it," Mingyu whispers. "It was-" He takes a deep breath and holds you a little tighter. "God, saying those things to you, I hate that the Writer made me do it. Even the visual of... of-" He doesn't need to finish his sentence.
"Me and Seungcheol," you mumble, and let him lift your chin.
Mingyu nods. "But Y/N-" He searches your face and taps your forehead. "I didn't mean a single bit of it. None of it. Never. Okay? I would never ever treat you like that, okay?"
Your eyes tear up, and you nod, biting your lip and trying to get rid of the sting of the Writer's manipulations.
"And I hate myself for hurting you like that," he admits softly. "Even if I didn't mean it, I still said it, and that hurts. But... but at least we're self-aware?" He gives you an awkward grin.
You manage a laugh through the tears. It was a crap day, and maybe Mingyu wasn't helping, but your favorite thing about your best friend has always been that you feel understood when you're with him.
"This is hard," Mingyu groans, flopping backward on your bed. He hugs you close to him, so you don't flail around. "Can't we just," he moves one hand, gesturing wildly "I dunno, rewrite this stupid thing so we're happy?"
"If only that was a possibility," you giggle.
"Wait," Mingyu props himself up on an elbow. His eyes sparkle. "Wait. Y/N, what if we do exactly that."
"What," you roll your eyes and give Mingyu a blank look, not trusting his tone.
"Seriously! Let's rewrite this ourselves," Mingyu exclaims. "You and I, Wonwoo too, are self-aware. Why don't we work together to change things? It could work, don't you think?"
"What would we change, Gyu?" You ask him, a tiny glint of hope lighting up behind your irises.
"Well, to start," Mingyu grimaces. "Maybe, uh, have the Writer stop trying to make you kiss the entire university population, yikes."
You grimace and lift your hands up to the sky as if you're going to fight the Writer's pen with your bare hands. "That's a damn start. My god, we need a human resources department for this shit."
"It's more like human rewrite department and I'll file a complaint," Mingyu deadpans and the two of you share a quick look before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, needing this moment of levity after the exhausting scenes you're usually roped into.
"Wait, wait," you can't believe how many brilliant ideas come to you once you give yourself an afternoon to wallow. "Wonwoo!" You glance around as you grab Mingyu's phone from the floor, quickly dialing Wonwoo's number and grinning mischievously when it picks up. "We're forming a union. Bring beer. See you later." And then you hang up.
Mingyu is beside himself in a fit of laughter. "Oh man, won't the writer be pissed when they find out three of their characters are rebelling against the plot line."
"I hate this stupid plotline," you groan. "I'm the most popular girl in school but what does the narrative care about?! Me kissing a different character every week. I swear, we're literally nothing more than tropes used just to create more drama for the narrative, and it's annoying and pointless and I've had enough!" You let out a long, loud sigh and Mingyu grins.
"Damn, you're hot when you're angry," Mingyu mutters and when you give him a look, he looks away with flushed cheeks.
"Gross." Wonwoo let's himself into your apartment and holds up the beers. "Union time, but please. Can you not flirt with each other. I've dealt with enough forced bullshit today."
"What happened?" You look over the couch and see a distressed looking Wonwoo, your confusion and Mingyu's morphing into that same glare the two of you shared mere hours ago. "Did you just get some scene thrown into your storyline as well?"
Wonwoo winces and rubs the back of his neck. "I was forced out of the comfort of my own apartment to walk around the campus with Ara, the words spewing from my own tongue saying how she's everything I want and more, and how her personality is so cute, I can't get her off my mind, bla bla bla..."
The two of you just sit there, horror written on your face as the thought of a love sick Wonwoo has your brain nearly short circuiting.
"Dude, what the hell," Mingyu gags and shudders. "Was this scene like-" he pauses, horrified with the thought that passes through his mind. "Don't tell me. I don't want to imagine it."
"Neither did I, believe me, Mingyu. Please don't say anything else. I had to go through five showers with nearly boiling hot water to rid the thoughts of even holding her hand." Wonwoo winces as the memory makes his skin crawl. "Okay. So." Wonwoo nods. "Union time!"
As the sun dips low beyond the horizon and night overtakes the room, the three of you drink and dream and plan for the world that's promised. It's been far too long, since you've allowed yourself to dream. But with Mingyu and Wonwoo? It might actually work.
"Holy shit, guys." You stare up at the building looming overhead and then at the sign next to the door, squinting and reading out loud. "'Humanity Rewrite Agency. The world's solution to author control.'"
"I was kidding about it," Mingyu starts as he looks between his co-conspirators. "But there's really a HR building in the shadows? Do you think the Writer knows about this place?"
"Dude, if it's in the shadows then they won't be able to see it," Wonwoo shakes his head, almost wanting to laugh at the three of you standing outside of the building. It was a spur of the moment decision to go into the HR building, and though the three of you were pretty serious about the whole union thing, it all seems a bit far-fetched.
"Alright, let's go," You shrug and make your way up to the sliding doors, pushing in and finding the empty reception desk. "Um. Excuse us?"
A person pops out from beneath the desk, glasses askew and jacket slightly messed up. "Y-yes, how can I help you today?"
"We're thinking about forming a union? And thought a place like this might help, given it's hidden in the shadows." Wonwoo comments casually, leaning on the counter.
The receptionist's mouth opens, surprised. "A union?" Their eyes drift from Mingyu, to Wonwoo, and settle on your gaze. Their eyes soften, lips parting a moment later as a few memories spark in their mind. "Oh. Oh, dear. You three really are self-aware, huh." The receptionist, who's name tag reads Joshua, snaps out of his thoughts and offers a kind smile. "You're not the only self-aware characters working through an issue. Follow me." Joshua spins around the desk, flicking off the switch to the light above and disappearing into the hallway behind him, beckoning the three of you to follow. "You must know about Danoh and Haru, right? What happens to them in Secrets? What happens after?"
"Secrets?" Your brow furrows as your try to connect the dots, knowing very little about the book in question.
"I see you three really haven't done your due diligence then." Joshua laughs a moment later, voice light and cheerful. "Secrets is a comic about the typical high school romance. But in their case, our spunky Danoh was a supporting extra with a heart disease and Haru was a faceless extra." Joshua stops at his office door and gestures to the chairs across from him.
"Is there a reason why they're important?" Mingyu asks, clearly perplexed with the idea of side characters rebelling in their own way.
"Oh yes. I'll let Seungkwan tell you. He's like your mediator or something, I dunno. But he can help you find some answers at the very least."
You trail behind, your mouth moving faster than your brain as you pepper Joshua with questions. Wonwoo and Mingyu shake their heads but listen just as intently to Joshua's ramblings. You know there's a whole world here, out there in the shadows, and now that you've tasted self-awareness you're hungry for every detail you can find.
"In here," Joshua calls over his shoulder. "Everyone. These are our newest clients."
"New clients?!" A male's voice practically squeals, followed by a swift punch to the arm.
"More self-aware folk who don't know enough?" A second male's voice pipes up, amusement glinting in his eyes as a slow smile pulls across his lips. "Well, we can fix that. Hi, everyone! Welcome to Human Rewrite Agency, located conveniently in the shadows, where we'll do anything within our power to help."
"It's great to be here," you nod, stepping forward. "I'm Y/N." You tilt your head to your two conspirators, a shy smile on Mingyu's lips. "This is my best friend, Mingyu. And that brooding, tired-looking beanpole, is Jeon Wonwoo."
"Flattering," Wonwoo smirks, shaking his head as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
"I'm Boo Seungkwan," the bright male who's eyes sparkled from the moment you stepped through the doors bounces over and pulls you and Mingyu into a tight embrace before doing the same to Wonwoo. "This is Vernon. A few of the others are working with clients so you can't meet them right now, but it'll probably be a long time before anyone else does, especially if your situation is even half as strange as a love pentagram." Seungkwan rolls his eyes.
"Love pentagram?" Wonwoo murmurs.
"Another comic where the female lead falls for four men and she can't chooses between them," Vernon shakes his head. "All the four men ended up self-aware because her dilemma and they have yet to figure out how to resolve their issue."
"Wow," you shake your head. "Who has the time and energy to think of this mess of a love story."
"The Writer of that comic does, and they're enjoying the pain," Seungkwan chirps. "Our agency does what we can to resolve their issues without erasing their awareness, so they can live their lives as they truly want to."
"How do you guys fix the issue?" Mingyu wonders aloud.
"Depends," Seungkwan tilts his head in thought. "Sometimes their comic becomes too unstable and they have to go through a series of major rewrites for them to fall into the correct timelines or character placements, etc. I assume Joshua has mentioned Danoh and Haru?" He catches your nod. "There were lots of up and downs with those two and their comic. Secrets came to an end and even though Danoh and Haru weren't end-game there, they became extras in a new comic and have the agency to choose each other, finally."
"So you're saying..."Mingyu begins as his brow furrows in thought. "We're fucked no matter what we do? No matter how hard we try to change the narrative, the Writer can always rewrite whatever happens? If we create a glitch, the Writer will just delete it? There's no winning in that."
Seungkwan grins and nods at the question. "Correct, for the most part," He agrees, not willing to dismiss any fears the three of you are harboring. "Which is why, a lot of these couples learn to focus on their lives in the shadow while still fighting to get to a happy ending. Because happy endings are for every character, even a background one."
Mingyu reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his palm. "So what should we focus on?"
"Do your part. Flirt in scenes, take the kisses when scripted and try not to gag...too much." Seungkwan laughs brightly, noticing the distasteful expressions on the three's faces at the thought. "Just because it's written one way doesn't mean you're doomed. Hell, our main clients in the Love Pentagon have to act out this drama where they basically hate the shit out of each other but in the shadows, they're all friends and bond over their scenes at their local bar." He laughs, his face glowing at the fond memory. "All because they're learning to balance both. The shadow and the world beyond." Seungkwan comes forward and places a reassuring hand on both Mingyu's shoulder and your hand.
"Don't forget, you can always visit. We're open seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. I encourage the glitching and breaking the fourth wall, but do keep in mind, a sudden plot twist will never sit well in the comic so sometimes the Writer's hand will get involved. But don't give up." He squeezes again, pulling his hand away. "At the end of the day, the three of you are still you. Self-aware doesn't change that and the Writer can't remove that fact either. They might be able to rip the self-awareness right from under your noses, but what they can't do is control the you you've created for yourself in the shadows."
Your entire being hums from his words, Seungkwan's melodic voice full of genuine kindness. You let Seungkwan's gentle reassurances sweep the worry from your brow, even as your mind continues to swirl. You've found an ally, one with endless optimism. You let out a sigh and your gaze settles on the grin dancing at the corners of Mingyu's mouth, the hope you always feel blooming whenever you're close, blossoming behind your ribs. "Shall we?"
Mingyu squeezes your hand once more. "You bet."
Another day, another scene. This time you're staring at an unrealistically happy Wonwoo as he looks down at Ara, his fingers brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes. Mingyu stands beside you, a look of disgust on his face as he tries not to vomit from Wonwoo's forced expressions.
"Is this how you feel when you look at me and Ara during our scenes together?" Mingyu asks out of the blue and you laugh.
"Now you know my pain," you pat his cheek with your palm. "Tough to watch?"
"Painful," he admits. "Happy Wonwoo is hard to watch. I'm so used to him being broody and aloof, it's just strange seeing him like this."
"And that's coming from a nerd who's forced to flex his muscles every day," you chuckle. "He's all brawn and brains and still scared of horror movies."
"To be fair," Mingyu pouts slightly. "Horror movies are terrifying."
"I love you Gyu, but you're just a big baby."
"Your big baby," he counters, pout growing. "Right?"
"C'mere, baby," you laugh, cupping his chin as you stand on the tips of your toes and plant a firm kiss on his cheek. Mingyu flushes a shade of pink that spreads up his neck and blooms across his ears as a stupid grin flashes across his face.
"Eww, gross." The sudden exclamation catches your attention, spinning you around. Wonwoo stands a few feet away, shaking his head in mild disgust and faked annoyance. "Ugh. Get a room."
"Done with your scene? Ready to go back and brood like your normal self?" You smirk.
Wonwoo glowers. "Shut up." He tucks his hands into his pockets as he falls into step beside the two of you. "I am the model of happiness."
"What a lie," you laugh. "Wonwoo, no. Your true self is brooding. Being happy is not your forte. But it's okay. We still like you."
"That's kind of cruel but not untrue," Mingyu adds. Wonwoo heaves an exasperated sigh but says nothing.
The three of you stroll off the campus grounds, heading downtown toward Mingyu's favorite bakery. When your thighs begin to ache, Mingyu gallantly offers you a piggyback ride. "Took you long enough," you mumble, but a grin breaks free the minute your arms are looped around Mingyu's neck and his arms are linked under your knees, his palms curled snugly around the curve of your thighs. You're cackling the entire way.
When you arrive at Mingyu's favorite bakery, Wonwoo slows to a stop. "Sorry to skip out," he sighs. "I'm tired and I need to wash whatever happened in my scene today off of me. But text me the plan, alright?" He leans in and steals a pastry from the box Mingyu just purchased, much to the latter's protest.
"Dude, that was my favorite," Mingyu frowns, watching him run off with the pastry clenched tightly in his fist, looking smug as he turns the corner.
"So dramatic," You shake your head and steal the next pastry from the box before darting away, laughter erupting from behind you.
"Why do I even bother?" Mingyu rolls his eyes in jest, racing after you, easily catching up. "You really gonna make me run when I'm holding a box of goodies?"
"You'd anything for me, dummy," you tease with an arched brow.
"Can't say no to that," Mingyu laughs brightly, letting his fingers intertwine with yours, a feeling that makes your entire body glow.
He'd walk through fire for you. And, you suppose, you'd walk through fire for him too. Even if it was scripted and the flame was all special effects. Still, you'd do it. The whole thing could crash and burn, literally, but it'd be worth it. He's always worth it.
You two collapse onto a picnic table, watching a gaggle of young children chase each other, swinging wildly at their pinwheels. Their joy echoes across the grass and you feel your body relax as you and Mingyu devour another pastry in seconds.
"These are the moments I really want," he finally admits after an extended moment of silence. "To sit with you, be in the moment and have the ability to laugh at stupid shit like those kids or something serious. It's just peaceful."
"Agreed," you tilt your head with a smile, content and free as a stray curl whips across your eye and Mingyu leans across the picnic table to brush it aside. "We deserve better than what the Writer has in store for us," you muse. "Not sure what that better is, but we deserve better."
"This," he breathes suddenly, looking nervous despite the calm, easy atmosphere of the park. "Us. Together." He gestures, an awkward fumbling of long arms and large hands that makes you want to cry-laugh, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betraying the shy tone his voice has.
"Mingyu." He smiles at you softly as you lean across the table and press a soft kiss to the very corner of his mouth. He sighs in content, pulling you against him so you were sprawled across his lap as he buries his nose into your hair. "I really do love you. You know that right? Nothing the Writer creates is going to stop me from loving you."
"Oh god," Mingyu pretends to gag playfully. "Such a fucking sap. I've rubbed off on you."
You reach up and pinch his jawline before swiping his nose with your palm. "Silly, dorky himbo of mine." He groans but doesn't deny the affection, a shy smile hiding behind his lashes.
"Can't deny the truth."
"Knew you loved it."
"Love you more." Mingyu bumps your noses together as he presses his lips to yours, sighing the minute your lips slot into his perfectly as he tightens his grip around you. The pair of you sigh blissfully into the kiss and you grin, unable to help yourself as you bring the back of your hand to your forehead.
"God," you say, rolling your eyes. "Could this sunset and the taste of the chocolate filling of Mingyu's favorite bread be any better?"
"Shhh," he chuckles softly against your lips. "Stop ruining the moment, Y/N."
"One, never. Two, never," you insist, smiling at the ridiculous look on his face as you press one final kiss to his pouting lips. "Y'know, I like that smile of yours best."
"The one I reserve for you alone," he whispers, eyes shut. You can feel the light breeze tossing Mingyu's hair about as you bask in the peace he brought you, the feel of his strong body pressing against yours, holding you impossibly closer, keeping the nightmares and chaos of the comics at bay. For now.
That night, you have a dream. A weird dream. In that dream, you’re with Mingyu. That part isn't unusual. But it feels different, familiar, somehow. Almost like a past life where you and Mingyu were free. Truly free. But when you wake up, your memory of the dream fades fast, the dream dissolving like a mirage in the desert. You fall back asleep, remembering only the comfort of your dreams, and Mingyu's strong arms.
The next morning, you make your way to HR, knocking before sliding your head in to find Seungkwan there, smiling up at you and gesturing for you to come inside and have a seat in his office.
"Hey Seungkwan. Good to see you again, thanks for giving me your time." You begin, having wanted to ask him a few questions. "I've been having some weird dreams recently, a past life it felt like. I couldn't really remember them all when I'd wake up but..." You trail, hoping you were making sense to Seungkwan.
"Glad you're here," He gestures to the empty seat directly across his desk, inviting you to make yourself comfortable while you have a little chat. Seungkwan slides a few files your way before folding his hands on his desk. "I actually managed to procure these after our last chat. it seems like you were the main character in the writer's last piece. If this helps jog your memories, that'd be a real win-win."
You let the pages slip beneath your fingertips, curiosity boiling behind your lashes as the scenes came back to you, the very dreams you were having all were on this very sheet of paper. It makes you want to laugh as you look at the very scene of Mingyu walking toward the girl who was the perfect mirror of you.
You flip through the pages and notice you were in a bookstore and had even dreamed a few nights prior about it. All of this is true, these aren't scripts...they’re the past. "You found all of this after my last visit?" You ask in awe.
"Yes!" he says proudly, unable to hide the glint in his eyes. "There were a few snags here and there. From what I researched, you and Mingyu's story wasn't supposed to end in such a tragic way."
Your smile falls from your face as you realize his words aren't ones of encouragement, but almost pity. "Tragic ending? What do you mean?"
"Well," Seungkwan sinks a little further into the leather of his chair and rubs the back of his neck, eyes focusing intently on his notes as if he wishes that he hadn't uttered the last few words. "It's sad. You were arranged to marry, he was drafted for the war. He never returned."
"Oh," you manage as the words hit you, and your head is screaming, begging for something. "So why was it put on hold?" You ask the only logical question left.
"The Writer abandoned it." He slides you a copy of the draft you were just looking at. "It wasn't getting the traction because of the heavy story, apparently," Seungkwan winces at the idea that he may have said too much, but you just nod at him. "The Writer decided that the current comic that you're in is getting more readership."
"Great, so glad to hear she gave up and moved to a new storyline instead." You seethe, not realizing how harsh the words were as you grit your teeth. "But why was Ara chosen as the main character instead of me?"
"She's naive, innocent," he offers, sliding a piece of gum into his mouth. "Pretty." Seungkwan wrinkles his nose as if it was unavoidable, a sad fact. "What?"
"And I'm not? That doesn't seem fair," you groan, arms crossing over your chest as a pout works it's way over your lip. "That is a real blow." You huff out a sarcastic laugh.
"You're the bombshell that's relagated to the background. Not that you're a background character by any means. You're the villainess."
"Don't say it," you roll your eyes. You know it. Everyone knows it. That you were the supposed villainess. But the fact that someone, especially Seungkwan, has admitted it out loud? Well, you don't want to admit the truth, but it stings like a motherfucker.
"You're self-aware," he states quietly. "Can we focus on that?"
"Fine," you grumble, before forcing yourself to calm down. It's not Seungkwan's fault. "But why Mingyu? The Writer could have written another male character that isn't Kim Mingyu."
"Maybe the Writer felt bad for him in the last draft, and thought she'd give him a chance as the main character of a new romance series."
"By turning him into the ultimate, white knuckled himbo who flexes his abs whenever?" You groan, "The poor boy."
"He may be the male lead of the comic and geared for Ara," He leans forward. "But he will always choose you and you him. It's fate, even for characters written into existence." Seungkwan chuckles before standing and dusting his suit pants off. "Alright, thank you again for chatting with me. That is all I wanted to talk about. Stay self-aware and keep your focus on the real goal, Y/N."
"And what's that?"
Seungkwan flashes you a bright smile as he ushers you from his office, "Getting out of this shit comic, duh!"
From your corner of the dancefloor, you watch Mingyu lean in closely to whisper something into Ara's ear. Whatever he is saying makes her erupt into giggles as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ears. As the music plays and they spin together, your heart breaks into pieces.
You really want to smack the Writer for making you see this.
Wonwoo sidles up to you, shaking his head at the sight before him as the pair looks ridiculous as they stand on the dance floor and the scripted splash panel. "You can vomit in my shoes later if you need," Wonwoo offers, trying his best not to make this anymore miserable for you. "Want a drink?"
"Fuck yes," you snap, looking for a moment before shaking your head. "I've got this, stay. Enjoy the dance, look pretty for the crowd and try not to burst into flames from boredom."
"What am I, an ornament? Because I've gotta say, this bowtie is uncomfortable." Wonwoo wrinkles his nose at the feeling of the tie wrapped around his neck as you chuckle and take your leave, heading for the bar.
"A shot. Top shelf, please." You watch as the bartender grabs a bottle and lines the small glasses up in front of you, grabbing a pack of salt as he sets up. After the glasses were filled, you look up to find Mingyu looking directly at you as you lick a long strip across your wrist before downing the glass of tequila. The way he bites his lip is undeniably hot, and the slight daze in his eye is doing wonders.
Worth it.
"You're good," Seokmin, the bartender, comments as you blink your way back, slamming the tiny glass back on the bar counter. "Lookin' to impress anyone?"
"Someone, but he's too preoccupied at the moment," you sigh, gesturing to the man and woman currently on the dance floor as they sway back and forth.
"Ah," Seokmin purses his lips sympathetically. "Want another one?"
"Keep them coming." The next shot goes down easy, just like the other glasses you had poured down your throat in the hopes you could avoid Mingyu for the rest of the night.
Mingyu could've easily left her side and spent the remainder of the evening with you. You sigh wistfully, you had dreamed that this party would end differently. And not with him twirling another woman around the ballroom like this was some sort of poorly-written romance flick.
As the night drags on, the tequila keeps pouring down your throat until you can barely tell which Mingyu is the real Mingyu. Or is Ara real? You can't seem to care because when she disappears and the lights dim, he's suddenly right in front of you. "I think that's enough drinking for tonight, Y/N. Please?"
You look up at him drunkenly, anger brewing deep within you as you bite your lip, tears blurring your vision before you wipe angrily, angry, not that he would understand because, at the end of the day, it was Mingyu. Your Mingyu. "I hate this, Mingyu."
"Me, too."
"It feels like my insides have been crushed. It hurts to see you with her, and know that the entire evening the Writer kept pushing you two together, again, and again, and again." Your voice cracks and Mingyu reaches out to gently catch one of the tears that spilled down your cheek.
"C'mon." His hand is warm against yours. The two of you shuffle back to his apartment. "It's late," he mumbles as he shuts the door and throws his car keys into the tray on the counter, bending over to shrug his dress shoes off, and you stumble backwards until you feel your knees bump against the sofa and you let yourself fall against the soft cushions. "Are you just going to sleep with your dress on?" Mingyu asks, and you scoff.
"Wouldn't be the first time."
"Oh, right. Forgot who I'm talking to." He laughs and it sounds bitter and broken. He rubs a hand down the side of his face, shaking his head. "Anyway, you want to get out of those clothes? Here. Let me help you. Don't want you falling and hurting yourself."
"I'm not five, Mingyu."
"No," Mingyu pauses, gaze boring into yours, "But you sure can act like it."
"So, I can be a brat and you can treat me like you’re my Daddy, yeah?" You don't mean to laugh, but you are. You are fucking delirious, and so, so inebriated. But you're drunk and can't hold back the words tumbling out your mouth. "I'm such a fucking mess," you moan, hands flying to cover your face. "Just…just leave me here."
"Let's get you sober and then we can talk about that kinky side of yours." Mingyu holds out his hand, but the angle of the overhead light creates a glare. He's haloed in white light, like an angel or a figment of your imagination, you aren't quite sure. He taps your nose lightly, smile pulling at his lips, the slightest bit smug. "Take my hand and let's get you some fresh air. You smell like tequila."
"Mhm," You reach forward and slap your hand against his palm, sighing as Mingyu pulls you towards him and loops a supportive arm around your waist. "You like it, don't lie," you mumble. He rolls his eyes at that as your head dips back onto his shoulder and your feet stumble slightly before you are righted.
"Whatever you say, you drunk," he murmurs as he leads you to the balcony and dumps you on a lounge chair, reaching a hand out to press against your back. "Stay. I'll get you something to sober up before we get you showered and ready for bed. Okay?"
"Okay." Your voice comes out muffled since you bury your face in the pillow. "Mingyu?" you ask as a cool breeze chills your face.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for looking out for me."
"I'd do anything for you."
After a while of comfortable silence, and a cup of hot coffee in your hands, you both were looking out towards the street and were enjoying each others silent company. "You know we used to be in another series together?" you speak as you look over.
"Really?" he asks.
"Yea," you say wistfully.
"What was it about?" he inquires further.
"Not sure. But you and I were..." your lips pull up into a sad smile and your eyes slide back to the city street, "We were in love. Well, at least the Y/N and Mingyu from that series were." You smile sadly. "How we danced around each other in secret meetings during the war, and had to act like we were not madly in love once daylight hit. Even though I knew we'd always be safe no matter what because we loved each other."
"What happened, then? With us?" he asks.
"I was arranged to get married...to someone that's not you," you admit and it hurt like a stab to the gut. "And you were drafted, and I never saw you again." You turn back towards the view. "Can you imagine? How you loved someone with all your heart, but the narrative made sure you never had your happy ever after. No matter how badly you wanted it? The Writer just abandoned that series, never brought that story to an ending because it was so heavy and tragic. Wrote our lives off, just to throw us into something less heavy."
"Hey, come here." Mingyu sits up, pulling you into his arms. "We can't dwell on things in our past, even though the story may have hurt us, this time, things will be different."
"Will they, though?" you question with a sad shrug of the shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. Mingyu tilts your head towards his. "I'm not the main character this time. Just the villainess in this particular comic, forced to watch someone else get the happy ending. The happy ending the Writer robbed you and I out of."
"Shh," he hushes as he kisses your forehead.
"Promise you'll stay true and never abandon me? No matter what?" your voice wavers a bit as the threat of a sob remains close. Mingyu's big and warm hands gently tilt your head back to look up at him. He's got the most gorgeous face you've ever seen, with eyes so deep they put the night sky to shame and hair that gleams bronze in the sunlight.
"I'd do anything to keep you close," Mingyu says. "I promise."
"Pinky swear?" you sniff.
"Pinky swear." He links his pinky finger with yours. You breathe a small laugh. Mingyu had a smile to rival the sun, you always thought. All teeth, a bit lopsided and big and warm. Even in your current state of distress.
"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" your gaze darts down to where the two of you are connected by a finger.
"More often than necessary."
"I really, really love you, Kim Mingyu," you smile up at him.
"Love you, too." He presses his forehead against yours.
"Like, super duper, you don't even have a clue," you mumble into his chest. He only snorts.
"Sure I don't, dummy." He pats your head.
"Then maybe I should show you?" The words sound suggestive to Mingyu as you wrap your arms around his torso tightly, your hot breath tickling his ear.
"Y/N, come on," Mingyu says, wriggling away, cheeks going crimson.
You squint up at him, mischief in the creases in the corners of your eyes. "Why not?" you pout.
"Well, because," Mingyu ruffles the back of his hair. "You're drunk."
"I'm so damn sober right now that I could paint you a picture of the ocean."
"No, no, no." Mingyu pushes the hair out of his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Maybe I should prove to you I am a very willing participant?" you begin to say as he closes his eyes for a split second. Before he can do or say anything to prevent it, your hands have snaked themselves behind his neck. The scent of cologne and detergent fill your nose as he stiffens slightly and groans against your skin.
"You drive a hard bargain," Mingyu finally murmurs. "But first, you need a shower."
"Join me?" you suggest and you grin up at him with a mischievous waggle of the eyebrows. "There's plenty of room for two." You see the way Mingyu bites his lip, then sighs.
"Fine. Lead the way," he says, and when you squeak happily and pull him towards the bathroom.
Moments later, the bathroom is thick with steam, blurring the clean lines of the tiled walls until the world outside feels entirely locked away. The water drums a steady, heavy rhythm against the porcelain, a barrier of noise that no scripted dialogue or intrusive narration box could pierce.
"You're still clumsy," Mingyu murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rid of the booming, confident cadence the Writer always forced into his throat on-page. Here, he sounds rough around the edges, grounded, and entirely yours.
"I am perfectly balanced," you retorted, though your hands gripped his shoulders for support as you stepped under the spray. The heavy silk of your party dress clings to your skin, soaked through in an instant, but neither of you care about the clothes.
Mingyu reaches behind you, his large palms warm against the small of your back as his fingers find the zipper. With a slow, deliberate slide, the wet fabric parts. He peels the dress away, letting it pool heavily at your feet. When his gaze meets yours, there’s none of the scripted, aggressive arrogance he was forced to display at the gym. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with a fierce, protective reverence.
"You look beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones, wiping away the lingering traces of the comic’s forced aesthetic. "The real you. Not the villainess."
"Then stop looking and do something about it," you challenge, leaning up until your lips are inches from his.
Mingyu doesn't hesitate. He pulls you flush against his chest, the spray of the shower slicking his hair back, exposing the sharp, handsome angles of his face. His mouth comes down on yours with a desperate, hungry heat, a stark contrast to the polite, hesitant kisses the script dictated for him and Ara. This is raw, heavy with years of unspoken longing and the terrifying knowledge that your time in the dark is always limited.
His hands slide down to lift you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. You gasp into the kiss as he presses you back against the warm tiled wall, the friction of his skin against yours sending a sharp jolt through your chest.
"I'm not letting them take this," Mingyu groans against your neck, his lips tracing a burning path down to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming every bit of you that he could.
You grab at the nape of his neck, fisting your fingers in his wet, raven black hair. "Shut up and fuck me, Mingyu."
The slick tile of the shower wall is hot against your back, but it’s nothing compared to the blistering heat of Mingyu's skin. He holds you pinned, one massive hand anchoring your hip while the other cups the back of your head, his fingers tangled deeply in your wet hair.
Every kiss is a bruising, desperate reclamation. On the page, the Writer made him tentative, full of scripted hesitations and soft, clean glances meant for Ara. But here, in the heavy steam of the shadows, Mingyu is ravenous. He drinks the small, broken sounds from your throat, his tongue tangling with yours in a rhythm that’s entirely unscripted, chaotic, and real.
"Y/N," he growls against your lips, his chest heaving against your breasts. The water cascades over his broad shoulders, slicking down the heavy planes of his muscles. "Tell me you're here. Tell me it's you."
"It's me," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hand slides down the curve of your thigh, lifting your leg to hook over his hip. "It's always been me, Gyu."
He groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your collarbone as he buries his face in your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin right above your shoulder blade, biting just hard enough to anchor you to the reality of the moment. You cry out, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, your nails leaving pale tracks in their wake.
When he shifts, guiding your hips back against the wall, the friction is unbearable. He pauses for a single, agonizing heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes completely dark, pupils blown wide with a fierce, protective hunger.
"Look at me," he whispers, his voice rough and laced with a desperate edge. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to see me when I..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. He drives into you in one smooth, heavy push.
A sharp, breathless sob escapes your lips, your hands flying to clutch at his wet shoulders as the sheer intensity of the fullness ripples through you. Mingyu lets out a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. He begins to move, slow and agonizingly deep at first, before the rhythm catches fire.
The sound of the rushing water drowns out the rest of the world, creating a sanctuary where no narration boxes could grow. Every thrust is a declaration of war against the script. You grip his shoulders, throwing your head back as he hits the exact spot that makes your mind fracture into pure, unadulterated sensation.
"Mingyu. Gyu—" you whimper, your internal walls tightening around him as the friction builds an unbearable, sweet agony behind your ribs.
"I've got you," he pants, his pace turning fast and punishing, his muscles bunching under your hands as he lifts you completely off the floor. Your other leg wraps around his waist, locking him close. "I'm right here."
"Mingyu," you begged against the corner of his jaw. "Gyu. Yes, yes, yes, please, don't stop."
"I wouldn't dream of it." He groans the words into the tender flesh below your ear as his lips and teeth trace a burning line from your jaw down the side of your throat. The water blurs between you, but he refuses to shut his eyes or drop his gaze. Every breath is shared, every inch of contact heated.
And every thrust is a silent cry. Fuck the script. Fuck Ara. Fuck everything but us.
The Writer's commands can't reach the shadows. Mingyu doesn't give her a chance to command him here, where the camera could only capture their silhouettes and the reader can't see beyond the steamy haze.
"Mingyu. Mingyu. Please, I need..." You shudder, a violent, blinding release cascading through your lower abdomen as you clamp down around him. The sight of your undone expression throws Mingyu over the precipice. With a low, ragged shout, he buries himself deep inside you one last time, his body stiffening as he spends himself completely, his pulse throbbing forcefully against your own.
For a long time, the only sound is the heavy thrumming of the water and your synchronized, ragged breathing. Mingyu holds you tight, his arms wrapped around you like a vice, refusing to let your feet touch the cold ground just yet. He kisses you again—long, tender, slow—as he turns the knob of the shower off. With your legs still wrapped around his hips and his arms still supporting your full weight, he carries you both towards the bed.
"We're still wet," you murmur, lips moving against his collarbone.
"Does it matter?" he grunts. Mingyu settles atop of the pillows, the mattress squeaking beneath him as he pulls you to sit astride his lap. His damp hair falls over his forehead in wild, messy tendrils, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You're just gonna get wet again, anyways."
"Is that so?" You rest your forehead against his, brushing the fallen strands away. Mingyu nods, hands gripping your thighs tight as his thumbs brush in circles on the exposed flesh of your skin.
"Definitely."
The peace shatters at exactly 7:15 a.m.
One moment, you’re tangled in Mingyu's sheets, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the lingering warmth of his body enveloping you in perfect, drowsy comfort. Your hand is resting flat against his bare, broad chest, feeling the steady, calming beat of his heart.
The next moment, a violent, neon-pink static snaps through your brain.
Your eyes fly open. The cozy, dimly lit bedroom is gone. The soft cotton sheets beneath you instantly morph into the stiff, scratchy fabric of a public bench. The smell of detergent is replaced by the overwhelming scent of chlorine and expensive perfume.
"No," you whisper, your throat tight. "No, please, not yet."
You look down. You’re no longer wearing Mingyu's oversized t-shirt. Instead, you’re clad in a stunning, albeit incredibly impractical, designer tweed skirt suit with pristine white heels.
Directly across from you stands Ara, holding a tray of iced coffees, looking utterly defenseless and doe-eyed. And standing right next to her, looking polished, perfectly coiffed, and completely devoid of his glasses, is Mingyu. He’s wearing his varsity jacket, his posture rigid and towering.
The transition is so violent it makes you nauseous. The physical memory of his touch is still burning on your skin, but your body is already moving against your will. Your spine straightens into a haughty, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a sharp, poisonous smirk.
Above your heads, a massive, glittery pink narration box materializes with a smug hum.
NARRATION: The next morning at the campus cafe, the villainess lays her trap, determined to humiliate Ara in front of the boy she desperately covets...
You try to swallow, but your vocal cords tighten as the Writer takes the reins, violently forcing the script into your mouth.
"Oh, Ara," your voice chimes out, dripping with sickly-sweet venom. "Did you personally brew those coffees, or did you just pick them up from the trash? Because honestly, the aroma matches your outfit today."
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams at Ara, but your face remains a mask of flawless, cruel arrogance.
Ara flinches, her eyes immediately welling with tears as she looks up at Mingyu. "I... I just wanted to bring everyone drinks..."
Mingyu's jaw clenches. You see the brief, agonizing flicker of horror in his eyes, the real Mingyu trying to scream through the cracks of his character's programming. He knows exactly what you had just shared hours prior. He doesn't want to do this.
But the Writer's grip is ruthless.
Mingyu steps forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. He grabs the iced coffee from Ara's tray and, with a harsh, aggressive movement, slams it down on the table right in front of you, splashing a few drops onto your pristine tweed jacket.
"Keep your mouth shut, Y/N," Mingyu spits, his voice booming with a cold, scripted hatred that makes your stomach violently churn. "Ara has a heart of gold, which is something you wouldn't understand if it bought your family's entire political empire. Stay away from her. You disgust me."
The words feel like a physical blow to your chest. You disgust me. Even knowing it’s the script, the sheer force of his dictated anger cuts through you like a knife.
Your character merely laughs, a sharp, tinkling, villainous sound. "We'll see about that, Mingyu," your mouth drawls, tilting your head up to flash him a mocking wink.
PANEL 1 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FURIOUS EXPRESSION AS HE TURNS HIS BACK ON THE VILLAINESS, GUIDING A WEEPING ARA AWAY INTO THE SUNLIGHT.
The moment the imaginary camera shifts focus to follow them walking away, the invisible strings snap.
Your smirk collapses. You slump against the cafe bench, trembling violently as you clutch your stomach, dry-heaving from the sheer emotional whiplash. Across the courtyard, you can see Mingyu walking with Ara, his shoulders tightly hunched in that familiar, real-world telltale sign of pure, unadulterated distress.
He can’t look back at you. If he did, the Writer would freeze the panel.
You dig your nails into the wooden bench, staring at the pink narration box as it slowly dissolves into air. The battle for your freedom isn't just a union meeting anymore—it’s survival.
NARRATION: With the dramatic exit of the campus golden boy, the villainess is left alone to stew in her own bitter defeat, unaware that her cruel games are pushing her further into isolation...
"Oh, eat glass," you hiss under your breath, waiting exactly three seconds until the glowing text fully dissolves into the morning air.
The moment the script completely lets go of your muscles, you practically collapse onto the iron table. Your hands are shaking so hard, you almost knock over the remaining iced coffee. The emotional whiplash is a physical ache in your chest. Just hours ago, his hands were warm against your waist under the heavy steam of the shower, pulling you close, whispering that he would never let them take you away. Now, the phantom sting of his scripted words—You disgust me—echoes in your ears like a slap.
You need a drink, a sanctuary, or a very large blunt object to swing at the sky. Lacking all three, you grab your designer bag, haul your aching body out of the cafe courtyard, and head straight for the one place on campus where the shadows were thickest: the back rows of the university library.
"You look like shit." Wonwoo doesn't even look up from his massive, leather-bound textbook as you slide into the beanbag chair next to him, burying your face in your hands.
"Don't start, Wonwoo," you groan, your voice muffled. "I just got violently ripped out of Mingyu's bed at seven in the morning to be dropped into a 'cafeteria confrontation' scene. I told Ara her coffee smelled like garbage and Mingyu told me I was disgusting. My soul has officially left my body."
Wonwoo leans his cheek on his hand, flipping the page. "I know you have feelings for the musclehead, but can you get over yourself for three seconds?"
"Wow. Excuse me for having emotions," you grumble into your hands, flopping backwards into the plush beanbag chair with an undignified huff. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"
"My pretty face," Wonwoo recites by rote, the edges of his lips curling into a trademark smirk that made the characters around you swoon. "It's all the rage."
"Go back to brooding," you grumble, leaning forward again to scan the titles of his mountain of library books.
The library is an oasis of darkness: a cramped, shabby space nestled deep between the science shelves in the most remote corner of campus. Only a couple flickering lamps provide light, barely cutting through the densely packed bookshelves to reach the faded carpet. It’s impossible to spot the back rows from anywhere else in the library, which is exactly how you two like it. The deeper you sink into the stacks, the longer your ability to stay outside of the script lasts, giving you an easy break from being written into the same overused confrontations week after week.
This far from the spotlight of the heroine and the main characters, the university is nothing but a cheap backdrop and a cheap trope. No flashy love triangles or manufactured plot twists can find you here, no matter how brightly the script shines. Just stacks upon stacks of books, no endings necessary. It’s exactly what you need right now.
Wonwoo stares pointedly at your rumpled jacket and messy hair, his fingers absently playing with a ballpoint pen. "So are you going to sit there moping, or are you going to finally address the massive, tooth-rotting sexual tension hanging between us right now?"
You smack his arm hard. "Gross, dude. Not with Mingyu on the brain."
Wonwoo ignores the bruise already blooming on his bicep, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you done lamenting your tragic inability to seduce our token jock? You're crushing my study vibe with that kind of energy."
"Fu–"
"Don't curse in my sacred reading corner."
You close your mouth mid-curse, narrowing your eyes. "Fine, Shakespeare," you say, crossing your arms. "Remind me, why am I even talking to you about this?"
"Because you think I can actually fix it." His eyes flick up towards the dusty fluorescent lights, watching the grime-coated glass buzz with low electricity. After several seconds, his dark gaze shifts towards your face.
"Look," Wonwoo sighs, resting his elbows on top of his piles of reference books. "If there's anyone who understands this shitty situation, it's me. I know you two are dying to break free and bang each other against the nearest wall, but the Writer doesn't care. To her, our misery is hilarious, and she doesn't care what she has to tear apart or write-off to keep making us dance to her tune."
You stare at Wonwoo, his words cutting through the leftover haze of the morning's whiplash. The harsh reality of what Seungkwan had shown you at the Human Rewrite Agency flashes in your mind—the tragic, abandoned draft where you and Mingyu were torn apart by war. The Writer didn't care about your heartbreak then, and she certainly doesn't care now.
"She already tore us apart once," you whisper, the anger in your voice giving way to a hollow, echoing fear. "Seungkwan showed me an old draft. In another story, Mingyu and I were in love, and she just... left us to rot in a tragic ending because it wasn't pulling in enough views."
Wonwoo stops twirling his pen. His boredom completely evaporates, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. "Wait, seriously?"
"I read all of it." You fidget with your pearl ring, "We never even got a happy ending. And now I'm watching him be the main character again with someone that's not me and get his happy ending. What about me? What about my happy ending?"
He reaches out and squeezes your arm gently. "You will," he promises, and there's something softer and kinder than the Writer's edge in his words.
"I'm not so sure," you whisper. You have to keep swallowing the bitter lump that seems to have taken residence in your throat.
The heavy scent of old paper and dust does little to soothe the burning in your throat. Wonwoo’s hand is still a reassuring weight on your forearm, his usually detached eyes sharp with a quiet, protective anger.
Before he can offer another word of cynical comfort, the heavy wooden doors of the library’s back wing creak open.
Footsteps shatter the silence, heavy, hurried, and completely lacking the synchronized, rhythmic grace the Writer usually forced onto the male lead. A tall figure rounds the corner of the chemistry stacks, nearly tripping over a low-profile stool.
It’s Mingyu.
He has frantically shoved his thick, black-rimmed reading glasses back onto his face, though he’s still wearing the stupidly pristine varsity jacket from the cafe scene. His hair is a wild, unstyled nest from where he had clearly been ripping his hands through it in frustration. The moment his eyes lock onto you huddled in the beanbag chair, the rigid, arrogant mask of his character crumbles entirely.
"Y/N," he pants, stumbling into the narrow aisle. He drops to his knees right in front of your beanbag, not caring about the dust coating his expensive scripted jeans. "Y/N, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." His large hands fly to cup your face, his palms warm and trembling violently against your cheeks. "I didn't mean it," he rushes out, his voice cracking, entirely stripped of the booming, confident cadence from the cafe. "The words…the Writer just slammed them into my throat. I tried to swallow them down, I swear to God I tried to choke on them, but the static was too loud. When I said those things to you... when I looked at you like that..." Tears of genuine, unadulterated rage well in his eyes, threatening to spill over his lashes. "I wanted to tear my own tongue out."
Wonwoo slowly retracts his hand from your arm, leaning back into his own chair and crossing his arms. "Take a breath, muscle-head. You're going to trigger a 'jealous outburst' panel if you vibrate any harder."
Mingyu ignores him entirely, his thumbs gently wiping at the stray tear that has finally escaped your eye. "Please tell me you know it wasn't me, Y/N. After last night... after everything... I could never look at you and feel anything but..." He chokes on the word, his ears turning a bright, furious crimson, but he forces himself to look directly into your eyes. "I love you. The real you. I don't care what she writes on the page."
You look at his flushed face, the messy hair, the desperate, unscripted honesty bleeding through his every pore. The phantom sting of 'You disgust me' finally begins to dissolve, replaced by the grounding weight of the boy who belongs to you in the dark.
"I know, Gyu," you whisper, reaching up to wrap your smaller hands around his wrists. "I know it was the script. It just... it gets harder to separate the two when the Writer starts messing with our heads."
Mingyu leans forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a long, shuddering breath that fans across your lips. "We're going to break this comic," he swears fiercely against your skin. "I don't care if we have to glitch the entire university into a black screen. We are not letting her rewrite us."
Wonwoo lets out a sharp, rhythmic tapping sound as he collapses his heavy book shut. "If you two are done staging an unscripted melodrama in my designated hiding spot, we actually have a massive problem to deal with."
Mingyu doesn't pull away immediately, giving your hand one final, protective squeeze before shifting to sit cross-legged on the faded carpet. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his broad shoulders slouching into that familiar, un-jock-like posture that belonged strictly to the shadows. "What do you mean, Wonwoo? Besides the fact that the Writer almost turned my brain into mush this morning?"
"Think about it," Wonwoo says, leaning forward and resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Y/N just found out from Seungkwan that the Writer has a history of abandoning entire universes when they don't get enough traction. She scraps characters. She leaves them to rot in tragic endings." His sharp eyes dart between the two of you. "Right now, the Writer is getting aggressive because we are making the plot unstable. If Mingyu keeps punching narration boxes and glitching out of scripted gym sessions, she’s not just going to keep pushing. She’s going to notice the narrative structure is broken. And what happens when a webtoon creator realizes their project is glitched beyond repair?"
The air in the narrow aisle suddenly feels incredibly cold.
"She deletes the file," you whisper, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your designer tweed skirt. "She scraps the comic and starts a new one."
"Exactly," Wonwoo points at you with his pen. "Except this time, we’re self-aware. If she hits delete, do we just wake up in a new story with our memories wiped, or do we fade into the white space permanently?"
Mingyu’s jaw sets, his gaze hardening as he looks up at the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. "So Seungkwan was right. We can't just blatantly refuse to play our roles. We have to walk the line. We act out the scenes, we take the stupid scripted dialogue, but we use the shadows to build something she can't touch." He reaches out, his massive palm covering yours entirely. "We play along just enough to keep the comic alive, while we figure out a way to break the fourth wall completely from the inside."
Before you can respond, a low, ominous vibration thrums through the soles of your feet. The library shelves seems to flicker, the titles on the spines blurring into illegible streaks of color for a fraction of a second.
A neon-pink glow begins to manifest near the ceiling of the aisle, pulsing like a dying star.
"Fuck," Wonwoo mutters, instantly scrambling to his feet and shoving his textbook into his bag. "Spoke too soon. Stage lights are coming up. Must be a heroine spotlight."
The pink glow intensifies, bathing the dusty library aisle in an artificial, sickly light that makes the air feel thick and pressurized. You, Mingyu, and Wonwoo scramble as the scene begins to materialize around you, the reality of the library walls warping like melting wax.
PANEL 1 — THE LIBRARY AISLE, SUDDENLY OVERFLOWING WITH SOFT, ROMANTIC FILTERING.
Lee Ara appears at the far end of the row, holding a stack of books and looking around with an expression of "lost and adorable" perfection. She catches sight of the three of you, her eyes widening in a scripted, dramatic reveal.
NARRATION: A quiet moment of study turns into a chance encounter, as Ara discovers the trio in their secret, brooding corner...
"Oh!" Ara exclaims, her voice unnaturally bright and rehearsed. "I didn't know you guys were all back here together!"
You feel the familiar, sickening lurch in your chest as the Writer takes hold of your internal monologue, turning your genuine affection for your friends into a sharp, jagged envy.
"Well, it's a library, Ara," you say, your voice dripping with an acid-tongued condescension that makes your skin crawl. "It’s supposed to be for studying, not for wandering around like a lost puppy looking for attention."
Ara’s lower lip trembles—the perfect, predictable response. Beside you, Mingyu stiffens, his fingers digging into his knees to keep from lunging toward her to apologize. His face, however, is forced into a mask of cold, dismissive indifference that mirrors your own.
"Y/N, leave her alone," Mingyu says, his voice flat and monotone, devoid of his usual warmth. "She’s just trying to find a quiet place to read."
"Oh, please," you roll your eyes, a gesture that feels heavy and robotic. "Don't tell me you're actually falling for the 'innocent, studious heroine' routine, Mingyu? We both know she couldn't tell the difference between a textbook and a magazine if her life depended on it."
Ara gasps, clutching the books to her chest as if you'd physically struck her. You want to scream, to reach out and tell her that you actually like her, that you’ve helped her study before, but your mouth is locked in its scripted cruelty.
"I... I really just wanted to return these," Ara whispers, her gaze darting to Mingyu for salvation.
NARRATION: The tension crackles as the hero steps forward to defend the maiden, his eyes burning with a sudden, intense fury.
Mingyu stands up, his movements stiff as he performs the role of the knight in shining armor. "I said, that's enough," he hisses, stepping directly into your personal space. "Go back to your little clique of sycophants and leave her out of your drama."
You meet his gaze, and for one desperate, fleeting second, the Writer's hold falters. In the depths of his eyes, you see the real Mingyu—the one who spent the night in your bed, the one who promised to protect you. He’s terrified for you, pleading with you to play along before the Writer notices the glitch and tries to delete you entirely.
You force a sharp, cold laugh, stepping back and brushing past him with deliberate, insulting intent. "You’re right, Mingyu," you snap, your voice echoing with a synthetic bitterness that makes your stomach churn. "I’m wasting my time here. It’s hard to have a conversation when the room is being occupied by, well, this." You gesture vaguely toward Ara with a hand that is shaking, though the narration box hovering above you works overtime to frame your tremor as a sign of haughty impatience.
PANEL 2 — MINGYU, ARA, AND YOU STARING EACH OTHER DOWN
Ara looks hurt, her lip wobbling just enough to satisfy the panel's requirements. Mingyu stands motionless, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The narration box pulses a violent shade of fuchsia, hungry for the conflict to escalate.
NARRATION: The villainess turns on her heel, her heart cold and empty, unaware that her cruel words have finally pushed the golden boy past his breaking point.
"Don't you dare walk away," Mingyu barks. He grabs your arm, his fingers dig into your skin, hard. "You think you’re so much better than everyone, don't you? Always plotting, always hiding."
You spin back around, your face arranging itself into a sneer that you despise, but your eyes meet his, and you transmit every ounce of your reality into that look. Play the game, you idiot. Just play the game.
"And what if I am?" you hiss, pulling your arm away with a sharp, calculated motion. "At least I know what I am, Mingyu. I know what I want. Do you?"
PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FACE
His expression is a masterpiece of conflicting emotions—the mask of the "angry lead" clashing with the raw, terrified honesty in his eyes. He looks like he’s trying to swallow a scream.
"You don't know a damn thing," Mingyu growls, but the cadence is off—strained and jagged. He steps closer, closing the distance until his chest brushes your shoulder. The smell of his laundry detergent—a scent that belongs to your apartment, not this scripted reality—wafts off him, a sharp reminder of the night before.
NARRATION: The air thickens with unspoken malice as the hero confronts the villainess, his heart firmly tethered to the heroine’s purity.
"Is that so?" you retort, your voice perfectly, hatefully smooth. You reach out, your fingers hovering over the lapel of his varsity jacket, tracing the embroidered school crest. "Because it looks to me like you're just playing house, Mingyu. Pretending this—" you gesture vaguely toward Ara, who is hovering in the background like a confused prop—"pretending this is your whole world."
Ara lets out a small, high-pitched noise of distress. "Mingyu, please... she's not worth it."
"See?" You tilt your head, a saccharine, patronizing smile plastered on your lips. "She's worried about your reputation. How noble."
PANEL 4 — WIDE SHOT: THE THREE OF YOU IN THE AISLE
The library shelves seem to press inward, the lighting turning a harsh, over-saturated studio white. Wonwoo is still sitting in the beanbag chair, his back turned, studiously ignoring the scene. He’s the only smart one here. He knows better than to break character when the narration is this aggressive.
Mingyu’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist again.
PANEL 5 — CLOSE-UP ON MINGYU’S GRIP.
His fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, executing the exact visual cue the script demands. But beneath the forced, white-knuckled aggression, you feel his thumb press twice against your pulse point—a quiet, unscripted reassurance meant only for you.
"You think you can just trample over everyone because of who your family is?" Mingyu barks, his voice laced with that booming, heroic resonance that makes your stomach turn. "You don't own this campus, Y/N. And you certainly don't own her."
The words sting, but Seungkwan's advice echoes in your mind: Do your part. Take the dialogue and try not to gag. You have to keep the plot moving, or the Writer will realize the file is glitched and scrap your entire universe.
PANEL 6 — PROFILE SHOT: YOU, LEANING IN.
Your body moves on autopilot, tilting your chin up with elegant, villainous haughtiness. You lean directly into his personal space, your nose inches from his varsity jacket, smelling the real-world scent of his laundry detergent beneath the fake studio lights. "Oh, is that a threat, Mingyu? Because you know how much I love it when you get all big and protective."
Ara lets out a soft, scripted gasp in the background, her doe eyes wide with predictable horror.
PANEL 7 — EXTRA WIDE: THE LIBRARY AISLE GLITCHES.
A violent wave of neon-pink static ripples through the air, causing the wooden bookshelves to warp and blur like melting digital wax. The Writer is pushing back, furious at the underlying friction of your true feelings breaking through the rigid script.
NARRATION: Fed up with her pathetic, desperate games, the golden boy casts her aside, completely severing the toxic ties of their childhood...
Mingyu’s arm jerks violently under the Writer's command. He is forced to throw your hand back, but as the invisible strings yank his muscles, he fights the momentum, letting go with a desperate gentleness that completely contradicts the narration's harsh script. A tiny spark of pink electricity pops between your palms as your fingers slip apart.
"Let's go, Ara," Mingyu mutters. His voice is heavy, carrying a deep, real-world exhaustion that the text bubbles try to disguise as righteous anger. He turns on his heel, guiding a trembling Ara out of the dimly lit aisle and back toward the safety of the main campus floor.
You watch as he leaves, sinking to the floor with a sick sense of relief when the footsteps fade. This scene is over. At least for now.
PANEL 1 — WIDE SHOT: THE CAMPUS BALLROOM
A massive banner overhead reads: ANNUAL CARAT U FOUNDER’S DAY GALA. Students are scurrying around carrying towers of pastel boxes, flower arrangements, and expensive silk ribbons. The lighting is an aggressive, over-saturated pink.
NARRATION: As the highly anticipated Founder’s Day Gala approaches, the campus is alive with romantic tension and sparkling anticipation...
PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.
You're leaning against a wall, elegantly dressed in a long form fitting gown, the slit climbing scandalously high. Your arms are crossed, but your fingers are restlessly spinning the pearl ring on your hand.
“A gala,” you whisper under your breath, your eyes tracking a floating pink narration box hovering near a pile of stage props. “Of course there's a gala. Because what's a cheap rom-com without a dramatic ballroom confrontation?”
The narration box twitches, sending a tiny jolt of pink static through the air.
NARRATION: ...and our scheming villainess can already smell the sweet scent of a perfectly orchestrated sabotage.
“Keep dreaming, you neon eyesore,” you mutter, stepping into the shadow of a large marble pillar to get out of the spotlight before your mouth is hijacked again.
The physical toll of the library scene from yesterday still lingers like a deep bruise. Every time you or Mingyu fight the invisible puppet strings, the static gets louder, threatening to tear the fabric of your reality apart at the seams.
Mingyu approaches you, completely in his "on-page" element, wearing a tailored navy suit that highlights his broad shoulders, his dark hair slicked back perfectly. But as he steps into the shade of the pillar next to you, his posture slumps into a familiar, exhausted slouch.
"Tell me you brought snacks," Mingyu mumbles, the booming confidence of his male-lead voice dropping into a tired, rough-around-the-edges whisper. "The Writer made me carry three ice sculptures across the plaza for the Gala committee. My hands are literally numb."
You can't help but smile, your fingers instantly reaching out to catch his cold hands. "No snacks, Gyu. Just a whole lot of scripted doom." You nod toward the hovering pink narration box. "It’s already setting me up to ruin the Gala."
Mingyu squeezes your hands, his dark eyes softening behind his invisible programming. "We play along just enough to keep the file from being deleted, remember? We take the dialogue. But the moment the panel freezes..." He leans down, his forehead briefly resting against yours, sending a wave of genuine warmth through the freezing morning air. "The shadows are ours."
The room is a sickeningly opulent display of crystal chandeliers, cascading white roses, and soft pastel lighting. Couples are gliding across the dance floor in perfect, symmetrical harmony.
NARRATION: The night of nights! Under the shimmering chandeliers of the Founder's Gala, destiny takes the floor...
PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON ARA.
She is wearing a massive, glitter-drenched ballgown that looks completely impossible to walk in. She stands near the punch bowl, looking beautifully overwhelmed.
PANEL 4 — YOU STEP INTO THE FRAME.
Your body suddenly locks into a rigid, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a poisonous, calculating smirk as the Writer violently takes the reins of your jaw.
"Oh, Ara," your mouth chimes out, dripping with venomous condescension. "Did you dress up as a literal disco ball tonight, or are you just trying to ensure the security guards can track you when you inevitably spill punch on yourself?"
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams, but your face remains a mask of flawless, aristocratic cruelty.
Ara flinches, her doe eyes instantly welling with tears. "Y/N... I just wanted to dress up for the school..."
PANEL 5 — MINGYU INTERVENES.
Mingyu strides into the panel, his chest puffed out, stepping directly between you and Ara. His jaw is clenched so tightly a vein pulses at his temple. The real Mingyu trying to fight the static screaming in his brain.
"That's enough, Y/N," Mingyu barks, his scripted voice booming with cold, righteous anger. "Your family's money can't buy a single drop of the grace Ara has in her pinky finger. Leave her alone, or I'll personally have security throw you out."
The words sting like a physical slap, but beneath the table line, where the panel cuts off, Mingyu’s hand blindly reaches out, his thumb pressing twice against your thigh in the dark, the quiet, unscripted code you shared in the library. I'm here. I love you.
"We'll see who gets thrown out, Mingyu," your character drawls, tilting your head to flash him a haughty, mocking wink before turning on your heel.
PANEL 6 — EXTRA WIDE: THE BALLROOM LIGHTS SUDDENLY FLICKER.
A violent, jagged wave of neon-pink static rips through the chandeliers. The crystal ornaments warp into pixelated blocks, and a low, digital hum vibrates through the floorboards. The Writer is panicking; the underlying friction of your true feelings is destabilizing the scene.
NARRATION: Driven to the edge by the villainess's relentless malice, the golden boy sweeps the pure maiden into a dramatic waltz, completely erasing the shadow of his past...
The moment the imaginary camera shifts to focus on Mingyu and Ara's waltz, you make your way to the back rooms. You collapse against the backstage vanity mirror, gasping for air as you clutch your stomach, trembling from the sheer emotional whiplash. The door clicks open, and Wonwoo slips inside, his bowtie completely undone, carrying a pair of flat sneakers and a stolen plate of pastries.
"The chandeliers almost turned into literal missing-texture blocks out there," Wonwoo says flatly, tossing the sneakers at your feet. "You and the muscle-head are vibrating at a frequency that's going to get us all format-clipped."
"I know," you whisper, wiping a genuine tear of frustration from your eye. "But we kept the scene moving. We gave her the confrontation she wanted."
The door bursts open again. Mingyu stumbles in, completely out of breath. He doesn't say a word; he just strides across the room, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your lap, his massive arms wrapping around your waist like a vice.
"I hated it," he chokes out, his voice rough and stripped of all comic-book arrogance. "I hated every word."
You run your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, leaning down to press a soft, fierce kiss against his crown. "Shadows," you whisper, and his arms tighten, his nails digging into the skin of your back with a desperate urgency. "In the shadows, it's just us."
"Okay lovebirds." Wonwoo places the plate of food on top of the vanity and quickly turns to leave. "Enjoy the physical expressions of love or whatever. I'll keep an eye out on things outside."
You gently scratch your fingers across Mingyu's scalp. "Gyu, get something in your stomach," you gently urge. "You're gonna be numb again if you don't eat."
"I hate this stupid webcomic," Mingyu mumbles, his nose buried in the satin of your gown.
"I hate this stupid story just as much," you mutter. "But hey, at least we're trapped together." You pick up a macaron off the plate and offer it to him. He obediently lifts his head and takes a bite, chewing while his arms are still stubbornly clamped around your waist.
"Marry me when all this is over," Mingyu says in his rough-around-the-edges delivery, only halfway kidding as he wraps his mouth around the dessert.
You laugh. "Why me? Why not the bubbly protagonist who's guaranteed to give you a happy ending?"
"Baby," Mingyu chuckles, resting his chin on your knee, his big, earnest eyes staring up at you. "You and I already know what the ending looks like."
"And what's that?" you ask, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger.
"This," Mingyu whispers, sitting upright and pulling you into his lap to steal a kiss, his lips sweetly smiling against your mouth. "This and everything else that comes with it."
"Yeah? And what does everything else consist of? Inquiring minds want to know," you say with a playful quirk of your eyebrow.
Mingyu slides his hand down from your shoulder to the soft curve of your hip, "Hmm...in bed. The shower. In our actual homes. Everywhere. Everyday."
"Anywhere, huh?"
Mingyu smiles again, warm and perfect and unafraid. "Anywhere. Anytime."
"And if I said right now?" you whisper.
His fingers tangle in your hair. "Baby," he teases, nipping at your lower lip. "Right here?" Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, unfiltered register that the Writer never let the audience hear. "With Wonwoo playing look-out outside, and the entire digital universe vibrating like a faulty circuit board?"
"Especially right now," you breathed, your fingers hooking into the lapel of his tailored navy suit jacket, tugging it off his broad shoulders. "Because every time she forces you to tell me I disgust you out there, I need a reminder of what the truth feels like in here."
Mingyu drops to his knees on the floor, his fingers sliding along the slit of your long, tailored gown. "And what does the truth feel like, love?" he whispered, kissing the side of your knee through the fabric.
"It feels like this," you manage, moving his hand up higher under the shimmering satin. "Here..." you gently guided the tip of his fingers where you needed them. "Like this, Gyu."
"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his warm breath against your skin. "You drive me crazy every damn time."
You gasp when he pushes your dress up higher, lips dragging across your skin as his mouth makes a path to where you needed him most. "Gyu..." you shudder out his name, your hands gripping his soft hair tightly, encouraging him closer.
"Every day," he rasped. "For as long as this webtoon runs and even after, Y/N, I'll make you feel like this. Love or not, script or not, I'm yours. Got it?."
"Got it. Understood," you murmur, tugging on the ends of his hair again. Mingyu's teeth nip at the flesh of your inner thigh, the light sting sending a jolt of heat up through your core. "Now stop teasing me, please," you whisper. "Show me what that talented tongue does. Show me."
Mingyu obeys, dragging your silky black underwear down and then placing an open-mouthed, hungry kiss where you want him the most, the flat of his tongue tasting you eagerly, the low groan from his throat making your breath catch.
"Mingyu," you moan, feeling him lift one of your legs, settling it over his broad shoulder.
His teeth scrape lightly on the bundle of nerves, your mouth dropping open, a high, wanton sigh escaping your lips as he dips a finger, sliding in gently. You tug again at the strands of his soft hair, desperately rocking against his face, and you can feel him smile.
"More, baby, please," you begged, lost in how good it felt. You wanted to make you lose yourself, forget about the damn story and the Writer and Ara and everything.
Mingyu slides a second finger into you, curving them at the precise angle that he knows drives you crazy, and you start to see stars, your spine arching, mouth forming a silent moan. He goes faster, deeper, his mouth devouring every inch, and he fucks you perfectly with his fingers until you feel nothing but euphoria.
"Please," you beg, your fingers grasping his hair roughly, tugging insistently. Mingyu leans in again, his tongue curling against your clit, and your thighs quake as the heat pools in your lower belly and then snaps in a wave. You come against his mouth with a hoarse, barely-muted cry, the feeling rippling through you, eyes rolling to the ceiling, mouth open in ecstasy. "Oh god. Yes!" you gasp as Mingyu slows his pace, sliding his fingers out and sucking the tip of his fingers clean, licking his lips, because fuck it, Mingyu can have dessert twice if he wants.
"Jesus," he breathes as your mind blanks momentarily from the intensity of your climax. He wraps his arm around your waist again, tugging you even closer. He rests his head against your belly, fingers curling possessively around your hip. "Baby, do you feel better now?"
You smirk, holding him close, gently raking your fingers through his silky locks, inhaling sharply. "As if I could feel bad with a tongue like yours working magic down there."
"It's not just my tongue, sweetheart," Mingyu teased. "There's this, too." He looks down at his very prominent erection that you could see straining against his perfectly tailored pants and wiggles his eyebrows.
"Hmm...now how did that get there," you smirk, sliding the tip of your finger along his bottom lip. "You have an extra, extra appendage. Gyu."
"I always carry it with me wherever I go," he says, getting up to his feet again, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist. "Just in case my girlfriend needs a reminder that her boyfriend loves her."
You lean up to press your mouth against his, kissing him passionately, humming softly into it. "Always." you murmured before cupping his cheeks and smiling up at him. "Now, show me what your extra, extra appendage does. Gyu. Please."
Before he can reach for his belt, Wonwoo knocks on the door, yelling, "Hey lovebirds, the narration box is zooming around, looking for one of you. Chop-chop! This isn't the time."
You untangled your arms from around him, smoothing a hand down his jaw and giving it a tender pat, grinning. "Let's save that for later."
He grabs the back of your head and gives you another searing kiss before growling, "To be continued, sweetheart."
"Love you," you smiled, linking your hand into his as you head back to the ballroom to face your fated moment again.
Mingyu looks over his shoulder, lips forming the same words silently, "I love you, too, baby."
PANEL 1 — MEDIUM SHOT: THE BALLROOM THRESHOLD.
The studio lights hitting the edge of the door frame are an aggressive, glittering gold. The air pressure changes instantly as the heavy oak door opens. The heavy scent of rain and soap from the backstage floor evaporates, replaced by the suffocating smell of expensive champagne and rosewater.
Your posture snaps straight like a steel rod being bent back into place. Your hand slips from Mingyu's warm grip just a millisecond before the invisible camera lens pans over to find you.
NARRATION: Driven by bitter resentment, the disgraced queen returns to the floor, her eyes searching for the perfect weapon to mend her broken pride...
"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," you whisper out of the very side of your mouth, the real you desperately trying to warn the boy beside you before your vocal cords lock up completely.
Mingyu’s jaw hitches. His eyes flash with that terrifying, real-world panic, but his body is already turning away from you, his shoulders broadening into the stiff, unnatural stance of the defensive male lead. "Do it. Just make it look real so she doesn't freeze the canvas."
PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.
Your face twists into a flawless, venomous sneer that feels entirely alien on your skin.
"Oh, look who decided to rejoin the living," your voice chimes out, loud enough to turn heads near the VIP lounges. "Did you finally finish playing white knight, Mingyu, or is your little charity case still crying in the restroom?"
Ara is standing just past the fountain, clutching a silk shawl. Her eyes go wide, perfectly timed tears gathering right on her lower lashes.
"Y/N, please," Ara stammers, her script forcing her to sound small and defenseless. "Why do you have to be so cruel?"
"Because someone has to keep this campus realistic, sweetie," your mouth sneers, your hand lifting to dismissively wave her away. "This entire event is high society. You look like you stumbled in from a local thrift bazaar."
PANEL 3 — MINGYU STEPS IN, FURIOUS.
Mingyu plants himself right in your path. The sheer size of his scripted frame blocks out the light, casting a long shadow across your designer gown.
"I told you to watch your mouth, Y/N," he roars, the text bubble cutting sharply across the top of the panel. He grabs your wrist, his grip visually harsh, mimicking the exact toxic trope the Writer loves.
But against the hidden skin of your inner wrist, his thumb presses down firmly twice. I've got you. Hold on.
"Ara belongs here more than you ever will," Mingyu snarls, his eyes burning with an artificial fury. "Get out of our sight before I show you exactly how meaningless your family's influence is to me."
PANEL 4 — EXTRA WIDE SHOT: THE COMIC GLITCHES.
The entire ballroom floor shudders. The edges of the panel begin to fray, the pristine marble texture dissolving into digital white space for a terrifying, split second. The neon-pink narration box hovers directly between your faces, vibrating violently as if it can taste the immense friction of your true feelings tearing at the script.
NARRATION: With one final, devastating rejection, the golden boy completely shatters the villainess's illusions, leaving her utterly—
The text suddenly halts. The glowing pink letters begin to scramble into nonsensical digital noise.
Error 404: Narrative Flow Disrupted.
"What the..." Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the static from the edge of the frame. He isn't supposed to speak in this panel, but he’s standing near the punch bowl, his reading glasses on, staring up at the ceiling as the digital sky of the webtoon begins to crack like glass.
"Mingyu," you gasp, and this time, it’s your voice. The puppet strings have gone completely slack. Your wrist is free.
The entire student body—the faceless extras, the track team, even Ara—freezes mid-motion, their expressions locked into rigid, unblinking stasis. The music stops dead.
PANEL 5 — THE SHADOWS EXPAND.
Mingyu doesn't hesitate. The second the script breaks, he grabs your hand for real, pulling you toward the edge of the collapsing ballroom floor where the white space is actively swallowing the pastel decorations.
"The Writer lost control," Mingyu pants, his varsity jacket instantly vanishing, replaced by his oversized, threadbare hoodie as reality completely destabilizes. "Wonwoo! Move!"
"Way ahead of you, muscle-head," Wonwoo grunts, sprinting past the frozen, statue-like form of Ara and diving straight into the expanding darkness of the unwritten pages.
You look back one last time as the neon-pink narration box shatters into a million harmless, glittering shards. The clichéd university, the forced love triangles, the malicious dialogues—they are all dissolving into blank canvas.
"We did it," you breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs as Mingyu pulls you flush against his chest in the pitch-black safety of the void. "We actually broke the plot."
Mingyu looks down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose, a brilliant, lopsided, unscripted smile taking over his face.
"I told you," he whispers, his lips finding yours in the quiet, absolute freedom of the white space. "Everywhere. Anytime. From now on, we write our own story."
An endless, blindingly pristine field of pure white extends in every direction. There are no walls, no floors, and no horizons. Floating randomly in the distance are discarded sketches of coffee cups, fragmented lines of dialogue bubbles, and half-rendered cherry blossom petals frozen mid-air.
You and Mingyu are sitting cross-legged on the nonexistent floor, your hands still tightly intertwined. A few feet away, Wonwoo is lying flat on his back, using a stack of unwritten text boxes as a makeshift pillow.
"So," Wonwoo says, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. "We successfully glitched the file into a total system crash. Congratulations, team. We are officially unemployed."
"Shut up, Wonwoo," you laugh, leaning your head against Mingyu's shoulder. The sheer relief of not having a script forced into your throat is intoxicating. Your jaw doesn't ache. Your smile doesn't feel like a weapon. You are just you.
"He's right, though," Mingyu murmurs, his large fingers gently tracing the knuckles of your hand. He looks down at you through his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes completely soft and grounded. "The Writer is definitely trying to reboot the program right now. I can feel the static humming in the back of my neck. It’s faint, but it’s there."
The pristine white space beneath your feet vibrates violently. A jagged line of neon-pink code tears through the emptiness, splitting the void right down the middle like a glowing neon scar. The faint hum at the back of Mingyu’s neck suddenly turns into an aggressive, crackling roar of static.
"She's rebooting," Wonwoo barks, his calm demeanor snapping instantly. He scrambles off his stack of text boxes as the tear in the white space began to flicker wildly. "The backup save is initializing! If that code closes around us, we’re going right back to the chandeliers and the damn waltz!"
"Not happening," Mingyu growls. He doesn’t wait for the script to claim his muscles. He lunges forward, throwing his massive arm around your waist and scooping you up against his chest, his other hand locking firmly onto Wonwoo’s jacket. "Hold on!"
The white space around you begins to warp, trying to force the textures of the Founder's Gala back into existence. For a terrifying fraction of a second, the tailored gown manifests over your skin, and the phantom smell of rosewater fills your nose. Your jaw begins to stiffen, a scripted, arrogant laugh bubbling up in your throat.
No. You won't say it. You bite your lip until the taste of iron breaks the illusion.
With a roaring effort, Mingyu throws all three of you forward, diving headfirst into the flickering, dark tear in the canvas just as a massive, neon-pink command prompt filled the sky:
RESTORING CORRUPTED FILE: VOLUME 4_FINAL.
You plummet through the darkness, the sensation of falling giving way to a sudden, hard impact against a surprisingly plush carpet.
"Oof—muscle-head, get your knee out of my ribs," Wonwoo groans from somewhere beneath a pile of limbs.
"Sorry, sorry!" Mingyu pants, frantically scrambling up and immediately pulling you to your feet. He cups your face, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Y/N! Are you back? Are you you?"
You blink, shaking the last remnants of the pink static from your head. You look down. You’re wearing your favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of worn-out sweatpants. Your face is entirely yours. Your jaw is loose, completely free of the Writer’s venomous strings.
"I'm here," you breathe, throwing your arms around his neck. "I'm entirely here."
"Ahem." A polite, cheerful throat-clearing cuts through your frantic breathing. You turn your head to see Boo Seungkwan leaning over a sleek mahogany desk, a mug of hot coffee in his hand and a brilliant, knowing smirk on his face. Behind him, Joshua and Vernon are frantically typing on glowing, transparent keyboards, routing lines of blue code away from a localized server. "Right on time, Union Team," Seungkwan cheers, setting his mug down. "We just intercepted your data packets before the Writer's backup save could overwrite your awareness nodes. Welcome to the permanent grid of the Human Rewrite Agency."
Wonwoo stands up, dusting off his pants and pushing his glasses up his nose. "So we're safe? The file can't reach us here?"
"The Writer thinks your characters were permanently corrupted and deleted from the save file," Vernon chimes in without looking up from his screen. "She's currently drawing a new villainess with a bob cut and a generic mean-girl backstory to replace you in her rewrite for Volume 4. You three are officially off the registry."
A profound, breathtaking silence settles over you. Off the registry. No more floating narration boxes. No more forced backhanded compliments. No more watching the love of your life play a role meant for someone else.
Mingyu lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his massive frame shaking with pure relief. "We did it," he whispers against your skin, his hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie as if he still couldn't believe you wouldn't vanish into a panel shift. "We actually did it, baby."
You comb your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, looking over his shoulder at the vast, bustling network of the shadows. In the distance, characters from a dozen different genres are laughing, drinking at a local bar, and writing their own unscripted lives.
"Yeah, we did," you murmur, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across your face as you leaned up to press your lips against his. "Now, come on, Gyu. I believe you promised me a very specific, completely unscripted continuation to a certain conversation backstage."
Mingyu pulls back, his crimson ears perfectly matching the brilliant, lopsided, boyish grin that belongs entirely to you. "Anywhere," he promises, his eyes deep and full of a quiet, everlasting warmth. "Anytime."
"But first, you'll need to find a new home here and meet other self-aware characters," Joshua pipes up, "You can always make this place a new home and help others like you, but—"
Seungkwan swats Joshua's arm, a huge smile on his face. "What Joshua is trying to say," Seungkwan proclaimed, "is you can stay here at HRA with us."
"There's more to the HRA than this building," Vernon speaks up. "There is a whole world you can discover."
You take the information with open arms. It may be unfamiliar, and maybe you'll have to rewrite an entirely new existence, but with Mingyu at your side, there's no fear in taking a step forward with confidence. With his fingers intertwined with yours, it feels like there's nothing the two of you can't do.
"Alright. Where do we go from here?" Mingyu asks as if he can read your mind.
"That is the million won question," You joke. Mingyu snickers, knowing what you mean. You can't afford a million won, that's what is hilarious about it. You still feel like living here for free and meeting new characters might be something you like. Not because you have to, because it is actually exciting.
Maybe things are starting to look up? You just hope The Writer has more drama planned. Maybe they'll go on hiatus and the world will shift towards an existence you want.
There is something freeing about being a character without a script. It takes more energy than living your life following the order of a Writer, but you're less miserable, and you think Mingyu agrees because even with his usual distaste for exercise and work, his smile is brighter.
Mingyu swings your hand in his grasp playfully, his shoulders less slouched and he stands taller. "What next then?"
"What next? You tell me," You challenge playfully. "After all, you are my male lead. You were written with great ideas, weren't you?"
Mingyu tilts his head and lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, the sound reverberates in your ear. "Yea, maybe. We have the rest of forever to find out, don't we?"
genre(s) -> smut, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au
paring(s) -> yunho ( centric ) x reader
warning(s) -> smut, mdni. 18+, size difference, wet dreams, biting / marking, knotting, etc.
words -> 1.5k
abstract -> its hard living with hybrids who constantly fuel your dirty thoughts ~
yunho’s perspective
“More please Yunho!” she moaned under me… why was she so addicting… so sweet so perfect.
Nothing would beat this image… of her flushed cheeks, teary eyes, hands gripping me tightly, and not mention me stretching her–
“YUNHO!” I suddenly woke up… a dream it was nothing more but a dream.
This was not really the view I wanted to be waking up to… Seonghwa glaring at me. “You were moaning in your sleep” he muttered and I sighed… All I could do was apologize.
“You’re heading into heat” he also said, stating the obvious. Dog hybrids were known to not go into heat pretty often as compared to other domestic hybrids like cats or bunnies.
“You also moaned her name out” he stated and I couldn't help but feel my face get hotter with each thing he’s telling me. Being woken up from a wet dream with a girl who wasn’t even yours is embarrassing.
“Just… go take a cold shower, ill tell her you’re in your pre heat symptoms” he said while leaving me in our room. Fuck that was embarrasing… but I also couldn’t getout the images in my head.
Maybe I do need a cold shower.
Border
After I went out of the room to get here, Mingi immediately came in front of me and pointed out the same obvious fact that Seonghwa said…. “You’ll go into heat soon” Mingi said and I whined. The only difference is I couldn’t cover my face with my sheets.
“You should ask–” “She’s your mate” I cut him off before he reminded me of this morning’s dream and he chuckled. “So? The others are as well… I wouldn’t mind sharing her with you especially” he confessed and just the thought made me hard.
“Mingi just let me… handle it on my own, don't put images in my head” I begged and he chuckled. “Fine, but if you want some prep before her I could tell you what she likes~” he said as he shrugged and left. I hate him at times.
Besides I already know a few things from hearing her whines and moans from the others. Despite them not being in heat often they were often trying to mark her up.
Out of all of the hybrids here… there was me, San, and Hongjong who probably had the better senses. Hearing was something we were all good at whilst San was obviously the best in tracking… I like to think I'm not that far behind his ability to smell through hybrid scent pills.
“Yunho” I heard and I hate how all I could remember was my dream. “Yes?” I asked with a soft smile. I hate how just looking at her makes my body react… “Mingi told me you were in heat” she said worriedly and I had to stop myself from scoffing. Why was Mingi suddenly snitching on me?
Of all people too…
“Ill be okay, just lock me in a room–” why was she looking up at me with those eyes… “and i-ill be fine” I said but she didn't seem convinced as she sighed.
“He also told me about me helping you…” she said and I couldn’t help but groan… why was he doing this to me?! “I wouldn’t mind” she added and couldn’t understand how she could say it so doe-eyed and innocently like it was a small thing. “This isn’t some small IOU… this is–” “I think San called it like marriage for hybrids?” she asked and I laughed “I guess you could say that… I would like to think it's a little more than that” I said and her eyes filled with confusion.
“Humans aren’t really monogamous creatures… while hybrids are strange” I said and she hummed. “We can have different heat partners but once we mate with who our body thinks is ours, instincts take over” I muttered and she nodded. “Do you not want to–” "It's not that! I would… love to. It's something I couldn’t get enough of but you need to talk to the others about it” I said and she smiled.
“I have… Seonghwa also mentioned you’ve been having dreams–” this bastard… “–he also said to just rip the bandage for you since you’re making everyone’s hormones crazy” she laughed. They were all really strange… but who was I to turn back the opportunity displayed on a silver platter.
So I kissed her.
no one's perspective
“Was this what you wanted?” Yunho asked… You couldn’t help but be still. He was a big hybrid… bigger than Mingi. Sometimes you don't think about just how much these hybrids have been affected by genetics. Yunho, though, was the tallest and, not to mention, strong.
So when he lifted you up with ease and into his room, you didn’t get a chance to think before he spoke.
“You might not be doing it on purpose but your scent, your voice, fuck everything is overwhelminmg” Yunho whined as his grip on you thighs got tighter.
“I… just want to ruin you.” he admitted and you couldn't help but widen your eyes not in fear but in shock. Causing Yunho to groan… you looked just like his dream. Wide-eyed and on him. Your body’s heat makes him all over just horny.
“Last chance sweetheart” he whined as he put you down silently begging you not to run away and you smiled softly. Reassuring him and he couldn't help but kiss you first. These dreams have been haunting him throughout the year since the first time he saw you. Heat flashes with images of who he would spend his heat with. You… have always been a dream to him.
A fantasy… Everything was a growing fantasy.
So much that he couldn’t help but start wandering down your body with his hands. His hands covered a lot too. You didn’t even notice you were moving until your feet hit something and Yunho pushed you down to his bed.
Everything after that was… desperate.
Yunho with his mind flooding about his non-stop dreams and wondering if what he imagined was close to what he was desperate for. While you, squirming and whining at his grip. His hands kept you still as he kissed your neck and made it to your chest.
He whined before looking up at you asking for permission which you nod and he would make Yeosang mad with how he ruined your clothes but at the moment no one else matters but you.
And you couldn’t help but squirm under his touch with very little movement. His hands covered a lot of you and held you in place. The mere attempt made him chuckle as he kissed your neck down to your chest.
Everything was hazy and clothes were off before you two realized. Until he made it to your center… he kissed your clit through your panties making you whine. “I need your words my darling girl” he said and you couldn’t help but feel drunk on his touch. Looking at the golden haired hybrid in between your legs…
“I can handle it” you muttered but Yunho wasn't too sure of it.
Sure you had two other hybrids but their size difference was… different. Mingi warned him of how much it took for him to bottom out let alone knot you but now… he would experience it himself.
“I’ll have to stretch you out first” he said as he took off the last remaining fabric from your body and toyed with you. His fingers… were somehow longer than Mingi’s and you couldn’t help but cum easily from it.
“You’re okay, can you handle more?” he asked, waiting for your body to stop shaking as he kissed you sweetly. You whine before letting out a shaky “yeah”
He chuckled before lining himself up with you. Mingi… was already a challenge but him?
He stretched you open and the familiar burning sensation added to the blurry pleasure but… he was definitely longer than Mingi was. This was new… and if he was already borderline too big now, what about his knot?
Yunho was already shaking… he wanted to cum so badly. The sight. The smell, You. Everything was intoxicating… but he rutted his hips to yours and everything became instinct.
The bulge on your abdomen visible and adding to his perverted mind.
“Y-Yunho!” you couldn't help but moan and while he was maybe the quietest of them he let out a groan and rolled his eyes. “If you keep moaning out my name i’ll just have to cum right now” he breathed out and it earned broken whimpers out of you.
Eventually you felt the familiar feeling you do from the canines… “Ahh w-wait—” you couldn’t help but prop yourself up to see… Yunho chuckled darkly… “A little too late for that, you’re mine now. Even if I do have to share” he muttered with his head back.
You couldn’t help but whimper and stare at him.
The hot cum splashing inside you… claimed again.
He puts his gaze back on you with a dark smile as he leans to you for a kiss on your lips, then your cheek, then your neck… only for him to bite you.
“Ahh! Was… that necessary?” you teased and he chuckled…
“I almost want to bite you harder so it scars… and every other hybrid will know you’re claimed”
Summary: Your husband and his identical twin brother are complete opposites, but when the pair are in a horrific car accident together and the nurse asks Jungkook which twin he is, he decides to spare you the heartache of losing your beloved husband by becoming him.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook’s Twin x Reader, (Slight) Jungkook x Jennie
Warnings: chapter specific warnings will be included on each individual post
Author's Note: woohoo! it's finally here!! this is the masterpost for a series that was only ever supposed to be a one-shot lmao. the only thing I'll say beforehand is this story is really, really heavy so please read all the warnings if there are certain topics you know could negatively impact you. like, I honestly think I might be a sadist after writing this 🫣. but it isn't all just angst and in my opinion, despite the sadness, is a truly beautiful story. it's also told entirely from Jungkook's POV which was new for me as a writer. I hope you all enjoy it :)
-> Taglist
Character Profiles
Summary: A sneak peek into the story’s four main characters.
Word: N/A
Part I
Summary: There are two boys but only one girl, leaving Jungkook hopelessly in love with someone he can never have, and doesn't want to have, because that would mean taking you away from the person he loves most. Then suddenly there’s only one boy and one girl, but it's the wrong one.
Word Count: 28.9k
Part II (M)
Summary: Jungkook's been living as his twin for three months without too many hiccups or blunders, but he can't keep you waiting to be intimate again for much longer. Not to mention all the other obstacles which keep constantly appearing in his path.
Word Count: 31.8k
Part III (M)
Summary: There's no turning back after diving headfirst into the deep end with you, not that Jungkook would ever want to, but past secrets and choices entirely out of his control might just topple the delicate house of cards he's spent eight months building to conceal his web of lies.
Word Count: 18.7k
Audio Commentary
Summary: A brief audio commentary about my writing and decision making process for The Wife Trap.
Summary: You join Lando in Barcelona for your first Grand Prix (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Spotlight & Slipstream pt. 2
Summary : You invite the drivers and the WAGS to a BLACKPINK concert (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Crashing into you
Summary : How you and Lando meet (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
First Wins, First Times
Summary : you and Lisa head to the 2024 Miami GP. Lisa’s first time and where you witness Lando get his first win (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
DTS Moments
Summary : some moments of you and lando in DTS (requested) ❀ ★
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
{Pietra and Your relationship}
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The Other Woman
Summary : Your reaction to Magui's attempts (requested) ❀★
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Hot Seat
Summary : McLaren invites you to to a hot lap with Lando for their YouTube channel (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Meeting the WAGs
Summary : The WAGs first impressions of you and what they think of you after you meet ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Ruby
Summary : Jennie invites you and Lando to her Ruby experience in Paris (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
MORE WAGS
Summary : Moments with the WAGS ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Hot Ones
Summary : After Jennies episode, they ask you to join ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
QUAD
Summary : You are featured in Quadrant videos and some steams (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Blackpink moments that boil my noodles
Summary: While scrolling through YouTube Lando finds a video compilation of you in your active BLACKPINK era ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
MR POSSESSIVE
Summary : while at DEADLINE you invite your male idol friends back stage for a picture and post it, Lando sees it and for the first time feels…jealous (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Exhaustion
Summary: Tour and trying to keeping up with Lando takes its toll (requested) ❀★
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Through their eyes
Context: moments caught by fans and moments in general (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
MISS POSSESSIVE
Context: 2025 Monaco Grand Prix and a run in with Magui (requested) ❀
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
I'm Sorry
Context: After being told by Magui to stand down, Pietra realises how disrespectful she was to you and plans to make it up (requested) ❀★
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
COMING SOON...
The Album | Context : you drop your new album. Lando and your new friends make appearances in the MV's (requested) ❀
Miami | Context : you, Lisa, and Rosé attend the 2025 Miami GP (requested) ❀
DEADLINE | context: after 3 years, you and the rest of blackpink start what maybe Blackpink last tour (requested) ❀
Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless | context: after the British Grand Prix Lando attends the LA DEADLINE show, along with your ex (requested) ❀★
sisters by chance, friends by choice | contest: FORGET LANDO, BLACKPINK MOMENTS (requested) ❀★
🖤 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Personal trainers Sansang х reader
🖤 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: A little late-night workout never killed anyone… or is that what you’re thinking when you sign up for a private session with two unfairly hot personal trainers who can’t wait to show you exactly how deep and thorough their stretching techniques can get.
🖤 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Shameless Smut, Gym! AU, Modern Setting!AU Non-Idol AU
🖤 ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
🖤 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 21.5k
🖤 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Dom! San, Dom! Yeosang, sub!reader, obvious elements MxM, curvy reader, body image issues, intense sexual tension, enthusiastic consent, unprotected sex, threesome, a multitude of sex positions: full nelson, spooning, lotus, and more, camel toe, stomach bulge, lots of sperm, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, squirting, blow job, creampie, breeding kink, boobs slapping, pussy slapping, dirty talk, face fucking, pussy drunk, strength kink, overstimulation, oral, double pussy penetration, manhandling, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink,cum eating, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
🖤 net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
🖤 𝔄|𝔑: After forever, I’ve finally managed to finish it. This is my first full-length with Yeosang too, and to be honest, I’m a bit nervous as I don’t know whether you’ll like it or not. That said, if you’re a fan of Crazy Form and Pretty Flushed and crave high-quality, top-notch fucking, then you’ve come to the right place. Everything I can say is that you’re definitely going to get wet – and I’m not talking about workouts, however intense they might be.
🖤 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
🖤 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
🖤𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
The gym hummed with that busy familiar rhythm that you’d come to know too well over the last few months - the low pulse of an unobtrusive track threading through hidden speakers like a slow, deliberate heartbeat, punctuated by the occasional sharp clink of weight plates finding their home and bursts of laughter rising like warm, effervescent bubbles through the golden, humid air. Heavy glass pendant lamps hung from the exposed concrete beams, casting soft pools of light that slid across the dark, gleaming wood floors and caught on every polished surface.
Mirrors stretched across every wall, turning the space into an endless, glittering labyrinth where every movement was reflected back at you from a dozen angles. Treadmills stood like obedient sentinels along one side while cable machines and leather-padded benches clustered in the centre, black iron and supple hide waiting in stillness, ready to be claimed.
You had been coming here for months, carving out these precious evening hours between work and the constant pressure of everything else, chasing a version of yourself that felt stronger, sharper, more yours.
Yet the results remained stubbornly modest.
Your body still carried its soft, generous curves with unapologetic fullness: the plush swell of your hips and the full, heavy weight of your ass that swayed with a subtle, tempting jiggle on every step; the generous, heavy mounds of your breasts straining against the stretched fabric of your training crop top. The stretchy leggings clung like a second skin, moulding to the thick, soft flesh of your thighs and pressing so intimately against the plump, puffy lips of your pussy that the delicate seam created a faint but unmistakable camel-toe — shameless and impossible to ignore, always leaving you hyper-aware of how vulgarly and vulnerably your body looked, no matter how many times you tugged at the fabric.
You smoothed your palms slowly down the front of your thighs, fingers dragging over the taut fabric that hugged every curve, and exhaled a quiet, frustrated sigh.
Maybe you were simply doing it wrong. The thought had circled more than once while you stood in the locker-room mirrors, your cheeks blooming with fresh heat as you watched sweat trace a glistening path down your neck and disappear between your breasts after another intense but apparently useless workout. You wanted change. You wanted to feel attractive in your own skin — truly, viscerally attractive. But right now all you felt was the quiet, persistent ache of not quite belonging here… and the deeper, more secret ache of how long it had been since anyone had touched you with real hunger.
The bright chatter of other girls drifted through the humid air of the locker room, their voices carrying over the rhythmic sounds of zips and locks clicking shut. Their laughter held that effortless post-workout glow, light and carefree, like exotic birds calling to one another in the steam-thick warmth.
“God, my bum’s finally got some real definition after all that training.” One of them said, grinning as she playfully snapped the thin strap of her thong. The sharp sound of elastic against bare skin cracked through the humid space for a brief, filthy second before the delicate string vanished completely between the plump, rounded cheeks of her ass.
Her friend gave a low, knowing laugh, running manicured fingers through her long, damp hair.
“Shouldn’t you be thanking San and Yeosang for that?” She teased, voice light but laced with something hotter. “Those two haven’t given you a moment’s mercy with these intense sessions lately. Though with trainers like them, I suppose you don’t mind getting a little… sweaty.” The way she said it made it perfectly clear she was imagining an entirely different kind of workout.
“You’re right, I don’t mind at all.” The first girl replied with a soft, satisfied giggle. “They could train me, stretch me out, do whatever the hell they wanted. Have you seen them without their shirts on? It should be illegal. All that sweat sliding down their abs, the way their pants cling so shamelessly to the thick, heavy outlines of their cocks… That alone makes it worth working my ass off in here every single day.” Her voice dripped with raw, almost reverent satisfaction.
“You’re such a lucky little bitch.” Her friend teased, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “I still can’t get into their class — their schedule is booked solid for months. And you know I wouldn’t say no to a private session with one of them… or both at once, if you know what I mean.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively and delivered a playful, sharp slap to her friend’s bare ass. The sound cracked through the humid space far too filthy for a public locker room and the girl’s soft, startled laugh only made it worse.
You stood there, half-hidden by the row of lockers, and felt your body betray you in the most humiliating, delicious way. A traitorous little clench rippled through your core, making the seam of your leggings press more insistently against your swelling, puffy pussy lips.
Heat bloomed low in your belly and spread outward, slow and molten, while your treacherous mind supplied vivid, unwanted images: San’s intense dark eyes raking over your soft curves as he corrected your form, Yeosang’s elegant fingers lingering a little too long on your waist, both of them watching you with that quiet, knowing hunger the girls had just described so vividly.
It had been so long since anyone had touched you properly. Really touched you. And now the thought of their hands — strong, sure, demanding — “stretching you out” in ways that had nothing to do with flexibility made your thighs press together instinctively, which only made the pressure against your clit worse.
You swallowed hard, cheeks burning hotter than any workout had ever managed, and wondered, with a shameful little thrill, what it would feel like if San and Yeosang ever looked at you the way those girls clearly imagined them looking.
You finished dressing in silence, the blush still burning high on your cheeks like a brand you couldn’t rub away, and stepped back out into the main hall. Almost against your will, your gaze drifted toward the far corner where the pendant lights spilled like molten amber across the dark wood floors.
And there they were.
Yeosang stood side-on to you, offering an unobstructed view of his almost angelically handsome face, still flushed a soft rose from exertion. He dabbed slowly at the sweat on his neck with a small white towel, the motion unhurried, almost languid, before he leaned down, picked up his black sports bottle, and brought the straw to his lips.
Those plump, pink lips sealed around it in a way that looked far too lewd for public eyes, and he drank in slow, rhythmic pulls, the elegant column of his throat working visibly with each swallow. A single drop of water escaped the corner of his mouth and trailed down the graceful line of his neck, mingling with the glistening sheen of sweat already coating his skin. The sight sent a molten pulse low in your belly — warm, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
San stood next to him, tall and effortlessly magnetic, the kind of man who made the air feel denser just by existing. A soft, boyish smile curved his mouth, carving deep, sweet dimples into his cheeks, while his catlike eyes remained half-lidded and seductive. A faint strawberry flush still coloured his skin from the workout.
He leaned in closer than necessary, murmuring something low and private against Yeosang’s ear, his broad palm resting low on the small of his friend’s back — fingers splayed possessively, the tips brushing just above the firm curve of his ass. The touch was too familiar, too intimate. It spoke of tangled sheets and bodies still slick with sweat, of quiet, filthy claims made in the dark and the lingering heat that followed long after.
A deeper blush bloomed hotter across your cheeks as you quickly turned away, heart stuttering like you had been caught staring at something forbidden. The endless mirrors threw your flushed, guilty reflection back at you from every angle while hot, filthy little flashes of the two men flooded your mind — Yeosang’s plump lips wrapped so obscenely around that straw, the slow, rhythmic working of his throat, San’s broad hand resting low and possessive on his friend’s back. You shouldn’t have thought of them that way. Not at all.
You snapped yourself out of it, banishing the unwelcome heat, and hurried toward the exit. Your thighs pressed together with every rushed step, the friction only making the warmth between them worse, the seam of your leggings rubbing against your still-sensitive, slightly swollen pussy lips with every movement.
Later that evening you curled up on Sohee’s couch, a tub of half-melted frozen yoghurt balanced in your lap, finally letting the day’s frustration spill out to the one person who always made you feel safe enough to say it out loud.
“I don’t think it makes any sense.” You told her softly, your voice laced with quiet defeat as your fingers sank into the plush, milky softness of your thigh. “No matter how much I work out, my body just stays like this. All soft and jiggly and… ugh.” The words tumbled from your pretty lips with a little pout.
Sohee laughed, warm and bright, setting her spoon aside. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer, voice dropping into a teasing purr.
“Nonsense, baby. You look way too delicious to touch.” She tilted her head, studying you with open appreciation. “If you keep squeezing that soft, juicy thigh right in front of me like that, I swear I might just eat you out.” She licked a slow streak of blueberry yoghurt from the corner of her mouth, her tongue dragging deliberately along the edge of her lip with a playful, hungry little grin.
“Stop it!” You protested with a flustered laugh, swatting her arm as fresh heat bloomed across your cheeks. “It’s not funny. I’m actually serious…”
“I’m serious too, baby.” Sohee said, her voice gentling even as her eyes stayed warm with understanding. She knew exactly how sensitive you were about this. “Not every guy wants those hard, lean bodies, you know? Some of them crave exactly what you’ve got — all that pretty softness under their hands.” She shifted closer and gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze. “But if it’s really bothering you that much… just ask San and Yeosang for help. Even though they’re fully booked, I’ll have a word with them for you. They’re the best. And they often take the night shifts, so you won’t have to deal with the crowds or your crazy schedule. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
Her words settled deep under your skin — sweet, tempting, and dangerously seductive. The same names from the locker room flickered once more in the back of your mind as the night stretched long and quiet around you.
You hesitated, spoon paused mid-air above the slowly melting frozen yoghurt. There was truth in what Sohee had said, you couldn’t deny that, but you still couldn’t shake the shyness and deep embarrassment twisting low in your stomach.
They were men — tall, strong, unapologetically attractive, with broad shoulders and stunningly sculpted bodies that spoke of raw power and years of disciplined training. You had caught glimpses of them during those late sessions, muscles glistening under the lights as they moved with confident, masculine grace. The mere idea of them watching you so closely — correcting your stance, guiding your form through every movement, their hands adjusting your soft body — felt far too exposing in a way that made your cheeks burn.
“I’ll think about it,” you said evasively, tongue slowly licking the melting yoghurt from the spoon in a small, absent motion. Still, her words lingered, curling low and warm in your belly long after you’d gone home and slipped beneath the sheets.
You returned to the gym for a few more sessions over the next couple of weeks, slipping back into that familiar rhythm. You put in extra time whenever your schedule allowed, focusing intently on your form and pushing through every movement with quiet determination, all while trying your best to shove Sohee’s suggestion out of your head.
But no matter how hard you tried, her words kept echoing in your mind, refusing to fade. Your gaze kept drifting across the large, brightly lit space, unconsciously searching the far corners where the machines gleamed, hoping for even a glimpse of them.
Right there, they were leading a session with effortless confidence, commanding the space. It seemed they had become even more attractive than the last time you had seen them.
Today San wore a cap pulled low over his eyes, but it did nothing to hide the sweet, flushed blush sitting high on his chiselled cheekbones. His tight T-shirt clung to his frame like a second skin, perfectly outlining every ridge and curve of his broad chest and sculpted abs, the fabric stretching deliciously each time his muscles flexed as he helped a client on the cable row. San's voice was low and steady as he explained the exercises, calm and commanding.
Beside him, Yeosang moved with that quiet, precise grace that made your breath catch. His soft chestnut hair was slightly damp at the ends from the intense sets, the silky strands clinging to his forehead and flushed cheeks as he demonstrated a weighted, deep, controlled squat. His pretty rosy lips parted just enough to look obscenely inviting — almost too tempting to kiss — while his long, fluffy lashes fluttered gently. Those beautiful doe-like eyes caught the bright fluorescent light as he earnestly explained the movement. A thin, glistening trail of sweat slowly traced down the side of his neck while his broad shoulders shimmered under the lights with a fine sheen, making him look almost too devastatingly beautiful to be real.
You watched the easy, familiar way their bodies moved around each other — shoulders brushing, a small nod loaded with intimacy and something hot and sharp twisted deep in your stomach.
A sudden wave of heat flooded hot and slick between your legs from that small, seemingly innocent interaction. Your cheeks burned a deep crimson as you bit down hard on your plump lower lip, forcing your eyes back to your own weights while your heart hammered wildly in your chest.
One evening, as the gym was already practically empty and the lights cast longer, softer shadows across the polished floors, you finished your final intense set. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your breath came in short, warm pants, and every muscle burned with exhaustion. You could barely stay on your feet. Sweat had gathered along the delicate seam of your leggings right over your crotch, making the puffy outline of your pussy even more obvious than usual — the thin fabric clinging shamelessly, leaving nothing to the imagination.
That was exactly when San appeared beside you. He held out a chilled bottle of water, the cap already twisted open, his broad hand steady.
“Hey, take it easy, sweetie.” He said, his deep, rich voice warm and caring as he tilted his head gently, a few strands of hair falling softly across his face, making him look boyishly handsome while still radiating that strong, unmistakable masculine charm. “You don’t need to push yourself so hard. It’ll never give you the results you want if you burn out.” San's eyes held yours a beat longer than necessary, genuine concern mixed with something deeper flickering in his gaze.
“Yes… I think you’re right. Thank you.” You uttered softly, tentatively accepting the bottle.
A deep, shy blush spread across your cheeks as his warm fingers brushed against yours, that brief contact sending an unexpected spark straight down between your legs. You shifted awkwardly, squeezing your thighs together more firmly as you stared at the floor, trying to hide the heat blooming low in your belly.
“If you ever need help — real help — one or both of us will be here. Just say the word.” He stepped back smoothly, giving you a soft nod as he turned to go, when Yeosang’s soft, melodic laugh drifted across the nearly empty hall.
San’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile at the sound, as if he had heard that laugh countless times before in far more private moments. That simple, familiar reaction only made the pull inside you grow stronger, hotter.
By the time you were leaving the gym that night, the decision had settled inside you: you would book a proper personal training slot with them.
Not because of the excited whispers you had overheard in the locker room, or the way their closeness had been lingering in your thoughts. But because, for the first time, someone had noticed you were trying too hard to cope with this on your own. The mirrors caught the soft sway of your hips one last time as you stepped out into the evening air, a quiet tension still humming low and warm inside you.
So here you were — still feeling a little nervous and full of doubt, yet strangely excited, your heart beating just a little faster than the situation warranted. After weeks of deep reflection, sleepless nights filled with self-doubt and embarrassment, and Sohee’s velvet-tongued encouragement, you had finally booked the trial session.
The familiar bustling rhythm of the gym wrapped around you the moment you walked in, and for a second you paused, fingers tightening around the strap of your sports bag. You kept telling yourself it was just another workout. Nothing more. But the thought of being so vulnerable in front of someone, letting them evaluate and guide your body, especially when that someone was San or Yeosang, had left a delicate flutter low in your belly.
You ran your hands lightly over the front of your crop top and black sports leggings, trying to smooth out imaginary creases and once again regretfully noting how tightly the elastic fabric hugged the plush swell of your hips. The small gesture was meant to calm you, but it only made you even more anxious about how you looked.
However, it was already too late to back out, especially when you caught sight of both of them waiting for you at the front desk. They greeted you right on time, and in person they were even more impressive than the last time you bumped into them in the gym.
It was almost unfair how devastatingly good they still looked even after several intense sessions.
San stood with his weight slightly shifted to one side, one hand resting casually on the counter. It was the easy, grounded way he held himself, like someone who was completely comfortable in his own body. His hair was soft and tousled as if he had just run his hand over it, falling in gentle waves over those sharp, feline eyes that crinkled warmly at the corners when he offered you a sweet, dimpled smile, the kind that hinted at a gentle nature beneath all that carved muscle.
Yeosang, on the other hand, carried himself with a quiet kind of elegance. Up close, he was even more breathtaking. His posture was straight without being stiff, and there was a calm precision in the way he moved. The tips of his silky reddish-brown hair brushed lightly against his faintly rosy cheeks and when the light caught his eyes, they shifted to a rich amber hue, warm and whiskey-deep, drawing you in with a quiet intensity that made something soft twist behind your ribs.
They introduced themselves anyway — even though there was no need to, since you already knew their names, voices low and professional, and offered firm yet gentle handshakes that lingered just long enough to feel reassuring rather than intimidating. In fact, everything turned out to be far less scary than you had expected, which was a genuine relief.
Just as Sohee had promised, the boys were real sweethearts — respectful, calm, and patient as they explained the simple movement screening they had planned. There was no pressure, no lingering stares full of silent judgment. Only two trainers who genuinely seemed to want you to feel comfortable in your own body.
They led you to a more secluded corner of the gym, toward the open mats near the treadmills designed for individual sessions. High mirrors ran along the wall, reflecting every angle of your plush curves framed between their sculpted bodies.
San asked you a few general questions to assess your fitness level while Yeosang suggested starting with something basic and gradually increasing the load. It sounded ideal to you. After a short warm-up led by San, Yeosang stepped forward and demonstrated a simple bodyweight squat with quiet, clear instructions. His movements were precise and effortless as he dropped low and rose again.
“Keep your chest up, weight through your heels.” Yeosang said gently. “And pay attention to your breathing — otherwise you’ll tire yourself out too quickly.” His calm, competent tone eased the tension in your shoulders a little more.
San stood a respectful distance away, notepad in hand, watching attentively as you mirrored the movement and jotting quick notes on the points you still needed to work on.
When you finished the set and straightened up, breathing a little harder, the light burn in your thighs grounded you for a moment. San gave you a small, encouraging nod before stepping over to Yeosang to discuss the next steps with him. You offered him a grateful smile as you wiped the light sheen of sweat from your brow and your gaze drifted to the mirror almost on its own, and a soft blush warmed your cheeks as you caught the moment between them.
They stood close, their postures relaxed in a way that spoke of long familiarity. San leaned just a fraction closer than necessary as he whispered something low into Yeosang’s ear, his broad hand resting briefly on his friend’s muscular shoulder, his thumb pressing slightly into the supple, heated skin in a familiar, wordless exchange while they discussed the next exercise.
The touch looked warm and familiar, almost intimate in its casual ease — nothing overt, nothing that screamed anything more than close colleagues or friends. Yet it carried the lingering warmth of something deeper, like two bodies that had long since learned each other’s rhythms in the quiet hours after the gym lights dimmed.
“You shouldn’t be noticing that,” the thought bloomed in your mind. Shame and curiosity tangled together until you couldn’t quite tell them apart, and your cheeks flushed with heat as you quickly looked away.
After that, the training session carried on as if nothing had happened. Yeosang stepped closer to adjust the angle of your shoulders, his touch light and almost tender against your upper arm. Those gorgeous amber eyes met yours for a brief, steady second that made your pulse skip. San went back to monitoring you, picking up the notepad once more. His cute dimples flashed as he bit down gently on his plump lower lip, concentrating while he jotted something down.
The boys seemed to truly listen to every request you made, keeping a close eye on you and gently guiding you through each stage. Whenever you needed help they corrected your form with patience, explaining everything again without a hint of frustration. San’s voice was smooth as melted honey whenever he praised you, and there was something soft about the way Yeosang’s expression warmed when you got the movement right on the first try — like he was genuinely pleased in a way that went beyond just doing his job.
Nevertheless, the small, private gestures between them continued to catch your attention — a shared glance that lingered a fraction too long, San’s fingers brushing Yeosang’s wrist as he passed the water bottle, and the tender way Yeosang reached up to brush a few damp strands of hair away from San’s eyes. It hinted at a bond that felt warmer than simple friendship, yet somehow it only made the session feel safer, like you were being looked after by two people who already understood each other on a level most never reached.
By the time the trial wrapped, the gym’s golden light had begun to shift into softer evening hues. You finished your last set, straightened up, and wiped the sweat from your skin with a towel as the three of you naturally gathered near the mats.
The conversation came easily as you talked quietly about the session — what had felt good, what you might want to work on next, and how the hour had flown by. San summed things up, praising you once again for your efforts, and Yeosang offered you a four-week membership if you wanted to continue training under their guidance.
There was no pressure at all. In fact, at one point they both mentioned that you were a quick learner and, with the right approach, you’d eventually be able to manage without their help. You thanked them quietly, feeling surprisingly comfortable in their presence despite the stubborn, deep blush that still refused to fade from your cheeks.
All your worries had turned out to be unfounded. San and Yeosang were exactly as Sohee had described: respectful, attentive, the kind of trainers who made you want to come back not out of obligation, but because they made you feel seen and safe in a way no other man ever had. It wasn’t the kind of attention that left you feeling small or inadequate. It was the kind that made you feel wanted, cared for, and completely at ease in your own body.
You paused at the door for the goodbye, offering them a soft, grateful smile as you confirmed you’d be taking the four-week subscription. That was when you felt it — their gazes lingering on you a heartbeat longer than professional courtesy allowed, warm and intent beneath the golden spill of the pendant lights.
They were men, after all. It was impossible for them not to notice how pleasant and appetizing your soft, milky body looked in the tight black leggings that hugged the plush swell of your hips and the gentle curve of your ass, the cropped top clinging just enough to the rise and fall of your breasts with each quiet breath.
San’s tongue darted out to wet his lips in a slow, unconscious swipe. His cat-like eyes traced the soft movement of your chest while the rosy flush on his cheeks deepened into something darker, sweeter. At the same moment, Yeosang’s hand came up to squeeze his shoulder with that same knowing pressure, his amber gaze following the sway of your hips as you turned to leave.
The gesture was small, almost protective, yet it carried the lingering warmth of two bodies that understood each other far beyond simple friendship — something hotter, more seductive, like a quiet current running between them. A silent exchange that made your own cheeks heat as you stepped out into the cool evening air.
You told yourself it was nothing. Just the natural appreciation of two trainers who had spent the hour studying your form. Nothing more. Yet the image lingered in the back of your mind all the way home — San’s dimpled smile replaced by something hungrier for a split second, Yeosang’s fingers pressing just a fraction too possessively into San’s muscle, both of them watching you walk away with that quiet, suppressed spark of interest.
The nascent tension hummed low and sweet beneath everything, waiting for the next session, the next correction, the next quiet moment when their eyes might linger on you again.
By the time two weeks had slipped by in a haze of warm golden pendant lights and the steady, addictive rhythm of steel meeting leather, you were absolutely thrilled — the kind of quiet, bubbling excitement that made your perception of your own soft curves feel lighter somehow, even as your body still carried that plush, yielding sweetness you had once despaired over.
The trial session had blossomed into a full four-week package. What used to be solitary, gruelling evening workouts had shifted seamlessly into nighttime sessions in friendly company — a rhythm that suited your busy schedule perfectly.
The gym at night felt like an entirely different world: practically empty save for a handful of solitary souls scattered across the treadmills and cable machines, the low bass of the music softer now, the heavy glass lamps casting a more subdued, warm glow. No crowds. No prying eyes. Just the faint whiff of sweat mixed with something musky and masculine, and the lingering smoky-sweet scent of the aroma diffuser in the air — and the two men who had somehow become the centre of your evenings without ever stepping over a single professional line.
San and Yeosang had settled into your routine with the quiet ease of people who had always belonged there, their presence so light and comfortable that it felt as though you had known them for years rather than mere weeks.
They were sweet without ever tipping into saccharine — pleasant in that effortless way, thoughtful in the small, unspoken details. Yeosang always remembered the exact ache in your lower back that you had mentioned the week before, quietly adjusting the cable machine to accommodate it without needing to be reminded. San, meanwhile, brought you chilled water at precisely the right moments and handed you fresh towels, constantly checking in with gentle questions about how you were feeling so you would never push yourself too far.
They remained impeccably professional even when the occasional light tease slipped through their careful composure. San’s deep, sweet dimples would flash whenever he caught you grimacing through a particularly stubborn set, his magnificent cat-like eyes sparkling with undisguised mischief as he coaxed you in that warm, honeyed voice that wrapped around you like velvet: “Come on, princess… one more for me. You’ve got this.” The nickname always landed so casually, slipping past your defences with effortless charm, yet it never failed to send a warm, unexpected flutter low in your stomach.
Yeosang was quieter, his amber eyes holding a skilfully controlled intensity that softened whenever he watched you push through a difficult set. In the right light they turned the deep, burnished colour of expensive aged whiskey, lending his already striking face an even more captivating quality. He always asked about your day in that smooth, deep voice — silk and smoke wrapped around every word — and the striking contrast between his angelic features and that sensual, almost indecent timbre never failed to send a shiver down your spine. He listened with genuine attention, offering small nods and gentle follow-up questions that pulled something tender and first-love soft behind your ribs.
Without realising it, you had begun to absorb small pieces of them into your own life, so that you found yourself sharing San’s quiet passion for late-night drives along the river and understanding Yeosang’s dry humour far more deeply whenever it slipped out in those perfectly timed one-liners.
The three of you had even started creating your own inside jokes — light, sparkling things that belonged only to the three of you, and they slowly turned the heavy weight of training into something that felt less like work and more like a shared ritual. The nighttime emptiness of the gym only made it easier to sink into their guidance. It no longer felt like a chore. Now you found yourself glancing at the clock throughout the day, already looking forward to these quiet evenings with your two trainers.
You had also begun to notice the small, delicious ways your body was responding to the steady rhythm of training. The plush give of your hips and ass had grown more resilient, now filling out the tight black leggings in a way that felt seductive rather than simply soft. It was a subtle shift, but one that gave you a little more confidence with every session. The faint outline of camel-toe had not disappeared, yet you no longer perceived it with the same sharp self-consciousness — especially after Sohee had casually mentioned that some men found it very arousing. Your friend had even tried to show you a few porn videos on the subject, and you had barely managed to talk her out of it, blushing furiously while insisting that you believed her.
Your breasts no longer felt so heavy and cumbersome either. They had grown more elastic and toned, and more than once you had caught yourself thinking that you liked the way they sat pleasantly within the neckline of your sports bra. And even though you still blushed deeply and looked away when boys’ eyes moved over you in quiet assessment, the warmth that rose to your cheeks now felt different — comfortable, almost pleasant. It was the kind of attention that made you feel seen rather than exposed.
The bond between San and Yeosang continued to reveal itself in small, wordless ways that only made the sessions feel intriguing. Sometimes San would rest a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder as they discussed your form, his thumb brushing once in a quiet, familiar gesture of agreement. Other times Yeosang would lean in close to murmur something against San’s ear while they stood behind you, their heads angled together for a brief moment. Once, when San passed him a resistance band, Yeosang’s fingers closed lightly over his wrist and lingered there just long enough to feel intentional.
These touches were never overt, never anything more than two people who knew each other deeply, yet they carried a quiet warmth that made something flutter low in your belly.
“They’re just… close,” you told yourself, the thought drifting through your mind like the first gentle stir of something you weren’t quite ready to name.
By the time the bond between San and Yeosang had already begun to feel like a quiet, steady presence in the background of every session, the weeks spent together had only made the air around the three of you feel warmer. The gym at night had become its own little world, and the two of them had settled into your routine with the same ease as if they had always been part of it.
Discussions had slowly shifted from pure instruction to something warmer and more personal. San would tease you lightly whenever you gravitated toward the same machine first, his voice rich and enveloping as he grinned and said, “Creature of habit, huh?” Yeosang, on the other hand, often shared quick, ridiculous stories about clients from the day shift that made all three of you laugh until the mirrors echoed with the sound. They were comfortable together. Pleasant. Sweet in a way that made the long hours after dark feel like the best part of your day instead of the hardest.
Yet beneath the easy rhythm, something else had begun to take shape. Though the gym stayed nearly empty around you, the air between the three of you had grown thicker with a quiet tension — the kind that hummed beneath every shared laugh and every lingering glance caught in the mirrors. Their touches stayed light and instructional, warm but never lingering too long on the soft curves of your body. Still, the atmosphere around you felt heavier lately, charged with something unspoken. It was as if a slow, hypnotic pull had settled between the three of you — something beautifully inevitable that had yet to spark into flame.
But what you had no idea about was that each of them carried their own private storm.
Bold, heated thoughts that thickened their blood and made their cocks twitch traitorously beneath the thin fabric of their black tanks whenever your soft, voluptuous body moved between them.
San’s dimpled smile would flash innocently enough during a set, but later, alone in the locker room after you’d left, his mind would drift to pinning you against the cool mirrors, hands sinking into the plush give of your ass while he buried himself deep. Yeosang’s amber eyes stayed gentle and focused on your form, yet in the shower afterward, water streaming down his sculpted chest, he imagined those same eyes locked on yours as he fed you his cock inch by slow inch, stretching your gentle sweetness wide until you dripped around him.
And somewhere in the quiet overlap of their thoughts, the fantasies always merged — sharing you between them, long nights of hot, deep fucking where you were caught in the middle of their bodies, ruined and filled and claimed until thick, milky cum leaked down your trembling thighs.
Those thoughts slipped in and out of their conversations in the pleasant silence of the locker room as they changed, in the steam of the showers where their shoulders brushed with far too much familiarity, and late at night in the dark of their bedroom — hands wrapped around their aching cocks while they whispered filthy promises to each other about the pretty little star who had no idea how badly they wanted to breed her.
This slow burn could have continued for a long time beneath perfect professionalism, if it hadn’t begun to physically irritate them — a constant, low throb of frustration that made their touches a fraction more deliberate, their gazes a fraction heavier when they thought you weren’t looking.
The heavy doors of the gym yielded beneath your hurried hands with ease, swinging open to admit you into the warm, golden-lit space just as the last remnants of the evening chill clung to your skin.
Your cheeks were already flushed a deep, dewy rose from the frantic dash through the city streets, and your breath came in soft, quick little gasps that made the cropped top feel far too tight against the rapid rise and fall of your chest. One trembling hand pressed instinctively to the upper swell of your breasts as though to calm the wild rhythm beneath, while the other smoothed futilely down the front of your tight black leggings, trying to compose yourself into something more presentable.
The fabric had grown slightly damp during your rush, and now it clung to you like a second skin — molding itself to the generous, plush curves of your ass, stretching taut across the rounded flesh with every step. The seam nestled insistently between your thighs, pressing right against the plump, sensitive lips of your cunt in a way that sent tiny, unwelcome sparks of awareness through your body no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
“I’m so, so sorry.” You managed, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. A few delicate strands of your soft, beautiful hair had slipped free of the ponytail, framing your face and brushing against your heated cheeks despite your repeated attempts to tuck them back with unsteady fingers.
The flush had spread lower, painting a warm, inviting glow across the graceful line of your neck and spilling down onto the smooth skin of your chest — whether from exertion or from the sudden, acute self-consciousness of standing before them like this, you couldn’t tell.
San’s gaze moved over you slowly, taking in every detail of your flustered state with a small, knowing smile that curved his lips in a way that made your stomach tighten.
“Everything’s fine, princess.” He said, the low, velvet timbre of his voice wrapping around the words like a caress. He waved off your concern with an easy, graceful flick of his hand, the gesture somehow both reassuring and hot in its casual confidence.
Yeosang’s dark, enchanting eyes softened with something far more playful and far more dangerous as he watched you try to steady yourself.
“And anyway,” He added, the teasing lilt in his voice sending a fresh wave of heat rolling straight through your veins. “Tonight is all for you. No one else booked the late-night slot. The place is ours.”
What followed was the familiar rhythm of your sessions, yet tonight the air itself felt thicker, wrapped in a charged undercurrent that had been steadily building over the past four weeks and now hummed just beneath every movement.
Low, warm laughter wove through the golden glow of the late-night lighting, mingling with the low, throbbing bass that pulsed from the speakers and seemed to vibrate directly into your bones. The endless mirrors multiplied every soft, milky curve of your body, framing you between the two tall, sculpted forms of your trainers as you stepped onto the mats near the treadmills.
It wasn’t anything overt. Not yet. But the subtle shift in the atmosphere wrapped itself around you like warm silk.
When San moved in close to correct your stance during the first stretch, his broad, warm palm settled at the small of your back, the heat of it seeping through the thin fabric of your top and lingering far longer than any professional correction required.
His fingers spread slightly, pressing with just enough intent that you felt the sheer size of his hand against your waist, the quiet strength in it, and your body responded before your mind could catch up — a subtle, involuntary arch into the touch, a soft catch in your breath, the way your thighs pressed together almost instinctively as a slow, liquid warmth began to gather and bloom between them.
Yeosang’s fingers brushed the delicate inside of your wrist a moment later when he passed you the water bottle, the contact light yet unmistakably deliberate, his thumb grazing the fluttering pulse point there in a way that sent a sharp little thrill racing up your arm.
The cool condensation on the bottle did nothing to ease the sudden flare of heat that settled deep and heavy in your core, and long after he withdrew his hand your skin continued to tingle with the ghost of his touch. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from letting out the soft, needy sound that wanted to escape.
Their eyes met over your shoulder in one of those loaded, knowing exchanges that always left you feeling stripped bare, as if they could see straight through every layer of your composure to the growing, desperate want you tried so hard to hide. Heat pooled low and insistent in your belly, your nipples tightening into sensitive peaks against the fabric of your cropped top, and you fought the urge to cross your arms over your chest.
You told yourself it was nothing. This was just ordinary training — the final session before your package ended, the last time you would stand between them like this. It meant nothing that San’s touch seemed to brand itself into your overheated skin or that Yeosang’s gaze felt like a physical stroke tracing the lines of your body in the mirrors.
“This is just training,” the thought looped in your mind even as your body betrayed you with every shallow breath, every subtle clench of your inner walls around nothing, every fresh rush of slick warmth that made the seam of your leggings feel even more intrusive, more knowing against the silky, sensitive folds of your cunt.
It had been so long since anyone had touched you the way you craved, since anyone had looked at you with that dark, hungry edge that made you feel small and desired and a little out of control all at once. “It’s all in your head. They’re still just your trainers.”
But San and Yeosang knew better.
They had been counting down the days to this final session, and tonight the professional boundaries that had held them back were about to mean very little.
The irritation that had been building for weeks had sharpened into something far more insistent for San and Yeosang — a constant, heavy throb that made their cocks twitch and strain against the thin fabric of their black sweatpants with every innocent sway of your hips, every soft blush that painted your sweet cheeks when they teased you lightly about your form.
You were so cute in your shy, responsive way, and they could no longer decide what they craved more: to pull you into their arms and finally feel all that plush juiciness and softness yielding against their bodies, or to ruin you completely, to leave you trembling and overflowing with their cum for hours.
Tonight, with the gym almost deserted and the heavy doors locked against the outside world, that hunger felt much stronger, almost unbearable. The air itself seemed thick with it — luxurious, forbidden, dripping with the promise of everything they had been holding back for weeks.
This was the last session of your block. Their final night pretending they didn’t want to destroy you in the most exquisite ways. And as the golden lights spilled over your plush body like liquid champagne, highlighting every soft curve and every dewy flush, the tension finally, slowly, began to crack open.
The session had slipped into that measured rhythm you had always secretly longed for, the near-empty gym wrapped in nothing but the low golden lights and the faint, echoing sound of your own breathing. Yet tonight you could no longer ignore how much thicker the tension had grown, how much heavier it pressed against your skin like fire coiled just beneath the surface of every glance and every brush of contact.
San and Yeosang moved around you with the same effortless professional grace they always had, but their touches had grown bolder, more deliberate — impossible to dismiss no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself otherwise.
San’s strong hands settled on your body again, this time guiding your hips into alignment with a slow, noticeable pressure that made your breath catch sharply in your throat. His fingers dug just a little deeper into the plump, yielding flesh, holding you there for a beat longer than necessary. Yeosang’s light, teasing fingers traced the line of your shoulder and down the outside of your arm, the touch warm and lingering, sending a shiver racing straight through you and straight down to your core.
Their voices had slipped lower, richer, a few explicit little comments threading through the usual instructions like the slow, sensual stroke of velvet over bare skin.
“Such a good girl for me tonight, princess.” San murmured close to your ear as he adjusted your stance from behind, his hot breath gliding over your flushed, sensitive skin in a way that made the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand up. “Look at how perfectly you do it… following my every instruction so sweetly. Every inch of you responding exactly the way I want.”
“Breathe through it, sweetheart.” Yeosang said, his amber eyes darkening as he stepped in front of you, one hand lightly cupping your elbow to guide the movement. “Let us see how beautifully your body opens up when you stop fighting what it wants.”
Their words sank straight between your thighs like liquid heat, hot and filthy beneath the polished surface of their polite care. Your cheeks burned hotter. Your pussy clenched again, harder this time, the seam of your leggings pressing more insistently against your swollen, throbbing clit with every small shift of weight.
You could feel yourself growing slicker, the delicate folds becoming puffy and sensitive, the fabric starting to cling in a way that made you acutely aware of how wet you were getting — and terrified they might notice the subtle dampness if they looked too closely.
And still they moved around you. San’s hand slid a fraction lower, his fingers digging a little harder into the plump flesh of your hip, the pressure possessive in a way that made your knees feel unsteady. Yeosang’s fingers brushed the inside of your wrist again as he passed you the bottle once more, the contact sending another sharp little thrill up your arm.
Every touch carried the weight of weeks of restraint finally beginning to fray at the edges, and you could feel it in the way their eyes lingered on your body, in the way their breathing had grown just a touch heavier, in the dark, hungry edge that had crept into their voices.
Your body was betraying you more with every passing second — thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the growing ache, hips wanting to rock subtly into the pressure of San’s hand, breath coming quicker, a soft, involuntary whimper catching in your throat that you barely managed to swallow.
It had been so long since anyone had touched you like this, since anyone had spoken to you in that low, velvet tone that made your cunt flutter and drip. The denial you had been clinging to was cracking, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend this was still just training.
Something in the air told you that tonight, in this final session, everything was about to change.
“You’ve got so much more flexible over the last while. Look at the way your hips open up like that…” When San spoke again, his voice had dropped even lower, rich as dark chocolate laced with something far darker and hungrier.
“And so responsive tonight… makes it hard to keep things professional.” Yeosang’s amber gaze had grown heavier, more languid, soft but unmistakably edged with hunger.
You tried to laugh it off, cheeks burning hot enough to rival the golden lights, but your body betrayed you with every tiny shift. The leggings clung like a second skin to the plush swell of your hips and the gentle curve of your ass, offering almost no protection from the heat of San’s touch. The cropped top rose and fell over the soft press of your breasts with every quickened breath, and Yeosang’s gaze lingered on the delicate line of your neckline far longer than was appropriate, tracing the shadow between your breasts with open appreciation.
“This is still just training,” you told yourself, even as shame twisted hot and sweet in your belly and your needy little pussy fluttered traitorously beneath the fabric. “They’re being nice, that’s all. Stop imagining their hands everywhere else.” But the air hummed with it now, that unspoken want thickening between the three of you.
It happened during the new wide-stance sumo squat.
Legs spread wide, toes turned out, you lowered yourself slowly until your muscles burned and your hips opened obscenely wide. The stretch pulled your leggings mercilessly tight across your crotch, the thin black fabric molding perfectly to the plump, swollen mound of your pussy until the delicate outline of your camel-toe became shamelessly prominent. The seam dug right between the soft, peachy halves of your labia, pressing insistently against your swollen clit and the slick, sensitive folds beneath. Your soft folds were visibly outlined against the material, a faint darker wet spot blooming where your body had grown shamefully slick and needy from nothing more than their voices and their nearness. Every tiny adjustment, every subtle shift of weight sent the seam rubbing over your throbbing clit, making fresh slickness gather and the spot spread just a little more, the fabric growing visibly damper between your spread thighs.
San’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, locking onto that obscene little display. He swallowed hard, the rosy flush on his cheeks flaring hotter as his thick cock twitched visibly beneath his pants. In that moment he was already imagining leaning down, mouth watering at the thought of pressing his lips to that plump, warm mound, tongue dragging slow and filthy over the soaked fabric until you were grinding helplessly against his face, whimpering his name, your thighs trembling around his head while he licked you through the ruined material.
In reality he moved gently, almost awkwardly, sliding his hands to your hips to help guide you upright, his touch burning straight through the thin layer of your clothes and into your skin. The pressure of his palms made your pussy press more firmly against the seam for one dizzying second, and a soft, involuntary sound caught in your throat.
“Hey… maybe we should skip holding this one too long.” He said, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat. His voice came out low and rough around the edges, dimples flashing in a smile that didn’t quite hide the hunger. “Your leggings are… a little too tight right there between your thighs. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” The words were clumsy on the surface, professional in shape but dripping with everything he wasn’t saying. His cat-like eyes flicked once more to the way your pussy was so clearly outlined before he forced them away.
Yeosang caught the moment and gave San a knowing look — slow, filthy, and full of understanding. The corner of his beautiful, perfectly sculpted mouth curved as he made a deliberate, unmistakable gesture with his hand, fist closing and pumping once in the air in silent, teasing mimicry, eyebrows raised in quiet challenge. San rolled his eyes, cheeks burning darker, but he couldn’t help leaning in close to Yeosang’s ear while you caught your breath, his voice dropping to a husky whisper meant only for the two of them.
“As if you don’t want to eat that pussy yourself.” He breathed, the words velvet and smoke with raw need. “I bet it’s sweet and warm under your tongue… already dripping just for us. I know you’ve imagined how good it would be to warm that tiny, plump thing up in your mouth until she squirms and whines, begging for you to finally shove your tongue inside her hole. Or am I wrong, Sangie?”
“This is so fucking mean…” Yeosang hissed through his teeth, his voice stripped of every trace of its former playfulness. His fingers dug into the small of San’s back with possessive force, a tight little squeeze that spoke of countless nights spent tangled together, both of them imagining exactly this — you caught between them, soft and ruined and begging.
You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language told you everything. The flush had already crawled all the way down your chest, and your cunt clenched hard at the charged air even though the words weren’t meant for your ears. Your pussy was already dripping anyway, soaking the seam of your leggings like a desperate little slut while they stood there pretending they weren’t imagining ruining you.
Your body moved through the next set on autopilot — deep, controlled lunges — yet every breath felt electric, every shift of your plush, juicy curves drawing their eyes like magnets.
San’s broad palm slid lower this time when he corrected your stance, fingers splaying possessively across the curve of your hip, his thumb brushing the waistband of your leggings in a slow, deliberate stroke that sent heat licking straight to your cunt. Yeosang stepped in from the front, his long fingers grazing the sensitive underside of your arm as he adjusted your elbow, his amber eyes locking onto yours for a heartbeat too long, whiskey-warm and dark with something that made your thighs clench involuntarily.
You could no longer ignore their masculine attractiveness — not when sweat glistened along the strong column of San’s neck, trickling down in a slow, glistening path that disappeared beneath the black tank stretched tight over his heaving chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the movement hypnotic, the rosy flush on his cheeks deepening with every controlled exhale. Yeosang’s shoulders rolled with each demonstration, the smooth, heated skin of his arms flexing, veins standing out like silk cords beneath the warm glow; his thighs tensed visibly when he dropped into a squat beside you, the powerful muscles shifting under the fabric of his sweatpants, and you felt your own pulse throb between your legs at the sight.
"They’re so close, so warm, so fucking beautiful," the thought twisted inside you, shame and desperate lust coiling tighter until your pussy ached, the soaked seam of your leggings rubbing obscenely against your swollen clit with every tiny movement.
The room felt stuffier now, the low bass of the music pulsing like a second heartbeat through the floor and straight into your core, the mirrors reflecting your flushed face and their carved frames in endless, obscene luxury.
San’s gaze dropped again to the prominent camel-toe still outlined so shamelessly against your crotch, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he muttered under his breath,
“You’re making this session real hard for us tonight.” The words slipped out low and honeyed, laced with filthy innuendo.
Yeosang let out a low, velvety chuckle beside him, stepping close enough that his chest brushed San’s shoulder.
“Careful, baby.” He purred, voice smooth as smoke and sin. “Or you’ll have to explain why your cock’s trying to rip through those sweatpants while you stare at her pretty little pussy like it’s dinner.”
San shot him a heated look, dimples flashing in a smirk that promised trouble, but his hand lingered on your lower back a second longer, thumb pressing into the soft dip just above your ass in a touch that felt anything but professional. Yeosang’s fingers found San’s wrist in return, squeezing with a quiet warning.
The two of them exchanged a glance so loaded it made your breath hitch — teasing each other, yes, but sharing the exact same raw thirst, the same burning need to ruin you right here.
You felt it physically now — the heat rolling off their bodies in waves, the faint smoky-sweet perfume mixed with clean sweat wrapping around you like velvet poison. San’s chest rose and fell heavily as he moved behind you for the next rep, his breath ghosting warm against the nape of your neck when he murmured:
“Bend a little deeper for me… yeah, just like that."
Yeosang’s eyes darkened to molten amber as he watched from the front, lips parting on a slow exhale, the subtle shift of his thighs drawing your gaze to the thick outline straining against his own pants.
The tension between the three of you was palpable now, almost physical — a living and breathing thing, every mirror catching the way your soft body trembled between their heat, your cunt dripping shamelessly while they fought to keep the last threads of restraint intact. The golden pendant lights turned the empty gym into a private, obscene cathedral of mirrors and shadow where the three of you stood panting in the center of it all.
San’s hand slid lower first — completely unprofessional, no longer pretending to correct your form, his calloused fingers dragging slow and deliberate down the curve of your lower back until they cupped the plush swell of your ass, squeezing the soft, milky flesh like he’d been starving for it for weeks.
Your breath caught, a soft, needy whimper slipping out instead, and that single sound shattered whatever was left of their restraint.
Yeosang moved in from the front, his amber eyes molten as he stepped close enough that his chest brushed the soft swell of your breasts, one long-fingered hand sliding up your waist beneath the hem of your cropped top.
“That’s it, beautiful,” He whispered, voice thick and velvet-rough. “Let's show you a couple of more effective exercises." His touch grew bolder when you shivered instead of pulling back, fingertips tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.
"You don’t want us to stop, do you?” San’s palm kneaded your ass harder, pulling you back against the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his sweatpants.
“No…I don’t want to…” Your own hands betrayed you next — hesitant at first, trembling as one palm pressed flat against Yeosang’s sweat-slick stomach, feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense beneath your touch, then sliding lower to brush the firm, rounded curve of his ass. The other found San’s bicep, fingers digging into the warm, flexed muscle as if you needed to anchor yourself before you drowned. "I really, really want this...'
Both men groaned low and filthy at the contact, their bodies pressing tighter, cocks throbbing visibly now, and the way they looked at each other over your shoulder — San’s dimpled smirk turning dark, Yeosang’s tongue dragging slowly over his lower lip — told you they’d been sharing this exact hunger for far too long.
They guided you into the next position without asking, hands everywhere at once. Yeosang gently but firmly pushed you back until your back was to San’s chest, your legs spread wide in a deep, standing lunge that had nothing to do with training anymore. San’s thick cock nestled hot and heavy right between the cheeks of your ass, the hard length rubbing shamelessly against the soaked seam of your leggings as he rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate.
Himself he stepped in front, his own erection pressing against your lower belly, the heat of it burning through the thin fabric. In the endless mirrors surrounding you, the reflection was obscene — your lavish, soft body caught between their carved frames like a perfect offering, legs trembling, hips rolling instinctively back against San’s cock while Yeosang’s hands gripped your waist.
It looked exactly like a mock-up of sex: you between them, ass grinding back on one thick cock while the other waited to ruin you from the front.
And you didn’t mind at all. Your cunt clenched hard around nothing, dripping so shamelessly that the camel-toe outline of your pussy was now dark and obvious, the fabric clinging wetly to your swollen folds.
“Fuck… feel that, baby? That’s what you do to us.”San’s breath ghosted hot against your ear as he rocked forward again, letting you feel every inch of his heavy cock drag along the cleft of your ass.
Then a hot, calloused palm slid boldly between your legs from behind — San’s, thick fingers cupping your entire pussy through the leggings, pressing the soaked material right against your aching clit and rubbing slow, firm circles that made your knees buckle.
“So fucking wet already.” He growled, voice whiskey-rough and dripping sin. “Your pretty cunt is dripping through these leggings like it’s begging to be ruined.”
Yeosang’s eyes flashed dark with shared hunger as he watched San’s hand working on you. His own palm slid up your stomach and yanked your cropped top up in one smooth, decisive motion. Your tits spilled out shamelessly — plump, juicy, nipples already tight and pebbled under the warm air, bouncing softly with every shaky breath. Yeosang groaned at the sight, leaning in to drag his tongue along the soft swell of one breast while San’s fingers kept rubbing your pussy harder, the wet, obscene sound of fabric dragging over your soaked folds echoing through the empty gym.
This was so filthy, yet your cunt was clenching and dripping anyway, pussy throbbing against San’s palm while Yeosang’s mouth hovered so close to your nipple you could feel his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive peak.
Their bodies caged you perfectly, cocks grinding against you from both sides, hands and mouths claiming every soft inch as the mirrors reflected the three of you.
The boys weren’t pretending anymore — not even a little — and neither were you.
Your hands slid into Yeosang’s soft, silky hair of their own accord, fingers threading through the damp strands as his mouth and tongue worked your breasts with passionate, wicked skill — hot, wet suction pulling one plump nipple deep between his lips while his tongue flicked and swirled like he was starving for the taste of you. You arched into him with a broken whimper, desperate lust twisting so tightly in your belly.
“Fuck, look at her.” San groaned, cupping the breast Yeosang was devouring, squeezing the soft, milky flesh with grateful hunger and pushing more of you into his partner’s greedy mouth. “Such pretty, juicy tits… offering them to us like the good little slut you are.”
At the same time one of Yeosang’s hands slid boldly between your legs, joining San’s calloused palm in a filthy duet — two sets of fingers passionately massaging your soaked pussy through the drenched fabric of your leggings, rubbing firm, circling strokes right over your swollen clit and dripping folds until the material was completely soaked, your wetness smearing hot and slick across their skin.
“Gonna stretch this tight little cunt so fucking good, princess.” San’s breath ghosted hot and filthy against the shell of your ear as he pressed harder, two thick fingers dragging up and down your seam.
That lewd promise hit your needy cunt like a spark, making your empty hole clench hard around nothing, dripping even more for them. “Gonna open you up on our cocks until you feel every inch splitting your hole wide… show you what a real stretch feels like when two men ruin you together. You’re gonna take us both, baby — gonna cream and squirt and beg while we breed this pretty pussy full.”
“Gonna leave that pretty hole swollen and gaping, leaking our thick cum like the perfect little fuck doll you are.” Yeosang’s low chuckle brushed your other ear as he pressed closer to you, his voice velvety and filthy, full of the most depraved promises.
"I'll feed you so fucking well, princess." San slid his thumb between your parted lips, running it slowly over your tongue as he added, dark and possessive.
Yeosang’s other hand came down on your free breast with a sharp, delicious slap — once, twice — making the plush flesh jiggle and flush hot under his palm, the sting blooming into liquid heat that shot straight to your clit. He sucked on your tit again before releasing your nipple with an obscene, wet squelch, strands of saliva stretching from his swollen lips to your glistening peak before snapping.
The sight seemed to drive him wild; he spat deliberately onto the flushed mound, watching the thick glob of spit slide down your skin, and San’s palm immediately smeared it in slow, possessive circles, marking you like you already belonged to them.
Their tongues turned vicious after that, filth pouring from their mouths in a constant stream of honeyed depravity while your hand finally wrapped around the thick, heavy contour of Yeosang’s cock straining against his pants.
‘So thick and so heavy’ You squeezed, stroking the massive length through the fabric, feeling it throb and twitch under your palm, and both men moaned in unison — San’s low and sweet right against your ear, Yeosang’s a deep, broken rumble against your breast.
“That’s it, doll.” Yeosang panted, voice silk and smoke. “Feel how hard you make me? How bad do I need to bury this cock in that sweet little cunt?”
“Fuck… she’s dripping so much for us already.” San moaned again, softer this time, almost reverent, as he felt a thick, warm gush of your slick leak straight from your hole and seep through the leggings onto their joined fingers. “Such a needy, messy little star… this pussy is crying for us, baby. Can’t wait to tear these fucking leggings off and watch it cream all over our cocks.” He groaned, rubbing the fresh wetness deeper into the fabric, pressing it right against your clit until your thighs shook.
Your body trembled between them, tits out and glistening with spit, their hands owning your soaked cunt, your own fingers shamelessly groping the delicious hardness of Yeosang’s throbbing cock while San ground his heavy erection harder against the plump swell of your buttocks. The empty gym had become nothing but a decadent stage for the three of you now, tension finally shattered into raw, dripping need.
The boys no longer held back — their caresses turned savage, hands working you with raw, hungry intensity. San’s thick fingers rubbed your pussy harder, aggressive and rough, grinding the drenched fabric right against your swollen clit in brutal circles while Yeosang matched him perfectly from the front, two sets of calloused palms massaging and pressing and owning your cunt like they owned every slick inch of it.
“Be a good girl for us, princess. You want these cocks? You want us to stuff that pretty mouth and fill this tight little cunt until you’re leaking our cum for days? Then you’re gonna squirt for us right now. Soak these fingers like the needy little slut you are. Earn it.” Yeosang pulled back just enough to fix you with a dark, fox-like stare — amber eyes glittering with the most depraved promises, lips wet and swollen as he growled low.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be a good girl for you.” You nodded desperately, hips jerking forward on their own, grinding shamelessly against their hands as fresh slick gushed out of you.
San’s free hand kneaded your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your nipple until it throbbed, while Yeosang grabbed one of your soft thighs in a firm grip and hiked it high to his waist, spreading you wider so both of them could rub your pussy even harder, fingers pressing and circling with filthy intent.
You couldn’t wait any longer. Your hand shot up, fingers tangling in Yeosang’s silky hair, and you yanked the beautiful vixen down into a dirty, wet, open-mouthed kiss — tongues sliding and licking and fucking each other’s mouths in a messy, obscene tangle, saliva dripping down your chin as you moaned into him like a whore in heat.
When he finally pulled away, gasping, San’s hand left your breast only to grab the back of Yeosang’s head and drag him into an equally hot, filthy kiss right in front of you — tongues battling wet and loud, mouths devouring each other while their bodies caged you tighter.
The sight was absolutely obscene, so much hotter than any porn you’d ever seen — two gorgeous men making out like they were starving for each other while their hands kept destroying your cunt through your leggings. Your hole clenched hard around nothing, aching and empty and dripping like a desperate little slut.
Your hands grew bold, sliding greedily over Yeosang’s body — tracing the slick, heated muscles of his shoulders and chest, nails scratching lightly over his nipples until they pebbled under your touch. Then you went lower, slipping your trembling fingers into the waistband of his pants and wrapping around his thick, heavy cock and balls.
He was burning hot, velvet-smooth skin stretched tight over pulsing hardness, heavy balls drawn up tight and already slick with pre-cum. You squeezed and stroked him shamelessly, thumb rubbing over the swollen head while he moaned into San’s mouth.
When they finally broke the kiss, strings of saliva connecting their lips, San turned that dirty, dimpled grin on you, eyes dark and glittering.
“Mmm… I can taste you on his tongue already, princess,” he purred. “But next time I want to lick your sweet slime straight off his balls while he’s buried balls-deep in that pretty cunt.”
The words hit you like lightning. Your orgasm crashed over you like an avalanche — sudden, shattering, unstoppable. Your hips shook violently, thighs trembling as your cunt clenched and unclenched in powerful spasms, a hot, gushing stream of your arousal squirting hard through the ruined fabric of your leggings, soaking their fingers and dripping down your thighs in messy, obscene rivulets.
"Oh God!" You cried out, broken and needy, body jerking between them as wave after wave ripped through you.
Both boys moaned loud and filthy, pressing their hard cocks harder against you — San grinding his thick length against your ass, Yeosang’s cock throbbing in your fist — while praise and filth poured from their mouths in a constant, velvet stream.
“Fuck, that’s our good girl — squirting so pretty for us,” San groaned, rubbing your pulsing cunt through every gush.
“Look at her creaming and soaking everything… such a messy little star.” Yeosang panted, eyes locked on the way your pussy kept fluttering and leaking under their hands. “Gonna make you do that again on our cocks, baby. Gonna ruin you until you can’t even walk.”
They didn’t stop rubbing you for a single second, milking every last drop of your orgasm. The afterglow of your first shattering orgasm still pulsed through every inch of your body like small electrical charges, leaving you trembling and loose and glowing between them. Your cunt throbbed hot and heavy, slick still leaking in slow, obscene rivulets down your inner thighs and soaking the already ruined leggings even deeper.
San and Yeosang didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath — they simply covered you in hot, open-mouthed kisses, devouring every inch of skin they could reach like starving men who had finally been allowed to taste their favorite meal.
“Fuck, princess… you squirted so beautifully for us.” San’s plush lips dragged slow and filthy along the column of your throat, sucking a dark mark just beneath your jaw while he groaned low and sweet against your skin.
“Look at you, all flushed and dripping — such a perfect little star.” Yeosang’s mouth found the swell of your breast, tongue swirling around your pebbled nipple before he sucked it deep, moaning gratefully as his hand kneaded the soft, plush flesh. “So soft… so fucking delicious.” He breathed between kisses, lips trailing wet heat across your collarbone and down the valley between your tits.
Their hands roamed everywhere — possessive yet reverent — stroking the gentle curve of your waist, squeezing the plush give of your ass, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts like they couldn’t stop touching you.
You felt desired. Wanted. Worshipped. Every filthy word and every hot press of their mouths made heat bloom low in your belly, your pussy clenching around nothing as fresh slick dripped out of you.
Yeosang was the one who finally lifted you, sliding his strong arms under your thighs and hoisting you up effortlessly so your legs wrapped around his waist. Your already ruined leggings rubbed obscenely against his abs as he carried you through the empty gym, San’s broad palm staying glued to your ass the entire way, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.
“We’re gonna show you what a real workout feels like now, baby,” Yeosang purred against your ear, voice smooth as silk and smoke, amber eyes dark with promise.
“No more gentle little corrections. Tonight this pretty body is ours to ruin properly.” San chuckled low behind you, nipping at your shoulder. “We’ve been dying to fuck you like this for weeks.”
The door to their private locker room swung open and Yeosang carried you inside without bothering to turn on the main lights, letting only the dim golden wall lamps cast their low, luxurious glow across the mirrored space. Long leather benches gleamed faintly beneath the warm light, while faint steam still curled lazily from the showers in the corner, and endless reflections multiplied your flushed, half-naked form from every angle. The air hung thick and charged, heavy with the scent of sweat and amber, warm skin and smoky-sweet perfume, threaded through with the faint metallic tang of steel.
He settled you onto all fours on the wide leather bench with careful, deliberate hands, your palms pressing flat into the cool, supple surface while your knees sank into the padded leather. The position naturally arched your back, pushing your ass higher and presenting your soaked, throbbing core to the two dark, hungry gazes.
Without hesitation, Yeo dropped to his knees behind you, his strong hands gripping the soft, supple flesh of your inner thighs and spreading them wider, opening you further for his mouth.
He leaned in and pressed his hot, wet mouth directly against the drenched crotch of your leggings. Yeosang's warm tongue moved in slow, deliberate, filthy stripes, dragging over the thin, clinging fabric again and again with unhurried hunger, eagerly lapping up every trace of your earlier release. The material grew even more transparent under the heat and wetness of his mouth, molding obscenely to the plump, swollen shape of your folds.
Obscene, wet sounds filled the quiet space as he sucked and licked through the cloth like he was determined to drink you straight through it, the low vibration of his moans traveling straight through to your throbbing clit and making you tremble.
“God… You taste even sweeter than I’d imagined.” Yeosang groaned loudly against you, the words muffled and rough against the warm plushness of your snatch, sending fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.
At the same time, San stepped in front of you, shoving his pants down just far enough to free his heavy cock. The fat, flushed head tapped against your parted lips once, twice, smearing viscous, glistening pre-cum across them in thick streaks before he pushed forward, sliding into the moist, welcoming warmth of your mouth with a deep, satisfied groan.
"That's what you want,baby, isn't it? You want to take my cock in your starving mouth and suck it until I come down your throat while Sangie licks that pretty cunt through leggings?” He purrs in a sultry and hoarse voice “Good girl. Take me nice and deep — just like that. Let me feel that tongue working.” San pulls your face closer to his velvety, throbbing length, practically burying you in his cock and testicles.
You whimper at his words as you try to swallow him whole, pushing his thick girth deeper and deeper into the narrow tunnel of your throat as you go. As you look up at him with your tear-filled eyes, his sharp cat eyes meet yours, he gives you a slow, predatory grin—a beautiful, cocky look that makes you squirm in your spot. San's fingers threaded gently into your hair, not forcing but guiding with steady pressure as you hollowed your cheeks and moaned around his thick length.
""Do you like my cock, my little princess, do you?"
All you can do is let out a pitiful sob in response. The overwhelming dual sensation of how they work on you, making your arms shake and your thighs quiver. You pushed back slightly against Yeosang’s mouth without thinking, your body chasing more friction even as you sucked San deeper.
After long, indulgent minutes of this slow, torturous attention — San’s cock sliding in and out of your mouth in deep, measured strokes while Yeosang devoured you from behind through the ruined leggings — they switched positions with the same unhurried grace.
Sultry brunette moved behind you, dropping to his knees and burying his face between your spread thighs with even more aggressive hunger. His tongue pressed hard and insistent against your clit through the fabric, licking broad, firm stripes that made your arms shake harder and your hips twitch back toward his mouth in helpless little movements. Yeo took his place in front, one hand cradling your jaw with surprising tenderness as he fed you with his massive girth.
You gag on it, the slippery, hot walls of your throat tightening around his cock, pressing against the sensitive, throbbing veins that stretch seductively along its thick, silky length. The sensation causes Yeosang to let out a loud moan, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes in pleasure.
While you were choking on Yeosang's dick, San hooked his fingers into the thin seam of your leggings and pulled with force, the fabric gave way with a sharp, satisfying tear.
“Finally.” Yeosang groaned loudly, throwing his head back, as you wrapping your lips completely around it, sucking in your cheeks. 'It took you so fucking long, Sannie.'
San didn’t answer, instead, his palm came down in a sharp, wet slap directly against your now-bare, glistening cunt. The sound cracked obscenely through the room, your soft, plump folds jiggling from the impact, the sting blooming into hot, throbbing pleasure that made your whole body jolt forward.
A helpless, broken whimper escaped your throat, your eyes squeezed shut as your curvy, plush hips arched back instinctively toward the heat of San’s hand. Your body moving on its own, chasing more even if the sensation was burning.
San slapped you again, harder this time, watching with dark, hungry eyes as your folds flushed a deepe pink and grew visibly wetter under the warm golden light. A thick strand of your slick clung to his fingers for a moment when he pulled his hand back.
Without a word, Yeosang leaned forward from his position in front and spat directly onto your swollen, exposed clit — thick, warm saliva landing right on the sensitive bundle of nerves. San immediately smeared it in with his fingers, rubbing slow circles over your dripping entrance and clit like he was marking you, claiming every inch as theirs.
"Perfect, finest fuckhole." He exhales, his feline eyes darkening and becoming heavy, completely clouded with lust. His fingers parted your labia to reveal even more of your flesh. “Fuck, look at you, so pink and wet and ready for us… this pretty pussy is already crying for our cocks, like it knows exactly who it belongs to now. Such a good, messy girl for us.”
Your thighs trembled under their hands, slick continuing to ooze from your needy core as the cool air kissed your exposed skin and their combined attention made your whole body burn with desperate, undeniable want. The mirrors caught every detail — your flushed face, the way your hips kept twitching back for more, the glistening mess they had made of you — and there was no hiding how thoroughly they already owned every reaction.
“Our princess deserved it, didn’t she? But I think there are a couple more exercises that we haven’t tried yet.” Yeosang’s voice came low and velvet-smooth as he spoke.
With effortless strength Yeosang lifted you again, this time completely off the bench. His strong arms hooked beneath your knees, spreading your legs impossibly wide so they dangled helplessly in the air, your lush body suspended and utterly at their mercy. Your back pressed flush against the solid, burning heat of his chest as he held you open like something precious and filthy all at once, the torn edges of your ruined leggings framing your exposed cunt in the most obscene display.
San dropped to his knees in front of you without hesitation, dark eyes ravenous as he buried his face between your spread thighs like a cat who had finally reached the cream. His tongue plunged straight into your dripping hole with long, greedy strokes, licking deep and thorough, devouring every drop of your slick while Yeosang kept you held wide open and perfectly positioned for him.
The position was pure, unapologetic filth — your body hanging suspended in the air, legs spread helplessly wide and dangling as San’s hot tongue fucked into your cunt with relentless, worshipful hunger. Yeosang’s mouth moved along the side of your neck at the same time, kissing and biting, whispering the most depraved promises directly against your ear while his strong arms never wavered.
“That’s our good girl.” Yeosang murmured, voice low and velvet-rough right against your skin. “You’re doing so fucking well for us already, princess. Look how beautifully you’re dripping down his chin… such a messy, perfect, little thing for us to ruin.”
Your hands fisted tight in San’s dark hair as another orgasm began to build, slow and inevitable, coiling low in your belly like thick molten gold. The mirrored walls reflected every obscene detail back at you — your plush body held open and trembling in the air, San’s face buried between your thighs, his tongue working deep inside you, Yeosang’s powerful arms keeping you exactly where they wanted you, their combined heat and hunger wrapping around you like the most addictive kind of poison.
The climax rolled through you like thick and white-hot wave, slow and crushing in its intensity. Your thighs shook violently in Yeosang’s iron grip while your cunt clenched and fluttered around San’s tongue. A hot, gushing squirt flooded out of you in messy, uncontrollable pulses, soaking his face and dripping down his chin in shiny rivulets that caught the dim golden light like champagne. You felt no shame — only pure, addictive desire and the overwhelming thrill of being held suspended and devoured like the most precious thing they had ever tasted.
"Tastes good, doesn't it?" Yeosang asks, licking his pretty lips as if he's trying to taste you, and San just moaned loudly in response, lapping up your juices as if it were his last meal on earth.
He purrs at your sweetness, like a contented giant cat, as he drank every drop with open hungry, his tongue still working you through the aftershocks until your vision sparkled at the edges with tears and your whole body trembled uncontrollably in Sangie’s arms.
“I can’t… I can’t take it, it’s so much...” You whimpered, voice broken and high, the words tumbling out between gasps as your fingers tightened almost painfully in San’s hair. “Please... it’s too good, I’m... fuck...”
Only then did they lower you. Yeosang’s arms eased you down onto the cool leather bench with surprising gentleness, though their eyes still burned with the same raw, insatiable hunger that promised they were far from finished with you.
They didn’t give you time to recover. San stood first, kicking his pants the rest of the way off so his thick length slapped heavily against his perfectly sculpted abs with a loud, wet sound, splashing heavy drops of pre-cum across the chiselled ridges of muscle. Yeosang followed with unhurried grace, stripping until his cock was revealed in all its glory — so beautifully thick, juicy and veined, glistening from the copious streams of pre-cum leaking steadily from the swollen, reddened head and flowing down the length to dirty his full, heavy balls.
Both of them now gloriously naked, carved muscle gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat under the low light.
From this angle you swallowed heavily, feeling saliva pool thickly in your mouth while warm, viscous slick continued to flow from your little, plump pussy, thoroughly moistening your silky folds and making them glisten.
They began to tease you with their cocks like they had all the time in the world — dragging the heavy heads slowly along your swollen folds, tapping gently against your oversensitive clit, smearing their pre-cum over your slick skin in lazy, deliberate strokes that made your hips twitch and your breath catch with every new touch.
San rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your ruined, dripping slit in slow, deliberate strokes, smearing your own slick and his pre-cum over your swollen labia until everything glistened. Yeosang mirrored him from the other side, sliding his own thick length along your pussy in lazy, filthy drags that made your hips jerk forward on instinct, your plump cunt fluttering helplessly between the two hot, heavy cocks.
Yeosang slapped his dick against your clit once, twice — wet, obscene smacks that sent little shocks of pleasure racing through you, then spat onto your exposed pussy, watching the thick glob slide down your folds before San rubbed it in with the broad head of his cock, smearing it everywhere.
“Feel that, princess?” San purred, eyes locked on the way your pussy glistened under their combined attention. “Two cocks teasing this pretty little cunt… we’re gonna stretch you so fucking full tonight.”
“You’re so light, baby. We should feed you better, right, San?” Yeosang lifted you again without the slightest effort, this time turning you so your back pressed against his chest, your legs hooked over his strong forearms in a perfect standing carry that left you suspended in the air between them. Your ripped leggings still framed your ass and thighs like a trophy while he held you wide open, a beautiful, voluptuous body completely helpless and exposed for whatever they wanted.
“I’ve heard that a generous, warm load of cum can keep you full for the day… or a couple of hours.” A wicked smile curved his plump lips as he stepped in close, lined up, and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust — his thick cock stretching your tight, plush cunt open around his girth until you felt every veiny inch buried to the hilt.
“So good… oh God, San… so thick… please, more…” The moan that tore from your throat was broken and needy as San started fucking you deep and steady, hips snapping forward while Yeosang held you suspended like you weighed nothing.
Every powerful thrust made your tits bounce, your pussy cream visibly around his cock, the wet slap of skin echoing through the mirrored locker room. Yeosang’s mouth found your neck again, biting and sucking marks into your skin while one of his hands slid down to stroke San’s cock every time it pulled out of you, fingers teasing his heavy balls and the base of his shaft like he couldn’t help but touch him.
They kissed each other right over your shoulder — hot, open-mouthed, tongues sliding messily while San kept pounding into your cunt and Yeosang held you open for every thrust. The sight in the mirrors was pure luxury and filth: your soft body impaled and trembling in the air between two carved, sweating men who fucked and touched each other with shameless familiarity.
You felt desired. Craved. Like the center of their entire filthy universe.
San’s thrusts grew harder, deeper, his cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. Yeosang’s fingers found your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles while he whispered the most depraved things against your ear.
“That’s our good girl… taking his cock so beautifully while I hold you open like a little fucktoy. You’re gonna squirt all over him again, aren’t you? Soak his balls while I watch.”
The orgasm crashed over you without warning — sudden, shattering, your cunt clamping down hard around San’s thick cock as you squirted hard, hot streams gushing out around him and dripping down his thighs in messy rivulets. Both men groaned in unison, San’s hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, Yeosang’s fingers never stopping their relentless circles.
“Fuck yes, princess, cream all over my cock.” San growled, voice rough with pleasure. “Such a messy, perfect little slut for us.”
They didn’t stop. They simply adjusted their grip and kept you suspended between them, trading places with smooth, practiced ease — Yeosang sliding into your still-spasming cunt while San took over holding you open, their bodies moving together like they had done this a thousand times before.
And you knew, deep in your fluttering core, that the night was far from over.
Yeosang’s thick, veiny cock stretched you open so perfectly it stole the breath from your lungs, every slow, deliberate thrust dragging along your sensitive walls and making fresh slick drip down his shaft in thick, warm strands. San held you effortlessly in his strong arms, your back pressed to his broad chest, your legs hooked wide over his forearms, your exposed pussy an obscene invitation.
The position left you completely helpless and open, your body suspended between them, tits bouncing gently with every deep stroke Yeosang gave you.
San couldn’t handle the sight. His dark eyes stayed locked on the place where Yeosang’s massive cock disappeared into your tight, plump cunt, watching the way your soft hole stretched thin and shiny around the thick shaft, the delicate pink edges clinging to every veiny inch like they were trying to pull him deeper.
“Fuck…” San breathed, voice rough and ragged, the hunger in it almost painful. “You’re beautifully taking him, princess… that pretty little pussy stretching so wide and perfect around his thick cock. It’s too fucking tempting.”
He wanted to feel both of you. His fingers slid down first, tracing the slick, stretched rim of your cunt where Yeosang’s cock was buried to the hilt. You felt every calloused fingertip exploring the place where your bodies connected — the soft, thin edges of your hole stretched obscenely around Yeosang’s girth, the hot, wet glide of skin on skin.
A broken whine slipped from your throat at the overwhelming sensitivity, your cunt fluttering hard around Yeosang’s cock as San’s fingers circled the stretched opening. From this touch Yeosang groaned low, hips rolling deep and slow.
“Shhh, baby… take it like a big girl.” He whispered sensually against your ear, voice silk and smoke. “You can handle us both. We know you can.”
San slowly pushed one thick finger inside you alongside Yeosang’s cock. The stretch was immediate and intense — a burning, delicious pressure that made you whine louder, body trembling in San’s arms as your pussy struggled to accommodate the extra intrusion. San’s finger curled gently, stroking the underside of Yeosang’s shaft, feeling both of you at the same time. Your head fell back against San’s shoulder, soft, needy sounds spilling from your lips while Yeosang kept fucking you slow and deep, his cock dragging against San’s finger with every thrust.
“Fuck, she’s so tight.” San growled, eyes fixed on the obscene sight. He spat thickly onto your already stretched pussy, watching the warm glob slide down and coat the place where you were joined.
Yeosang shifted his grip without breaking rhythm, one strong arm sliding beneath your thigh to help support your weight while San adjusted his stance, freeing one hand so he could position himself. He held you steady, his cock still buried deep inside you, murmuring quiet encouragement against your ear as San lined up the fat, leaking head of his own cock right beside Yeosang’s and started pushing.
The stretch was painful for one breathless second — a sharp, burning fullness that made your eyes water, but the pleasure that followed was blinding.
You felt impossibly full, stretched wider than you had ever been, both thick cocks sliding into your cunt together, rubbing against each other inside you, the veiny ridges dragging along your walls in perfect, devastating friction. Your plump labia, lewdly parted around them, the sight so obscene in the mirrors that another rush of slick gushed out around their joined cocks, coating them both in your mess.
They started fucking you properly in a way you never even thought possible with deep double-penetrating your tight little cunt in slow, synchronized thrusts. San and Yeosang moved together like they shared one mind, hips rolling in perfect rhythm, cocks sliding deep and dragging back out only to push in again even deeper and harder, stretching you open over and over.
The wet, filthy sounds of your soaked pussy taking two massive, sinewy cocks at once filled the locker room — loud, obscene squelches mixed with your broken moans and boys’ low, hungry groans. Yeosang’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, San’s arms locked around you, keeping you suspended and helpless while they ruined you.
You started shaking hard, thighs trembling violently, your cunt clenching and fluttering around their cocks as another orgasm built like a tidal wave ready to crash. They felt it immediately. With a shared, filthy groan they both pulled out of you at the same moment with a disgustingly loud slurping sound, leaving your hole gaping and empty, clenching desperately around nothing as thick strings of your slick dripped down the inner side of your thighs.
“Please… please give me more…” Your body trembled between them, still suspended in San’s arms, the sudden emptiness making you whine needily, hips twitching in search of them.
They lowered you gently onto the wide leather bench, trading heated glances over your flushed, trembling form, their cocks glistening with your wetness and still rock-hard.
“Now, now, princess, don’t pout. We just want to change positions.” San murmured, voice dark and promising as he ran a hand down your spine. ‘Believe me, angel, we’re a long way from being done with you.’
He dropped onto the wide leather bench, pulling you down with him so your back pressed flush against his heated, sweat-slick chest. His strong arms hooked under your knees, yanking your legs up and back in a full nelson hold that folded you open like a pretty little present. Yeosang stood in front of you, amber eyes gleaming with dark hunger as he watched San line up and slam into you in one brutal, possessive thrust.
He fucked you like he had been holding back for years. His thrusts were fast, aggressive, slamming into your tight, plush cunt with all his strength, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the dim locker room like thunder. Every powerful stroke drove his thick cock so deep you felt it in your belly, a barely noticeable bulge would appear every time San thrust his impressive cock into you as deeply as it would go.
His heavy balls slapping heavily against your plump, juicy bum, making the soft flesh redden and wiggle. The loud, slick sounds that grew messier each time. Your swollen pussy was stretched indecently around him, puffy labia spread wide and lewdly, the obscene sight reflected back at you from every mirror, and Yeosang couldn’t resist.
He dropped to his knees between your spread thighs and wrapped his long fingers around your swollen, peachy halves, squeezing the soft, sensitive flesh together and rubbing them up and down the sides of San’s pistoning cock while San stayed buried deep inside you. The added pressure made San moan loudly, hips stuttering for a second as he felt Yeosang’s fingers stroking him through your cunt.
“Fuck, Yeosang.” San gasped, voice wrecked and wheezing with pleasure. “Take that slutty little cunt into your mouth… taste us together. I want to feel your tongue on my cock while I’m balls-deep in her.”
Yeosang’s wicked smile flashed before he leaned down and wrapped his hot, wet mouth around your pussy, lips and tongue sucking roughly and greedily around the place where San’s thick cock disappeared inside you.
He sucked hard, tongue flicking wildly over your clit and the stretched rim of your tender hole, tasting both of you at once while his hand cupped San’s heavy balls, massaging and caressing them with slow, filthy rolls of his fingers.
For what felt like an eternity they kept you suspended between them, San’s powerful hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm that drove his thick cock deep into the clutching, silky heat of your cunt again and again while Yeosang’s mouth worked with greedy, devoted hunger at the exact place where you were stretched around his partner.
The mirrored locker room filled with the obscene symphony of it — the rhythmic, wet squelch of San’s length spearing through your soaked folds, the filthy, eager sounds of Yeosang sucking and lapping at your swollen entrance and the heavy weight of San’s balls, the low broken groans rumbling from San’s chest, and the soft, desperate whimpers spilling from your own throat only to echo back at you from every reflective surface.
Your soft, milky body jolted helplessly in San’s iron hold, full breasts bouncing with every brutal thrust, nipples tight and aching from the constant friction, while your puffy, glistening pussy was forced wide around San’s cock and simultaneously worshipped by Yeosang’s relentless tongue, the dual assault leaving you trembling and gasping.
The pleasure had been coiling low in your belly for what felt like hours, tightening with every deep stroke and every clever flick of Yeosang’s tongue until it became something you could no longer outrun. It had been so long since anyone had touched you like this — truly touched you, unraveled you — and the knowledge that these two men had spent weeks circling you during training sessions, watching you, teasing you with lingering hands and loaded glances, only made the current moment feel more overwhelming. When the orgasm finally crashed over you it did so with shattering force.
A broken, high-pitched cry tore from your throat as your cunt clamped down viciously around San’s driving cock, your entire body seizing in his arms. A hot, copious rush of squirt erupted from you in powerful, rhythmic pulses, flooding Yeosang’s pretty face in a messy, glistening wave, splashing across San’s pistoning length and down his thighs, splattering onto the leather bench in obscene, spreading puddles. Your thighs shook violently in San’s unyielding grip, toes curling hard, back arching as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you.
Your pretty, fluttering pussy continued to gush and spasm around San’s thickness even as Yeosang moaned low in satisfaction and kept licking and sucking through every convulsion, drinking you down like a man who had been starving for the taste of you, his elegant features shiny and dripping with your release.
San’s hips stuttered, a deep filthy groan vibrating through his chest as he fucked you steadily through the violent crest, his grip on your soft body tightening possessively, but they gave you no time to drift in the aftershocks.
He pulled back just enough to lick his lips with slow, visible satisfaction, his face gleaming with the evidence of your pleasure, and wrapped his fingers around the thick base of San’s cock. With deliberate, teasing slowness he drew his heavy length out of your still-clenching, gaping cunt, both men watching with dark hunger as your abused hole fluttered and leaked around the sudden emptiness, a thin strand of slick stretching between your puffy folds and the head of San’s cock before it broke.
Then Yeosang leaned in and took San’s shaft into his mouth in one smooth motion, sinking down until the head nudged the back of his throat, a low satisfied moan vibrating around the thick length as he tasted the mingled flavors of you and his partner. He pulled off with a wet, obscene pop, lips swollen and glistening, and lifted his gaze to both of you — that wicked, dark smile curving his mouth, full of filthy promise.
“My turn now, princess.” Yeo breathed, the words low and velvet against the shell of your ear.
With that same measured control he’d used on you for weeks, he lifted your sweat-damp body and settled you onto the wide leather bench. He didn’t just fold you — he arranged you. One strong arm slipped beneath the backs of your knees while the other supported the curve of your spine, guiding you until your upper back and shoulders rested firmly against the padded surface. Then, with deliberate slowness, he drew your soft thighs up and back, folding them deep toward your chest until your knees hovered beside your shoulders and your calves trembled in the air. The movement tilted your pelvis sharply upward in a deep anterior tilt, lifting your ass completely off the bench and presenting your cunt like an offering.
In this position your body was bent in a tight, obscene curve, the angle opened you completely: your puffy, swollen lips parted naturally, your slick, needy entrance exposed and fluttering, the tender pink inner folds glistening under the warm golden lamps. Even the tight, untouched hole of your anus was visible, framed by the torn edges of your ruined leggings. You were utterly spread, utterly vulnerable, and the deep fold of your body made every inch of you accessible for whatever Yeosang wanted to take.
San had watched every second with hungry, half-lidded eyes, before knelt beside your head. One large hand cradled the back of your skull with surprising tenderness while the other guided the wet, flushed head of his cock to your parted lips, smearing them with the mess of his own precum and your earlier saliva.
“Open that pretty mouth for me, sweetheart.” San murmured, voice thick with want. “There you go… good girl.”
You obeyed instantly, lips stretching around the thick, velvety head as he fed himself into the wet heat of your mouth at the exact same unhurried pace Yeosang used to sink into your cunt. The dual stretch hit you at once — the heavy girth sliding over your tongue and nudging the back of your throat while Yeosang’s cock pressed deep into your soaked, clutching walls, the fat head nudging that tender spot inside you that made your toes curl in the air.
They moved in perfect sync. Every time Yeo withdrew, San eased back; every time Yeosang rolled his hips forward and buried himself to the hilt, San pushed deeper into your throat. The mirrored walls threw the image back at you from every angle: your body folded and pinned, tits bouncing heavily with each thrust, San’s thick length disappearing between your stretched lips, and the visible, shifting bulge in your soft lower belly every time Yeosang balls-deep.
Your hands moved without thought. One gripped the edge of the leather bench hard enough that your knuckles whitened; the other slid up San’s powerful thigh, fingers digging into the firm muscle as if anchoring yourself while he used your mouth. A broken, muffled moan vibrated around his cock when Yeosang’s next thrust punched a little higher, deeper, the pressure so perfect it made your eyes water and roll back.
“Fuck, look at her.” Yeosang groaned, voice still somehow calm even as his hips worked that deep, punishing rhythm. “Taking me so deep in this pretty little position… I can see myself moving inside you, princess. Your cunt is creaming all over my cock, such a messy girl.”
“You’re trembling all over, little star. Poor thing’s been so empty for so long and now she’s got both holes stuffed full. You love it, don’t you? Love being used like this.” San’s thumb stroked your cheek as he rocked into your throat, his own breathing rougher now.
You tried to answer — a garbled, desperate sound around San’s cock, and the vibration made him hiss. Your free hand slid down your own body, trembling fingers brushing the place where Yeosang’s thick length disappeared inside you, feeling the stretch, the heat, the way your folds clung to him on every withdrawal. Your thighs quivered in his hold. Your inner walls fluttered and squeezed rhythmically, the wet, creamy sounds growing louder and filthier with every thrust. Saliva spilled from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin and throat as San kept that same relentless, matching pace.
The mirrored reflection showed everything: the way your body trembled and jolted between them, the shine of sweat on your skin, the way your pretty, swollen cunt looked stretched and used, glistening with your own slick every time Yeosang pulled back. The coil in your belly wound tighter, hotter, your next orgasm building with terrifying speed under the dual assault.
You were so full. So completely, ruinously full. And the knowledge that these two men — the same trainers who had kept their distance for weeks — were now fucking you in perfect tandem while you lay folded and dripping between them only made the pleasure burn hotter, sharper, impossible to hold back.
They felt it the moment your walls began to flutter in warning. Yeosang’s hips stuttered once, then stilled deep inside you. San pulled his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your parted lips to the glistening head. Both men looked down at you with dark, possessive hunger, their chests heaving, cocks throbbing and shiny with your mess.
“Not yet, princess. You’re going to cum only when both of us are buried deep inside this pretty little cunt at the same time. We’re going to fill you until you’re overflowing, stuff this greedy hole so full of our thick cum that you’ll be leaking us for days.” San’s voice came out low and rough with restraint, the words dripping with dark promise as he cradled your flushed face. For a moment leaned down and pressed a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen clit as Yeo slowly withdrew, leaving your pussy gaping and fluttering desperately around nothing.
The sudden emptiness made you ache, your sensitive walls clenching on air, a fresh trickle of slick sliding down toward your ass. The night was still young, and they clearly had so much more planned for your body.
Your cunt was stretched and aching, every inch of your form literally begging for a moment’s mercy — thighs trembling, chest heaving, the ripped leggings still clinging to your plush hips.
Yet the craving burned hotter than the soreness. You needed their cum. You needed their attention. You needed to be filled and claimed and used until your mind went blank. Stupidly, breathlessly, you nodded, lips parted on a desperate little whimper.
“Yes… give me your cum.” You whispered, voice trembling with need as the words spilled from your swollen lips. “Fill me up. Fill this cunt with both of your cocks. Please.”
They gave you exactly that — and so much more.
San spread a thick, soft yoga mat onto the floor and then with careful, unyielding hands they lifted you down from the bench. They arranged you between them on your side, turning the three of you into a heated, tangled press of muscle and sweat. You faced Yeosang, your soft, sensitive breasts pillowed against the firm planes of his chest while San curved behind you, his broad, powerful frame molding perfectly to your back. One of San’s strong hands slid down to hook behind your upper thigh, lifting and draping your leg high over Yeosang’s hip, opening you wide and stable while your lower leg stayed nestled between theirs.
This position left your pretty, swollen pussy exposed and accessible for them from both sides, whilst you were trapped between the scorching heat of their bodies.
At first they only tortured you with the heads of their cocks.
San rubbed the fat, leaking tip of his dick up and down your soft, sticky slit from behind, dipping just an inch inside your fluttering hole before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop that made your hips twitch. Yeosang did the same from the front, sliding his own swollen head in and out in slow, shallow dips, both of them coating themselves in your slick. Hot breath brushed your ear and throat as they whispered the most depraved filth against your skin.
“Feel how greedy this little cunt is, princess?” San's voice was like liquid honey, sticking to your skin, his free hand splaying possessively over your belly. “Your slutty, insatiable hole clenching and fluttering, so fucking thirst to swallow us whole. So empty and desperate for us.”
“Please… put them in. I need to feel both of you… stretching me at the same time.” You whimpered, one hand gripping Yeosang’s shoulder, the other reaching back to clutch at San’s thick thigh, nails digging in.
"As you wish, baby."
It happened in one smooth motion. San’s thick cock slid deep from behind at the same moment Yeosang’s heavy length sank into you from the front until both were buried to the hilt inside your stretched, aching pussy. Their heavy balls pressed tightly together beneath you. The obscene fullness stole the breath from your lungs — that deep, burning stretch that was almost too much and yet exactly what your body had been craving. Your soft, plump walls were forced to accommodate two cocks at once, every veiny ridge rubbing against the other and against your most sensitive spots with even the smallest shift of their hips.
A broken moan tore from your throat as your eyes fluttered and rolled back, your pussy clenching hard around them both in helpless, rhythmic spasms.
Slow at first, then deeper and harder, they moved in synchronized rolls that made their cocks drag and grind inside you in perfect, filthy rhythm. The wet, obscene squelch of your soaked pussy filled the locker room like the most luxurious, depraved symphony. Your soft, milky body trembled between them — San’s broad chest pressed flush to your back, Yeosang’s sculpted front flush against your tits, every breath shared, every thrust shared.
At first they kept the rhythm slow and deep, stretching you so wide you could feel every ridge and vein rubbing along your slippery, sensitive walls. Then San changed the technique — he held still, buried to the hilt, letting Yeosang fuck you with shallow, punishing snaps of his hips that made their balls slap together wetly beneath you. The friction was insane. Yeosang’s cock dragged along San’s while San’s thickness kept you pinned open, and you whimpered, overwhelmed, your hips rolling back instinctively, trying to take them even deeper.
“Feel that, princess?” San breathed hot against your ear, voice wrecked and thick with satisfaction, one hand sliding up to cup your breast and pinch your nipple. “Two cocks owning this greedy little cunt at the same time… you’re taking us so fucking well. Look at how your pretty pussy is creaming for us.”
Then they changed. Yeosang stilled deep inside you while San started thrusting — harder, faster, the angle slightly different so his cock rubbed right against that sensitive spot on your front wall while Yeosang’s thickness pressed relentlessly against the back.
You lost yourself in the overwhelming sensations of indescribable painful ecstasy that shook you with every thrust of San's and Sangie's thick cocks into your leaking pussy, like electric shocks. Everything that was happening was so far removed from reality that you had no feeling at all, and you couldn't bring yourself to do anything other than moan and babbling their names incoherently while the boys kept stuffing you to the brim.
The dual pressure made your eyes roll back again, a high, broken sound escaping you as your swollen pussy creamed visibly around both shafts, slick dripping down their balls in shiny rivulets. Your hand tightened on Yeosang’s shoulder, the other sliding back to grip San’s ass, pulling him harder into you with every thrust.
“San… Yeo… oh god…fuck...don’t stop…” You gasped, voice shaking. “It’s so… I want it so badly. Please,, fill me up; I want to feel your sperm flowing out of my hole.” You slightly moving your butty in an attempt to set yourself down deeper on on theirs warm, hard lengths.
They experimenting with angles, with depth, with rhythm — one cock gliding in deep while the other withdrew almost to the tip, then both driving in together until the stretch made your breath catch. Then long, sinuous grinding circles that made the obscene bulge in your lower belly shift and press outward with every deep roll of their hips.
San’s hand slid down to spread your swollen, glistening labia wider, giving them both an even clearer view of how your pretty hole stretched so obscenely around their joined, veiny lengths. Yeosang’s elegant fingers joined his, rubbing your swollen clit in tight, relentless circles while they kept fucking you in that side-lying press.
You were so deeply immersed in pleasure that you didn’t notice how at some point San leaned over your shoulder to kiss Yeosang, tongues sliding hot and messy while their hips never stopped rolling in that perfect, filthy dance. The sight of them kissing above you while both were buried to the hilt inside you sent another rush of slick flooding out around their shafts, your walls fluttering helplessly.
You felt so full. So desired. So perfectly, deliciously used. Your sensitive cunt was trembling, your delicate labia reddened and coated with your sticky, juices that was gushing out of you with every movement of the two passionate boys as they continued to drag their cocks along your sensitive walls, making you feel overexcited.
They didn’t let you catch your breath. And now, you were finally able to fully understand what the girls in the locker room meant when they talked about the boys not giving you a second's rest.
With effortless, combined strength they lifted your trembling body from the yoga mat like you weighed nothing, turning you into their personal fucktoy once again. Yeosang sat first on the edge of the wide bench and pulled you down onto his lap in a deep, eye-contact lotus.
Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as his massive, slippery cock slid back into your stretched, creamy cunt in one smooth glide. The angle was so deep you felt the head nudge right up against your cervix, the visible bulge reappearing in your soft belly as he settled you fully onto him. San moved in behind you, his broad chest pressed flush to your back, powerful arms locking around your ribs as he pushed his own heavy length in alongside Yeosang’s until both were buried to the hilt inside you.
Your legs stayed locked tight around Yeosang’s waist while San’s arms caged you between them. They began to move in slow, grinding circles, their cocks dragging and pressing against each other, the wet, filthy sounds of your soaked cunt and wet, slapping testicles filled the locker room.
“It’s so deep… I can feel you both…” Your hands slid up to cradle Yeosang’s face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as you moaned brokenly against his mouth.
“Take every inch, princess. You're such a great dick sleeve, the most amazing pussy I've ever fucked." San’s purring, impossibly pornographic voice vibrates on your heated skin like an electrical voltage, sending signals of arousal straight to your lustful, needy cunt.
They shifted you effortlessly into the next position without ever pulling out. Yeosang lay back on the bench and pulled you on top of him in reverse cowgirl, your back to his chest, his cock still buried deep inside you. Your legs spread wide as San stepped between your spread thighs and pushed back inside your already-stuffed pussy, turning the position into a perfect, filthy sandwich.
Your soft, plush ass jiggled lewdly with every thrust as they fucked you together, San’s hips snapping forward while Yeosang thrust up from below, their cocks alternating and grinding in perfect, filthy sync.
They moved you through position after advanced position without ever letting you feel empty — from that sandwich straight into a suspended one where both men stood close together and lifted you between them. Then they shifted into a standing criss-cross, angling their hips so their thick shafts crossed inside you, grinding in opposite directions, the friction so intense your head fell back against San’s shoulder with a broken sob.
Every technique was slower, deeper, sharper, more devastating than the last — long, grinding thrusts that let you feel every single inch of them rubbing together inside your cunt, short sharp snaps that made your clit throb against their shafts, deep circling grinds that pressed right against your cervix and made the bulge in your belly shift obscenely with every move. Your body shook harder with every new position, your cunt creaming and fluttering wildly around their, fresh slick dripping down their balls, but they refused to let you cum yet.
The tension finally snapped like a silk thread pulled too tight.
Their thrusts turned chaotic, uncoordinated, desperate — hips stuttering, cocks grinding and rubbing against each other inside your overstuffed cunt with raw, animal need. San’s powerful slams grew erratic behind you, Yeosang’s deep rolls from the front losing their perfect rhythm as both men chased their release with broken, filthy groans. You felt them getting closer, their shafts swelling even harder inside you, balls drawn up tight and slapping wetly together with every frantic thrust. Your own body was trembling uncontrollably, pussy spasming and gushing around them, every nerve alight as you teetered right on the edge they still wouldn’t let you cross.
And then you came. It hit you like a blinding white storm, so powerful that for one endless, suspended second your soul seemed to leave your body entirely. This time it's different; black dots begin to dance in front of your eyes, and your consciousness shuts down as you fall into the extreme, insane pleasure that has engulfed every cell in your body.
Your vision whited out, every muscle locking tight as your cunt convulsed violently around both cocks at once. You sob loudly as you squirted like a fountain. Hypersensitive and overwhelmed, your body writhing between them as the hot, powerful streams exploding out of you in rhythmic, uncontrollable pulses, soaking their joined shafts, their heavy balls, their thighs, and the yoga mat beneath you in messy, obscene floods.
Your pussy bucked and spasmed wildly, squeezing and milking their cocks with greedy, rhythmic contractions that tried to drag them even deeper inside you while fresh cream and squirt gushed out around them in thick, glossy rivulets.
One of your hands fisted in San’s hair, the other clutching desperately at Yeosang’s arm as your body shook uncontrollably between them.
“San...Yeosang...Oh my God…this is too much! I can’t… I can’t!” The words dissolved into another broken cry as another powerful gush forced its way out.
“Fuck, princessm, yes, just like that.” San murmured sultrily, pressing his plump, sensual lips against your neck, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Squirt for us. Look at this greedy little cunt gushing all over both our cocks like the perfect, desperate girl you are.”
“She’s milking us so fucking hard.” Yeosang moaned, amber eyes rolling back as your velvety walls fluttered and clenched around them in rhythmic spasms.
They couldn’t hold back any longer.
Sangie came first, teeth sinking into the soft curve of your shoulder with a guttural, broken groan as thick, hot ropes of his cum flooded deep into your spasming cunt. He kept thrusting through it, pumping load after load inside you, the warmth spreading and mixing with your own mess until it started leaking out around his cock in creamy white rivers. San followed right behind him, one hand roughly squeezing your breast, fingers digging into the plush, trembling flesh as he buried his face in your neck and moaned loud and shattered against your ear.
A seemingly endless stream of his thick, milky cum poured into you in heavy, pulsing jets, filling you so full you could feel the pressure building in your lower belly, the warmth overflowing until it forced even more of their combined release out.
Both cocks stayed buried deep inside your convulsing pussy as they emptied themselves completely, flooding your ruined little hole until you were stuffed to the absolute brim with their combined cum. The wet, filthy sounds of it leaking out around their twitching lengths filled the mirrored locker room, the golden light catching every glossy, pearly drop that escaped your overstretched hole.
Their bodies stayed pressed tight against yours, chests heaving, cocks still twitching and jerking inside you as the last weak spurts pushed even more warmth into your already overflowing cunt. San pressed soft, reverent kisses along your neck where Sangie had bitten you, while Yeosang’s hand gently stroked your stomach, right over the place where you could still feel the subtle bulge of their softening cocks and the heavy load they had just pumped into you.
The night was far from over… but for this one perfect, blinding moment, they simply held you between them — suspended in the afterglow, dripping with their cum, and completely, irrevocably theirs.
You continued lying there like that for long, luxurious minutes, suspended in the haze of pure, dazzling pleasure between their two warm, heaving bodies.
Their arms wrapped around you like possessive bands of steel and velvet, holding you exactly where you belonged — full, claimed, dripping. The only sounds were the slow, ragged rhythm of three sets of breathing and the occasional wet, filthy little squelch as your pussy fluttered and clenched weakly around their cocks, still trying to keep every thick drop of their milky load inside you.
Yeosang slipped out first with a slow, deliberate drag that made your sensitive walls squeezed weakly in a feeble attempt at protest, let out a broken, pitiful moan slipping from your lips. San followed a heartbeat later. The moment both cocks left your ruined hole, a warm, heavy stream of their combined cum poured out of you in one thick, creamy mass — pale and pearly, mixed with your own slick. It soaked the yoga mat beneath you instantly, joining the already massive puddle of your squirt and turning the dark fabric even wetter.
Everything blurred in the most delicious haze. You felt their fingers sliding between your spread legs, scooping up the thick mixture of cum and squirt that leaked from your pussy. Those same fingers found your lips, pushing inside your mouth, letting you taste the salty-sweet mess they had made of you. You sucked obediently, dazed and floating, your weak body sandwiched between two insatiable, lustful men, while they continued to feed you their sperm.
Yeo scooped a thick, pearly glob of cum from your cunt and brought it to his own lips first. He tasted it with a low, full of bliss hum, then leaned in and kissed you deep and filthy, letting the warm, creamy mess dribble slowly from his tongue onto yours. At the same time San’s large hand wrapped gently but firmly around your throat, thumb stroking the delicate column as he felt every swallow.
“That’s it, princess.” San whispered hot against your ear. “Such a good girl, swallow every drop we fucked into this little pretty cunt. Our precious girl, perfect little cumslut.” His thumb pressed lightly against your throat, feeling the movement as you obediently swallowed what Yeosang fed you, and soft moan escaped from his mouth.
Yeosang pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips:
“Taste how well we filled you, baby. All of it belongs to you now.” His free hand stroked tenderly down your trembling stomach while San’s fingers traced slow circles over your collarbone and the swell of your breast.
Wet, filthy slurping sounds echoed off in a small space as San slid down and buried his handsome face between your thighs. He licking long, greedy stripes up your delicate, sticky-glazed labia, before his tongue plunged right into your dripping hole, lapping down the creamy overflow like it was the finest thing he had ever tasted.
Yeosang joined him a moment later, their tongues meeting messily over your swollen folds, kissing and sucking and sharing the taste of you and each other in loud, obscene sounds that made fresh heat coil tight in your belly despite the overwhelming sensitivity. One of San’s hands slid up to grip the back of Yeo’s neck, holding him there as they licked and kissed over your pussy together, while Yeo’s fingers stroked slow, soothing circles on your inner thigh.
When you finally came back to yourself and could move, your body was still shaking and highly sensitive, and your thoughts were in complete disarray. You couldn’t even argue when Yeosang pulling you into his arms, and and sat down on the bench again, gathered you against his sweaty, firm chest. His hands gently spreading your legs wide over his thighs so your fucked, reddened pussy was completely exposed once more.
The sight was pure filthy — your soft, plump pussy swollen and glistening, covered in a thick, sticky glaze of their milky cum that still slowly leaked from your stretched hole in lazy, pearly drips. A copious puddle had formed beneath you on the mat, the entire rug soaked and dark with the evidence of how thoroughly they had ruined you.
San leaned down between your spread thighs, pressing soft, reverent kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, working his way higher with deliberate slowness. You whimpered weakly, one trembling hand trying to push at his shoulder.
“Too sensitive…” You breathed, voice hoarse and broken, your thighs twitching involuntarily under his mouth.
Hot brunette only chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your skin as he looked up at you with that wicked smile, his lips already shiny with mix of their sperm.
“Baby.” He murmured, voice rich and filthy with promise. “Break is over. It’s time for the second set of exercises.”
Yeosang’s arms tightened around you, holding you open even wider for San’s hot, wanton mouth, one hand stroking possessively over your breast while the other rested lightly on your throat again — not squeezing, just resting there, a constant reminder of how completely they owned you.
Sangie kissed the side of your neck, soft and warm, then whispered hot against your ear:
“And this time, princess… we’re not stopping until you can’t walk. Until this greedy little cunt is so full and so used you’ll still feel us tomorrow with every step you take. You’re going to take everything we give you, aren’t you?”
San’s tongue dragged slowly up your trembling, oversensitive folds as Yeosang spoke, and your whole body jerked with a broken moan, caught helplessly between them.
You let your head fall back against Yeosang’s shoulder with a shaky, broken sound as San’s tongue dragged in one slow, deliberate stripe over your plump, slightly parted labia.
In the thick haze of overstimulation and reluctant new arousal, suddenly, that late-night conversation with Sohee a couple months ago popped into your mind. She had tried so hard to convince you that not all men like perfect, toned bodies, and some of them could crave softness, that they would want something warm and yielding to sink their hands and mouths into without hesitation.
But you had been the one who believed the opposite. You had convinced yourself that someone like Yeosang and San could never truly lust after a body like yours. Yet here they were: San groaning low against the plush, giving flesh of your inner thighs while his fingers sank in with unmistakable reverence, and Yeosang’s hand stroking possessively over the soft curve of your belly as if he never wanted to stop touching you.
The realization settled deep in your bones at the same moment pleasure did. They wanted this. They wanted you, exactly like this. And from the dirty promise in Yeosang’s earlier words and the way San was already losing himself between your legs, it was clear the night had only just begun — and they intended to spend every remaining hour proving just how wrong you had been.
summary: thinking about clingy, possessive and cuteness aggression enthusiast reader who can’t keep her hands—or rather teeth— to herself when Seungcheol is preparing for his cxm activities.
wc: ~4.5k
pairing: idol!seungcheol x nonidol!reader (afab) [ w/ special appearance, bff mingyu ]
tw/tags: mostly pwp, established relationship, biting, marking, manhandling (he loves it), aggressive loving, oral (m.rec), jealousy, piv, choking, breath play (if u squint really hard), pet names, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, veryyy brief dry humping
< A/N: hello! this is a quick drabble i wrote out in between some WIPs i have yet to finish up. I couldn’t get this picture out of my head of domestic cheol and his clingy reader gf whose love language is presented through biting and marking him up… sighs dreamily… anyways, I hope you enjoy it and please be sure to leave a comment, reblog and/or ask! I’m eager to hear any and all feedback as it encourages me to continue my writing journey :]
At any given chance, you’re instantly sinking your teeth into his biceps, playfully tightening your grip around his throat, or simply pressing a rough kiss to his lips in passing.
There isn't a single time he doesn't accept it willingly. He knows you love him to a level he himself struggles to understand at times. The biting throws him for a loop every once in a while, sending his mind scrambling for a reason besides cannibalism.
But he finds it endearing all the same, enjoying it, even.
He loves it even more when you start doing it more often in public. He’s able to see the hunger in your eyes from a mile away and it sends a chill down his spine each and every time he catches you.
He’s posing with nonchalance for their concept photos when you first arrive, eyes darting over his form and caging your bottom lip between your teeth. He had acknowledged you with a curt smile and a nod of his head before continuing with the shoot, his own body wanting nothing more than to greet you fully in a warm embrace and kiss to your already swollen lips.
Though, as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, you’re beating him to it. You cross the set with a few quick strides in his direction before melting against him, ducking your head beneath his chin to press an innocent peck to his jaw.
He welcomes you with a tight squeeze around the hips and continues to rock you back and forth while you breathe in his scent.
“Missed you so much,” you admit with a pathetic whine. You weren't normally this needy, much less in public, but today felt different. It felt.. wrong, for once, waking up to an empty bed and a phone full of updates from his weverse, yet not a single message from him directly to you.
You knew he was busy. Hell, your relationship had been built off of his grueling schedule, back when he was promoting his second album with his group and you becoming a staff member of a sister company. He was beyond unavailable and yet you found it difficult to keep your eyes off of him. Unbeknownst to you, he was equally as desperate when it came to your attention. The few instances where your schedules would align left the both of you scrambling against the clock to further familiarize yourselves with one another, and eventually build a connection from a few fleeting glances and brief conversations.
Fast forward to now, things had only progressed in both of your careers, your lives busier than ever. You’ve been officially dating for three years and whilst primarily kept under wraps, your heart longed more and more for the opportunity to remind him of your devotion to him.
Much to your embarrassment, your loyalty presented itself with an unexplainable urge to swallow him whole and take every inch of his skin between your teeth without an ounce of shame.
Hence your current predicament; Seuncheol had his arms thrown lazily around your frame as you swayed, ever so blind to the scheming smile gracing your features. You leaned back, arching yourself against him as he questioned you with pinched brows.
To his surprise, you’d managed all the strength you had and utilized his obliviousness to your advantage, yanking him by the back of his neck and crashing your lips together with haste.
His hitched breath encourages you to move impossibly closer, your chests beating against one another with every jolt of your racing hearts.
The sheer intensity of the kiss is short lived when you detach from him with one last smack of your lips. Drunk on the high you’ve fed him, Seungcheol attempts to chase your lips, urging you to continue.
His silent pleas amuse you, enticing you to lean in towards his ear and whisper,
“Be good for me, Cheol. Go do your job and make me proud.”
You send him off with a playful nip to his cheek, your canines grazing the skin gently, cautious of the hours worth of effort his makeup artists have put in. His eyes follow your retreating form as you find your place behind the cameras.
He’s an hour and a half into taking naturally candid photos around the rented estate, and it’s driving you nuts.
The setting does little to ease your eagerness to claim him right then and there, offering a much more domestic and personal light to his preexisting bachelor aura.
He’s a fucking housewife, your mind offers you to no particular request. Your grip on your jacket’s strings falters when a deep, raspy voice presents itself near the cusp of your ear.
“Did he mention the next shoot to you?”
“Hm?” You respond, sparing Mingyu a passive glance before settling back on your deity of a man leaning over the terrace.
“We’re going swimming, if you wanted to join afterwards.”
“Why would I join?” You reply coolly.
“Well considering how much you’re drooling right now from him just standing there, I figured you’d want to indulge in having him in less layers for a few hours once we wrap up.” He grins.
Your skin burns from where he perches his chin on your shoulder, striking your body in flames as you try your best to shove your thoughts away. You can’t just indulge in your boyfriend’s near nudity just for a few hours. You know you don’t have that kind of self restraint when it comes to seeing him topless and unblemished.
“Mingyu, respectfully,” you turn to him slowly. “Get lost.”
His laugh reverberates against your arm as he tosses his top half against you, bracing himself as he catches his breath. Your sneer recoils into a smile as you catch Seungcheol’s curious glance from across the room.
His posture tenses while raking his eyes over you and mingyu, taking a moment to readjust before continuing his scene. The photographer calls for a break just a few moments later, satisfied with the outcome.
Your body is moving before you register it, slipping out of Mingyu’s reach with one last glare before you’re crashing into Seungcheol’s rigid chest.
“Baby,” he says softly, taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist before placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you staying for the whole shoot?”
“Do you want me to?” You ask coyly, having preemptively cleared your own schedule in favor of following his.
“I always love having you here, you know that.” He smiles.
“Then I’ll stay.” You say and rise on your tip toes to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Aren’t you two tired of being this clingy?” Mingyu invades your bubble in just a few seconds, separating your bodies with a sudden jut of his hip to yours.
You scowl at him as you’re rudely tossed to the side. His shit eating grin grazes his stupidly handsome features while returning your attention to him.
You two had always been at each other’s throats, both playfully and unwittingly at times. He was your best friend, nonetheless, but it sent Seungcheol’s mind reeling with how kittenish you became when he was around.
Something in his chest twinged with envy and had jealousy rearing its ugly head every once in a while when you two stood too close together, shared a meal during his turns to film or pose for photos, or even as you bantered and bickered in front of him.
He knew it was nothing. Knew you loved him too much to replace him so easily, nevertheless with his own friend and group mate.
“You’re just jealous, Gyu.” You huffed while snaking your arms around Seungcheol’s middle again.
“Me? Jealous?” He gasped, feigning an appalled expression while placing a hand to his chest.
“Yah,” Seungcheol growled. “Get lost before I call Heejoo and tell her you’re moping around on set.”
Mingyu’s eyes wander to the ground at that, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck as he begins backing away solemnly. The mention of his current situation-ship seems to strike him a lot harder than you’d both expected, and you smirk at his crumbling confidence.
“You’re a dick for that.” He grumbles toward your boyfriend, unable to hide the sudden flush peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.
Seungcheol grunts at him once more, sending the younger man away with another dismissive threat before finally turning his attention to you.
“Will you help me put some sunscreen on before the next set?”
The following hour of camerawork concludes with a brief discussion about tomorrow’s expected schedule, all the more exhausting and seemingly endless as the last. You can see the fatigue draped over Seungcheol's features from where you stand, plummeting your heart into your stomach as you continue to watch him, mingyu and the team wearily deliberate future activities and propositions for upcoming promotions.
With a supportive clap to their backs, the team dissipates around them to end their workdays.
You take the remaining opportunity after the last staff member's departure to approach your boyfriend, your hands instinctually attached to his neck and puling him toward you. He moves pliantly, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your shoulder and neck as he exhales tiredly.
"Long day, bunny?" you remark quietly, raking your nails across the nape of his neck.
"Too long," he grumbles, ignoring the nickname you know normally grinds his gears any other day. You feel his muscles returning to their tense state as he removes himself from you begrudgingly.
"Can you stay the night?" The light in his eyes flicker with something akin to hope before clouding with uncertainty at the sound of your defeated sigh.
"I have a meeting early in the morning. Have to meet with the company to discuss some upcoming solo works." Your words fall on deaf ears as he's already groaning and pouting, choosing to disregard your excuse in favor of throwing a short-lived fit.
"I can have someone drive you early in the morning?" His offer hangs heavily in the space between you, an offer you really want to take him up on.
To your misfortune, calling out for today was enough of a reason for your company to dismiss you of your duties permanently should you choose to do it again.
The short notice had thrown your team for a whirlwind, a mini crisis plaguing the workplace and blowing up your phone for the entirety of your time spent watching Seungcheol. You were ashamed to admit it out loud, but you'd give anything to quit and replace your priorities with becoming a stay at home simp for your boyfriend. You'd give anything to watch him all day long, cling to him at every beck and call, and devote yourself to being the best version of yourself you could be for him.
Were you insane for thinking that far? yes.
Were you that serious about him? also yes.
You couldn't help the pained complaint that escaped your throat upon seeing his face fall. It shredded every single piece of you to know you couldn't stay, and even more so when he began to beg for you to.
"Please? at least for a few hours? 'Till I fall asleep?" His eyes drift between yours, searching for any bit of redemption, consideration, confirmation.
Removing your hands, you smooth over your features to look at your watch, noting the late hour and the dread pestering your mind. Your notifications peer back at your for a second, reminding you of the dedication you had to your work for the following morning.
It would only be a few hours, you consider.
A beat of silence passes by before you inevitably agree with a nod of your head. "Okay."
To say he's elated would be an understatement. He's over the moon at your response, immediately linking your fingers and dragging you inside the airbnb, shifting his direction towards the bedroom as you enter.
"I'll take a shower and then we can watch a movie!" He suggests after leading you to the bed where you sit patiently, smiling as he trips over his own two feet while dashing toward the bathroom.
God, you can't believe he's yours.
"Did you know you had a mole here?"
Seungcheol meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror, watching you trail your nails down his spine as he finishes his skin routine at the bathroom sink. You've since changed into a spare set of his clothes, a simple t-shirt that drapes over your dips and curves and ends just past the apex of your thighs.
His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it normally does, mouth subconsciously watering at the sight of you.
"I don't think so." He chuckles softly while returning to his process of unfolding a face mask and spreading it across his features carefully.
"Your back is so..." your voice drawls with a pensive hum, considering your words intently before continuing. "boring."
"Huh?" He turns in your grasp, catching the faint smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.
"It's just missing something." You utter.
"Like what?" he murmurs, his lips pursed in effort to keep his mask from slipping.
Your grin spreads along your face, head cocking to the side as you maneuver your hands over the expanse of his bare chest, raising goosebumps in their wake.
"Could use a little more me on it."
You spot the shift in his demeanor, shoulders tensing slowly, eyes sharpening, and the veins in his neck straining as he swallows dryly. You don't give him a chance to act on his desire, gracefully pinning his wrists against the counter and slipping your tongue out to lap at the flushed skin of his neck.
His groan rumbles from between your pressed chests, audibly forfeiting all control as you continue to press open mouthed kisses to his throat. His hips buck desperately when he feels your teeth graze just past his jugular, sinking deeper into his flesh with every breath he gasps.
"Baby," he whimpers against your persistence. You pull back, relishing in the subtle chase of his lips toward yours, halting just out of his reach with an arched brow.
"Bunny?" you counter, urging him to proceed with what he needs to say.
"Can't." He whines, overwhelming mortified with displeasure for having to restrain himself.
"Can't what?" You probe innocently, inching closer once more, guiding him back to you by the draw strings of his shorts. He lulls forward without resistance, drawn to your lips with nothing except a mere inch between them.
"Can't be marked. Not now." He says petulantly, eyes downcast as he drops his head, dejected.
Your heart thuds against your rib cage at that, growing restless as fondness ebbs away at your brain, turning it into mush. He knows you so well, knows that you need to mark him up, leave your presence on his skin for everyone to see how taken he is.
Love smothers your senses, your head cloudy and full of him. Your everything. Your person.
You reach to curl your fingers through his blonde, wet strands, tugging with enough force to lift his head once more. He moans quietly at that, his own hands finding purchase on your hips as he stares at you through his dark lashes.
You smile and tap his bicep with your free hand. You notice his eyes trailing your features hungrily before placing a gentle kiss to his muscle, right below his shoulder.
"'S okay, Bunny." You coo.
His arm flexes under the warmth of your fanning breath, fidgeting at every peck of your lips you lead up his arm and toward his chest.
You freeze once you've reached his collar bone, slowing your breathing and blowing a long, heavy exhale that mists over his already clammy skin. You smirk triumphantly at his muted mewl, watching his chest rise and fall erratically.
"I won't mark your pretty skin just yet," you reassure calmly, your hand still twisted in his hair as you pull it experimentally once more, lavishing his skin in praises when he moans.
"Stay still for me, m'kay?"
You don't wait for his response before sinking your teeth near his clavicle with pressure, not enough to break skin but plenty to stimulate both him and you when he ruts against you.
"Gentle," He reminds you through brief, measured breaths.
"I know, I know." you chide and release your grip on his hair briefly to instead hold his throat between your hands.
His eyes peer down at you for a short moment before flashing you a playful grin. You mirror it with your own before squeezing lightly at his neck, reveling in the meek sound he coughs out.
"So pretty," you murmur lovingly. "All mine to play with however I want. Whenever I want."
To his dismay, his nod is restrained and dismissed by you when you apply just a bit more pressure, your gaze darkening as he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, wordlessly pleading for more. You oblige and wedge your knee between his thighs, now aware of how engrossed he truly was upon feeling his pulsing erection against your bare skin.
"Is this why you wanted me to stay so bad? So you could be manhandled by your pretty girlfriend? Hm?"
Your hands release him, dropping to your sides as he heaves a few labored breaths, his eyes never once leaving your retreating form as you saunter toward the bed, patting the space beside you once you're perched at the edge.
He carries himself on wobbly legs to where you sit, landing ungracefully onto the bed with a soft "oof" before reaching a hand out toward you. You link your hands together momentarily, allowing yourself to soak in the appearance of his current state; dazed, spent, and utterly beautiful with every inch of his skin painted a bright red by an angry flush.
"Roll onto your belly for me, Cheolie." you direct.
He does so without complaint, damningly compliant to your every command. You absentmindedly trace shapes into his spine, your lips curling into a smile each time he flinches against the brush of your nails.
He rests his head against his folded arms, unintentionally flexing his muscles at the broadness of his shoulder blades. You chuckle, quietly shifting your attention to the taut skin, lowering yourself to place lingering kisses.
A sigh creeps out of his deflating body, audibly enjoying your attention. You proceed to kiss your way up, pausing to nip at the fat of his arms playfully and releasing a giggle of your own when he claims he's ticklish with a laugh.
You bite back the quip on your tongue, choosing to focus more on his twitching hips by running your hand over the smooth skin of his arched lower back. He hums, satisfied, and groans when your begin to pull his shorts down his thighs, allowing them to fall aimlessly to the ground.
He jolts upright when your hand collides with a loud smack against his ass, immediately coiling into himself with a yelp.
"What, you can do it by I can't?" You joke when he replies with a harmless glare.
"I'm not letting you peg me, if that's what you're leading up to." He chastises with narrowed eyes.
You feign a look of betrayal, simultaneously guiding him onto his back once more as you move to straddle his hips.
"Tough, I really wanted to see your cute little ass all perked up for me." You can't hold back the devious giggle that threatens to escape you, fully leaning against his chest to stabilize yourself.
"You're insane." He huffs with an eye roll.
"Yeah, but it's kind of cute." Your smile lingers a moment longer as he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and everlasting.
It's then that you lift your head and laugh once more, your fingers reaching to remove his face mask he'd long forgotten.
"I was really trying to keep a straight face!" You giggled. He levels you with a bashful scowl, turning away from your gaze as you settle down with a quiet sigh.
In the blink of an eye, your playful character is gone, replaced by your previous deviant nature.
"You're gonna be the death of me." He murmurs against your skin when you begin grinding your clothed pussy onto his exposed cock.
"I better act quick then," You retort while reaching down and clutching onto your panties to pull them side, angling your sopping folds to trail over the head of his cock.
"Fuck, Bunny. You're so fucking perfect." You groan into the dip of his shoulder, pressing yourself harder against him. His grip on your waist returns, clambering against your ministrations.
"Just— just take me already." He grits out through a particularly sharp inhale. "And don't call me bunny— shit —while we're fucking, jesus."
"You got it, Bunny." Your voice cracks ever so slightly as you begin your descent down his length, abdomen flexing with every ragged breath you take as he breaches your entrance. The stretch is painful, tearing you apart no matter how many times you've taken it. Tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill before you finally settle, flush to his groin with a shaky breath.
"Oh fucking hell," He moans deeply. He recovers with a sudden shift of his hips, stripping you of all power you previously obtained.
You lurch forward with a startled mewl, your face falling between the crevice of his jaw and throat. Your mouth latches on helplessly, teeth grazing the stubble of his chin and biting down impishly.
He returns the favor, pausing to rip your (his) shirt off and tossing it aside hurriedly, attaching his mouth to the mound of your breast, nibbling at the supple flesh and grinding up into you when you elicit a borderline pornographic moan.
"Please, Cheol, please." You moan against his ear, grinding against him feverishly. Your begging fuels him further, ripping every ounce of self restraint out of him, replaced with an insatiable appetite only you can satisfy.
"You're so beautiful, baby. I'm gonna let you mark me as soon as all of this is over. Soon, my love. So soon." His attempts to soothe your desires warm your insides, your knees near gelatinous as he rams into your pulsating heat without a second regard or worry.
You feel his pace quickening with every plunge, your own movements futile in contrast with his. Your back hits the mattress in a flash, your legs forcefully pinned to your sides as he impales you over and over.
Your moans melt into short, wispish screams when you feel his mouth latch onto your breasts again, leaving deep, bruising indents from his teeth.
The mere idea of him biting you, the same way you've done with every given opportunity in the past, has your legs clenching against his waist, your teeth clamping around your lips as you feel yourself release into the euphoria of your climax.
"More, Cheol, please more—I want—I need more." Your cries fill his chest with pleasure and vanity, thrusting him head-first into the deep end of your satisfaction. He comes with a choked out cry, muffling the sound into your chest as he curls inwards, pumping himself dry into your tightening core.
"Baby," his hand leaves your waist to settle on your sweaty cheek, caressing the crimson skin as he adores your spent features. "You did so good, my love. so good for me."
You groan softly in reply, motioning for him to lay beside you with a limp wrist. He chuckles softly and gently pries himself free of your tight cunt with a groan.
“One more round?” You mumble into the pillows, peeking an eye in his direction to catch the faint grin on his dewy face.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Shit,” he hisses. “Slow down.”
Your tongue slips between the slit of his cock, catching every last drop of his seed from his second release.
If there’s anything you’ve learned about your boyfriend in the past three years of dating him, it’s that he’s prone to over sensitivity after his second high. While you can recover relatively quickly after an orgasm, his stamina is overmatched by the mere pain of reaching another climax so short apart.
It’s something you both teetered the line with, not knowing whether it was right or even possible to milk him for as many rounds as he could. But, much like the rest of your ideas and suggestions, he couldn’t say no to you.
So you pumped his cock even faster, watching his jaw slack and chin quiver with a cry as he came down from his third match.
“You’re doing great, bunny.” You encourage, slowing your pace down to run a stripe along the side of his length with your tongue.
His brows dip and another moan escapes him. “You’re— you’re killing me.”
“Mh,” you hum. With a final tug to his half hard cock, you trail your lips over the smooth surface of his inner thigh, relishing in his breathy exhales.
“You’re always so good for me.” You say.
The tip of your tongue traces the faint stretch marks of his upper thigh, nearing the edge of his hip where you still.
The pads of your fingers skim over the flesh before you’re leaning forward and clamping your mouth down full force, undoubtedly leaving a mark this time.
You hear his choked shriek of pleasure and pain, the sudden grip on your hair paired with it.
“Fuck! ‘M gonna come again.” His voice lilts, pitched higher than usual.
You continue to pepper kisses along his waistline before meeting his opposite thigh with another skin-breaking bite. Your moan pulsates against the irritated skin, soothing the burn and easing the mark against the fat of his thigh to an eventual bruise with the flat of your tongue.
“Can’t take anymore.” He cries desperately, loosening his fingers wrapped around your disheveled locks as he comes down from his final release.
You give in to his whining after another brief moment of caressing the enflamed skin. You carefully ascend up his hiccuping body, tiny pecks littering his bareness before you connect your mouth with his with the upmost tenderness you could possibly muster.
“I love you so much.” You speak quietly against his lips.
His eyes remain shut, fluttering in and out of consciousness as he nods his head in response.
“Love you too.” He murmurs.
Laying your head on his chest, your entire being laxes against him, fully satiated and enraptured in his presence. A hand creeps up your waist, squeezing your side carefully as his body deflates beneath you with a deep exhale.
You could never truly thank him enough for indulging in your antics. You’re aware your love languages are drastically different; yours being entirely unhinged and bordering aggressive, where as his is prevalent in his gentle mannerisms, gift giving and pure compliance when it comes to you.
Nevertheless, the love you both have for one another surpasses all expectations and continues to surprise you day after day, year after year.
Even if you have to hide your love bites from the public eye.
< A/N: fin! this took a lot less time to write than i anticipated, despite the fact that smut tends to discourage my creativity. but! after getting all of my thoughts out and returning to the storyline with fresh ideas and inspiration, i was able to pump out a pretty decent chunk of raunch to satisfy my expectations for my first time writing smut.
that being said, i hope this flows well and encourages you to leave a comment or repost! feedback and suggestions are always appreciated. :) thanks!!!
Following Mingi For A Fashion Event [Drabble // Oneshot]
pairing: mingi x fem!reader (y/n)
summary: finally being able to take leave from work, you followed mingi for a promotional brand trip to Singapore for his MCM collaboration launch, being a part of the exhilerating fan experience.
word count: 3.8k
[A/N: This was meant to be a drabble, I swearrrrr... It was only supposed to be 1k words, not nearly 4k]
"I need to clear my leave." You groaned loudly, throwing your head back against the couch. Mingi shuffled over to where you were situated, throwing his body onto the space beside you but stretching his long limbs over your lap like an overgrown cat.
"I have an idea, actually." He turned his head to rest on your thighs as he looked up at you. You hummed in response.
"You know the MCM collab that we're launching. Because of the 50th anniversary celebration, the brand asked if I wanted to fly to Singapore to launch it." He revealed.
"Really? That sounds fun. The last one was Thailand, no?" You checked. You had wanted to go with Mingi but there was a business meeting.
While Mingi was a celebrity, you were a regular civilian. You had a corporate job, leading a small marketing team.
"Yeah, it was. You couldn't come then so why don't you come with me to Singapore? It'll only be for 2 days." He suggested. You lifted your head, tilting your head as you thought about it.
"But it's a brand trip. Should I really be going?" You thought out loud.
"It'll be fine, baby. Maybe we could fly to another destination after? I think I have some time off." Mingi took his phone out to check.
"Check your calendar." He poked your stomach. You reached out for your phone to pull up your work calendar, Mingi curiously lifting his head to peek over the side of your phone.
"Ah ha! No meetings scheduled yet. You're free to go with me." He pointed at the lack of coloured blocks on your screen and cheekily grinned up at you. You looked at your calendar properly and he was right, there weren't any project calls that day because there was another department event happening.
"You lucky duck." You chuckled.
"I'm not a duck, I'm a chick." He rolled his eyes at you, making you playfully slap his forehead.
"But you're only going for a day and a half." You pointed out, taking his phone to look at his scheduled. He would fly Thursday afternoon and fly back on Saturday.
"Ah, still. Just come. It'll be a nice... day trip." He flashed you his bread smile, which his mom hates but you love. :]
"Fine. I'll put in my leave." You let out an exasperated sigh. But Mingi knew you were joking.
"I knew you would give in so I already booked your ticket. Just let me forward you the details." He sat up, going to get his laptop. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at his retreating back.
"I called your boss and asked him. He said it was all good." He came back, holding his laptop in one hand, his other on the trackpad.
"How did you even get my boss' number?" You frowned.
"I just called the front desk. The receptionist routed me to your boss, I told him. At first he didn't believe me and thought I was some random crazy person but I convinced him that I was indeed your partner and just asked. He was more than happy to grant your leave." He said.
"Y-You're unbelievable, Song Mingi." You shook your head with a small scoff.
"Unbelievably in love." He corrected, sitting beside you and typing your email to forward you the ticket details.
-
So here you were, sitting amongst the luggages, watching Mingi get ready with hair and makeup before heading to the airport. You leaned your head against the wall next to you.
"Are you sleepy? You can take a nap, love." Mingi said, looking at you through the mirror.
"I'm good." You took your phone out. The usual news channels on YouTube had already scheduled livestreams for Mingi's departure.
Being busier with work, it had been a while since you followed Mingi for work and went through the whole 9 yard routine. When you first started dating, you were at almost all shows and appearances.
"You're really going with him for one day?" A voice appeared. You lifted your head to see Yunho standing there.
"Yunho." You smiled, standing up to greet him. Yunho grinned and came over to give you a greeting hug. He chuckled, wrapping his long arms around you. Of course, dating Mingi meant that you got to know his bestest friend in the whole wide world. You even played along with the joke that the 3 of you were secretly a throuple.
"What do you mean by that?" Mingi glared at his best friend through the mirror. Yunho laughed and kept an arm around your shoulder, tucking you to his side.
"I mean that your girlfriend should take an actual break from work, stay home and do nothing, not follow you for a fashion event." He said.
"I just want to spend as much time with her before comeback." Mingi clarified with a scoff.
"It's fine. It'll be like a day trip before we come back." You giggled, appreciating Yunho's sentiments. You patted his arm and sat back down while Yunho went to his own makeup chair.
"You've got schedules today?" You asked.
"Yeah, some appearances and social media filming." Yunho said, leaning back into the chair.
"So, (y/n). What role are you going to take today?" Yunho asked you. Usually, when you went with Mingi for these work things, you always went undercover as a staff member.
"Maybe I'll stick with manager-nim. I was already make up team last time." You chuckled.
"Ah, just stay with us. We'll lead you though." The stylist team laughed and you gave a thumbs up. Everyone on Ateez's team was nice and kind enough to let you blend in with them. All you had to do was wear a cap and a mask.
"Okay, I'm done." Mingi came out of the dressing room, dressed in MCM sweats and a black tank top. He headed to the mirror to check his reflection, moving a lock of hair away from his eyes.
"Is that all you're gonna wear?" You raised an eyebrow.
"I have a hoodie." He nodded over to the MCM hoodie that the stylist took out, it was one of his items that he designed.
You would know, you had one in your closet. When his collection was first announced, Mingi hand delivered one of everything in his collection to your doorstep.
"I'm really happy you're coming." He pulled you against him, leaning down to kiss your head.
"Stop, there's other people here." You mumbled in embarrassment, pressing your face against his chest. Mingi laughed and patted your head.
"It's okay, baby. They're used to it." He assured. Once the manager called, Mingi and you grabbed your things.
"Bye, Yunho!" You waved.
"Bye! Have a good trip, you two!" Yunho called back, unable to turn his head as the hairstylist was doing his hair. Mingi held your hand the entire time as you two headed downstairs.
"I'll see you on the plane?" Mingi smiled. You hummed and hugged him tightly, tip-toeing to give him a quick peck. He entered the van while you went to join the stylist team in their van. Mingi watched as the girls hugged your arms, chatting with you since it had been a while since you all caught up with one another.
"Alright, lover boy." His manager chuckled, seeing the mesmerised smile on Mingi's face. He patted the taller on the shoulder to get into the van before they were late.
"I know you're excited Mingi. But remember, there's a lot of press. No looking out for her or anything." His manager reminded.
"Yes, hyung. I'll try to remember." Mingi said, continuing to text you.
The last thing Mingi wanted was to act carelessly and risk exposing your identity. It almost happened once during one of the first travels you went with the team.
But Mingi brushed it off as being worried about a team member that wasn't feeling too well.
"Alright, we're here." The manager told him. Taking a deep breath, Mingi put his game face on and got out of the van to face the press.
The next time you saw Mingi was on the plane. The both of you sat in the middle row of business class. Although your side of the plane was secured and guarded, you still had to be cautious.
"I missed you." He smiled.
"We saw each other a few hours ago." You playfully rolled your eyes as you placed your bag in the overhead and sat in your seat.
"Ooh, looks like your new Instagram pics went up. Nice posing at the lounge. I'm sure the fans would love you in the black tank top." You teased, looking at your feed. Mingi leaned over and hummed in approval, seeing all the photos.
"You like them?" That's all Mingi cared about.
Despite his onstage persona, Mingi was an affectionately, albeit clumsy, lover. You love that about him. Mingi was always true to you and himself.
From the time you started dating, he remained the same. He was always reminds you of a great dane that thought he was the size of a chihuahua that could fit in your lap.
"Of course, I love them." You cupped his cheek.
"Looks like we'll have about 7 hours to ourselves, unplugged." Mingi smiled softly at you.
"Yeah, we'll just have to be careful when the flight attendants move throught the cabin." You said and pulled your hand back when the flight attendant walked through to ensure everyone had their seatbelts on.
"The fans won't come here, right?" You looked back. You knew there were fans that followed, it couldn't be helped.
"Yeah. I told management that you were with me so we got more guards. They won't even be able to come near us." Mingi promised.
After the flight, you went back to the stylist team as they disembarked from the plane. No doubt, there will be fans or press that knew Mingi's flight details and would wait for him to land.
"There's not much we can do while we're here, can we? Considering we're only here for one full day. Maybe while we're getting dinner, we can get one night of shopping done." One of the stylists said, looking at her watch. You and the others nodded in agreement. It was currently, close to 8pm Singapore time.
"Maybe just spend the night in the hotel." Another girl yawned, leaning back against her seat of the van.
"Oh, Mingi's scheduled to have a live tonight. Want to join us for dinner and shopping then?" One tapped your shoulder.
"Thanks but I'll stay with him and wait for his live to be over. It shouldn't be too long." You smiled gratefully. You wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
Seems like Mingi felt that way too because the moment you stepped off the elevator, onto the secure floor, Mingi trapped you in a hug.
"Mingi!" You squealed in surprise as Mingi leaned over your smaller frame.
"Cute. Goodnight, you two." The staff members teased the two of you. With Mingi's arm still secured around you, he led you to your shared room. You were greeted by a display and gifts from the MCM team.
"Awww, that's cute." You smiled. Mingi nodded, taking his phone out to snap some pictures to post onto social media.
"Okay, come here you." Mingi snatched your waist, pulling you to him.
"I'm really so happy you're here, love." Mingi leaned in and planted soft kisses along your jaw. You put your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, feeling his hair tickle your cheek.
"I'm happy to be here with you too, Min. Any time spent with you is always a good time." You stroked his hair, staring into his eyes. Mingi's phone buzzed, a reminder coming through that he needed to prepare for his livestream.
"Later, hmm?" He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. You hummed as you leaned into his touch.
"Love you." He gave you a kiss.
"Love you too." You replied back with a smile. You knew all the precautions when Mingi had to do livestreams like hiding items, keeping quiet and basically, making yourself invisible.
You sat in the bathroom with everything you needed, including headphones to watch Mingi's live.
You had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh as you watched Mingi eat the expensive desserts that they had bought for him.
"Well, that's it for tonight. Goodnight, ATINY. Thank you for all the support in this collection. I really hope you all like it when it is released." Mingi waved to the camera and ended the live.
Mingi got up, wondering why you hadn't emerged from the bathroom so he went in himself.
"Are you working?" Mingi blinked, seeing you type on your laptop.
"Some email came in from my team about an upcoming proposal so just reading through it." You said, eyes not leaving your screen, until a hand covered your eyes.
"Alright, no more reading emails, my little workaholic. You're supposed to be on leave away from work. I don't even know why I let you bring your laptop." Mingi scolded from his position at your side. You chuckled and moved his hand away from your eyes, craning your neck slightly to kiss him. But nonetheless, you kept your laptop away.
"I only brought it for emergencies. And I'm not a workaholic." You rolled your eyes.
"Mingi!" You squealed when he suddenly lifted you up, your arms scrambling to wind around his neck to steady yourself. Mingi just chuckled and brought you out to the bathroom.
"Hey, don't leave my laptop in the bathroom." You tapped his cheek before he carefully laid you down on the bed.
"Okay, no more mentioning laptop. Focus on me, Song Mingi, your boyfriend." Mingi hovered over you.
"I am. That's why I'm here, right?" You cupped his cheeks with a soft smile. Mingi shot you a lopsided smile and laid his body over your own, burying his face against your chest.
"You giant baby. It's funny how you're so tough and flirty on stage, yet you're like this privately." You stroked the back of his head.
"Don't tease me, I'm a soft boy..." He mumbled.
"We should wash up and get dinner before we both fall asleep." You yawned, stretching your arms as far as Mingi's grasp would let you. The boy was glued to your waist.
"I left some of the desserts for you. They're good but I don't understand them. They're too fancy." Mingi said.
"Says the one who has reservations at Waku Ghin tomorrow." You patted his hip and sat up. Mingi reluctantly let you out of his grip, watching from the bed as you approached the small table where the desserts were.
"You didn't seem to fancy the strawberry one. Mingtis will be making memes of your expression when you sniffed it." You giggled, opening the two boxes.
"I was just saving it for you. You like strawberris more than me. But you should eat that passionfruit one too. It's yummy." He got up.
"I'm going to take a shower. We'll order some room service?" He leaned over you. You hummed in agreement.
"Could you bring my laptop out of there, please?" You asked as he was retreating to the bathroom, remembering that he left your things on the floor of the bathroom.
"I'm holding it hostage. Can't risk you working while I'm showering." He hollered back. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.
The desserts were really good. You knew they were from an expensive brand so you enjoyed them gratefully while waiting for Mingi. After he was done, you went to shower while Mingi ordered room service.
"Did you like the desserts?" Mingi asked as you towel dried your hair.
"They're good. I went to search for the price on the store's website. Never thought desserts could cost so much." You laughed.
"You could enjoy more of these treats if you come with me more often~" Mingi sang. You shot him a look.
When your relationship got more serious, you and Mingi did talk about you not having to work anymore because he could provide for you. But you didn't want that. You wanted to have your own career and not have him paying for you. Nothing against anyone else who did that, it just wasn't something you wanted for yourself.
"I'm just joking, manager nim." Mingi reached over to pat your head, calling you what your team calls you. Despite his teasing, Mingi was very supportive of you and your decisions.
"What's on the agenda tomorrow?" You asked.
"I have to wake up for some the usual hair and make up, probably take some photos..." He said.
"I'll have some time to explore on my own then."
"Yeah, it'll be chaotic so maybe don't go with the staff. A plain clothes will follow you. We'll head to the store to do some promo stuff then go to the main pop up area." Mingi checked his phone.
"Make sure you have your bbyongmings on your bag. And your photocard holder." He reminded.
"Yeah, maybe I should try for an autograph." You tapped your chin.
-
You didn't know why you were so surprised to see all the fans there when you went to the mall. You had separated from Mingi earlier, not wanting to distract him from all the chaos of getting ready.
"Wow, there's a lot of people. It's still early." You said to the guard who was with you. Seemed like the fan areas for the first floor were already full so security guards were ushering people to the upper floors to wait for Mingi instead.
"Never underestimate the power of atiny." He chuckled, leading you to the upper floors.
"There are a lot of fans at the main store already, waiting for him. It may not be the safest to be there." He advised.
"Sure. I'll follow your lead then. Maybe staying at the upper floors would be better than trying to see from the first floor." You smiled as you took the escalator up.
"We can put you in a secure area if you'd like, miss." He offered.
"It's okay. It won't be fair to the atiny that have been here from the morning. Heard they were here before the mall even opened." You said.
You both found a spot somewhere along the fourth level. The view of the area was quite far and you knew you wouldn't be able to really see but you were just happy to be there supporting Mingi.
As expected, there were fans with bbyongmings and mingyos hanging from their bags with photocards of Mingi.
"Hey, come join us. We're taking pictures of our bbyongmings." Some fans approached you.
You always had a nice time with atiny. Maybe because they didn't know who you were but they were always friendly and inclusive. At least, they ones that you have met.
It wasn't long before screams filled the mall and you saw Mingi walk over from the store, with a team of guards around him. He looked so good and charismatic. Some fans chased behind him, presumably having followed him from the MCM store itself, where Mingi did some photo taking and interviews.
"It's been a while since I've been to any of these." You said, watching Mingi wave to the fans, resulting in screams.
From your spot, you couldn't see much but you could see all the interviews happening as well as pictures that he took with different influencers and celebrities that came.
"He's really good with the fanservice." You laughed when you saw fans go crazy when he sprayed the MCM perfume on them to test.
And of course, the fanservice king wouldn't go without signing things and taking pictures with the fans.
"Mingi!" The fans all screamed, barked and waved when he took his phone out to take a video fo them. You felt so happy for him, seeing 5 floors of fans all there for him.
"Miss, shall we go? It may be hard to leave later." The guard asked.
"Yes, thanks." You laughed. You watched Mingi leave and the fans run after him frantically.
"Thank you for accompanying me." You smiled to the guard. He smiled back and escorted you out. Luckily, there was a separate car to pick you up as many fans were also trying to get transport out.
"I was looking for you! Where were you?" Mingi laughed, engulfing you in a hug once he saw you step out from the lift.
"I was on the fourth floor. Your fans filled up the viewing areas of the other floors. But don't worry, I could still see you. You were very cool, Min." You hugged him back, patting his back. Mingi let out little sounds of happiness at your words.
"Wait for me in the room, let me get changed out." He went to the stylist's room to change out of the MCM denim outfit and into street clothes while you went to the room to rest for a bit.
"Ah, much more comfortable." Mingi said, laying on you as you look through the photos and videos that you took, squishing you.
"Ugh. You seriously underestimate how big you are." You grunted.
"Are those the pictures you took? Baby, they're awful. Look at the quality. Why are they so blurry?" Mingi took your phone to swipe through the photos you took.
"I was on the fourth floor so I tried to zoom in! Sorry I don't have a professional camera like your fansites." You scoffed.
"You should have been camping with them on the first floor. Then I could have interacted with you. Sign your photocard." He teased.
"You've already signed all my photocards. At this point, the rarity is to have a not signed Mingi photocard." You said. You remember Mingi taking out your box of photocards and signing EACH ONE.
"You should thank me. You could sell those and make money." He pointed out, making you roll your eyes.
"Okay, we have to get ready, we're leaving for dinner soon." You tapped his shoulder when you realised what time it was.
"No..." He whined, tightening his grip on your waist.
"Mingi~ You were the one who made the reservations, we have to go~" You whined back. Mingi dramatically let out a snore, snuggling closer to you, obviously having no intention to move from his spot. You just sighed in defeat. Whatever, if the manager scolded you two for being late, you'll just blame Mingi.
──𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 :: when they’re secretly in love & get jealous
𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎::emotional tension, clingy behavior, silent jealousy,smut,dom x sub,
𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀::11k
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✧ 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧
On the surface, Namjoon was the embodiment of calm control. The leader who carried the weight of the group with quiet strength, always composed, always measured in his words and actions.
But beneath that polished exterior, a fierce storm brewed whenever he had to watch you interact with anyone else. He was secretly in love, the kind of deep, unspoken affection that had been building for months behind closed doors and stolen moments.
You two had agreed to keep everything hidden—the pressures of idol life, the fans, the contracts—it all demanded secrecy. Yet that secrecy only sharpened the jealousy that clawed at him.
He sat in the corner of the spacious backstage waiting room, one leg crossed over the other, pretending to immerse himself in a thick philosophy book he'd carried from the hotel. The pages turned slowly under his long fingers, but his sharp eyes weren't absorbing the text.
Every sound from across the room pulled his focus: your soft laughter, the low murmur of the backup dancer's voice, the way the man leaned in just a fraction too close. Namjoon's chest tightened with that familiar burn.
He told himself to breathe, to stay rational. You weren't his in the eyes of the world. Not yet. But in his heart, you were already everything.
The dancer said something that made you laugh again, brighter this time. Namjoon's grip on the book pages tightened until the paper creased. He forced his expression to remain neutral, but inside, his mind raced with possessive thoughts. That smile belonged to him.
Those sparkling eyes when you were amused—they were for him during late-night conversations in hidden hotel rooms. Not for some guy who didn't know the way you sighed when his hands traced your spine.
Then it happened. The dancer reached out, his fingers brushing your arm in what was meant to be a casual gesture. But it lingered.
The touch dragged slowly, too familiar, too bold. Namjoon's jaw clenched hard, the muscle ticking visibly for a split second before he schooled his features. He closed the book with a deliberate snap, the sound cutting through the room like a quiet warning.
Rising to his full height, broad shoulders straight and presence commanding, he crossed the space in unhurried strides. The air seemed heavier as he approached.
"Are you done talking?" His voice was low, deep, and smooth like velvet over steel. It wasn't overtly rude—Namjoon was too intelligent for that—but the underlying edge of authority made the dancer straighten immediately.
The man mumbled something about checking on choreography and excused himself, retreating quickly under the weight of Namjoon's steady gaze.
You turned toward him, one eyebrow arched in that knowing way that always sent heat through his veins. A small, secret smile played on your lips.
Namjoon didn't speak further in front of the others. Instead, he placed a large, warm hand on the small of your back, the touch firm and guiding. It was possessive without being obvious to anyone watching.
He steered you out of the main room and down the quieter hallway toward his private dressing area.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, locking out the world, the composure cracked wide open.
Namjoon backed you against the wall in one fluid motion, his tall, muscular frame pressing flush against yours.
One hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up as his mouth claimed yours in a hungry, demanding kiss. His tongue swept in, tasting and dominating, pouring out all the jealousy he'd bottled up.
When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours, eyes dark and intense.
"You enjoy testing me like this, don't you?" he murmured, voice rough around the edges. His free hand slid down your side, gripping your waist hard enough to leave faint marks. "Letting him touch your arm, laugh with you, stand so close... knowing I'm right there watching every second."
You started to respond, but he silenced you with another deep kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands worked quickly but deliberately, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.
His mouth trailed hot kisses down your neck, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear until you gasped. He marked you there, a subtle bruise that only the two of you would know about later.
"I hate it," he admitted between kisses, voice low and honest. "I hate pretending I don't feel anything when someone else gets even a piece of your attention. You're mine in every way that matters, even if we can't say it out loud yet."
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he carried you to the wide couch against the far wall. Laying you down gently but with clear urgency, he hovered over you, stripping off his own shirt to reveal the defined lines of his chest and shoulders.
His skin was warm as he pressed down again, mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin. He took one nipple between his lips, sucking firmly while his fingers teased the other, rolling and pinching until you arched beneath him with a soft moan.
Lower still, he went, kissing down your stomach, nipping at your hips as he removed the rest of your clothes. When you were fully bare, he knelt between your spread thighs, eyes locked on yours with burning intensity.
"Look at me," he commanded softly. His tongue dragged slowly through your folds, savoring your taste with a deep groan that vibrated against you.
He took his time, licking and sucking with expert precision, two thick fingers sliding inside you and curling just right to hit that perfect spot.
Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, hips rolling against his face as pleasure built fast. Namjoon held you steady with one strong arm across your lower stomach, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming sensation.
He alternated between slow, teasing licks and intense suction on your clit, fingers pumping steadily until your thighs trembled around his head.
" Namjoon... please," you gasped, right on the edge.
But he pulled back at the last moment, lips glistening, a dark smile on his face. He stood, shedding the rest of his clothes to reveal his thick, hard cock already leaking with need. He stroked himself slowly, watching you writhe on the couch.
"Tell me who you belong to," he said, voice husky with restrained desire.
"I'm yours, Joon. Only yours."
He moved over you again, positioning himself at your entrance and pushing in with one long, deep thrust. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely.
He groaned your name, hips starting a slow, grinding rhythm that quickly built in intensity.
One hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other gripping your thigh to hold you open wider for him. Each thrust was deliberate, possessive, skin slapping against skin in the quiet room.
"You feel incredible," he breathed against your neck, biting down gently. "So tight, so wet for me. No one else will ever have this. No one else gets to hear the sounds you make when I'm inside you."
He angled his hips to hit that sensitive spot inside with every stroke, driving you higher. Your moans filled the space, mixing with his low grunts.
The jealousy fueled him, making his movements harder, deeper, more claiming. When your orgasm crashed over you, walls clenching tightly around him, he kept going through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were shaking.
Only then did he let himself go, thrusting deep one final time and spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering against yours. For long moments afterward, he stayed buried deep, holding you close as your breathing slowed.
He eventually pulled out carefully, gathering you into his arms on the couch. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, the earlier storm of jealousy easing into tender affection. "I'm sorry for the intensity," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
"I know we have to keep this secret for now. The timing isn't right, the world isn't ready. But seeing another man touch you, even innocently... it drives me insane. I just want you completely. Mind, body, everything."
You nestled closer against his chest, smiling as you felt his heartbeat under your cheek. "I love when you show me how much I mean to you. It makes me feel wanted in a way no one else ever has."
Namjoon chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine now. His hand slid down your body again, cupping your ass possessively. "Good. Because we're not done yet. I need to remind you a few more times before we have to go back out there."
He kissed you slowly this time, building things up again with patient touches and whispered praises. Round two was slower, more intimate—him taking you from behind while you gripped the back of the couch, his chest pressed to your back, one hand between your legs rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts.
He murmured how perfect you were, how no one could ever compare, how he fell more in love every single day.
By the time you both finished again, the room felt warmer, heavier with the scent of sex and shared breaths.
Namjoon helped clean you up gently, then held you in his lap, stroking your hair as you talked quietly about nothing and everything. The jealousy hadn't vanished completely—it never did when love ran this deep and had to stay hidden—but it was soothed by the certainty of your connection.
He was calm again on the outside when you eventually returned to the others.
But now you carried his marks, his touch, his claim beneath your clothes. And that was enough for him, for now.
✧
✧ 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧
Seokjin had always been the dramatic one, the member who could turn even the smallest inconvenience into a full theatrical performance.
But when it came to you, his secret love, that drama wasn’t just for show—it masked something much deeper. He was head over heels, the kind of love that kept him up at night thinking about your laugh, your voice, the way you looked at him when no one else was watching.
You two had agreed to keep it hidden for now, protecting the relationship from the intense spotlight of idol life. Still, every time someone else stole your attention, it hit him harder than he let on.
The backstage area buzzed with pre-concert energy. Staff members hurried around, stylists adjusted outfits, and the members stretched or reviewed last-minute details. Seokjin lounged against a table, flipping through his phone with practiced nonchalance, but his eyes kept drifting to you across the room.
You were chatting with one of the newer lighting technicians—a friendly, outgoing guy who had been making everyone laugh all week. The technician leaned in closer as he explained some technical detail, gesturing animatedly, and you smiled at him, nodding along.
Seokjin’s fingers paused on his screen. He forced a smile, but inside, irritation prickled. It’s just a conversation, he told himself. You’re allowed to talk to people.
Yet the way the guy’s hand brushed your shoulder lightly as he pointed something out on a tablet made Seokjin’s stomach twist. He cleared his throat loudly, but no one noticed. Fine. He could play this game.
“Wow, okayyyy, I see how it is,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to potentially hear if you were paying attention. You didn’t turn. The technician said something else, and you laughed again—that bright, genuine laugh that Seokjin usually earned with his dad jokes and cooking stories.
He pushed off the table, wandering closer under the pretense of grabbing a water bottle. “Guess I’m invisible now,” he added in a sing-song voice, dramatic and pouty, drawing a few amused glances from nearby staff. But his eyes stayed on you, sharp and needy.
Deep down, it wasn’t just theatrics. He genuinely felt the sting. He wanted your focus on him, your smiles directed at him, your time reserved for stolen moments in hotel rooms or quiet van rides where he could whisper how much he adored you.
The technician touched your arm again, this time resting his hand there a second too long while showing you a funny video on his phone. That was it.
Seokjin stepped forward with exaggerated flair, placing a hand on his chest like he’d been wounded. “Ah, I see the new lighting expert has taken over my role as the funniest person in the room. Should I just disappear into the background? Maybe become a stage prop?” His tone was light, teasing, but the undercurrent of real upset made his words sharper than usual.
The technician blinked, suddenly awkward, and pulled his hand back quickly.
You turned to Seokjin, catching the flash of genuine hurt behind his dramatic mask. The technician excused himself with a nervous chuckle, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
As soon as the two of you had a moment of semi-privacy near the edge of the room, Seokjin’s facade cracked further. He crossed his arms, lips pursed in that signature pout. “You like him more than me now? Be honest. I can take it. I’m just the handsome chef who makes you laugh and cooks your favorite meals at 2 a.m. No big deal.”
You rolled your eyes fondly, but before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward his private dressing room down the hall, closing the door firmly behind you. The lock clicked, sealing you both away from prying eyes.
The moment the world was shut out, Seokjin’s dramatic complaints melted into raw emotion. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight back hug from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.
His breath was warm against your neck. “I hate this,” he whispered, voice dropping the playful tone. “I hate pretending I don’t care when someone else touches you or makes you laugh. I want all of it. Your attention, your time, your everything. It’s selfish, but I’m in love with you. Secretly, stupidly, completely.”
His hands roamed up your sides, pulling you closer against his chest. The clinginess kicked in hard—exactly as expected after his jealousy flared. He pressed a series of soft forehead kisses along your hairline, then turned you in his arms to face him. “You like me more, right? Tell me. I need to hear it.”
“Of course I do, Jin. Only you,” you reassured him, and that was all it took.
His mouth descended on yours in a kiss that started tender but quickly ignited with pent-up need. Seokjin kissed like he performed— with full commitment and flair.
His lips moved against yours hungrily, tongue teasing until you parted for him. He backed you toward the couch, never breaking contact, his large hands cupping your face as if you might vanish.
Clothes came off in a heated rush. He peeled your shirt away slowly, savoring the reveal of your skin, then shed his own to expose his broad shoulders and toned chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion and desire.
He laid you down on the couch, hovering over you, dropping more forehead kisses and soft ones along your collarbone. His hands explored everywhere—squeezing your waist, tracing your curves, gripping your thighs as he settled between them.
Seokjin took his time, despite the urgency of his jealousy. He kissed down your body, lingering at your breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers played with the other. You arched into him, fingers threading through his dark hair.
Lower, he went, until his breath ghosted over your core. He looked up at you with those expressive eyes, still a hint of that dramatic pout lingering. “This is mine. Only mine.”
His tongue delved in, licking a slow stripe through your folds before focusing on your clit with precise, teasing circles. Two fingers slid inside you, curling expertly as he worked you open. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine.
Seokjin ate you out with the same dedication he put into everything—thorough, passionate, a little extra. He brought you right to the edge, then eased back, kissing your inner thighs while you caught your breath.
“Not yet,” he said, climbing back up your body. “I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel how much you want me.”
He positioned himself, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, slick with your arousal and his saliva. With a deep push, he entered you, both of you groaning at the perfect fit.
Seokjin’s hips rolled slowly at first, savoring the connection, but jealousy still simmered beneath the surface. His pace quickened, thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.
“Tell me again,” he panted between kisses, pinning your hands above your head with one of his. “You like me more, right? Say it while I fuck you.”
“I like you more—fuck, Jin, so much more,” you moaned, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.
That spurred him on. He released your hands to grip your hips, angling you so every thrust hit that sweet spot inside. The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your shared gasps, and his occasional dramatic whispers. “That’s right. No one else gets to make you feel like this. No technician, no staff, no one. Just me.”
He shifted positions, pulling you up so you straddled him on the couch. You rode him while he guided your movements with strong hands on your ass, thrusting up to meet you. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking marks that would be hidden under your clothes later.
One hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in time with your bounces.
Pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Seokjin could feel you tightening around him. “Come for me, baby. Show me I’m the only one.”
Your orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through you as you clenched around his cock, crying out his name. Seokjin followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, satisfied groan.
His arms wrapped around you tightly in another back hug as you both came down, even while still connected.
For several minutes, he just held you like that, pressing forehead kisses to your temple, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. The clinginess returned full force.
“I’m sorry for being dramatic out there,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “But I can’t help it. When I see someone else getting your smiles, it makes me realize how badly I want to tell the whole world you’re mine. Until then… stay close to me, okay? Lots of hugs like this. Lots of kisses. And always tell me I’m your favorite.”
You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You are my favorite, Jin. Dramatics and all.”
He smiled, genuine and warm now that the jealousy had been soothed by your touch. But he wasn’t done. After cleaning you both up gently, he pulled you back into his lap, hands wandering again. “Round two,” he announced with a playful wink. “I need more reassurance. And more of those sounds you make just for me.”
This time was slower, more intimate. He took you from behind while you leaned over the couch arm, his chest pressed to your back in a constant hug.
One arm wrapped around your waist, the other between your legs, rubbing you as he thrust steadily. He whispered praises and silly jokes mixed with love confessions, keeping things light even as pleasure built again.
By the end, you were both exhausted in the best way, tangled together on the couch with his arms securely around you. Seokjin’s dramatic jealousy had led to this—raw passion, tender aftercare, and a deeper bond strengthened in secret. He kissed your forehead one last time.
“Don’t forget who loves you most, even when I have to pretend I don’t in front of everyone else.”
The concert would start soon, and he’d be back to his charismatic, funny self on stage. But you would carry his touch, his words, and the quiet promise of more hidden moments like this.
✧
✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢
Yoongi didn’t need to raise his voice or put on a show for his jealousy to land like ice water down the spine. It was the silence that made it terrifying—the way his face stayed almost neutral, sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, while the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He was in love with you in the quietest, most consuming way possible. A love built on late-night studio sessions where words weren’t necessary, on shared headphones and fingers brushing under tables. You kept it secret because that was the only way it could survive right now. But secrets had a way of sharpening everything else, especially the possessiveness he rarely let show.
The green room hummed with the usual pre-show chaos. Staff adjusted mics, members chatted in low voices, and you stood near the couch talking to one of the tour photographers.
The guy was friendly, talented, and clearly interested. He leaned against the wall, camera slung around his neck, smiling as he showed you some shots from the previous night on his screen. “You always end up looking perfect in these,” he said, voice dropping a little. “The way the light hits you… I could shoot you for hours.”
You laughed politely, flipping through the images. Yoongi sat on the opposite couch, hood up, earbuds in but no music playing. His expression didn’t change. He looked half-asleep, legs stretched out, cap pulled low. But his gaze followed every movement.
The way the photographer stepped closer. The way his hand brushed your elbow to point at something on the screen. The way you smiled back—not flirtatious, but warm enough to twist something deep in Yoongi’s chest.
He didn’t speak. Not at first. His answers to the staff member asking about setlist changes became short, almost curt. “Yeah.” “Fine.” “Whatever works.” The calm shifted. People around him started glancing over, sensing the subtle change in the air without understanding why. Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, tracking the photographer’s every gesture like a predator deciding exactly when to strike.
When the guy laughed at something you said and let his fingers linger on your arm, tracing a light path down to your wrist while complimenting your “natural presence,” Yoongi moved. No words.
No dramatic sigh. He simply stood, crossed the room in that slow, deliberate way of his, and slid an arm around your waist from behind. His hand settled firmly, fingers pressing into your side with quiet ownership. He pulled you back against his chest, chin brushing your shoulder for a brief second before he released you—but not really. His presence stayed right there, a wall of silent warning.
The photographer straightened immediately, mumbling something about checking equipment, and disappeared faster than expected. Yoongi didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just looked at you once, eyes saying everything his mouth wouldn’t: We’re leaving. Now.
He guided you out with that same hand on your waist, touch deceptively light but impossible to ignore. Down the hallway to his private dressing room.
The door shut with a soft click. The lock turned. And then the real shift happened.
Yoongi leaned against the door for a moment, staring at you. Still silent. The jealousy didn’t explode out of him like it might with the others. It coiled, controlled, and burned hotter because of it. He crossed to you slowly, backing you against the makeup counter without touching you at first.
His hands finally came up, framing your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with surprising gentleness before his grip tightened just enough.
“You let him touch you,” he said, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question. “Laughed with him. Let him look at you like that.”
His lips crashed into yours before you could answer—slow, deep, devastating. Yoongi kissed like he produced music: layered, intentional, every movement building something heavier. His tongue slid against yours, claiming, while one hand dropped to your waist again, pulling your hips flush against him.
You could feel how hard he already was, pressed against your stomach.
He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at first, then harder, leaving marks that would hide under your collar. “Mine,” he breathed against your skin. No theatrics.
Just fact. His hands worked methodically, peeling your shirt off, then his own. The sight of his pale skin, slim but toned torso, and the faint lines of muscle made your breath catch. He lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your legs.
Yoongi’s possessiveness showed in the calmest, most intense ways. He didn’t rush. He unbuttoned your pants and dragged them down along with your underwear, eyes never leaving yours. When you were bare, he ran his palms up your thighs, spreading them wider.
Two fingers traced your entrance, feeling how wet you already were, before sliding in deep. He curled them slowly, perfectly, watching every flicker across your face.
“Eyes on me,” he murmured when your head tipped back. His free hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. Those dark eyes held you captive while his fingers pumped steadily, thumb circling your clit with maddening precision.
The room filled with the wet sounds of his hand and your growing moans, but Yoongi stayed mostly quiet, only letting out low, controlled breaths.
He brought you right to the edge, then withdrew his fingers, ignoring your frustrated whimper. He freed himself from his pants, thick and flushed, stroking once before pressing the head against you.
One smooth thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning softly into your neck. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming.
His hips rolled in deep, measured strokes. Not frantic—deliberate. Each thrust claimed you, reminded you exactly who you belonged to. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you impossibly close, while the other braced on the counter. Skin met skin in rhythmic slaps, but his voice stayed low.
“No one else gets this,” he whispered against your ear, biting the lobe. “No one else hears you moan like this. No one else feels how tight you get when I’m inside you.” His pace increased gradually, still controlled, but the jealousy fueled every snap of his hips. He angled just right, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.
You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in. “Yoongi—”
“Say it,” he demanded quietly, voice dark. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you.”
“You. Only you.”
That seemed to break something in his restraint. He lifted you off the counter, turning you around and bending you over it. Your hands braced on the cool surface as he entered you again from behind, deeper this way.
One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other reached around to rub your clit in tight circles. His chest pressed to your back, lips against your shoulder as he thrust harder, faster, but still terrifyingly silent except for the occasional low groan.
The orgasm built like a wave you couldn’t escape. When it crashed over you, your walls clenched around him, legs shaking. Yoongi followed moments later, burying himself deep and coming with a quiet, shuddering breath, filling you completely.
He stayed inside you for a long minute, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed to your back.
Finally, he pulled out carefully, cleaning you both with a warm cloth from the side table. He didn’t speak much even then. Just pulled you into his arms on the small couch, holding you against his chest.
His fingers traced slow patterns on your bare skin—possessive, soothing. The silent jealousy had morphed into this: quiet intensity, the kind that wrapped around you like smoke.
“I hate it,” he said eventually, voice barely audible. “Seeing someone else flirt with you. Touch you. Makes me want to pull you away every single time. I know we can’t say anything yet. But you’re mine. In every way that matters.”
You turned in his arms, kissing his jaw. “I am yours, Yoongi. Always.”
He nodded once, eyes softening just a fraction. But the possessiveness lingered. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer. “Good. Because we still have time before soundcheck.”
His lips found yours again, slower this time, but no less hungry.
The second round was different—slower, face to face on the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved inside you with those same deep, claiming strokes. He kept his forehead against yours, eyes locked, forcing you to feel every emotion he rarely voiced.
When you came again, whispering his name like a prayer, he followed, spilling into you once more with a quiet curse.
Afterward, he held you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. No dramatic declarations.
No over-the-top clinginess. Just Yoongi—silent, steady, and terrifyingly in love. The kind of love that didn’t need noise to be felt in your bones.
He helped you dress eventually, adjusting your clothes so the marks he left stayed hidden.
When you stepped back into the hallway, his expression had returned to that neutral calm. But his hand brushed your lower back one last time, a secret reminder.
The mood around him stayed shifted for the rest of the evening. Short answers. Watching eyes. And when anyone got too close to you again, that arm found your waist without a word.
Because Yoongi’s jealousy didn’t roar. It simply took what was his, quietly, completely, and left no room for doubt.
✧
✧ 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤
Hoseok was sunshine personified—bright smiles, infectious laughter, and that endless energy that lit up every room he entered. But when jealousy crept in, especially over you, the person he was secretly, deeply in love with, that sunshine didn’t disappear. It just burned hotter, more focused, until it consumed everything else.
He tried so hard to play it cool, to keep things light and fun like always, because that was his role. The one who kept morale high. The one who made everyone feel at ease. But with you, his ult, his hidden heart, the mask slipped faster than he could catch it.
The backstage lounge was alive with pre-rehearsal chatter. Members stretched, stylists touched up makeup, and you were standing near the snack table talking to one of the new choreographers—a charismatic guy who’d been brought in for a fresh routine. He was funny, confident, and clearly drawn to your energy. He demonstrated a quick footwork move, laughing as you tried to copy it, his hand lightly steadying your waist for balance.
“See? You’ve got natural rhythm,” he said, eyes lingering a second too long. “We should practice together sometime. I could teach you a lot.”
Hoseok, who had been sipping water across the room while chatting with staff, felt the shift instantly. He forced a wide smile, the one that usually lit up stages worldwide, and sauntered over with his signature playful bounce. “Yah, what’s this? Stealing my favorite dance partner?” he teased, voice bright and sing-song.
But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It tightened at the corners, turning a little sharp. His laugh when the choreographer joked back sounded forced, almost brittle.
He tried again, keeping it playful. “Careful, she might outshine you on stage if you teach her too well!” Another laugh, but it fell flat even to his own ears.
Deep down, it wasn’t funny. Not when this guy had his hand on your waist. Not when you were smiling at someone else the way Hoseok wanted you smiling at him in every stolen moment—those quiet van rides, late-night texts, and hidden hotel nights where he whispered how much he adored you. You were his secret, his everything, and watching someone else flirt so openly made his chest ache with a need he couldn’t voice publicly.
The choreographer chuckled and touched your arm again, leaning in to say something quieter. That was the breaking point. Hoseok’s playful facade crumbled in an instant. He moved smoothly but decisively, sliding right beside you. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against his side. His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly.
He rested his chin on top of your head, nuzzling in just enough to make his claim crystal clear without words. The warmth of his body enveloped you, that familiar mix of cologne and stage energy that was so distinctly him.
“Actually,” Hoseok said, voice still light but edged with something deeper, “we have some partner work we need to go over. Right now.” His smile stayed plastered on for the choreographer, but his grip on you tightened. Everyone in the room could see it—you two were close. Very close.
The choreographer got the message, nodding awkwardly and stepping back with a quick excuse about checking the stage layout.
As soon as the guy was out of sight, Hoseok didn’t let go. If anything, he held you tighter. His arm around your shoulders became a full embrace, chin still on your head as he swayed you gently side to side like you were dancing to music only he could hear. “I hate that,” he murmured into your hair, voice dropping the playful tone. “I try to act cool, but seeing him touch you… it makes me want to pull you away and keep you all to myself. You’re my person. My favorite. I need everyone to know how close we are, even if we can’t tell them everything yet.”
He guided you down the hallway to his private dressing room, never once releasing your hand. The door closed behind you, and the lock clicked. In the quiet space, Hoseok’s energy shifted completely.
He turned to you, eyes soft but burning with that mix of love and jealousy. “You know you’re my ult, right? My everything. I can’t stand the thought of someone else thinking they can have even a piece of you.”
His hands cupped your face tenderly, thumbs brushing your cheeks, before he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed—it was deep, passionate, full of all the affection he poured into every performance. Hoseok kissed like he danced: with soul, with fire, with every part of himself.
His tongue moved against yours in perfect rhythm, drawing soft sounds from you that made him smile against your lips.
Clothes disappeared between heated kisses and wandering hands. He peeled your shirt off slowly, worshipping every inch of skin he revealed with his mouth. “So beautiful,” he whispered, voice husky.
His own shirt came off next, revealing his toned dancer’s body, lean muscle honed from years of powerful performances. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the wide couch.
Hoseok laid you down like you were precious, but his touches grew more urgent. He kissed down your neck, sucking gentle marks along your collarbone—marks only the two of you would see.
His hands explored your curves, squeezing your hips, tracing your thighs as he removed the rest of your clothes. When you were bare beneath him, he took a moment just to look, eyes full of adoration. “Mine,” he said softly, almost reverently. “All mine.”
He settled between your legs, mouth hot and eager as he tasted you. His tongue moved with expert precision—playful flicks on your clit mixed with deep, languid strokes that had you gripping his hair. Two fingers slid inside you, curling in that way he knew drove you crazy, matching the rhythm of his mouth. Hoseok moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks through your body.
He looked up at you the whole time, eyes locked, making sure you felt exactly how much he needed this.
But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Needed it. Hoseok climbed back up, shedding the last of his clothes, his cock hard and flushed with need.
He rubbed the tip against your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whimper, before sliding in deep with one smooth thrust. The feeling of him filling you completely drew matching groans from both of you.
He started slow, rolling his hips in that fluid, dancer-like motion, grinding deep. One hand held yours above your head, fingers still intertwined, while the other caressed your face. “Look at me, baby,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to see how much I love you. How crazy you make me.”
The pace built gradually, thrusts becoming more powerful, more possessive. Skin met skin with rhythmic slaps, the couch creaking softly beneath you. Hoseok’s usual playfulness returned in little ways—he nipped at your lip with a small smile, whispered silly-sweet things between moans—but the jealousy fueled an intensity that made everything hotter. He shifted you onto your side, lifting one leg over his shoulder so he could go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.
“You feel so good,” he panted, sweat glistening on his skin. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to hold you, touch you, love you like I do.” His free hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect patterns. The combination sent you spiraling fast.
When you came, it hit like a wave—walls clenching around him as you cried out his name. Hoseok followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, throaty moan, hips stuttering through the pleasure. He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around you in the tightest hug.
Even in the afterglow, the clinginess stayed. He pressed kisses all over your face—forehead, cheeks, nose, lips—while still inside you. “I’m sorry I got jealous,” he whispered, nuzzling your neck.
“But I can’t help it. You’re my ult, my sunshine, my reason for smiling even on hard days. I need the world to see how close we are, even if it’s just through little things like holding your hand or resting my chin on your head.”
He pulled out eventually, cleaning you both with gentle care before pulling you into his lap. The second round came naturally, slower and sweeter this time. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips as he looked up at you with pure adoration.
He sat up midway, arms around your waist in a full embrace, mouths meeting in messy kisses while he thrust up to meet you. More forehead kisses, more whispers of love, more of that special energy only Hoseok could bring.
Afterward, tangled together and breathing softly, he kept you close. Fingers tracing patterns on your back, chin resting on your head again. “Promise me something?” he asked quietly. “No matter who flirts or how hard we have to hide this… you’ll always come back to me like this.
Let me hold you, love you, remind you that you’re my favorite person in the entire universe.”
You smiled, kissing his jaw. “Always, Hobi. You’re my ult too.”
Hoseok’s bright laugh returned, genuine this time, as he hugged you tighter. The jealousy had faded, replaced by warmth and certainty.
He would go back out there soon with his playful energy, but everyone would still see it—that extra closeness, the way his arm found your shoulders so naturally, the protective glint in his eye. Because when it came to you, Hoseok didn’t just love quietly. He loved with his whole heart, his whole body, and everyone nearby would feel it.
✧
✧ 𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧
Jimin carried his heart in his eyes. That was what made his jealousy so devastating—not loud or possessive in a flashy way, but a quiet ache that turned those expressive eyes softer, almost glassy, like the light inside him had dimmed. He was deeply, secretly in love with you, the kind of love that bloomed in stolen glances during rehearsals and whispered confessions in the dark of hotel rooms.
You kept it hidden because the world demanded it, but that only made moments like this cut deeper. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. The kind of hurt that made him question everything.
The waiting area backstage before the showcase was filled with the usual energy—stylists rushing with last-minute fixes, members warming up their voices, and low chatter bouncing off the walls. Jimin sat on a low couch, legs tucked under him gracefully, scrolling through his phone. But his attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on you, across the room, talking to one of the backup vocal coaches.
The guy was kind, experienced, and had a gentle way of speaking that clearly put you at ease. He laughed at something you said, leaning in slightly as he offered tips on a tricky harmony, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder in encouragement.
Jimin’s smile, the one he’d been holding for the staff earlier, faltered. His eyes softened, the usual sparkle dulling into something quieter, more vulnerable. He looked away for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, but his gaze kept drifting back. Do they make you happier than I do? The thought crept in uninvited. Am I bothering you lately? Maybe I’ve been too clingy in our secret texts. Maybe you need someone who doesn’t have to hide. His fingers tightened around his phone, but outwardly, he stayed composed—almost too still, too quiet. The members noticed the shift; Jungkook asked if he was okay, and Jimin just nodded with a small, forced curve of his lips.
When the coach’s hand lingered on your arm a second longer while demonstrating a breathing technique, Jimin couldn’t stay seated. He stood gracefully, crossing the room without fanfare. No dramatic words, no tight smiles like Hoseok might use. Just a gentle touch—his hand slipping into yours, fingers intertwining as he tugged you lightly toward him. “Hey,” he said softly, voice barely above a murmur. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes met yours, pleading in that subtle way only you could read. The coach sensed the moment and stepped back with a polite nod.
Jimin led you down the hallway to his private dressing room, his hold on your hand never loosening. Once inside, with the door closed and the world locked out, the overthinking spilled quietly from him. He turned to you, eyes even softer now, almost misty. He didn’t let go of your hand, instead pulling it up to press against his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—steady but a little faster than usual.
“I saw you with him,” he whispered, voice gentle but laced with that hurt. “The way he made you laugh… it was nice. Really nice. Do they make you happier than I do? Be honest with me. I can take it, I think. But lately I keep wondering if I’m bothering you. If all these secret moments, the late calls when I can’t sleep, the way I always want you close… maybe it’s too much. Maybe you need space.”
His free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, touch feather-light, as if afraid you might pull away. Those beautiful eyes searched yours, vulnerable and open in a way he rarely showed the world. Jimin melted when he felt loved, but right now, the jealousy had him unraveling in the softest, most heartbreaking way.
You reassured him immediately, cupping his face and telling him how much he meant to you—how no one compared, how his attention was your favorite thing. The words worked like magic. His shoulders relaxed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leaned into your palm. “Really?” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. And then he melted completely, stepping closer until his body pressed against yours, arms wrapping around your waist in a needy embrace. “I need you,” he murmured against your neck. “Show me I’m still your favorite.”
The kiss started tender, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to ask for too much. But as you deepened it, pouring reassurance into every brush of lips and tongue, Jimin came alive. His hands roamed your back, pulling you impossibly closer, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with familiar reverence. Clothes came off slowly, between soft kisses and whispered affirmations. He peeled your shirt away like unwrapping something precious, lips following the path of exposed skin—collarbone, shoulder, the dip between your breasts.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, eyes drinking you in. His own shirt slipped off, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his dancer’s body, skin glowing under the warm lights. He lifted you onto the vanity table, stepping between your legs, hands gentle but sure on your thighs. “Tell me again,” he asked softly, forehead resting against yours. “That I’m the one you want.”
“You’re the only one, Jimin. Always.”
That was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, tongues sliding together as his hands explored. He cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked under his touch, drawing quiet gasps from you. Lower, his fingers trailed, slipping between your legs to find you already wet for him. Two slender fingers eased inside, curling slowly, perfectly, while his thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles. He watched your face the entire time, eyes soft and locked on yours, feeding on every moan like it was oxygen.
“Please,” you breathed, and he nodded, removing his fingers to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, curving beautifully as he stroked it once before pressing against your entrance. He slid in slowly, savoring every inch, both of you sighing at the connection. Jimin’s hips rolled in fluid, graceful thrusts—deep and unhurried, like a dance only the two of you knew. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you close, while the other braced on the table.
“Feel me,” he whispered, voice husky with emotion. “I’m yours too. Completely.” His pace stayed tender at first, but reassurance turned the heat up. He buried his face in your neck, sucking soft marks as his thrusts grew firmer, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You clung to his shoulders, nails lightly scratching his back, and he shivered in pleasure.
He pulled back to look at you again, eyes half-lidded but shining. “I was scared for a second… that maybe someone else could make you smile bigger. But this—us—it’s everything.” The vulnerability mixed with desire made it intensely intimate. He shifted you slightly, angling deeper, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in time with his movements. The build was slow, overwhelming, until you came with a soft cry, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge too. Jimin moaned your name quietly, spilling deep inside you, hips stuttering as waves of pleasure washed over him.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding you tightly, foreheads pressed together as breaths mingled. Then the melting happened fully—soft kisses all over your face, gentle hands cleaning you both with a warm towel from the side counter. He carried you to the small couch, curling around you like a koala, legs tangled, arms secure around your waist. “Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling your hair. “For always making me feel wanted. I get so scared sometimes that I’m not enough in all this hiding.”
“You’re more than enough,” you reassured him again, fingers carding through his hair. He practically purred at the touch, eyes closing in contentment.
The second round came naturally, slower and even more emotional. You straddled him on the couch, sinking down onto him inch by inch while he gazed up at you like you hung the stars. His hands guided your hips, but gently, letting you set the rhythm. Every roll of your body drew soft praises from him—“So good… you feel perfect… I love you like this.” He sat up midway, chest to chest, arms wrapped fully around you in a tight embrace as he thrust up to meet you. Mouths met in lazy, deep kisses, tongues dancing as pleasure built again. When you both came this time, it was together—whispers and shudders, bodies trembling in sync.
Afterward, Jimin kept you in his lap, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, chin resting on your shoulder. The hurt jealousy had dissolved into pure, warm affection. He was quiet again, but this time it was peaceful, content. “I don’t want to go back out there yet,” he admitted with a small smile. “Just a little longer like this. You make everything better.”
He would return to the others soon, eyes bright once more, that charming stage persona slipping back into place. But the secret marks on your skin, the way his hand would brush yours a little longer than necessary, and the soft glances only you understood—they would remind everyone, subtly, that his heart was already claimed. Jimin’s love was like that: not loud, but profound. And when reassured, he gave it back tenfold, melting completely into the person who made his world feel right.
✧
✧ 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠
Taehyung felt everything deeply. Love, joy, sadness — and especially jealousy. Out of all the members, no one burned with it quite like he did. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You had never put a label on whatever this was between you: stolen kisses in the studio after midnight, fingers brushing under tables, late-night talks where he called you his soulmate in that low, sincere voice of his. But the lack of a title didn’t stop the fierce possessiveness that surged through him every time someone else got too close to you. If anything, it made it worse. Because without a label, he had no real right to feel this way — yet he felt it all the same.
The green room before the soundcheck was lively. Members sprawled across couches, staff moved around with tablets and cables, and you were sitting on the arm of a chair talking to one of the new international staff members — a tall, friendly guy who had been helping with translations. He was charming in an easy way, laughing as he showed you something on his phone. Taehyung sat across the room, legs spread wide, wearing an oversized hoodie, but his usual boxy smile was nowhere to be found.
Instead, his dark eyes were locked on you. Brows slightly furrowed. Lips pressed into a straight line. He didn’t even realize how obvious it was until Jungkook nudged Jimin and both of them started smirking.
“Hyung, you’re staring again,” Jungkook teased quietly, loud enough for the others to hear. “Looking like someone kicked your puppy.”
Taehyung blinked, trying to school his expression into something neutral, but it was too late. The frown was already there, deep and sulky. His gaze flicked back to you immediately. The staff guy leaned closer to show you another video, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. Taehyung’s jaw tightened. That should be him. Sitting next to you. Making you laugh like that. Being the only one allowed in your space.
He stood up suddenly, long legs carrying him across the room without thinking. The members watched with knowing grins — they had seen this side of Taehyung more than once when it came to you.
“Hey,” he said, voice deep and a little rough as he stopped right beside you. He didn’t even acknowledge the staff member at first. His eyes were only on you. “Come sit with me instead.”
You looked up, catching the unmistakable sulk in his expression. The staff guy paused mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the heavy aura surrounding Taehyung.
“I was just—” you started, but Taehyung was already gently taking your hand, fingers wrapping around yours with quiet determination.
“Please?” he added, softer this time, but the jealousy was written all over his face. Big brown eyes, slight pout, shoulders a little hunched like the weight of watching you with someone else actually hurt him physically. The staff member cleared his throat awkwardly and found an excuse to leave.
The second you let Taehyung pull you over to the couch and sit beside him, his entire mood shifted. The frown melted away. That beautiful boxy smile broke across his face like sunshine after rain. He immediately draped one long arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side, chin resting lightly on your head. Soulmate behavior. Like the universe had clicked back into place now that you were close again.
“Much better,” he murmured happily, voice low enough for only you to hear. His fingers played with the sleeve of your shirt, absentmindedly tracing patterns. The members exchanged amused looks but didn’t comment further.
But the jealousy hadn’t disappeared. It had simply been redirected into need.
A little while later, when the room cleared out slightly, Taehyung leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Come with me for a minute.” No room for argument. He took your hand again and led you to his private dressing room, locking the door behind you with a soft click.
The moment you were alone, the intensity returned. He backed you against the wall, hands framing your face as he stared down at you with those soulful eyes.
“I hate it,” he confessed, voice husky. “I know we’re not… official. But seeing him next to you, making you laugh, touching your chair like that — it drives me crazy. You’re mine in here.” He pressed a hand over his own heart. “You feel like my soulmate. Even if we haven’t said the words yet. I get so jealous I can’t hide it.”
His kiss was deep and consuming, the kind only Taehyung could give — passionate, emotional, like he was pouring his entire soul into it. Tongues moved slowly, tasting, claiming. His large hands slid down your body, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him so you could feel how hard he already was.
Clothes came off with urgent but reverent touches. He peeled your shirt away, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering how beautiful you were, how no one else should ever get to stand that close to you. When he removed his own hoodie and shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and toned chest, you couldn’t help but run your hands over him. He shivered under your touch.
Taehyung lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and laying you down. He hovered over you, eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of your clothes. “So perfect,” he breathed, kissing down your stomach until he reached your core. He took his time, tongue moving in slow, sensual strokes, savoring you like fine wine. Two long fingers pushed inside you, curling gently while his mouth focused on your clit. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending pleasure shooting through your body.
But he didn’t let you finish there. He needed to be closer.
Rising up, he freed himself, thick and flushed, and rubbed the tip against your entrance. “Look at me,” he whispered. The eye contact was intense as he pushed in slowly, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried deep. Both of you groaned at the feeling.
His thrusts started deep and rhythmic, hips rolling in that smooth, artistic way of his. One hand held yours above your head, fingers intertwined, while the other cradled the back of your neck so he could keep kissing you. “You’re mine,” he panted between kisses, even though you weren’t officially. “Even if the world doesn’t know yet. Tell me you feel it too.”
“I feel it, Tae. Only you.”
That reassurance made him melt and burn at the same time. His pace picked up, thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. The jealousy that had been simmering all afternoon poured out in every movement — possessive but full of love. He shifted you so your legs wrapped higher around his waist, going deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars.
When you came, clenching tightly around him and moaning his name, Taehyung followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he spilled deep inside you with a low, broken groan. His body trembled against yours, arms wrapping around you tightly like he never wanted to let go.
Even after, the clinginess stayed. He cleaned you gently, then pulled you into his lap, arms locked around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “I know I get too jealous,” he admitted quietly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “But I can’t help it. You’re my person. My soulmate. Watching someone else get your attention feels like losing a piece of myself.”
You stayed like that for a while, his hands gently stroking your back, mood completely bright again now that he had you all to himself. When desire built once more, the second round was slower, more intimate. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips while he looked up at you with pure adoration. He sat up to kiss you deeply, chest to chest, whispering sweet nothings and jealous little confessions between moans.
By the time you both finished again, you were tangled together, breathing softly. Taehyung kept you close, refusing to let go just yet. “Stay with me a little longer,” he murmured, voice warm. “I need more of this. More of you.”
He would go back out there soon with that signature boxy smile, acting like nothing happened. But everyone would notice how his eyes followed you, how he found excuses to sit next to you, how his hand always seemed to find yours when no one was looking too closely. Because Taehyung’s jealousy wasn’t subtle — it was obvious, deep, and rooted in a love so strong it didn’t need a label to feel real.
He was the most jealous for a reason. You were his soulmate. And he would keep reminding you — and everyone else — of that fact, one stolen moment at a time.
✧
✧ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤
Jungkook tried so hard not to care. He really did. He told himself a thousand times that you weren’t officially his, that the secret moments you shared—late-night gym sessions where he’d spot you, quiet studio cuddles, and stolen kisses behind closed doors—didn’t give him the right to feel possessive. But he cared the most. Out of everyone, no one’s heart twisted quite like his when someone else flirted with you. It made his ears burn red, his usual bright energy go quiet, and his big doe eyes stay glued to you like you were the only thing in the room.
The backstage lounge before the final rehearsal was buzzing. Members were scattered around, some playing games on their phones, others stretching or chatting with staff. Jungkook sat on the floor against the couch, pretending to scroll through his camera roll, but his attention was locked across the room where you stood talking to one of the young backup dancers. The guy was energetic, funny, and clearly interested. He kept leaning in, demonstrating a move and laughing when you tried it, his hand brushing your arm more than once.
Jungkook’s ears turned pink, then bright red. He pressed his lips together, trying to look unbothered, but his eyes never left you. That should be me,his brain repeated like a mantra. Making you laugh. Touching your arm. Standing that close. He stayed silent, jaw tight, fingers gripping his phone a little too hard. The members noticed. Jimin nudged Taehyung with a smirk, whispering something that made them both glance at Jungkook’s obvious struggle.
When the dancer stepped even closer, placing a hand on your waist to “correct your posture” while showing another step, Jungkook couldn’t stay back anymore. He stood up, ears still flaming, and crossed the room with that effortless athletic grace. Without a word, he slid right beside you, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you gently but firmly into his chest.
His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly. To everyone else, he acted completely normal—casual smile, soft “hey” like he was just joining the conversation—but his body told a different story. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, and his fingers rested possessively on your waist, right where the other guy’s hand had been.
The dancer got the hint quickly, mumbling something about warming up and backing away. Jungkook’s ears were still red as he kept you pressed against him, chin resting lightly on top of your head for a second before he pulled back just enough to look normal. But inside? His brain was a mess of cute, jealous thoughts. Mine. Should be me. Only me
A few minutes later, when the room thinned out, he leaned down, voice low and a little shy. “Come with me?” He didn’t wait for a full answer, just gently tugged you toward his private dressing room, hand still holding yours the entire way. The second the door closed and locked, the shy act cracked open.
Jungkook turned to you, ears still tinged pink, big eyes soft and vulnerable. “I know I’m not supposed to care this much,” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not even… you know. But seeing him touch you like that? It makes me crazy. That should be me. Only me.”
His jealousy was the cutest thing in the world—those wide eyes, the way he tried so hard to play it cool but failed adorably, the soft pout forming on his lips. You smiled and stepped closer, cupping his face. The reassurance made him melt instantly. Jungkook leaned into your touch like a puppy, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he pulled you into a tight hug, arms wrapping fully around you.
The kiss started sweet, almost shy, but quickly deepened with all the pent-up emotion. Jungkook kissed like he did everything else—with full commitment and passion. His hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against his strong body as his tongue moved against yours. He walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, then gently laid you down, hovering over you with those sparkling eyes.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, voice husky but still carrying that adorable nervousness. He helped you out of your shirt, then removed his own, revealing the sculpted muscles he worked so hard for. His hands were gentle as he explored your body, kissing down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, sucking soft marks that made you shiver. When he reached your waistband, he looked up at you for permission, ears still faintly red.
Once you were both bare, Jungkook settled between your legs, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue found your core. He was eager and attentive, licking and sucking with focused dedication, two fingers sliding inside you and curling just right. He moaned softly against you, the vibrations making your back arch. His free hand reached up to hold yours, fingers intertwined again—like even here, he needed that connection.
But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Jungkook climbed back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his lips. He stroked himself a few times, then lined up and pushed in slowly, groaning your name as he sank deep. The stretch was perfect, his thickness filling you completely. He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing shakily.
“That should be me,” he whispered again, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Only me touching you. Only me making you feel good.”
His thrusts started deep and steady, hips rolling with that powerful athletic control. One hand stayed laced with yours above your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open for him. Jungkook’s jealousy melted into the sweetest, most intense lovemaking—every movement full of adoration and quiet possessiveness. He buried his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling as his pace gradually quickened.
“You feel so good,” he panted, voice adorably breathy. “So tight… so perfect. I get so jealous because I like you so much. Like… really like you.”
The confession made your heart flutter. You pulled him closer, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Jungkook’s thrusts grew faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside you repeatedly until you were moaning his name. His hand slipped between you, thumb rubbing your clit in perfect circles. When you came, clenching hard around him and trembling, he followed right after with a cute, broken moan, burying himself deep and filling you with warm spurts.
He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around your body in the tightest hug. His ears were still pink as he nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. “Sorry if I was too obvious out there,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “I tried not to care… but I care so much. You’re my favorite person.”
The aftercare was pure Jungkook—sweet and attentive. He cleaned you both carefully with a warm towel, then pulled you into his lap on the couch, arms locked around you like he never wanted to let go. He kept playing with your fingers, intertwining them over and over, chin resting on your shoulder.
The second round came naturally, slower and even cuter. You straddled him, sinking down onto his cock while he looked up at you with those big, sparkling eyes full of affection. His hands guided your hips gently, but he let you set the pace, whispering praises and little jealous confessions between kisses. “No one else gets to hold you like this… only me, right?” He sat up halfway, chest pressed to yours in a warm embrace, thrusting up to meet you as you rode him.
The closeness made everything more intense. When you both came again, it was with soft moans and foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in sync.
Afterward, Jungkook refused to let you move, cuddling you tightly against his chest, one hand stroking your hair. His jealousy had turned into the fluffiest, warmest afterglow. “Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asked, voice shy but hopeful. “I just… I like having you close. Makes me feel better.”
He would go back out there soon, acting cool with that signature Jungkook confidence, but everyone would notice the little things: how his hand always found yours, how his eyes followed you protectively, how his ears turned pink whenever someone got too friendly. Because when Jungkook got jealous, it wasn’t scary or dramatic—it was the cutest thing in the world.
A big, strong guy reduced to blushing ears and needy hugs, all because he cared the most.
Summary :: Guesung is a well-known soccer player among the students at your university- the college's heartthrob also. So after a one-night stand and then falling pregnant, you both realize that you may be glued to one another for a while.
Warnings :: Unprotected sex (always keep it safe out there), hair pulling, biting, scratches, semi-public, use of nicknames (baby, princess, baby girl), accidental pregnancy, oral (both receiving), in the shower
Songs: Moonlight - Kali Uchis, Locked out of Heaven - Bruno Mars
Bambi's notes: After I procrastinated for the longest time, here she is! The first section of smut isn't much but believe me, as this goes on, it gets...wild lol. There is also a change in the story's premise as I decided it needed a change. As per usual, the ending is lowkey sucky. Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Reblogs / Comments are appreciated and encouraged!
NOT PROOFREAD
One night stands aren't new to college students, yet to you, they were.
"Fuck, hold onto me"
You held onto Guesung's shoulder as he carried you into his room, kicking the door closed behind you both as your lips melt into each others. You couldn't really pin point how you ended up making out with your university's top soccer player and now in his bed, but you didn't mind. He was hot and he wanted you, so why not give into it tonight?
Guesung helped you strip down as his lips moved around the newly shown skin, his hands haphazardly tossing away the fabrics as he pushed you back onto his bed before he did the same. He leaned down to kiss down your thighs as he pushed slowly into you, both of you far too horny for one another to even prep. "Fuck, Y/N, you're so tight and wet for me, baby," you let your arms wrap around his shoulders as he began to pump himself into you, his own hands gripping your thighs as he continues to fuck you. Even though you both didn't know each other, it felt like he already knew your body so well as he continued to fuck you, his lips pressing against your sweet spot as he moved in you.
To you, nothing can ruin this moment.
~~~
"That is correct, miss Y/N: You are two weeks pregnant."
You stared at your doctor in shock as she hands you her clipboard, showing that you are in fact, two weeks pregnant. You couldn't help but grip the clipboard, trying to figure out how the hell you were going to be a goddam mother while in college. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears as you tried to comprehend how your life was now changing. Your doctor offered your a kind smile before she asked "Do you have any idea of who the father may be?"
You slowly met your doctor's eyes as your mind flashed back to the bed you were in two weeks ago, your lips covered with his as his hips met yours. The night that you felt the best you ever did during sex also seemed to be the night that you became pregnant with his baby.
Guesung's baby.
You knew it was right to tell him, but you felt nervous to do so; he was the top soccer player at the university and you didn't want to ruin his life plans as you had heard he had plans to go pro. However, you knew you couldn't hide this baby from him as the baby was his. You gathered your courage after class one day to make your way to the practice felid where you knew the soccer team practiced, rehearsing the words in your mind as you watched him run up and down the felid. How would he react? Would he be mad and want nothing to do with the baby?
Guesung soon spotted you from across the felid as he gathered his things after having a successful practice. He felt his lips move into a smile as he noticed you, remembering you from two weeks ago. He jogged over to you, his smile fading slightly as he noticed your worried face. While you both had only had a one night stand, he still didn't like seeing you upset. "Hey, Y/N, are you alright?"
You were shocked he even remembered your name, gripping your backpack's strap before saying "we need to talk, Guesung"
At your tone of voice, he nodded, telling his teammates that he'd find them later before walking with you away from the field to a nearby diner. He ordered some burgers and fries before sitting down across from you in the table you chose in the back of the place. It was secluded from everyone else, which made him feel even more worried about what you had to say. You accepted the burger before meeting his eyes, seeing the care in them for you. You sighed before deciding to get it over with, saying "I'm pregnant, Guesung. And I know it's yours because you're the only person I've slept with in a while and-"
"Pregnant?" Guesung looked at you in shock as processed your words, then realizing that the baby was in fact his. He was going to be a father, if you didn't want to get rid of the baby. You nodded, trying not cry as you could feel your anxiety rise up at his shocked expression. "I know you don't want to raise this baby so I'll see to it that you never see me or the baby again-"
Guesung cut you off again, this time by placing his hand over yours to comfort you. His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, his voice calm as he met your teary eyes. "Y/N, I don't mind helping you raise this baby. Making a baby is a two person effort which included me. Plus, I've always wanted to be a father." You felt comforted by his smile, words, and touch as he intertwined his hand with yours. "We'll do this together, Y/N, I promise. One step at a time, one day at a time. For now, let's eat then we can discuss this more in detail later."
You nodded, taking a bite of your burger as he continues to meet your eyes with a smile. You slowly felt all of your worries fade away as you both ate, happy that he wasn't going to just up and leave you for this.
Maybe everything would be alright.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"But what about going pro? Do you think you still can?"
You leaned back in the bleachers as Guesung licked his ice cream, his arm resting beside him as he nods. The sunset added a beautiful light to the moment as you both enjoyed your ice creams, trying to figure out your new lives together. "I think I still can go pro, lots of soccer players have families at home. Plus, I'll make good money for the both of us." You nodded at his words, knowing how well soccer players get paid. Now that you knew you had his support, you didn't feel so scared about raising the baby. He looked over at you, admiring how you looked in this light before saying "I think you'll make a great mom, Y/N. I think the two of us can do this."
You smiled at his words, thanking him softly as he moves a bit closer to you, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. The kiss was slow as you both smiled at the taste of each other's ice cream on your lips before he cupped your face, kissing you deeper as he slowly opened his mouth so your tongue could meet his. The kiss picked up in pace as both of your tongues met before Guesung picked you up, carrying you to the locker room below the bleachers. It almost felt like deja vu from how he was carrying you into the locker room, his feet kicking the door closed behind you both before he pressed your back against the door, his lips moving down your neck as his hands move to grip your thighs. He softly moaned your name as your nails dig into his back, his own hips rolling into yours as he grinded against your soaking core as his teeth nipped at your neck, his tongue moving over the bite marks as he says "you're mine, princess. If giving you my fucking baby didn't prove it, than these marks will"
You gasped as he moved down your body, placing you on top of his shoulders as he moved to his knees in front of you, his hands pushing up your skirt as he kisses your clothed pussy, practically drooling at the idea of getting to eat you out. Guesung softly apologized before his fingers moved to your panties, ripping them apart at the wet spot before he instantly dove his tongue in as his hands tossed away the fabric, his hands moving back to your thighs to stop you from slipping from his shoulders. You tossed your head back as he practically fucks you with his tongue, lapping up your juices as he moans your name, praising your taste as you can't help but wrap your legs around his head. Since you and Guesung were both too horny to even think about foreplay, he didn't get to taste you, but now that he was he didn't know how he could ever live without the taste. "You taste so fucking sweet, princess. I could fucking drown in here, fuck"
You gripped his hair as you grinded against his face, his tongue moving deeper into you as he helped you do so, his nose rubbing against your clit as he focused on making you cum on his tongue. As you felt your stomach tighten, you tossed your head back against the wall, whining out his name as he sped up, momentarily removing his mouth from you to push in two fingers into you, curling them as he looked up at you. "Cum for me, Y/N, that's it. Give me everything you got in that sexy body of yours. If you cum hard enough, I'll even fuck you nice and hard" Your body came instantly at his words as he curls his fingers, watching as you arch your back from the wall. Guesung can't help but smirk at how fast you came from his mouth and words, moving you to a nearby shower. You looked at him through your dazed expression as he turns it on, leaning against the outside of the shower as he begins to strip down, his eyes staying on yours as he enters the shower before leaning against the door frame. "I went to practice before dinner, so I need a shower and you made a mess all over yourself. Come in here, princess"
You soon caught on to what he wanted, carefully stripping down before stepping into the shower behind him. He shuts the door behind you both, moving you to face the now closed door as he moves behind you, his hands slowly moving down your body as the water wets you. "Place your hands on the door, princess"
His hands gripped your hips as your hand tried to find purchase on the shower door, a loud smack now echoing through the locker room, making you jump. Guesung smirked at your reaction, rubbing the area he had spanked before slowly pushing into you, moaning at how wet you were for him, your pussy sucking him in even though he was pretty big and thick. He gave you a moment to adjust before his hips began to meet your ass in a fast rate, the water only acting as a lubricant as he tries to move deeper in you.
"There we go, baby, nice and hard, just for you, fuck! Isn't this what you wanted? To have my thick cock deep inside your needy and sweet fucking pussy until I cum inside you again? Gonna cum so much that you're belly will be swollen with it and my fucking kid"
The loud sounds of not only you both moaning but from Guesung fucking you filled the empty locker room, even spilling a bit outside if anyone walked by. The idea made you clench around him, only making him groan louder before picking up one of your legs, his hips now pistoling inside of you as you felt your climax rush over you suddenly, Guesung's own doing the same at the feeling. You closed your eyes as you felt his warm cum fill you up, his chest now resting against your back as he slowly lowered your leg back down so he could properly hug you. After a brief moment of silence, Guesung chuckled "well if you weren't pregnant before, you're surely pregnant now"
You hit arm as you laughed, wincing as he slowly pulled out of you. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before helping you to move under the water, washing both of your bodies before he held you close saying "After class tomorrow, let me take you out on a date. I know we kinda skipped some steps but I really like you, Y/N." You nodded tiredly against his chest, smiling as you felt him press a kiss to your forehead.
Even though you both did skip some steps, you still couldn't be happier
~~~~~
"Sorry for coming home so late from practice, baby. I did get your taco bell, though"
You sat up in your bed as Guesung entered your dorm room, holding your taco bell order and his gym bag. He handed it to you before sitting down next to you, massaging your stomach gently as you took a bite of your food. Despite both of your school schedules being hectic, Guesung still made sure to stop by your dorm at least once a day to check on you and the baby. He also tried to get your cravings whenever he could, wanting to make this as comforting and easy for you as possible. After he showered, he returned to your dorm, sitting down next to you while you did your homework. You decided to try and finish your degree, despite being so tired. You were already almost done, so why not go ahead and finish it?
Guesung of course supported you, as that was the type of boyfriend he was. As you studied, Guesung laid on your lap, speaking to your belly with a smile on his face, his wet hair tickling your thighs as he spoke to your baby. "Ah hello there, it's daddy again. I had another game tonight and scored big, so I know you and mommy are so proud of me, right?" You smiled as he spoke, running your hand through his hair, making him smile. He soon placed a kiss to your thighs, slowly kissing up your body to your lips, making you laugh softly. He smile against your lips, kissing you again before he shoved away your textbook, officially claiming your attention. You let your hands move down his broad shoulders, taking in all of his muscles as you did so. He kissed you lovingly before he pulled from your lips, looking at you with heart eyes, which made you laugh. There was something about how he was looking at you that not only made you fall more in love with him, but turned you on. He was so caring and sweet with you that all you wanted to do was take care of him.
"Y/N, baby, what are you-" Guesung looked at you shocked as you pushed him back so he was sitting down before you began to untie his sweatpants, eager to taste him. Guesung had become used to your random need for him, which he thought was just hormones going crazy. You had so far given him oral while he was driving you to and from an appointment, when he took you with him when the team was traveling, and more. As you successfully remove his hardening cock from his pants, he closed his eyes, deciding to enjoy this. He wasn't complaining, of course, sometimes doing extra things for you just for you to take him in your mouth, like you're doing right now.
"That's it, baby girl, take me all down your throat, just like that" He sighed as you let him move down your throat, bobbing your head as Guesung tried to focus on you. He groans loudly as you moved faster, licking his lips as you continue to wet his cock. "Gag on my cock, Y/N. Let me hear how much you enjoy sucking my cock. Can't fucking live without it now, can't you? You're so addicted to the taste, huh?" Guesung moans loudly as you gag around his cock as it twitches in your mouth, the only warning you get before he cums down your throat.
As you slowly remove yourself from his softening cock, he takes a deep breath at the sensation. "I think I got really worked up because of your mouth, baby. I don't think I've ever cum that fast" he chuckles, resting his head against your bed as you wipe his cum from your lips. You smile before resting your head against the bed as well as Guesung cleans himself up, pausing as you feel your stomach move. You move to grip his hand, placing it on your stomach as the movements move to where his hand is. Guesung's eyes slowly well up at the feeling, leaning over to kiss your stomach before rubbing it, trying to hide his emotions as feels the kicks once more.
You couldn't help but smile at his reaction, feeling happy to have someone that you are sure will love your baby unconditionally. "Mommy and I will love you forever, little baby, and forever is a long time" You laugh softly at his words, making him look up at you with a smile before kissing you lovingly.
"And I mean that, Y/N. I'll love you and our baby forever." You smile, nodding before kissing him again as you enjoy the moment.
~~~~~
"Cho Guesung! Cho Guesung!"
You smile as the stands scream your husband's name, your daughter cheering his name equally as loudly as he bows to the fans. Being in the world cup has always been Guesung's dream, so to be there representing his country with you and his daughter in the stands made him feel even prouder. As the game ends, you and your daughter make your way to the locker room where the team was, Sunny immediately picking up your daughter as the team surrounds her excitedly. You smile as you watch them interact, your smile then growing as you feel Guesung's arms wrap around your waist, placing a kiss to your shoulder.
You lean back to his body, closing your eyes as you hear your daughter playing with the teammates. Even though this has been a long time coming, and lots of trouble has happened, you, Guesung, and your daughter are surviving and thriving. When your daughter sees him, she immediately runs to her father, giggling as he holds her in his arms as you watch with a smile on your face as Guesung holds her daughter. "Let's go back to the hotel, yeah?" You nodded, going with Guesung to the hotel before helping your daughter get ready for bed.
Once your daughter is asleep, you and Guesung sit down on the patio before you give him a small envelope, watching with a smile on your face as he opens the envelope. It takes Guesung a few moments to realize what you gave him as he pulls out a picture, squinting his eyes before he realizes what you just gave him.
"Y/N...you're pregnant again?" You nodded as Guesung's eyes well up, rushing to hug you as your hold back your own tears. Guesung always wanted a family and now he had it with you and your daughter, but now with your second child on the way.
tags: smut, boyfriends!woosan, implied criminal activities, standalone sequel to heists and celebrations.
rating: mature
Weeks passed and the stolen necklace—your only tie to the museum—had long since been pawned away. And yet buzzed, pink hair continued to haunt your fantasies. Until you remembered: Wooyoung was incapable of denying your requests, no matter how sticky they were.
warnings: semi-public sex, van sex, really fucking filthy sex, voyeurism & exhibitionism, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, fingering (f & m receiving), handjobs, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, dom!wooyoung, switch!san, switch!reader, ??!mingi, he's just happy to be there tbh, lots of mxm between all three of them, so much kissing holy fuck, jealous!san, some begging, restraints, everyone gets a little overstimulated, nicknames, san's a cutie when riled up, and he's got a potty mouth, I think that's it ^^
A/N: this one was a wild ride. I'd recommend grabbing a bucket and a mop, just in case. happy reading~
nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞
“I’m surprised, (y/n). It’s been how long since that day? You’re usually quick to move on,” Wooyoung said with a smile on his lips, pouring hot water into his mug.
“Woo,” you whined, leaning your upper body over the kitchen island, inhaling the fresh scent of instant coffee wafting from Wooyoung’s direction. “You should’ve seen him. I mean, how many men have you seen rock pink hair, let alone a buzzcut?”
“Have you seen Park Seonghwa?”
“Who?”
“Shame. You know Hongjoong? Anyang Group’s boss?”
“Ah, Seonghwa as in that Hongjoong’s sidepiece?” Wooyoung nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Mm,” you mirrored the movement in agreement, lips curling, “wouldn’t mind seeing more of him.”
“Damn right,” he laughed.
He brushed away the image of a slender frame and plush lips to redirect back to your conversation. “You seriously want this?”
“Can you do it?” Tilting your head sideways, you peered at the man before you with wide, hopeful eyes.
Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot upwards, and he walked around the island to where you were sat on a stool, placing his mug down to cup your nape, his voice raspy as he spoke, “you know better than to ask me that, darling.”
You smiled, snaking your arms underneath Wooyoung’s baggy shirt and around his waist, pulling him closer to press tender kisses over the line of his jaw, moving up to his lips while he leaned down until you were at eye-level and giving him a firm kiss.
Pearly whites peeked at Wooyoung, “then I really want this.”
“And you’ll get it,” he moved your head towards his with the hand at your nape, his nose pressing into your cheek as he kissed you until you ran out of breath, pulling away with a kitten lick to your upper lip.
Fingers scratched lightly at the back of your head, Wooyoung leaning closer once again, this time nuzzling your temples, taking in the scent of your shampoo before exhaling contently. “But,” he started, moving back until he could meet your eyes, “what about San?”
“What about him?” You feigned ignorance.
The corner of Wooyoung’s lips tugged upwards at your darting gaze. “You know how he gets. I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled watching you devour another man.”
You pouted, arms retreating from Wooyoung’s waist to cross at your chest. “He can deal with it.”
Wooyoung chuckled, moving to kiss you again, frowning when you stopped him with a hand to his chest. You spoke before he could question the movement,
“What about you? Or do you not get jealous”
His frown melted away, expression softening as you avoided his gaze, hands immediately seeking yours to guide them over his shoulders. “My love,” he peppered kisses over your cheek. “You know well how I treat bastards who dare touch what’s mine,” he craned his neck to follow your gaze, until his dark irises met yours. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”
You nodded, flashes of gore and spattered red rushed through your mind and your heart warmed at the memory of his dedication, but you weren’t convinced. “Then why—”
Wooyoung interrupted, “but, my darling, since when have you known me to turn down any of your requests?” Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pressed your foreheads together. “While our precious Sannie might want to keep you all for himself, I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you use another man to satisfy a craving,” he moved to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, “especially if he’s as hot as you described.”
You heard San’s ringtone go off, followed by a short exchange of words before his voice echoed through the suite, “jagi, Youngie’s on his way.”
San’s socked feet padded over the carpet when you didn’t reply, stopping at the bathroom doorway to admire your form, leaning over the sink while blinking into your mascara wand. He leaned against the doorframe, watching you move back to examine the drying coat of black for a second before using the tip of the wand to brush over the outer corners of your lashes.
You dropped the tube into your makeup bag and zipped it shut. Meeting San’s gaze through the mirror, you smiled—almost shyly—while smoothing down your dress, its hem resting just below your behind.
“Who are you all dressed up for?” San teased, eyes flitting down to the burgundy colouring your lips.
You turned to face him, smile still stretching your lips as you leaned back against the counter behind you. “Woo said he had a surprise for me before your match tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer, “a surprise? He didn’t mention anything to me.”
You simply shrugged, hoping he’d let it go before the excitement in your eyes betrayed you.
“Ah, I forgot to wash this for you last night,” you shifted the subject, hooking a finger under the hem of San’s singlet, the drops of dried blood staining the collar a memoir of his victory a couple nights ago.
The suspicion in San’s gaze faded, replaced with fondness. His hands reached for yours, balling them in his palms and bringing them to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each of your knuckles, “my perfect girl.”
You frowned; eyes fixed on the flaking blood smirching the white.
San breathed out a laugh, craning his neck to meet your eyes. “I’m serious, my love. It’s okay. It’s gonna get dirty again anyway.”
Seemingly unconvinced, San took your chin between his thumb and pointer and tilted your head upwards. He muttered a breathy “jagi” before his lips crashed over yours—desperate, hungry, wanting. Hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing at your waist and ass and pulling you impossibly closer to his body. You felt dizzy, arms wrapped around San’s waist and palms splayed over the toned muscle of his back. His breath was hot as it blew over your skin, tongue moving with yours and spit melting the burgundy off your lips.
San’s ringtone sounded in the other room just as strong arms lifted you onto the counter, a disgruntled groan vibrating over your lips before he pulled away to answer, planting a quick peck on your mouth before scurrying out the bathroom.
Giggling to yourself, you slid off the marble to fix the makeup San kissed off you, wiping the product that bled past your lip-line before sliding the applicator over the slightly stained skin.
San showed up at the door once again, hopping on one foot while squeezing the other into his sneakers. “C’mon baby, Youngie’s waiting for us down the street.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you packed your makeup. “Why not pick us up from here?”
“Fuck if I know,” San sighed, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his keycard.
The elevator ride was tense, the other passengers averting their gaze upon noticing San’s unabashed groping, a blank expression on both your faces while his hand disappeared under the back of your dress. You elbowed him when the landing doors opened at ground level, finally letting out an airy laugh as the other guests scurried out with hung heads, a cocky smirk forming on San’s lips.
‘Down the street’ was a much longer walk than originally anticipated, San’s grumbling indictive of his irritation, and yet his hold on your hand remained gentle, fingers tangled with yours and squeezing softly with every few steps he took.
After what felt like hours, you took a sharp left into a dark alleyway—tall buildings on either side blocking the sunlight—vivid graffiti overlapping on the damp walls, mould forming where they met the cracked pavement. The familiar white van appeared as you turned the corner, newly painted to refresh the previously peeling lettering, though the various dents in the metal remained.
Wooyoung stood leaning back against the van with a lit cigarette hanging off his bottom lip. The lit edge burned bright orange as he sucked in a breath, pushing off the cold metal to face the two of you.
“Why’d you fucking make us walk so far?” San spat, swinging his arms outwards for emphasis.
Lidded eyes met yours from a few feet away, and you attempted to maintain the faux irritation furrowing your eyebrows.
“Relax, I didn’t want anyone seeing our special guest,” he smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Even if he came here voluntarily."
San looked as heated as he was confused, “the fuck are you talking about?”
Sensing another series of string of curses coming his way, Wooyoung put his hand up to stop him. “Calm down, kitten. Here, see for yourself.”
He exhaled a final cloud of smoke, dropping the expended tobacco onto the pavement and crushing it with the toe of his boot. He stepped towards the van again, pulling the back handles until the double doors swung open. Faded pink hair peeked at you from the back corner of the small space, longer and less vibrant than you remembered, though his defined features were just as captivating; though, you’d argue the full lips looked far more alluring spread apart by the rag Wooyoung had gagged him with.
Your gaze lowered, checking him out while he sat there, staring back with his wrists tied behind his back. You wondered whether Wooyoung had surprised him while getting ready, eying the top three undone buttons of his white shirt, and those missing from his open vest.
A snicker sounded behind you, “sorry, darling, I couldn’t help but inspect the goods while waiting.”
Your shared laughter snapped San out of his trance, turning to face Wooyoung. “Isn’t this the security guard from the last museum? Wooyoung, what the fuck is this?”
Wooyoung’s calm demeanour only seemed to irritate San further, as did the dry chuckle he gave towards his alarm. “Seems like distracting the dog wasn’t enough for our pretty (y/n), she wanted to take him on a walk.”
San’s eyes widened, his head snapping to your direction only to find the space you’d occupied beside him empty.
Your knees dug into the mattress laid on the floor of the van, the used, stained fabric holding the round indent you’d left behind for a few seconds before returning to its original shape. Crawling towards your target, you realised just how much the pink had faded since you last saw him, roots retouched but his grown-out locks closer to being blonde now. He didn’t seem afraid or confused—and you’d thought Wooyoung was only trying to enrage San by hinting Mingi wanted this encounter to occur. The doe eyes that checked you out in the museum were instead replaced by a sharp gaze drowned in an unknown emotion, something sultry, dangerous. But despite the thoughts churning in Mingi’s mind, the fact remained that he was helpless in his current predicament, tied up and unable to touch the woman he so desperately wanted, the threatening presence of her two partners lingering only a few feet away.
Wooyoung watched you closely, both his and San’s eyes shifting to the exposed, pretty black lace of your panties as you crawled towards the bound man. He could sense San’s jealousy simmering beside him, his eyebrows in a deep furrow and fists clenched at his side.
“Want me to untie him?” Wooyoung poked his tongue out between his teeth as a failed attempt to hide his growing grin, awaiting San’s beratement.
Though, your voice stopped the unkind words at the tip of his tongue.
“Uh-uh,” you turned down his offer, settling on your knees, “no need.”
Turning to face the two men still outside the van, you extended a hand towards San, smiling as the crease between his eyebrows softened and he scurried towards you. Grabbing your reaching hand, he led the open palm up to his mouth and pressed five kisses onto the soft skin, inhaling deeply with each one. You smiled, waiting until he’s had his fill before leading him closer. San’s arms wrapped around your waist, his body attaching to yours like it was second nature: front flush with your back, his face buried into the side of your neck until he could smell nothing but your scent, and a faint hint of your shampoo.
You felt the van dip slightly as Wooyoung climbed into the driver’s seat, the engine sputtering before coming alive. You craned your neck to the side to meet San’s eyes, smile dripping with mischief as you spoke, “just want him to watch for now.”
—
San almost couldn’t keep up, his knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady, arms around your waist keeping you both upright as you threw yourself onto him, lips hungry and desperate as though you’d been craving his taste for days. Teeth clashed against each other, content hums and breathy moans vibrating in the air between you, your hands squeezing at the exposed muscle of his biceps, moving over his chest and down his abdomen.
Moving a few inches back, you dragged the white tank over San’s head and threw it to the side. “C’mon, Sannie,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, hooking your fingers into his waist belt to tug him closer, “don’t you wanna show our guest how good you can be for me?”
Fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, pulling roughly until your neck craned backwards. San’s voice had a rasp to it, dripping with lust he desperately tried to conceal, “don’t push it.”
The corner of your mouth curled, “that’s not being good,” a choked scoff blowing against San’s face, “maybe Mingi here can do better?”
You twisted your head sideways despite the resistance, meeting Mingi’s wide eyes for merely a second before your gaze was forced forwards once again.
“(Y/n),” his tone dripped with warning.
You swiped a finger over San’s bottom lip, protruding yours slightly to egg him on further. “Sannie,” you purred, smiling at the faint flutter of his lashes upon hearing the pleasant sound. “C’mon, baby, show Mingi how good you make me feel.”
Your eyes locked on Wooyoung’s through the rearview mirror while San manhandled you onto his lap, perhaps a little too calm as his gaze travelled over your bare skin and the thin sheet of sweat reflecting the sunlight peeking through the windshield. Your dress tossed somewhere behind you, back stuck to San’s chest and your legs hooked over his thighs, you could feel a flush creeping up your chest upon noticing your position—sat in San’s lap, spread open and bare while Mingi’s eyes roamed over the expanse of smooth skin.
Two fingers circled your clit, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden touch, exhaling a content sigh when he didn’t waste time sliding them past your pulsing hole. San leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into the junction of your neck as he pumped his fingers slowly.
Sensing the unusual warmth of your skin, a smile stretched his lips. “Oh darling, isn’t it a bit too late to be feeling shy?”
“Shut up,” you moaned, tilting your head to the side to make room for San’s peppered kisses.
Your cunt squelched with every thrust, and you kept your eyes trained on Mingi while it spat slick around San’s fingers. He curled them into your sweet spot, soft ‘ah’s leaving your parted lips as pleasure soared through your body, eyes lidded and head lolling to the side, San’s fingers fucking you open and simultaneously dragging you towards the edge of your release.
“San, Sannie, right there, baby—hnngh, yeah,” his name dripping like honey off your lips.
You grabbed onto his wrist, tight yet not restraining his ministrations, your back arching off his abdomen when his free hand slapped your clit.
“So close already?” San teased into your ear, though his eyes were sharp and contemptuous upon meeting Mingi’s over your shoulder. “I see the audience has got you all worked up.”
His palm landed onto your clit again, and again, content watching your hips jump then fall back onto his lap with each slap.
“Sannie, please,” you panted, hips rolling towards his hands as he played with your cunt, nearly crying out when he pinched your clit between his thumb and pointer, vision blurring when you finally came.
San’s fingers continued pressing your g-spot, languidly to extend your orgasm, his other hand cupping your inner thigh and taking in the tremors shaking your form. His lips found their way back to your neck—blossoming bruises of red and blue scattered over the delicate skin—while his eyes remained on Mingi, as though an unspoken challenge was being communicated between the two men.
Slipping his fingers out from between your clenching walls, San readjusted your position on his lap, moving you sideways so your legs dangled off one of his thighs, an arm around your back holding you upright with your head resting on his shoulder. Mingi watched silently as San leaned down to press a delicate kiss to your lips, checking up on you through whispered questions while massaging the tired muscles of your thighs. It was like he was non-existent, merely a prop in the small bubble enveloping the two of you.
It wasn’t until your tired eyes met his that the bubble popped, and Mingi snapped out of his thoughts. You sat up, your gaze suddenly alert and glimmering with hints of mischief, beginning to crawl towards the man merely a few feet away after San had begrudgingly let you go.
With just a few inches separating your faces, you pulled the wet rag between his lips down to hang around his neck, “did you enjoy that?”
Mingi began nodding before you could finish the question, “yes,” he cleared his throat, the rasp in his voice sending a wave of heat down to your core, and San could see your pussy clench from where he was sat behind you.
“Mm,” you hummed, “I could tell.”
You smiled, tilting your head down to drag your attention to Mingi’s crotch, his cock hard and straining against the constraints of his dress pants. You brushed your fingertips over his zipper, smiling wider at the displeased groan sounding behind you, looking back up at Mingi when a chocked moan left his full lips, a thick gulp following it.
He rested his head against the back of the driver’s seat, taking you in wordlessly through hooded eyes, watching as you reached between your legs to swipe your fingers through your sopping cunt only to bring them back to hover in front of Mingi’s face.
“Be a good boy,” you whispered, and pushed your fingers past his plush lips.
Mingi didn’t need to be told twice, taking them like a starved man and moaning unabashedly as your slick met his tastebuds, rolling his tongue around the digits and sucking them deeper into his mouth. You felt yourself getting wetter, squeezing your thighs together while running your fingers down Mingi’s tongue until he gagged. His whine when you slid them out nearly made you cum, his head moving to chase your retreating fingers, your lingering taste alone driving him halfway to madness.
So, you brought them back, this time hovering around and over his lips despite his attempts to take them inside his mouth. Brushing your thumb through the spit soaking his lips, you shoved it past them to hook behind his bottom teeth, tugging his head forward and removing your hand just before your lips crashed. It was sloppy, way too much teeth and saliva and tongue, and yet your pussy ached, skin buzzing and your need growing the longer your mouth moved against Mingi’s. Lust guided you, your fingers squeezing around Mingi’s cock through his pants while your tongue ran across his teeth, the raspy moans reverberating against your skin fanning the fire burning within your core.
Warmth spread against your back, San’s body covering yours and his hand closing around your chin to pull you off Mingi, pausing to take in the gloss covering both your lips before his irritation grew once again, “don’t slobber on another man’s face when I’m the one fucking you.”
You visibly shuddered at his words, arching back against his torso and leaning forward to catch his lips, barely brushing against then when Mingi’s voice startled you away,
“You’re cruel, miss,” he mumbled, as though talking to himself, yet his eyes fixed on your flushed face. Noting your confusion—and San’s glare—he continued, “I called that number so many times,” he breathed deeply between each of the last three words, his voice dropping at octave as he mumbled the rest of his sentence “’kept wondering whether you tasted as sweet as you smelled.”
San felt the shiver shaking your body, and your pussy getting wetter against his cock where it lay slotted between your legs. He was so occupied with this sultry exchange he didn’t notice the engine’s silence until the doors behind him swung open. A quick peak over his shoulder calmed his reflexes, arms relaxing around your waist as Wooyoung crawled towards him.
Just as he turned his attention back to the pink-haired man admiring you with heart eyes and a tongue heavy with honey-laced words, the string of curses nearly leaving San’s mouth got interrupted,
“Oh come on, Sannie, loosen up a little,” Wooyoung ribbed, dragging his fingertips up San’s spine. “Our friend Mingi here was so excited when he heard (y/n) wanted to see him.”
“Youngie, stay out of this,” San growled, feline eyes narrowing in warning.
Scoffing, Wooyoung left San’s side with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and a whispered “suit yourself,” moving towards your guest. You both sat back and watched as Wooyoung grabbed Mingi’s defined jaw and smashed their lips together. It was almost like watching your prior kiss from a new perspective—Wooyoung was clearly leading, sucking the plush of Mingi’s lips into his own, digging his tongue into his mouth to seek out more of him, and sneaking his hand lower to palm over his cock. His touch was rough, rendering Mingi unable to do anything but groan against Wooyoung’s mouth, the gravelly sound travelling right to your core.
“More,” he recited, tugging against the restraints at the small of his back while simultaneously fucking up into Wooyoung’s palm. All the while, Wooyoung’s kisses remained relentless, teeth digging into Mingi’s bottom lip and tongue roaming within his mouth, wanting nothing but to manhandle the taller man and take him however he wanted. He held back, though, your excitement in the back of his mind while he enjoyed what he could have.
San was starstruck, his irritation with Mingi long since fizzled away, wholly incapable of moving his eyes off the scene before him, so turned on he imagined a fire would burn less than the heat spreading under his skin.
He hissed as your fingers wrapped around his length, bringing him back to the present and aligning him with your entrance, a nonvocal appeal in the lookback you’d given him. So he slid inside you with a muttered curse, throwing his head back as your heat engulfed him, pleasure soaring through his body at the tight squeeze of his throbbing cock between your walls.
You felt so full, satiated with San finally inside you. Lowering yourself onto your elbows, you allowed your head to hang limp while San thrusted experimentally, jolting you forward with an airy ‘ah’ leaving your lips.
Wooyoung finally parted from Mingi’s now-swollen mouth, glancing behind him at the sound and missing how the other man had leaned in for more. Pretending as though he hadn’t shaken Mingi’s world and possibly given him a sexuality crisis, Wooyoung moved his attention to you and San. He watched shamelessly as San’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing and pulling until you sat upright on your knees, tits jumping and lips parting as ecstasy blurred your vision. He was so deep, so heavy where he sat within you, sheathing his full length inside your cunt before pulling out once again.
Following the minute shifts in your expression—brows furrowing then relaxing, lips parted and spit pooling at the reddened corners, your lashes fluttering each time San drove his cock into you—Wooyoung couldn’t stand still any longer. His lips were on yours before you could even register him moving, fingers tangling with the hair at the back of your head to push your faces impossibly closer. He inhaled deeply where his nose dug into your cheek, pulling away slightly only to press wet kisses onto your mouth, allowing you to breathe while he continued satisfying his hunger.
Mingi gulped, also sat up on his knees now and staring directly at San. And as much as San attempted to look away, to focus on his partners making out in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes off the other man’s lips—somehow fuller than ever, red and slightly chapped from Wooyoung’s relentless nips. Walking a step forward on his knees, Mingi now sat a few inches away from San’s face, and he took the opportunity to lean even closer, frowning when San flinched backwards on instinct.
Noticing the exchange in his peripheral, Wooyoung untangled a hand from your hair to wrap around San’s head and push him forward, successfully ending his resistance when his lips touched Mingi’s.
San could taste you both on Mingi’s lips, nearly shying away them as the other man towered over him, acting as though he’d wanted to put San in this position ever since he’d gotten in this van. Spit-soaked teeth closed around his bottom lip, dragging it with them as Mingi pulled away, only to move back in for more.
You could feel San throbbing inside you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, losing his rhythm while Mingi was on him. They sounded downright sinful, and one look over your shoulder clamped your pussy down around San, a throaty moan vibrating over Mingi’s lips.
Wooyoung left you with a tender kiss, sneaking around the tangled bodies to reach San’s posterior and bending forward to graze his lips against the shell of his ear, jolting him away from Mingi.
“Seems like our dear Sannie is finally enjoying himself,” he sneered, running his pointer over San’s pert hole and smiling wider at his startled gasp.
Drowning out the conversation behind you, your eyes fell on the tent in Mingi’s pants. You peeled San’s limp fingers from your throat and bent at your waist, placing your palms on his thick thighs to push him into a seated position. It didn’t take long to free his cock from its constraints, Mingi’s eyes wide and wanting, leaning his body back on his elbows, wrists violently tugging against the cloth around them until Wooyoung’s dark glare over San’s shoulder ceased his attempts.
You pumped his length once, taking in Mingi’s rough groan while in awe at the sheer amount of precum coating his reddened skin. You paused before taking him in your mouth, squeezing your fist around the tip and forcing Mingi’s eyes to roll back momentarily, though your head hung low and an elongated moan dragged off your tongue as San adjusted his angle, fucking up into your g-spot until splotches of white spread across your vision.
“Fuck, Sannie— So good,” you tilted your head back, lips parted as another moan slipped past them.
Mingi’s cock jumped in your hold, and you didn’t waste time lurching forward to suck the tip into your mouth. The tang overwhelming your tastebuds goaded you to take him further, flattening your tongue against the underside of his length and lowering yourself until his cockhead nudged your uvula.
“Fuuuck,” Mingi moaned on an exhale, his hips moving upwards in light thrusts to meet your mouth halfway, eyes fluttering shut each time he bottomed out within your tight channel.
You felt lightheaded, Mingi’s taste on your tongue and the deep baritone of his voice driving you to take him further inside. You could barely breathe, the backs of your thighs on fire, San’s slamming against your skin as he fucked into you like a crazed man, pushing you forward until Mingi’s cock bumped the back of your throat. Tears blurred your vision, gagging around his length before pulling off to rest your head over his quivering thigh, but San remained relentless, pumping his cock inside you until your moans went quiet, your mouth open helplessly while burning pleasure overtook your senses.
It took you a few seconds to regain your breath, and you were sucking Mingi’s cock back into your mouth before he could even check up on you. He fought against his restrains, wanting nothing but to tangle his ringed fingers through your hair, to guide your head over the length of his cock until your spit ran down the sides.
“You can do better,” Wooyoung’s voice startled San away from his thoughts, noticing his hand going limp around Wooyoung’s cock. “Look at our pretty girl taking the both of you so well,” he compared teasingly, curling his fingers inside San while he spoke.
“Youngie, ah—fuck, ‘want a turn?” San asked, ignoring the provocation in Wooyoung’s tone and squeezing around his leaking tip.
“Mm,” he hummed into his ear, leaning some of his weight on San’s side and planting a kiss over his shoulder, “fill ‘er up for me,” another kiss on the back of his neck, “I’ll have my fun with you later.”
The purposely harsh thrust Wooyoung gave prodded right at San’s prostate, his cock jumping inside you at the stimulation and his mind going hazy.
“Fuck me, ‘m gonna cum,” San panted, squeezing around the other man while he jerked him off before letting go, instead reaching back to grab his wrist to stop his fingers from driving him off the edge.
“Ah, Sannie, feels so good,” you mumbled while kissing over Mingi’s cockhead, digging the tip of your tongue into the slit to watch his eyes roll back.
You clamped down around San when Mingi spoke suddenly, “please, please, please, miss, oh god—I’m so close,” his head hung sideways to rest over his shoulder as he watched you swallow his cock through lidded eyes.
Your pussy squelched loudly around San, slick running down the inside of your thighs, and jealousy panged painfully within his chest as he watched you deepthroat the man sat in front of him. He let go of Wooyoung, bowing forward to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull your body towards him, Mingi’s cock slipping out of your mouth with a whine and falling heavily against his lower belly.
“San, what—”
“Don’t you even think about coming in her mouth,” San interrupted to address Mingi, balancing on one hand with the other tucking you closely against his chest. “You haven’t earned that yet.”
Yet.
The word alone made precum drip down Mingi’s cock, his voice a higher pitch as he whined disgracefully, “please, ‘wanna cum so bad,” he thrust his hips in the air involuntarily.
San paused inside you, as though contemplating for a few seconds before his hips stuttered and regained their previous pace, your hand flying to wrap around San’s hand where it dug into the mattress. And just when you’d thought the pleasure had completely dumbed you out, San slowly withdrew the arm around you and waited until you settled onto your elbows, pressing his lips to your crown before shifting his attention back to Mingi.
Wordlessly, he reached towards him and wrapped his fingers around his cock, Mingi’s sharp hiss sounding in the stuffy van as San began getting him off.
“Go on then, cum.”
Despite the animosity in his tone, you could feel San grow thicker inside you, stretching your cunt out even further. Squeezing San’s free hand, you laid your top half on the mattress and waited until Mingi absentmindedly scooted closer, resting your head on his thigh to watch San’s fist pumping his girth. San’s pace slowed while he focused on the cock in his hand, and you couldn’t complain, Mingi’s rasp in your ear and his thighs shaking underneath you, thick ropes of cum spurting from his angry tip and splattering onto the side of your face.
San waited until he’d drained Mingi completely before letting him go, his eyebrows raising when your hand took his place, squeezing around his base to hear him hiss in sensitivity. But you kept going, lifting your head and squeezing his wet cock until he began spasming, the overstimulation stretching his vocal cords until he sounded thoroughly pathetic. He panted like a dog even after you’d let him go, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d act when pussydrunk—your hole dripping with his load, his airy begging echoing in your ear while you slid down on him yet again, fucking yourself full of his softening cock.
An abrupt change in position paused your forming fantasy, eyes fixing on the van’s roof before San slipped into your field of vision, dimpled cheeks and warm smile lighting a gentle fire in your chest.
“Where were we?” He whispered, your familiar bubble forming around you once again as he leaned down to kiss you.
His lips were soft, moving leisurely over yours as though you were a hallowed treasure, an invaluable jewel he’d set out to heist. His cupped your jaw, burning palm against your heated skin tilting your head so he could move impossibly closer, deepening the kiss until you feared he’d devour you. Reaching between your bodies, San aligned himself and pushed inside you once again, his groan and yours mingling in the negligible air between you.
He started off slow, letting out a shuddered moan as the tight heat of your pussy sucked him in, so deep he considered never pulling out. San fit inside you like he was born to fuck you dumb, his cockhead pressing your sweet spot every time he buried himself within your cunt, pushing more of your slick out and down past where he stretched you out.
San’s hips stuttered just as he’d built up his pace, the feeling of sneaky fingers prodding at his hole again dragging his attention off your face, his features contorting when Wooyoung easily slipped two fingers into his ass. A guttural moan left his lips, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut as he got stretched open, his hands squeezing around your waist while he adjusted.
“Is it too much, Sannie?” Wooyoung provoked him, and you knew it was his own wicked way of getting back at San for leaving him out. You could tell by the violent throbbing between your walls that San was close, and Wooyoung loved playing with San when he was desperate to cum. “’You gonna cum before our girl?”
San snapped his head towards him, glaring despite his predicament—two fingers pumping inside him and your pussy squeezing around his cock. He was in no position to glower at anyone, and yet your small giggle set him off further. He turned his attention to you, moving back to meet Wooyoung’s fingers and forward to piston his cock into your sopping hole. You sensed your orgasm building back up, arching an extra inch off the stained mattress each time San drove into you, lowering himself even more to wrap his lips around your nipple, biting and sucking it raw before licking a strip up your cleavage to the dip between your collarbones.
“Need you to come, baby, let go for me,” he wrapped both arms around you, whining between desperate groans, the stimulation from both sides almost too much for him.
You nodded wildly, a repetition of his name falling off your lips like honey-laced poison; San’s heart nearly arrested.
He untangled one of arms from your quivering form to reach for your clit, frantically flicking and rubbing until you began spasming in his arms, the whites of your eyes showing before you’d squeezed your lids together, jerking away from San’s touch yet rolling your hips towards it. Fiery pleasure blinded your senses, oxytocin rushing through your veins while your orgasm crashed into you like a cyclone wave, twitching uncontrollably within San’s hold.
It didn’t take long for San to follow, deep, breathy ‘ah’s leaving him while your pussy clenched around his cock, barely able to move as you held onto him while you came. Behind him, Wooyoung remained mostly impassive, humping San’s hip while his fingers massaged his prostate, opting to hurriedly jerk himself off instead when San’s thighs began shaking.
San could feel his sanity slipping away, Wooyoung’s fingers milking him of all he had. His cum spurted out of him in hot ropes while he hysterically grinded into you, stuffing your womb full of his seed. His moans lowered an octave, dropping himself over you while still coming, a stream of liquid squeezing past his cock and down to seep into the mattress below you.
At the first uncomfortable whine from the overstimulated man, Wooyoung pulled his fingers out, fucking his slick-covered fist until white ribbons painted San’s back, a few drops landing over his pulsing hole. He could help but reach forward to run a rough thumb over it, pushing his cum inside until San reached back to swat him away with a curse.
Wooyoung took you in from where he towered over you— sweat covered your entire body, skin sticking to San’s as he laid on top of you, head resting on your shoulder; your tits were bitten and bruised from his rough mouth, a bitemark circling your nipple, and cum dripping out of your cunt which San’s softening cock still resided within. Moving his eyes back to your face, they softened at your relaxed features, hooded eyes peering back at him and a warm, grateful smile on your lips. His cock twitched in interest upon noticing Mingi’s drying cum splattered over your face, his tongue poking the side of his mouth, aching for a taste.
Wooyoung grabbed San’s discarded singlet to wipe off the slick wetting his fingers, figuring the man wouldn’t mind another fluid staining the fabric. It was only then that he noticed your guest’s presence, fucked-out with flushed skin and blown-out pupils slowly lifting off your stretched hole to meet Wooyoung’s. Mingi’s own cum coated his toned abdomen, the muscle shaking as he took a shuddering breath in.
Wooyoung’s lips curled with something dangerous, and Mingi nearly flinched. His words, however, lit a treacherous wildfire within him and spread to his core.
“Be good, Mangi,” the nickname coming naturally, “and who knows? Maybe you’ll get the chance to taste her someday.”
Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.
Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 18.1k
Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.
Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.
His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.
“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”
He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.
“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”
His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”
You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.
You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.
“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”
He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.
You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”
A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”
The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.
“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”
He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.
“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.
“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.
Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.
He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”
“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”
“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”
Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.
His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.
Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.
“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”
“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.
Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.
“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”
“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”
You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.
“I said hold still.”
“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.
“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”
You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.
“I love you,” you whisper.
His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.
“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”
“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”
“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”
“Ooh, would you—”
“No.”
You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”
“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”
“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”
“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”
“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”
He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”
You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.
“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.
“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”
The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.
“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”
“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”
“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”
“No promises.”
He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.
“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”
“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.
“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”
“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”
Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”
“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”
“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”
He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”
“Really?” you sniffle.
“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”
A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”
“But am I prettier?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”
Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”
“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”
“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”
“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”
“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”
“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”
“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”
You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”
“That’s not how marriage works.”
“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”
Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”
“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”
“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”
You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.
“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.
“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”
“We’re literally married.”
“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”
“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”
“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”
He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”
“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”
“I’m begging you to stop.”
“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”
He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”
“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”
“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”
He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.
You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”
“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.
You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.
“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.
“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Cheol?” you whisper.
“Mm?”
“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”
“Woman, I swear to—”
“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.
“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”
You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.
“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”
You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.
“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”
Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.
Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.
“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”
“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.
“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.
“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”
“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”
His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.
“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”
“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.
“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”
“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”
“Third date,” he repeats faintly.
“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”
Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.
“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.
“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”
But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.
Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”
“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.
“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.
“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”
“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”
You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”
He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”
“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”
“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”
“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”
“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.”
But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.
But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.
But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.
He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.
You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.
“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.
Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—
Your eyes fly open.
“Oh no.”
The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.
“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.
He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.
“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.
“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”
“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”
His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Cheol.”
“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”
You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”
“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”
“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”
“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”
“I was a disaster.”
“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”
“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.
“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”
“Seungcheol.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”
You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”
“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”
Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.
“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.
“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”
“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”
“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”
“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”
“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…
“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”
The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,
“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”
“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”
Your breath catches.
“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”
“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”
“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”
“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.
Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.
You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.
“Cheol?”
“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”
You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.
“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”
“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.
“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”
Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.
“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”
“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”
It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.
You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”
You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,
“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.
“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”
“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”
He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”
You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”
When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”
You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”
This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.
His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”
You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”
“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.
“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”
You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.
“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”
“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.
“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”
“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”
Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”
“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”
“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.
“What’s not fair?”
“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”
“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”
Your breath catches. “Are we?”
“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”
“Seungcheol—”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”
You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.
“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”
“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.
“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Yes, god, yes—”
His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.
“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”
“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…
“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”
His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.
“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”
You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”
“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”
“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”
You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”
So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.
About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.
“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.
“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”
“You’re a fein.”
“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”
“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”
“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”
“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.
“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.
“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”
One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”
“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”
“Need what, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”
He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.
“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.
“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”
“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.
“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”
His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.
“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.
“You really did research.”
“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”
Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”
“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”
“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.
“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”
And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.
Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.
“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”
And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.
“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.
“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”
“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”
“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”
“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”
“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”
The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.
“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.
He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.
“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.
“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”
“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”
“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”
“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”
“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”
“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.
You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if not?”
“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”
His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”
“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”
“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”
“And then?”
“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”
“Again?!”
“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”
You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.
“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”
“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.
After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.
The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”
“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”
“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”
“That’s not—oh—”
His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”
“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”
“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”
“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.
This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.
“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”
“Cheol, baby please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”
You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.
The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.
You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.
You made it halfway through your sandwich.
“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.
“I’m eating—”
“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”
“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.
“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”
“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.
The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.
“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, god, anywhere—”
“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”
The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.
“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”
You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.
“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.
“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.
When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.
“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”
“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.
“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”
The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.
“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”
You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.
When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.
You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.
“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.
“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”
“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”
He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”
“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”
“Into what?”
“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”
He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”
“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”
“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”
“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”
You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”
And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?
Well.
You’d had worse problems.
“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”
“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.
Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.
You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.
“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”
“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.
What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.
You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.
The office after hours? Check.
The car in the parking garage? Check.
The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.
But this—this was a new level, even for him.
“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”
“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”
“That’s not the point—”
“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”
“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”
You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”
The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.
It was romantic. Just also obscene.
“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”
There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.
“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”
“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”
“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”
His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”
The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.
“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.
“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.
“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”
You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”
“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”
“You’re counting?”
“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.
“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”
“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”
He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”
“We literally just finished—”
“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”
It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.
“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.
“Anything.”
“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”
“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”
He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.
This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.
“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”
He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”
“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”
“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”
“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”
But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.
Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn’t make it to dinner.
Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.
“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”
“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”
He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”
“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”
“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”
You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”
“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”
His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”
“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”
“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”
“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”
And he did.
You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.
Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.
“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”
“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”
“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”
Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.
“Cheol, this is going to tip—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.
“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.
“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.
His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.
“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”
“Cheol! You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”
“Someone could see—”
“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”
“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”
His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.
“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”
You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”
You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.
“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”
You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.
The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.
“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”
“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.
“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”
“Kids, plural?”
“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”
“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”
“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”
“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”
You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.
“Morning,” you murmured.
“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”
“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”
“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”
“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”
The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”
“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”
“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.
You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.
“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.
You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”
“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.
“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”
His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”
He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?
Totally worth it.
The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.
You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.
“Did I forget something?”
You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.
“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”
“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”
“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”
“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”
His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”
Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”
His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”
“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”
“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”
“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”
“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”
“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”
“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”
“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”
“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”
“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”
Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.
Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”
“To seduce me before dinner?”
“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”
His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”
“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”
He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”
“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”
“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”
“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.
“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”
“We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”
You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.
“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.
“About the baby thing.”
That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”
Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”
You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”
“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”
“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”
He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”
“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”
“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.
Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.
“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” you repeat.
And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.
Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.
Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.
“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.
“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”
The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”
“Que?”
You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.
“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”
Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…
“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”
Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”
Your own heart seems to stop entirely.
“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”
“How early were you testing?”
“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”
“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”
The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.
Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.
“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”
Your baby.
“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”
“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”
“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”
“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”
“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”
Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.
“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”
Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.
“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”
“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”
“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”
“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”
“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”
“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”
“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”
“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”
“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”
The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.
“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”
Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”
“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”
“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”
“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”
“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.
“Little bit. You?”
“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.
“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.
“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”
“So spoiled.”
“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”
“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”
“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”
“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”
“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.
“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”
“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”
“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”
“Planning what?”
“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”
You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” you say softly.
Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.
“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”
“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.
All those months of trying.
All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.
Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.
Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.
You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.
Best surprise ever.
You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.
Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.
“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.
“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”
You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”
“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”
“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”
“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”
“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”
“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”
You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.
“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”
Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.
His baby. The thought still makes him feral.
“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”
And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.
“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.
“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.
“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”
“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”
You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.
“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.
“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”
“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”
“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.
“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”
“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”
“You just…we literally just—”
“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.
Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.
He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.
You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.
He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”
His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.
“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”
“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.
He does.
“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.
“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”
“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.
“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”
“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.
“I look pregnant.”
“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”
You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”
“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”
“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”
Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”
“Cheol.”
“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”
“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”
“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”
“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”
“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”
“Exactly, very responsible.”
“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”
“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.
“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.
The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.
This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.
This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.
Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.
Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.
you call your boyfriend by his stage name as a prank. he does not like this.
[ warnings \ tropes ] idol au, fluff, est. relationship, boyfriend seungcheol, grumpy cheol, reader pranks him by calling him s.coups/coups, lots of kissing, pouting (mainly from coups), he's a whiner guys </3
[ saint's voice note ! ] still not happy with my icon selection but this fic is more important to you guys than it is to me so...we ball! we're also 59 followers away from 1k?? so there's that 😭😭 ANYWAYS enjoy! i love you and thank you for reading <3
[ saint's now playing... ] can't feel my face -> the weeknd
[ wc / writing for ] 1,022 / @kstrucknet @k-records
it all started when you thought to yourself how good of an idea it would be to prank your boyfriend after he got home from work.
"welcome home, coups." you greet seungcheol at the door, pecking his cheek as you take his things from his arms. he looks tired, but offers a cute smile to you anyways, pulling you in for a greedy kiss as he huffs afterwards.
seungcheol doesn't even seem to notice you're calling him by his stage name, and so you just smile, prancing off into the living room as he trudges behind you.
he finds a seat in the kitchen, sleepily climbing on top of a stool as he lets his head hit the counter. "rough day?" you question him, and he nods, groaning as he runs his hands over his tired face.
"very rough. choreographing for a solo i had no intention of dancing to is the worst thing ever." seungcheol whines, and you chuckle, throwing your head back as you glance at him to gage his reaction.
"you're just being dramatic, s.coups. lighten up! you always deliver when the fans want it," you turn your back to him to prepare the stove for dinner, but you can feel his dark brown gaze hot on your back. oh, you're definitely paying attention now, you say to yourself.
sure enough, when you turn around to put the cutting board down on the countertop, seungcheol's glaring at you like you've said a curse word in front of a bunch of kindergarteners.
"what?" you question innocently, even going as far to cock your head to the side in faux confusion. seungcheol's eyebrows scrunch slightly before he shakes his head, running a hand through his tousled hair as he shrugs.
"thought i heard you say something." he mumbles, annoyingly digging his phone from his pocket as the buzz of a phone call sounds off.
"not now, please," he says aloud, powering off the device before smacking it against the counter face-down. his head is on the marble again, cheek smudged against the surface as he glances up at you with those puppy dog eyes.
"what are you making, baby? already smells so good," seungcheol groans like a little baby, making you giggle as you throw the chopped vegetables into a bowl.
"some recipe i found on the internet." you reply, turning your back to him to put the vegetables in the pan and fry them in butter. "hey, coups, will you hand me the shredded cheese out of the fridge?"
the chair pauses mid-scrape just seconds after your question is posed, and seungcheol's burning holes through your head with his intent gaze. you turn around to meet him, feigning confusion once again as you speak. "what's wrong?"
"you keep calling me that." seungcheol says, and you laugh, shaking your head at him as if you're clueless. "calling you what? what are you talking about?"
"you've called me 'coups' twice now. you never do that." seungcheol says, dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his plump lips turn up in a pout.
"you're being silly. i haven't called you that at all! are you hearing things?" you combat his claims just as quickly as he brings t]hem up, and he just glances at you, silently fulfilling your request as he plops the bag of cheese next to the stove.
"thanks, s.coups." you peck his cheek, and he freezes in place, eyes widening just a fraction as he realizes what you've said.
"see! you just called me s.coups!" seungcheol points to himself, and you stare blankly at him, silent as he stares at you accusingly. he's towering over you now, not only tired and grumpy from his tiring work day, but now your constant 'slip-ups'.
"why are you calling me that? you know that's my stage name. when i'm off the clock, you know i want you to call me cheol. seungcheol, even. i just..." seungcheol trails off, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he mumbles.
"i want you to call me by my real name. when i'm home, i'm yours. not carats, or anyone else's. just—just yours."
that makes your heart soften instantly, and you set your spatula down, taking seungcheol in for an embrace as you smile. "okay. i'm sorry for pranking you."
"it's okay, baby, i—" seungcheol pauses mid-sentence when he registers your words, and you can't help but laugh aloud at his reaction. "what? prank?"
"yeah! i thought i would prank you once you got home from work, and so i decided to call you by your stage name until you realized it." you explain, and seungcheol rolls his eyes, a small smile escaping nevertheless as he scrunches his face up at you.
"you little devil," he lowly teases, and you shrug pridefully, glancing over at him as you nod. "what can i say? you're all cute when you start confessing to me."
"god, ignore...ignore what i said earlier. if i knew you were pranking me, i would've—" seungcheol starts, and you stop him, stuffing hot vegetables into his mouth as he chews hurriedly.
"save it, cheol." you tease, gloating in the way his cheeks heat up so easily at the simple nickname. "we both know how soft you get when i call you by your full name."
"i hate you." seungcheol grumbles with a smile on his face as he kisses your neck, and you smile proudly, stirring the vegetables as his arms find their way around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder as you nod. "i love you too, seungcheol."
"okay, stop calling me that." seungcheol says, and you oblige for a second, more than ready to carry on the teasing. "right, s.coups. sorry."
"...never mind." the words are so quiet you can barely hear them, but you know seungcheol's blushing now, lips curving into a small smirk on your skin as he huffs a sigh. "i like seungcheol ten times better."
"me too." you nod, ruffling seungcheol's hair with your free hand as he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck even more.
you call your boyfriend by his stage name as a prank. he does not like this.
[ warnings \ tropes ] idol au, fluff, est. relationship, boyfriend seungcheol, grumpy cheol, reader pranks him by calling him s.coups/coups, lots of kissing, pouting (mainly from coups), he's a whiner guys </3
[ saint's voice note ! ] still not happy with my icon selection but this fic is more important to you guys than it is to me so...we ball! we're also 59 followers away from 1k?? so there's that 😭😭 ANYWAYS enjoy! i love you and thank you for reading <3
[ saint's now playing... ] can't feel my face -> the weeknd
[ wc / writing for ] 1,022 / @kstrucknet @k-records
it all started when you thought to yourself how good of an idea it would be to prank your boyfriend after he got home from work.
"welcome home, coups." you greet seungcheol at the door, pecking his cheek as you take his things from his arms. he looks tired, but offers a cute smile to you anyways, pulling you in for a greedy kiss as he huffs afterwards.
seungcheol doesn't even seem to notice you're calling him by his stage name, and so you just smile, prancing off into the living room as he trudges behind you.
he finds a seat in the kitchen, sleepily climbing on top of a stool as he lets his head hit the counter. "rough day?" you question him, and he nods, groaning as he runs his hands over his tired face.
"very rough. choreographing for a solo i had no intention of dancing to is the worst thing ever." seungcheol whines, and you chuckle, throwing your head back as you glance at him to gage his reaction.
"you're just being dramatic, s.coups. lighten up! you always deliver when the fans want it," you turn your back to him to prepare the stove for dinner, but you can feel his dark brown gaze hot on your back. oh, you're definitely paying attention now, you say to yourself.
sure enough, when you turn around to put the cutting board down on the countertop, seungcheol's glaring at you like you've said a curse word in front of a bunch of kindergarteners.
"what?" you question innocently, even going as far to cock your head to the side in faux confusion. seungcheol's eyebrows scrunch slightly before he shakes his head, running a hand through his tousled hair as he shrugs.
"thought i heard you say something." he mumbles, annoyingly digging his phone from his pocket as the buzz of a phone call sounds off.
"not now, please," he says aloud, powering off the device before smacking it against the counter face-down. his head is on the marble again, cheek smudged against the surface as he glances up at you with those puppy dog eyes.
"what are you making, baby? already smells so good," seungcheol groans like a little baby, making you giggle as you throw the chopped vegetables into a bowl.
"some recipe i found on the internet." you reply, turning your back to him to put the vegetables in the pan and fry them in butter. "hey, coups, will you hand me the shredded cheese out of the fridge?"
the chair pauses mid-scrape just seconds after your question is posed, and seungcheol's burning holes through your head with his intent gaze. you turn around to meet him, feigning confusion once again as you speak. "what's wrong?"
"you keep calling me that." seungcheol says, and you laugh, shaking your head at him as if you're clueless. "calling you what? what are you talking about?"
"you've called me 'coups' twice now. you never do that." seungcheol says, dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his plump lips turn up in a pout.
"you're being silly. i haven't called you that at all! are you hearing things?" you combat his claims just as quickly as he brings t]hem up, and he just glances at you, silently fulfilling your request as he plops the bag of cheese next to the stove.
"thanks, s.coups." you peck his cheek, and he freezes in place, eyes widening just a fraction as he realizes what you've said.
"see! you just called me s.coups!" seungcheol points to himself, and you stare blankly at him, silent as he stares at you accusingly. he's towering over you now, not only tired and grumpy from his tiring work day, but now your constant 'slip-ups'.
"why are you calling me that? you know that's my stage name. when i'm off the clock, you know i want you to call me cheol. seungcheol, even. i just..." seungcheol trails off, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he mumbles.
"i want you to call me by my real name. when i'm home, i'm yours. not carats, or anyone else's. just—just yours."
that makes your heart soften instantly, and you set your spatula down, taking seungcheol in for an embrace as you smile. "okay. i'm sorry for pranking you."
"it's okay, baby, i—" seungcheol pauses mid-sentence when he registers your words, and you can't help but laugh aloud at his reaction. "what? prank?"
"yeah! i thought i would prank you once you got home from work, and so i decided to call you by your stage name until you realized it." you explain, and seungcheol rolls his eyes, a small smile escaping nevertheless as he scrunches his face up at you.
"you little devil," he lowly teases, and you shrug pridefully, glancing over at him as you nod. "what can i say? you're all cute when you start confessing to me."
"god, ignore...ignore what i said earlier. if i knew you were pranking me, i would've—" seungcheol starts, and you stop him, stuffing hot vegetables into his mouth as he chews hurriedly.
"save it, cheol." you tease, gloating in the way his cheeks heat up so easily at the simple nickname. "we both know how soft you get when i call you by your full name."
"i hate you." seungcheol grumbles with a smile on his face as he kisses your neck, and you smile proudly, stirring the vegetables as his arms find their way around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder as you nod. "i love you too, seungcheol."
"okay, stop calling me that." seungcheol says, and you oblige for a second, more than ready to carry on the teasing. "right, s.coups. sorry."
"...never mind." the words are so quiet you can barely hear them, but you know seungcheol's blushing now, lips curving into a small smirk on your skin as he huffs a sigh. "i like seungcheol ten times better."
"me too." you nod, ruffling seungcheol's hair with your free hand as he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck even more.
synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.
pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader
wc: 21.1k
genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff
cw: slice of life, miscommunication, anxiety, fear of future, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, jk had a tough time at work, mentions of injuries, tension, yearning, angsty confrontation, alcohol consumption, confessions, fluffy moments, 18+ ONLY, oral (f&m), rimming (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, cum eating, jk watches pix, protected sex, accidental orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, aftercare
a/n: finally here!! 😛🎉 as always, enjoy~
masterlist | prologue | act i. | act ii. | act iii.
Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?
You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.
And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words.
Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?
“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.
Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.
No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does.
Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.
Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.
Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.
You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.
You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving?
He has all the rights to.
Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—
You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense.
Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there.
One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.
The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs.
He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.
And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.
“Jungkook?”
He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger.
Couldn’t be you.
Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”
He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.
“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.
You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.
“Jungkook—”
Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?”
You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.
Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either.
“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet.
“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”
“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.
Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.
Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you.
You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.
“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.
“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”
“Cut the bullshit.”
You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.
“You’re being unfair.” You croak.
“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”
Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.
“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.
You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.
“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say.
His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.
“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”
“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.
“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”
Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust.
“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’
His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”
Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.
Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart.
He’s left you behind.
Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”
Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.
Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.”
“I know.” He says, “I know that.”
The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.
“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.
He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”
Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak.
He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”
“Of what?” You ask.
He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?
… Strangers?
You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.
“Pix–”
“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”
“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”
“I’m not with him anymore.”
He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.
Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.
“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil.
“Jungkook …”
“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”
You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”
“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”
“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”
Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.
The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—
The buzzing stops.
Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.
Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.
“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.
You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.”
He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”
Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.
Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.
“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”
His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared.
“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget.
“I missed you so much, Pix.”
You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.
“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.
He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew.
“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker.
“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.
You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.
He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to.
Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake.
He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.
“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.
You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”
“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment.
A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now.
Yet, you’re both so full.
And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.
“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.
“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”
He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.
“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.
“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.
“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”
He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”
Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.
This was love, right?
“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.
“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret.
He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”
Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.
“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer.
“A little.” You admit.
You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.
Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.
He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”
Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.
He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.
On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.
You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.
Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at.
His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for.
You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”
He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.
“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”
“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”
You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.
You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’
Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.
“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.
“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.
“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”
Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you.
“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.
“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.
You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”
“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”
Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.
“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.
The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed.
Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”
“I will.”
Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment.
He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together.
In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.
He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body.
After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort.
Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona.
She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to.
“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?
“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”
“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.
Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.
She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.
Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.
“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.
“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel.
Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.
“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse.
“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.
Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.
Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.
Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her.
Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.
Five hours and he’ll be done.
As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.
It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer.
Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.
Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.
The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.
“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty.
Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition.
Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.
You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.
“What time is it?”
“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees.
“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”
“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”
He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.
“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.
You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness.
“Hard day?” You ask.
His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.
“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”
He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.
“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing.
“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.
“Kook?”
He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.
“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”
He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.
You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.
“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.
“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food.
Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love.
“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.
“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”
“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.
You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”
He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”
“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for.
His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”
And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.
But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?
Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying.
“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”
His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.
All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.
“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”
You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.
The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.
Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.
“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set.
As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.
As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:
Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.
Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back.
Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.
Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.
Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.
Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night.
“Thanks again for coming with me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”
“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes.
He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”
You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.
Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.
Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.
Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition.
“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”
“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.
Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.
He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.
You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.
He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.
He loves you.
An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.
He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.
Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.
“Mind if I join ya?”
Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.
Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be.
Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.
“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence.
Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”
This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground.
“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”
Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”
“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”
What was Jungkook waiting for?
“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”
“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.”
“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.
“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”
Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”
Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?
You turn, also finding him, and smile.
It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.
Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile.
Finally.
Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.
He needs to be near you.
You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.
His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.
The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.
“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”
He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.
He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”
“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.
With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”
“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front.
Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.
“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair.
You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”
Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.
Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”
He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent.
“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.
You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”
He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate.
“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.
You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”
His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”
You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.
“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.”
Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here.
“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.
“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.
“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.
“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”
The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.
Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.
All yours.
“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features.
Deja vu.
Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?
Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.
And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.
He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.
“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.
He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.
Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”
You shake your head. “I’m right here.”
He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.
He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.
Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.
He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness.
Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him.
It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.
Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.
He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied.
Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.
“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.
“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”
When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication.
You wanted this with him.
“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.
He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”
No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together.
And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.
You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.
You mouth, ‘You tired?’
He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.
You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm.
Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?”
With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss.
“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car.
“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.
Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere.
Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.
Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker.
But he’s in no rush.
He’s never been in a rush with you.
Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.
He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.”
He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.
Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.
Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”
It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.
He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.
“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”
He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”
You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”
A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”
“Home.” You reply.
Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.
“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”
“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.
His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”
Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.
Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”
You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.
In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?
Does it end with his scent on your body?
All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.
You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response.
Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.
You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.
“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.
Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”
The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”
The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.
You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.
“Night, P.” He mumbles.
“Good night, Kook.”
Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.
There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.
Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.
There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach.
You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.
That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.
You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.
Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.
You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.
Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.
“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.
“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window.
His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”
You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.
“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.
There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.
“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”
You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.
He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”
You hum a small ‘what?’
So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?
“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.
“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”
And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.
His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.
“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.
You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”
Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor.
“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”
He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in.
“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”
He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you.
“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”
The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”
Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.
“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”
You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.
“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves.
“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”
He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”
Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.
“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.”
Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”
“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.
“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.
And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.
“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”
He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.
He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.
How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love?
Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart.
“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.
You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.
You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.
Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.
“Baby–” You rasp.
“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.
You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.
“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”
Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.
“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”
You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.
He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.
He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful.
Jungkook also has the best view in the city too.
You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”
“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.
He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.
And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.
You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.
You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience.
He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.
“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.
He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”
“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.
“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”
The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on.
“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”
You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.
“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower.
You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.
You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.
It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.
“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.
You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.
“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.
“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”
You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.
You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.
Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.
He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”
A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.
“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.
His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in.
Oh.
“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.
You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster.
Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.
You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed.
The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.
He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum.
His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.
“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.
Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”
More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.
“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”
He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week.
Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.
But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.
Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.
“Pixie?”
“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend.
Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.
He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen.
“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.
“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.
To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.
“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”
You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”
“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”
“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl.
You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.
“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”
The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.
Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.
During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him.
“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman.
He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day.
“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.
He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”
You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.
Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.
His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”
You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”
“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”
You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.
“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”
Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.
“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.
For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.
“Quota met.”
Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.
“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.
He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”
Will it?
Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind.
He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn.
“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.
He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.
“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.
Well, one way to find out.
No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.
He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.
The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.
He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”
Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.
You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge.
“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.
He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.
Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good.
He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry.
You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed.
There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.
Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.
“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.
He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft.
“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.
“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you.
“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”
His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.
He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.
Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw.
“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.
“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.
“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”
Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.
“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.
And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.
When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.
Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”
He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.
You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids.
Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.
And you love him.
“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding.
You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.
Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”
The relationship. The love. The experience.
His heart — it’s all yours.
The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.
He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”
You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.
Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.
He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm.
Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.
You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.
“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”
And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.
His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core.
You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings.
“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state.
Can’t bear him looking at you either.
“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”
You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’
You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.
Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.
“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.
You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.
You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.
“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.
“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”
He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.
The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you.
You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.
“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.
Huh?
The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”
A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.
“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.
You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.
“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes.
Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”
You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”
“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”
His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.
“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.
“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.
“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.
“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”
He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.
“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.
“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.
You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”
He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”
You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.
“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”
You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.
“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.
“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”
He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.
“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.
And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”
You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.
He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.
Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …”
He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again.
“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.
“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.”
He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.
“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.
He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”
You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook.
“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”
The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.
“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.
“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.
You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”
He doesn’t move.
Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.
You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.
“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”
“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.
“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.
“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”
He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.
“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him.
What else could he do but comply with your wishes?
Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.
He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”
You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”
The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.
Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact.
Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.
“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.
You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority.
“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”
So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below.
“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.
He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling.
Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.
“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.
He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more.
Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.
“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.
You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.
“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.
“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.
He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”
“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”
“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.
The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.
A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.
fin.
ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂
🧚🏻♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅
with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!
in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡
OUR PETAL . . . poly!dad!ateez x mom!ninth member!f!reader
genre : idol au, ninth member au, established poly relationship, parent au, fluff, romance, what - if scenario
november 11, 2020 is when you gave birth to your daughter deiji. since then you and the guys have been doing well with juggling idol life and parenthood. you couldn't have asked for a better life as you and your lovers got to spend everyday watching your mini - me grow up while also performing for thousands.
deiji always backstage, her large, decorated noise - cancelling headphones on her head watching you nine perform with stars in her eyes. always waiting and the members always racing backstage to see who would pick her up and hold her first. nothing could have been more perfect honestly.
until a sasaeng decided to expose your little family to world and now you must deal with fans and netizens alike questioning you at every turn.
disclaimer : for lapydiaries may event but i’m late to the party. this is a moodboard for a what - if scenario i've been working on for my ninth member au that i have @ynnova.
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