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𝜗ৎ playback pussy's sequel, she's finally here. i swore may was going to be the month i took a small break, but i couldn't leave this doc alone (back into hibernation i go, for now). this can be read standalone, but for more context on their dynamics i rec reading pp too <33
Putting in your earrings has never presented more of a struggle until now.
You’re chipping the side of your nails, your ears are irritated, the stack doesn’t look good, and you can’t find your favorite hoops. In short, you’re a disaster, a silent one.
Because pissed is not the word, you're sure the word you’re looking for doesn’t exist.
You continue to put on your jewelry, give up on perfecting your earring stack–focus on your bracelet bangles instead. The led bathroom light at hotels always hides blemishes well, but you know the real look will be shown in the car mirror.
You look damn good regardless, and you’re about to make him sick to his stomach. You’re one to sweep things under the rug, but your blood is boiling, it matches the deep maroon of your dress. Your collarbones on display, a slit so high you think about pinning the threads together.
You go to clasp the necklace around your neck, you almost drop it after you’re hit with the most annoying memory.
The memory of walking in on Mingi getting his makeup done before a shoot, the artist engrossed in conversation with him, hands lingering too long on his jaw, his smile showing all thirty-two, her tripping over him, and her hands landing on his thighs.
The moment when Mingi glances up to see you holding his favorite soup and vitamin water, your ritual, your routine. He doesn’t acknowledge what just happened, doesn’t think it was a big deal. But you’re a girl, and you’re a girl with a very hot, very tall, very talented, lusted-after boyfriend.
This was definitely a big deal.
Mingi came home later that night, continued with the dismissal of it all. His words, “it’s just work, baby. No issues.”
You nod, turn back over in bed, you gave him no more words. He assumed all was well, that no response was a great response in his book. You fell asleep scheming as he joined you and engulfed you in his arms that night.
You try to push the memory to the back of your mind as you look at yourself again in the mirror, you’re genuinely satisfied with how you look. Is it a little skimpy for a company event? Possibly, maybe…but that’s not the point. The point is to see Mingi rage.
You arrive at the venue alone, you were gifted separate rooms for the event. While you love him, you’re grateful for the time spent apart. It’s very upscale, it’s the annual awards event, everyone is here. Flowy table cloths, organized cutlery, dimmed chandelier lights exude class in the air.
You’re already thinking about getting fast food afterwards because you know the finger food about to be served will not be filling in the slightest.
Tables are assigned, but artist partners are seated at the same table. You immediately glance over the makeup artist's table. Gross, and scan for the boy with blonde hair with light pink tips.
You find Mingi talking in a corner, a glass in his hand. Not sure who he’s conversing with, but he looks good. Hair has grown out longer, his suit fits him in all the right places, you’re salivating even when you’re supposed to be angry.
He still hasn’t looked your way as you still stand near the entrance until a hand graces your back, rings sending a shiver up your spine. The soft voice didn’t fall on deaf ears.
“Standing here like a deer in headlights, huh?” You could feel the smile in Hongjoong’s voice without turning around to even look at him.
“That obvious am I?”
“Very, come sit over here. Mingi is at the same table as me.” Hongjoong keeps his hand on the small of your back as he guides you to the table, pulls out your chair for you, and sits right next to you. His scent is intoxicating, always has been lately.
Chatter is loud around you, both sitting in silence as you make eye contact with Mingi, still standing in the corner. You look away immediately, you don’t smile, don’t flutter your lashes. Just a blank face is all he gets in your book.
You know it’s eating him up inside by the way his body glitches between leaving his current conversation or approaching your table. But the formality has to remain due to the fact that there are eyes everywhere, the media is everywhere, and your body language is not very inviting.
Time goes on for a little while in silence at the table, until Hongjoong turns towards you. You can tell he’s just as bored, just as unoccupied.
“I have a needle and thread in my jacket pocket if you need it.”
You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused. Give him a huh sound for him to elaborate a little further.
“That slit. Too high.” You laugh, genuinely. You know it’s high, but you know you’re not receiving an award, so there shouldn’t be as many eyes on you compared to the other people that are here.
“Bothering you?”
Hongjoong smirks, “a little.”
You lean in, “Tragic, hope you can find a remedy. Your needle and thread are not needed, dork.” Hongjoong laughs, leans back, and keeps his eyes on you. You match his intensity, the conversation flows, your laughs are free, the focus is all on him.
“You ever crave something so bad, like dessert or a fruit? Like I’d love some cherries right now.” Hongjoong asks the question, seriously, it’s not rhetorical. He asks while also trying to find the answer for himself.
You lean in, chuckle a bit, because cherries feel like such a random thing to crave right now. “I do, I crave lots of things. But I normally don’t wallow in the want of it. Pretty sure you could get some cherries somewhere around here.”
Hongjoong smiles and nods in agreement. “You’re right, you look like one. Looks like I found it–you look good tonight if someone hasn’t let you know already.”
Your pulse fastens, he’s smooth with his words. The only thing you can do is smile, because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way he spoke.
Mingi still hasn’t come over to greet you or even sit down, he is constantly glancing over his shoulder to see you fawning over his bandmate. Memories of the three of you before flooding his mind aren't helping as he clutches his glass.
Hongjoong isn’t dumb, you never thought he was. He’s very quick to catch on to things, knows there’s something brewing underneath, but he’s not going to say a word because you’re beautiful and you’re paying attention to just him.
You’re both in the middle of laughing about when Jongho made Mingi chase their car when Hongjoong’s hand lands on your thigh. His hand lingers, seems not to care about any wandering eyes. You don’t pull away, you shift a little in your seat, his hand brushing your skin, the slit of your dress rising even more.
His hands are warm, dainty with rings adorning them. His fingers spread with a firm grip, if he holds on any longer, he may leave an imprint. You look down at his hand, tracing around his hand with your fingers. Your thighs subtly press together, Hongjoong takes note of it, the eye contact between you two lasts for about thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds of such charged energy, what you’ve created.
Mingi’s daily glance at you catches it, the way Hongjoong is leaning over, but his eyes, looking up at you, see the placement of hands. His jaw tightens, and he sets his drink down by a nearby podium. His body is completely tense, no longer relaxed, brushing it all off is not going to suffice much longer. You can feel it across the room, but you still don’t focus on Mingi, you hone all of your attention to Hongjoong.
At this point, Hongjoong is painfully aware of the energy bouncing off you two.
Mingi tries to catch your attention anytime he can, shifts in your peripheral vision constantly, talks a little louder than normal. You pay him no mind. You keep turning towards Hongjoong, you’ve scooted your chair so much it’s touching his.
“So any new gossip, any new love interest? I saw that rumor about you being with—”
Hongjoong stops you, fingers pressing into your leg as he talks. “Nope, just rumors…Not really interested.” He’s testing you, your reaction, seeing if what he’s doing is okay, also knows you asked him a loaded question.
From onlookers, it looks like two friends chatting it up. But between the three of you, you know it’s quite the opposite.
Your heart is racing, his touch bringing memories you haven’t acknowledged in a while. You’re suffocating, not in a bad way, but in a way of not knowing what to do. You stand from the table, smooth out your dress, huff out a bit of air. “Bathroom real quick, be right back.”
Hongjoong nods. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, goes back to looking at his phone as you move through the standing crowds to find the bathroom.
You check yourself in the bathroom mirror, despite your blood rushing, you still look good. You have no clue when the actual announcing of the awards is going to start, and killing the time with Hongjoong has put you in a very, very tough predicament.
You’re in the bathroom longer than anticipated, Hongjoong stands up from his table to go find you, making sure no one has cornered you or to make sure you haven’t fallen into the toilet. The latter wouldn’t surprise him.
He’s nosy by nature, but so curious when it comes to you. He wants to know what’s really going on with you.
As you push the door open, you’re met with Hongjoong’s face, his hand up, looking like he was about to knock. You step back a bit as he caught you off guard, and the fact that it’s the women’s restroom. “You okay in here?”
You think for a second, you’re in private, and you can tell he’s offering an out that you’re not about to take. The tension is too much for you. “No–no. Not at fucking all.”
Hongjoong motions for you to step further into the bathroom some more, he steps fully in, closing the door behind him. He steps closer to you, concern in his eyes. “What’s going on? You’ve been in here for a bit.”
“Actually, nothing, nothing. I’m good. We should get back out there.” You’re lying, he knows it. Neither of you moves toward the door.
“No, we’re not doing this. What is it really? Mingi? Me?” Hongjoong’s voice has gone even softer, it cradles you in a way that makes you want to spill your guts to him. But your expression is what gives it all away, that all of this is about someone else and not him.
“Is this—” He starts, then stops. Moves closer to you. “Does he know?” You shake your head, shoulders kind of slouch over. Hongjoong pushes your shoulders back up, fixes your posture as his thumbs come up to brush over your cheeks.
You don’t push back, you lean into him, and your body language is all telling. Hongjoong feels it, he lets his hand linger, his eyes pouring into yours, red creeping up his neck and over his shirt collar.
“You said you’d wanted cherries, right? Would you eat one without permission even though the lips it’s meant for are standing out there?”
Hongjoong’s hand comes up to caress your collarbones, then moves up to gently squeeze your neck. He’s breathing hard, nose is flared as he bites his lip. His restraint is slipping away, but it’s completely gone when you go to smash your lips onto his.
Your tongues are tied when the swinging of the bathroom door is heard. Hongjoong didn’t lock it. The only thing locked is your eyes with Mingi’s.
Hongjoong’s back is to Mingi, but he can feel the looming presence behind him when he feels you pull back a bit. Knows it’s Mingi behind him, but he’s not profusely apologizing to you, he’s frozen, doesn’t move.
Mingi’s eyes immediately go dark. He doesn’t say anything, everyone is standing in silence. All you can feel is his fury, the possessiveness as he clenches his hands. The way he’s looking at the back of Hongjoong is nothing short of scary, his eyes don’t leave him.
Hongjoong slowly turns around, steps back a little to look at Mingi. He knows the line he’s crossing, Mingi had given permission before–not this time, and that’s where he fucked up. You have not moved a limb, part of you feels guilty, and the other part is turned on.
Mingi’s eyes do not leave either of yours as he reaches back to lock the restroom door, effectively trapping all of you together.
“Having fun, dear?” He looks directly at you, fingers motion for you to come. You don’t move, which makes him laugh a bit, he’s entertained and pissed at the same time. He then begins to walk past Hongjoong to get to you.
Mingi's hands wrap around your throat before you can even breathe. He’s mad, but the bulge in his pants also lets you know he’s fucking horny. His thumb presses harder against the evident vein in your neck, feeling your fast pulse.
“You think I didn’t see that shit?” His voice goes lower, “every single fucking second of it.”
Hongjoong hasn’t moved, he chooses to wait and watch because he knows this dance, knows better than to speak first.
Mingi’s other hand slides down your side, his fingers catch on the slit of the dress, dragging it higher up your thigh. “This isn’t how it went down last time, baby.” Your breath hitches, the memory of being in this position before, but this time, there’s no kind of negotiation.
There’s no couch or soft blankets, a track on loop with your voice on it. Right now, it’s just cold tile, locked doors, and the threat of industry sitting outside the door. “Mingi–”
He cuts you off with his lips, his tongue enters without full permission, teeth catch your bottom lip enough to make you bleed. When he pulls back, your gloss is smeared all over his mouth.
“Don’t.” Mingi turns his head slightly, glancing back to Hongjoong, finally acknowledging his presence. “You. Come here.”
Hongjoong doesn’t move with hesitancy, he steps so close to you that you can feel the pure lust radiating off of him. His hands find your waist like he knows what sets you off, what gets you going, and the reality of it, he actually does.
Mingi sees it, how you move like familiars. The way Hongjoong’s fingers press into your hip, that spot that makes you a little whiny, and arch into the touch.
“You remember how she sounds.” Mingi’s voice is rough, you can tell he’s on edge.
Hongjoong gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. I do.”
“Lovely.” Mingi’s hand slides from your throat down to your chest, palming your breast through the fabric. “Then you know what happens when she gets what she wants.”
You’re closer to the wall now, you head falls back against it as both of them close in on you. Mingi’s mouth is all over your neck, biting down hard. You won’t be able to go back into the award ceremony, he knows this. All the while, Hongjoong’s hand slips under the slit of your dress, trailing up.
“Guys–” You gasp, and Mingi lets out a laugh.
Mingi shuts you up, yanking down the top part of your dress, exposing your breasts, your necklace swaying back and forth between them.
“Fuck,” Hongjoong breathes out, eyes locked on your chest. His hand doesn’t falter, he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens under his touch, the coldness of the restroom adding to it all.
Mingi’s eyes zone in on Hongjoong’s movements, “You’re not shy anymore.”
“Mmm. Should I be?” Hongjoong’s voice stays steady as his other hand moves under your dress to graze the edge of your panties. You gasp, hips jerking. Mingi catches your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Eyes on me.”
Hongjoong doesn’t care, his fingers slip inside your panties, finding you already wet, and your eyes flutter shut immediately. “She’s leaking,” he murmurs. He drags two fingers through your folds, “just like last time.”
Mingi’s grip on your jaw tightens, “Don’t fucking compare.”
“How come?” Hongjoong’s fingers circle your clit, and you whimper. “Her body acts the same way, gets this wet when she’s between us.”
“Hongjoong.” Mingi puts his mouth back onto yours before you can even finish your sentence. His kiss is brutal while Hongjoong continues to scissor you with his fingers. You look like a mess, shaking already, and overwhelmed by the sensations.
Mingi pulls back, breathing hard. “You think you can make her cum before I do?”
Hongjoong’s eyes flash, then a quick smirk on his lips. “I swear I’ve already done that once before.”
Mingi goes still, his hand sliding down to grip your hip harder. “When?”
“Few weeks ago, actually.” Hongjoong’s fingers push inside you even more, and you cry out. “Came on my tongue while you were in that merch meeting or whatever.”
You’re blue in the face from the lack of air that just left your body, you’re shocked, but also laughing on the inside. Knows lying to Mingi makes him go harder, and that’s exactly what you want–what you need.
“Fuck you, fuck this.” Mingi yanks your dress up higher, exposing your legs completely. “She tell you that, or you just running your mouth?”
“She didn’t have to.” Hongjoong continues with his lie as he curls his fingers, hitting your spot. “I could taste how much she needed it.”
Mingi’s hand joins Hongjoong’s between your legs, both hands stretching you wider as fingers glide. You sob, you’re losing the muscle to stand up. “Mingi—fuck, I can’t.”
“Oh no no. Yes, the fuck you can.” His voice is harsh in your ear, “You wanted his attention so bad tonight. Guess what, sweetie—now you got both of us.”
Hongjoong’s thumb finds your clit while Mingi’s fingers pump inside you, they’re working together instead of against one another. Your thighs tremble, gasping as you struggle for air. “She’s close,” Hongjoong says as he watches your face with great intent. “Look at her.”
That only makes Mingi mad all over again. “You don’t get to make her cum I can tell you that much.”
“Then stop me.”
Mingi’s hand moves away and spins you around, making Hongjoong remove his hand. Mingi presses your chest against the wall, your dress bunches around your waist, ass on display for the both of them.
Mingi unbuckles his belt, the sound of the zipper being the loudest thing in the room. Hongjoong moves to your side, his hand sliding up your spine. “You good?”
You nod, and he leans in to kiss you while Mingi gets behind you. His cock presses against you, thick and hard as ever, and he pushes in without giving you any warning. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name when Mingi slams in.
“Yeah baby, say my name, not his.”
Hongjoong turns your face toward him again, making you maintain eye contact with him while Mingi fucks the living daylights out of you. He twiddles with your necklace as it sways back and forth from the rough pace Mingi has set.
“You’re so pretty like this.” Hongjoong whispers, breath hitting your face.
Mingi’s hand fists in your hair, messing up the careful style you put it in for the night. He yanks your head back some more, “This pretty is mine.”
“Then why’d she let me kiss her tonight?” Hongjoong’s voice almost sounds amused. “Why’d she let me touch her at that table?”
Mingi’s hips stutter, and he grits through his teeth. “Because she wanted to piss me off.”
“Did it work?”
“Fuck yes, it worked obviously.” Mingi’s voice cracks, “I hated watching you touch her, hated seeing her smile at you like that.”
Your heart is pounding, you wouldn’t be surprised if you saw it on the tile floor at this point. Hongjoong’s thumb brushes your lower lip, smudging the gloss even more. “She’s got you fucked up,” Hongjoong says softly.
“Royally fucked up.” Mingi agrees, and his pace doesn’t slow, his cock driving into you with no mercy. “And you’re not helping.”
Hongjoong looks at Mingi to smirk, “wasn’t trying to.”
You’re close, the pressure is building, walls constantly clenching around Mingi’s cock, he feels it, and his hand slides around to rub your clit in rough circles. “Cum for me, and only me.”
Hongjoong disregards his words. He moves to your neck, sucking hard. Trying to leave a mark that overlaps with Mingi’s. Hongjoong’s hand then goes to cover Mingi’s, pressing even harder against your clit. “You can do it for both of us.”
Your orgasm hits you hard, Mingi groans as you puls around him. He doesn’t last much longer as he spills everything he has inside you. Your legs shake, and Mingi rests along your back as his hands grip your hips.
Hongjoong steps back slowly, hand trailing down your arm before he lets go completely. His lips and face are left with the evidence of you.
Mingi pulls out carefully, the sound echoing. He adjusts your dress before turning you back around. His eyes are still dark like he’s not done, like there’s no way he’d stop right here. “We’re not finished,” his thumb brushes your swollen lip.
Hongjoong adds on, sitting on the opposite wall, watching everything unfold in front of him. “Didn’t think we were.”
“Go out first,” Mingi says to Hongjoong, “we’ll follow in a minute.”
Hongjoong fixes his collar and slips out the door without another word. The second it clicks shut, Mingi’s hand is back in your hair. He yanks you to face him directly. “Knees now.” Mingi takes off his jacket, puts it on the floor, points to where you need to be
You sink down slowly onto the cloth of his jacket. He’s still half hard, still slick with you and him, and the sight makes your mouth water. “Open up for me.” He doesn’t ease in, just pushes into your mouth till you’re gagging around him.
Your hands go straight to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn’t stop. He just holds you there as your eyes begin to water, makeup surely isn’t lasting.
“You wanted to make me so fucking jealous, to let him touch you like that–just a damn slut.” You can’t breathe, just gagging as he pulls back and thrusts deeper. Spit drips down your chin, he wipes some up with his thumb and pops it into his mouth, mascara’s running even more.
“Can you say anything? You were a fucking chatterbox at the table. Or are you too full of my cock right now?”
He pulls back to give you a small breath to speak, “It was worth it.” He pushes right back in, your throat burns, and your jaw aches, but you don’t pull away. You take it all.
When he pulls out completely, you’re gasping, drool and cum smeared across your lips, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him.
“Shit. Go fix yourself,” he’s still angry, you can hear it in his voice, “then get back to the damn table.”
You nod, legs shaking as you stand, your reflection is scary to look at, it’s progressively gotten worse. Lips swollen, eyes glossed over, throat a fucking abstract painting. Mingi tucks himself back in, adjusting his shirt. “And don’t take too long.” He leaves right after.
You stand there for a moment, still tasting him on your tongue, until you get a text.
joong: vip lounge. upstairs, now
You don’t listen to Mingi out of pure rebellion, out of still being agitated. You head in the opposite direction from the main ceremony.
The lounge is dimmed, plush velvet couches. It’s meant for the donors and execs of the event, but it’s empty since everyone has filtered into the main room. You can hear the muffled sound of applause starting downstairs as you push open the door.
Hongjoong’s already inside, leaning against the back of the couch. He straightens when he sees you, eyes looking over your appearance that you put in no effort to fix.
“Fuck–” he breathes, “he really–”
You walk up to him, grab his tie, and pull him down into a kiss. He groans into your mouth, tasting Mingi on your tongue, and you feel him get harder. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him. “You taste like him,” he whispers, and he’s not complaining.
“I know. Now you’re going to make me taste like you.” You push him back onto the couch, his thighs spread and cock straining against his dress pants. You straddle him, and his hands grip your thighs.
You pull out your phone.
“What are you–”
You dial Mingi, and he picks up on the first ring. “Baby? Where are you? The ceremony’s starting—”
You lean forward and kiss Hongjoong slowly, tongue sliding against his while Mingi’s voice booms through the speaker. “Hello? You there?”
You pull back from Hongjoong’s mouth, breathless. “I’m here, honey.”
“Where the fuck did you go? I’ve been waiting–”
“Wanna hear something?” You interrupt his thoughts, tired of him having his way.
There’s a pause, then you can hear the weariness in his voice. “What?”
You set the phone down on the armrest, speaker on, and grind against Hongjoong’s cock. He hisses, hands tightening.
“I get to make my own special track now,” Hongjoong says, eyes locked on yours. He pushes your dress to expose the wet mess between your legs. Silence on the other end of the phone until Mingi speaks again. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Vip lounge,” you say, rolling your hips again. “Upstairs.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“You’re going to fucking listen.” Your hand slides down to palm Hongjoong through his pants, and he groans. “You’re going to sit through that ceremony and smile for the cameras while I let him fuck me. Understand?”
Barely audible over the phone, Mingi groans. “Fuck.”
Hongjoong’s hands are yanking your panties to the side, fingers sliding through your slick folds again. “Jesus, you’re so soaked still,” he says loud enough for the phone to pick up. “You this wet from him? Or from knowing he’s listening?”
“Both,” you gasp as two fingers push inside you. Through the phone, you hear Mingi’s sharp breath. Hongjoong pumps his fingers slowly, curling them upwards, and you whimper. “She’s dripping down my hand,” like he’s narrating an audiobook for Mingi, “clenching around my fingers. You should feel how tight she is.”
“Hongjoong—” Mingi’s voice is strained.
“What?” Hongjoong pulls his fingers out, sucks them clean. His eyes roll back, “fuck she tastes good. You already knew that, though.”
You fumble with his belt, can barely focus as you shake with need. He helps you to free his cock, he’s leaking and flushed. You wrap your hand around him, stroking, and he groans.
“She’s got her hand on my cock now,” Hongjoong says, head falling back again, “stroking me, fuck–tighter, baby, just like that.”
You listen and twist your wrist the way he likes, and precum beads at the tip, you swipe your thumb through it, bringing it to your lips.
“She just licked my precum off her thumb,” He’s still reporting everything with a wrecked voice, “while looking right at me.”
Through the phone, you hear someone speaking to Mingi. His voice is strained when he responds, “Yeah. I’m fine. Just give me a sec.”
You try your hardest not to laugh, you go to line Hongjoong up and sink down onto his cock in one motion. The sound you make is desperate and loud.
“Holy hell,” he chokes out. You start moving, riding him hard. Your dress is bunched up, tits bouncing in his face with every thrust, Hongjoong is going cross-eyed.
You’re so wet the squelches fill the room, you know Mingi can hear it through the speaker. “Hongjoong–” you gasp, “fuck you’re so deep.”
“Yeah?” he thrusts up to meet your pace, “tell him. Tell him how deep i am.”
“So deep,” you moan, much louder now. “Filling me up–fuck.”
Mingi makes a choked noise, Hongjoong’s hand comes up, wrapping around the necklace. It’s actually a necklace Mingi gifted you. He pulls it, using it as leverage to pull you down harder onto his cock.
“This his?”
You nod, eyes watering as he pulls tighter. “Damn. You really give no fucks.” He shifts you right away, flipping you onto your back, your legs wrap around his waist as he ruts into you deeper and harder. “Hongjoong, please–”
“Please, what?” He slows down, grinding deep as you whimper. “Say it loud enough for him to hear.”
“Please harder—fuck I need it.”
He slams so hard the couch moves against the floor, his hand finds your clit, and rubs. Through the phone, Mingi’s voice has little control, “Hongjoong–”
“She’s close. She’s about to cum on this cock.”
“No–” Mingi starts, but you’re already losing it. Your body arches off the couch, a broken scream ripping from your throat. Hongjoong groans as you clench around him. You sob through it, Hongjoong’s name on your lips over and over, he keeps fucking you through it.
“Hey Mingi, she just came so hard she’s crying by the way.” There are tears streaming down your face, and it doesn’t stop. Hongjoong pulls out and bends you over the arm of the couch, then slams in from behind.
“Oh fuck–” you gasp, hands trying to find something to hold onto.
“One more for me–give me one more.” He fucks you brutally, skin slapping, his hand comes down on your ass, and you moan.
“She likes being spanked. Ooo Mingi, you got it good.” Mingi doesn’t answer, just breathes heavy through the phone. Hongjoong picks up the pace again, and you feel another orgasm coming. He overstimulates your clit, and you scream.
Hongjoong pumps you a few more times before he’s spilling inside you, you feel every pulse and twitch, making you clench around him again. For a moment, you can only hear the mingling of heavy breathing between the three of you.
Then downstairs, a loud sound of applause indicating someone has won an award. Hongjoong pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum start to drip down your legs. He collapses onto the couch, and you slump against the armrest, pure exhaustion.
You reach over with an unsteady hand, picking up the phone. Your voice is completely wrecked. “He just came inside me…I can feel it dripping out.” Then you hang up.
Hongjoong laughs beside you. “He’s gonna get you for that.”
mymingithingi: ur gonna quit fuckin playin w/ me.
You stare at the screen with a smile, heart still racing, cum sticky between your thighs, then you toss the phone onto the couch and close your eyes for a quick power nap.
Thirty minutes later, you’re back at the table. You’ve cleaned up as best as one could, given the circumstances. You fixed your lip combo, covered up the marks as best you could, smoothed down your dress, tamed your hair. But there’s no hiding the tremor in your hands and the way you walk like you still have a cock stuck up your ass.
Mingi’s still seated, doesn’t look at you when you sit down beside him. The ceremony’s still going, someone’s giving an acceptance speech.
Mingi’s hand slides under the table, finding your thigh. His grip is firm. “Smile, baby,” he says, deadly calm. “We’re being photographed.”
You smile, one flash and a click, then his hand moves higher, fingers pressing against the wet mess between your legs through your dress.
“You’re going to sit here,” he leans in like he’s whispering sweet nothings, “and feel him dripping out of you, and you’re going to think about what happens when we get home.”
You go still. His other hand comes up, adjusting your necklace, the one he gave you. The one Hongjoong used to leverage you with. Mingi straightens it carefully, gently, then leans in close enough so his lips brush your ear.
“At the end of the day, this is mine. And I’m going to remind you what the fucking definition of ‘mine’ means for the rest of the night.” He pulls back once more, smiles for the camera, and you realize your hands are shaking.
Across the table, Hongjoong catches your eye. He still looks a mess, hair messy and tie loose. Mingi notices, and his hand tightens around you.
“Both of you,” voice low enough that only you and Hongjoong hear. “When we leave here. Our place.”
Hongjoong only smiles, but your stomach is dropping into your ass. You thought tonight would get you even, would satiate your anger. Instead, you’ve made everything ten times worse.
in which: you desperately want to be jongho's little cum slut
pair: jongho/afab!reader
word count: 2.1k
content: sex, public sex, pool sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, completely consensual
rating: R — nsfw | mdni
summer boys series: wooyoung | san | jongho
You were sitting in the shallow end of the pool as you watched him swim around. It was hot as fuck outside, and Jongho suggested that the two of you go swimming, but it was so hot that you simply did not feel like swimming. The shallow end of the pool was in a nice, shady area, so you opted to stay there while you watched Jongho have the time of his life.
Since you were in the water, you could only watch him. You didn't dare bring a book in or near the water, and your phone was sitting safe and sound in the locker room, so you literally had nothing to do. Well, you did have your imagination to keep you entertained, which was running wild the longer you watched Jongho swim around.
He swam over to you and fully submerged himself in the water before resurfacing and brushing his hair out of his face. You watched his biceps flex as he slicked back his hair, and you saw his chest move somewhat heavily as he let out a deep exhale. Your insides flipped and tumbled when you saw how fucking sexy he looked, and you yourself felt winded just beholding his devilish good looks.
"Honey, aren't you hot just sitting here?" Jongho asked as he leaned against the edge of the pool, his arm resting on the ledge. "The water is so nice and cool— you should at least try swimming."
"I'm okay..." you barely managed to say. "Just watching you is enough."
"I know you're in the shade, but I feel like it's just hotter sitting here," Jongho continued to try and convince you to swim.
"It is really hot..." you murmured.
You spaced out, your eyes lingering on his refined muscles and his broad shoulders. Jongho seemed to still be talking to you, but all you could really focus on was the way the water lapped around his naked torso. How you wouldn't give to be pressed right against him, his arms wrapping securely around you, his waist pressing against yours. You desperately needed him against you, but there was no way you were going to be able to tell him that with a straight face.
"Honey?"
"Uh-huh..."
"What's going on with you?"
"Uh-huh..."
Jongho had it at that point. He stood right in front of you and snapped his fingers in front of your face, finally bringing you back to reality. Seeing him that close to you made your entire body jolt, and your fingers and toes tingled the closer he got to you. You were so ready to just fall over when he brought the back of his hand to your face.
"Oh God, your face is flushed, but you don't seem to have a fever... Maybe we should head back inside. I think the sun may be getting to you."
"It's not the sun getting to me, though," you whispered when Jongho grabbed your arm and turned around to drag you out of the pool.
He froze and he faced you once more. He walked forward quickly, making you scurry backwards until your back was pressing against the wall. Jongho pinned you in place, his chest extremely close to yours.
"What's going on, honey?" Jongho asked in a low voice.
You nearly shivered— Jongho sounded so hot whenever he dropped the octave of his voice. You were practically drowning in horny hormones at that point. Shifting uncomfortably, you whispered, "I... Uh..."
You felt your face get hotter as you thought about the things you wanted to ask him shamelessly.
I want you to fuck me senseless. I want you to use me and abuse me until I can't stand anymore. I want you to remind me who I belong to and make sure I never forget.
However, those crude words would never leave your mouth— at least not sober. Thankfully, Jongho seemed to finally catch onto what was going through your mind, a smirk, crossing his face. He closed the distance between you and actually pressed his chest against yours. He leaned into you, his lips near your ear.
"If you want that, you can just ask, honey."
"You know I can't shamelessly ask like that... I'm too shy..."
"Sure, that's why you were staring at me like a piece of meat or something. Don't think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me while I was swimming."
Jongho's hands moved down to your waist. He held you with a firm grasp as he nuzzled his face into the nook of your neck, his lips occasionally pressing against your flushed skin. You held onto his shoulders and let out soft sighs as you felt his kisses trail along the curve of your neck down to your shoulder.
"If you knew, then why didn't you say anything?" you whined slightly.
"I wanted to see you squirm, honey. It's not fun if I don't get to tease you."
Jongho's hands went from your waist to your ass, his fingers pressing into your skin and making your bottoms ride up a little as he pulled upwards. You let out pleasureful sigh after pleasureful sigh the more he peppered kisses all over your upper body and the more he felt you up. Your grip on his shoulders got weaker when you felt his waist press against yours, electricity running through your body when you felt his hard on prod through his swim shorts.
"Now, honey, do you want to tell me what you want me to do to you, or would you like me to order you around like the cum slut you are?" Jongho whispered gruffly into your ear once his lips made their way back up.
"The latter please."
Jongho pulled away from you, and you saw his eyes darken. His jaw momentarily tensed before he pressed his lips feverishly against yours, sweeping you away into a world of bliss. Your fingers ran through his hair as you moved your hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck. The two of you kept making impatient sighs and grunts in between each sloppy kiss, the water around you beginning to move a little more as you both got antsier. It was when Jongho's fingers pushed the waistband of your bottoms down did you break off the infinite chain kisses and look at him with helpless, half-lidded eyes.
"Get out of the pool now," Jongho ordered.
You did as he said as quickly as possible, the man following closely behind. You didn't know where to go, so you stopped and looked around, only for Jongho to grab your arm and lead you to the lounge chairs near the edge of the pool. He sat down first before pulling you towards him, making you straddle him. You held onto his shoulders and lowered your ass onto his knees as he held your neck and pulled you back in to shove his tongue down your throat.
Jongho's fingers pressed into your neck, making you slightly light-headed as he continued to kiss you so rashly that you had absolutely no time to breathe. You felt like you were going to pass out, but you knew that there was no way Jongho was going to take it so far.
At some point, Jongho did have to let go of your neck so that he could remove your bikini. He untied your top first, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he released the strings. Your top flopped forward as Jongho ran his finger down your spine, making you arch your back slightly. He made quick work of the remaining strings, the top completely falling with a slosh. He then ran his hands along the curve of your waist before pushing down the waistband of your bottoms once more. He was only able to move the wet fabric over your ass and tuck it under since you were still kneeling on either side of him.
"Take them off."
You nodded and stood up. Both your top and bottoms fell to the ground, Jongho quickly slipping his own swim shorts off in the process. Before you could go back to straddling the man, he leaned forward and grabbed both of your arms. Your back continued to face him as he pulled you backwards, your ass landing on his thick thighs as you sat down, your legs still firmly on the ground.
That's when you realized Jongho read your fucking mind earlier.
"Sit on my cock, honey," he told you as you felt his cock twitch and press against your back.
Jongho still had both of your arms behind your back, so while you moved up, Jongho held his thick cock in place. You felt the tip rub against your wet folds, and once he was right at your entrance, you sat down slowly. You felt your walls spread wide as you lowered yourself on him, a deep sigh escaping your lungs as you felt him fill you up.
With shaky legs, you managed to start moving on his cock. At first, you were worried about Jongho fucking you on the poolside out in the open where anyone could see; luckily for the two of you, there wasn't a single soul around, nor was there a camera in sight— plus, with the added protection of the umbrella above you, you had no reason to worry. That being said, you still tried to keep your erotic noises to a minimum while Jongho, on the other hand, didn't give a tiny rat's ass about how loud he was.
You seemed to be moving too slowly for him— you could only move so fast because every time you sat down on his lap, you wanted to remain seated because your legs could barely support you at that point. So, Jongho thrust his hips upwards suddenly, making you cry out.
"F-Fuck, Jongho!" you choked out as he continuously rammed his hips upwards into yours without mercy, your voice wavering when you felt him reach over your thigh and between your legs to brush his fingers against your sore clit. "Y-You're going so fast!"
"Don't you dare tell me to slow down," Jongho chuckled. "I thought you wanted this."
"I do! Fuck me harder, Jongho!"
Jongho released your arms from his grasp and pushed you up, making you whimper as his cock left your body. He quickly moved you so that you were kneeling on the lounge chair before shoving his cock quickly inside you once more. His waist slammed into yours hard, making you go from your hands to your elbows immediately.
Your sanity completely left you as Jongho quite literally fucked your brains out. You were moaning and crying loudly with every thrust while occasionally yelping whenever you felt the palm of his hand make intense contact with your ass.
"You like that, don't you?" Jongho teased you as he slapped your ass again.
You nodded and hummed in approval before you pressed your lips together and dropped your head down. However, Jongho didn't like that. He grabbed the back of your head and pulled, making you move your head up. He forced you to keep your head up as he continued to rut into you powerfully, the slaps of his waist against yours starting to get drowned out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears.
"J-Jongho!" you sobbed as you felt his cock brush against your G-spot so many times that you felt your orgasm building. "I'm c-close!"
Jongho immediately pulled out, two of his fingers going in their place. He fingered you quickly and roughly, the curve of his fingers inside you too much to handle. You cried out loudly as his fingers fucked you just right, making you cum hard. Your legs trembled, and your ass shook in the air as you squirt all over Jongho's hand, legs, and the lounge chair beneath you.
Without giving you a chance to properly recover, Jongho slid his cock back inside you, and he continued hammering away into your sensitive cunt. You could hear his own groans getting higher in pitch, and you could feel his pace begin to slow down but his power remained the same.
"You want me to fill you up, don't you?" Jongho grunted out. "You're just my little cum slut, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am, Jongho," you whined. "Cum inside me, please."
Jongho didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing your waist, he thrust into you several more times quickly before groaning loudly. You felt his cock twitch and throb inside you as his cum spurt out quickly, filling you with his white seed. When Jongho pulled his cock out, he spread your ass wide to watch his cum leak out and trail down your leg, making his shiver and slowly get hard again.
"Fuck, honey," Jongho chuckled. "Wear your suit, and let's get out of here. I'm not done fucking you just yet."
— DILF!hongjoong x fem!reader in which you thought you already had the best relationship you could ever have. until one day you found you boyfroend fucking another girl on his bed, and so what could be a better and appropriate revenge than to fuck his very handsome father.
content warnings: this fic includes detailed nsfw scenes that may be too much for some readers. includes penetrative sex, mention of cheating, dilf!hongjoong, 20 years age gap, fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasm, video taping, and other scenes that might be uncomfortable for some readers. please consume what you can, and separate fiction from reality. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
a/n: HI SO YEAH HAPPY 2K FOLLOWERS AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME. So as a gift to everyone, here's a dilf!joong to all my fellow atiny's in my followers list. I hope you guys enjoy this delicious fic. ACK. I LOVE YOU ALL. <333
word count: 9k words
You were a catch. A fucking catch.
Everyone on campus knew it. Jaehyun, the guy you'd been dating for the past few months, was constantly called the luckiest man alive. You heard the whispers in the hallways, the envious glances in the cafeteria, the not-so-subtle comments from his friends. But you never really paid much attention to it. You already knew your worth.
After all, you were the drum major of the university's marching band—the one who commanded an entire field with nothing but a raised hand and a sharp look. You carried yourself with a natural, domineering aura that turned heads wherever you went. Tall posture, sharp eyes, and an unshakable confidence that made people straighten up when you walked by. Most of your friends secretly envy you for it.
Your relationship with Jaehyun was far from perfect, but it was still one of the healthiest ones you'd ever had. Or at least... that's what you kept telling yourself.
He was caring in his own way. Attentive on most days, always making sure you ate before long band practices and sending you good luck texts before every game. Jaehyun wasn't the most popular guy on campus compared to you, but as a star football jock, he wasn't exactly unknown either. You two shared the same friend group, which made everything feel easy and comfortable.
It wasn't unusual for Jaehyun to go a day or two without texting. You both had busy lives, you with band rehearsals and him with football practice, so you understood. Whenever he had time, he always came back to you. That was how your relationship worked: comfortable, intact, and especially intimate when you finally got to be alone together.
You never doubted him. He always reassured you so well.
Until now.
It had been a full week since the last time you actually spoke to him in person. No late-night visits to your dorm, no sneaking in through your window with that boyish grin. Just short, dry texts. And every time you tried calling him, he would pick up only to say he was "too busy with practice" and hang up after a minute.
Something felt... off.
You tried to shrug it off at first. Jaehyun was probably just exhausted from practice. You told yourself he'd text soon, that he just needed some time to himself. Three days ago, he had sent a short message saying he was going back to his father's house for a while and wouldn't be around campus. You understand.
But that was three days ago.
Now it had been two full weeks since you last saw him in person. Two weeks of dry, replies and calls that ended within a minute. The uneasy feeling in your chest grew heavier, tightening around your throat like a chokehold.
You weren't used to this. You weren't used to doubting him.
Lucky for you, you actually knew his father—Kim Hongjoong.
He was a genuine, warm man. A single father of three who somehow still looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. At 42, Hongjoong could easily pass for someone in his early thirties. Tall, muscular, with sharp, refined features and that same devastating smile Jaehyun inherited. He was kind, attentive, and had a quiet confidence that always made the air feel a little thicker whenever he was around.
If he wasn't your boyfriend's father... well, you wouldn't have let yourself think about it.
But right now, worry was winning over everything else.
You pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message to him.
You: Hi, Mr. Kim. Sorry to bother you. I haven't heard from Jaehyun properly in almost two weeks. He mentioned he was going home a few days ago. Is everything okay? Do you know where he is?
You hit send and stared at the screen, nerves twisting in your stomach. The party noise faded into the background as you waited.
Not even a minute later, your phone vibrated.
Hongjoong: Hey sweetheart. Jaehyun isn't home right now. He said he'll be coming next week. I'm not sure why he told you he was already here...
Your stomach dropped.
He lied.
Jaehyun lied to you.
He never lied to you. Does he?
But now the doubt was creeping in, loud and ugly. Jaehyun had lied. He told you he was going home when he clearly wasn't. Why? The question twisted uncomfortably in your chest, and the fact that you couldn't even confront him made it worse. He was completely missing in action. You typed back with slightly shaky fingers.
You: Oh. I see. Thank you, Mr. Kim. If he comes home, please tell him to message me. Thank you.
Hongjoong: Of course, darling. Take care of yourself, yeah? And visit here sometimes, whenever you can.
You couldn't help but smile softly at his reply. Even through text, Hongjoong's warmth came through so easily. He really was such a sweet man, a genuinely good father. The kind of man who made you feel cared for with just a few words. For a moment, the heavy weight in your chest felt a little lighter.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket and let out a long breath, trying to push the uncomfortable thoughts about Jaehyun to the back of your mind.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady the uneasy feeling twisting in your chest.
If Jaehyun wasn't at his father's house like he claimed, then he was probably just hiding in his dorm. That had to be it. Tomorrow, you decided, you would go see him. You'd look him in the eyes and ask what the fuck was actually going on.
The next day came by so quickly.
You baked his favorite cake. Chocolate with extra frosting, hoping it would soften whatever conversation was about to happen. With the cake box in one hand and your spare key in the other, you stood in front of Jaehyun's dorm door, heart beating heavily.
You took a deep breath and unlocked the door quietly.
The moment you stepped inside, your stomach dropped. Loud, breathy female moans filled the entire dorm. The sound was unmistakable. High-pitched, needy, and very real.
He's probably just watching porn, you told yourself, trying to stay calm. He does that sometimes when he's stressed...
But something felt wrong. You walked down the short hallway, cake still in your hands, and slowly pushed open the door to his bedroom.
The sight hit you like a truck.
Jaehyun was lying on his back in the middle of the bed, completely naked. A girl you didn't recognize was on top of him, riding him hard, her head thrown back in pleasure as she moaned loudly. His hands were gripping her ass, guiding her movements while he groaned beneath her.
For a few painful seconds, you just stood there frozen, cake box trembling slightly in your hands.
Jaehyun's eyes suddenly snapped open and locked onto yours. His face went pale.
"Baby—?!" he choked out, voice hoarse. The girl on top of him let out a startled yelp and quickly tried to cover herself, but it was too late. You had already seen everything.
The cake suddenly felt heavy in your arms. The sweet smell that used to comfort you now turned your stomach. All the late replies. All the sudden "practices." All the lies about going home.
This is why.
"Kim Jaehyun! What the fuck!?"
The cake box slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. For a split second, everything was silent except for the girl's heavy breathing. Then your blood boils.
You didn't scream. You didn't cry. Instead, you strode forward with long, confident steps, that signature domineering aura radiating off you like ice.
The girl barely had time to react before your hand shot out. You grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her off Jaehyun with one powerful pull. She screamed as she tumbled sideways onto the mattress.
"Get the fuck off him," you said coldly, voice low but sharp enough to cut glass. She scrambled away from you, eyes wide with shock, trying to cover her naked body with her hands. Jaehyun sat up quickly, face pale and panicked.
"Babe— wait, it's not— I can explain—"
"Explain?" You let out a bitter laugh, still holding the girl's hair tightly in your grip as you glared down at him. "You lied to me for two weeks just so you could fuck someone behind my back?"
The girl whimpered as you finally released her hair with a rough shove. She quickly grabbed her clothes and ran out of the room like her life depended on it, slamming the door behind her.
Now it was just you and Jaehyun. He looked pathetic, naked, flushed, dick still hard and glistening from another girl's pussy. The sight made your stomach turn.
You stood tall at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, looking down at him like he was nothing more than a disappointing subordinate who just ruined the entire performance.
"Two weeks, Jaehyun," you said, voice dangerously calm. "Two fucking weeks of 'I'm busy' and 'I'm at my dad's'. And this is what you were doing?"
Jaehyun's eyes widened in panic. He scrambled off the bed, still naked, and lunged forward, grabbing your wrist tightly.
"Babe, wait— please, just listen to me! It's not what it looks like, I swear! She doesn't mean anything, it was just— fuck, it was a mistake—"
You felt his grip on your wrist like fire.
With a sharp, powerful yank, you shoved him off you. Jaehyun stumbled back, nearly losing his balance.
"Don't you fucking lay your filthy hands on me!" you hissed, voice dripping with venom. "A mistake? You lied to me for two whole weeks so you could fuck some random bitch behind my back and you call that a mistake?!"
Your chest heaved with rage. Your eyes blurred as tears pooled on your eyelids, making Jaehyun shrink under your glare.
"We're done," you said coldly, staring straight into his eyes. "Don't ever call me. Don't text me. Don't even look at me. Fuck off, Jaehyun."
You turned on your heels, not even sparing the fallen chocolate cake on the floor a second glance, and walked out of his room. The sound of your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you slammed the dorm door behind you with a loud bang.
Tears burned in your eyes the moment you stepped outside, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not for him. You were done.
For the next week, Jaehyun wouldn't leave you alone.
He texted and called nonstop, even after you blocked him on everything. He showed up outside your classes, your band practice, and your dorm. Every time he tried to approach you, your friends were right there, ready to throw punches and shield you like bodyguards. They cursed him out and dragged you away before he could get close.
You stayed strong on the outside, but the betrayal still stung.
By the start of the second week, you thought it was finally dying down. Until one afternoon.
You had just finished band practice and were walking out of the campus gate when a girl stepped in front of you. It was her. The girl you had pulled off Jaehyun that day. She looked nervous, eyes red like she'd been crying.
"Can we talk?" she asked quietly. "Please... just for a minute."
You almost walked past her, but something in her expression made you stop. You crossed your arms, staring her down.
"Fine. Talk."
She took a shaky breath.
"I'm so sorry... I had no idea you existed. Jaehyun told me he was single the entire time. We'd been seeing each other for almost a month. He said he didn't have a girlfriend, that he was too focused on football to date anyone seriously." Her voice cracked. "If I had known about you... I would never have touched him. I swear."
She looked genuinely devastated.
"I feel sick knowing I was the other woman. I'm really, really sorry. You didn't deserve any of this."
For a moment, you didn't know what to say. The anger you'd been carrying suddenly felt heavier. Jaehyun didn't just cheat on you. He had played both of you.
You let out a bitter laugh and ran a hand through your hair.
"...Thanks for telling me," you said coldly. "At least now I know how much of a lying piece of shit he really is."
The girl nodded, looking ashamed, before quietly walking away. You stood there at the gate for a long time, the evening sun casting long shadows on the pavement. The betrayal felt even deeper now.
For the next month, you drowned yourself in studies and band practice.
You threw everything you had into rehearsals, perfecting every count, every movement, every command on the field. At night, you buried yourself in books and assignments until your eyes burned. You barely slept, barely ate, and barely gave yourself time to think.
The whole campus knew what happened. The cheating scandal spread like wildfire. People whispered when you walked by, gave you pitiful looks in the hallways, and sent sympathetic messages. But you kept your chin up high, shoulders back, and that signature domineering aura firmly in place. You refuse to let anyone see you break. You were the drum major. You didn't fall apart in public.
Two months had passed since that awful day. You were in your dorm, surrounded by notes and textbooks, when your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen.
Hongjoong: Hey sweetheart. It's been a while. How have you been? It's already been two months since I last heard from you. I didn't even know you and Jaehyun broke up until recently... Are you okay?
Your chest tightened. You stared at the message for a long time before replying.
You: Oh. Hello, Mr. Kim. Yeah, we broke up. I'm fine though, thank you for checking me up.
Hongjoong: I'm really sorry to hear that. If you're free this weekend, why don't you come over for dinner? I'll cook. You can talk about what happened if you want to... or we can just eat and you can forget everything for a while. No pressure. I just hate the thought of you dealing with this alone, besides I know for sure whatever the reason is, it could have been my stupid son's fault.
You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of you wanted to say no and keep burying yourself in work. But another part, the tired, angry, emotionally drained part, desperately needed to let it all out.
You: Okay. I'll come. Thank you, Mr. Kim.
Hongjoong: Great. Come by Saturday at 6? Can't wait to see you, sweetheart.
Saturday came faster than you expected. By 6:30 PM, you were standing in front of Hongjoong's house, heart beating a little faster than usual. You had chosen one of your favorite Sunday dresses. A soft, off-shoulder cream-colored dress that hugged your figure nicely but still looked modest enough. You tugged at the hem nervously, suddenly wondering if it was too much. Too pretty. Too revealing for a dinner with your ex-boyfriend's father.
You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the door opened. Kim Hongjoong stood there, looking unfairly good in a simple black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscles. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and when he saw you, his face lit up with a warm, genuine smile.
"You're here," he said softly, voice rich and comforting. His eyes quickly scanned you from head to toe before he caught himself and looked back at your face.
"You look great. Come in, sweetheart."
He stepped aside, letting you enter. The house smelled amazing, Garlic, herbs, and something savory that made your stomach rumble.
"I'm sorry I'm a little late," you murmured.
"Don't apologize. I'm just glad you came." He closed the door behind you, then gently placed a hand on your lower back to guide you towards the dining area. The light touch sent a small, unexpected shiver up your spine. "I made carbonara and grilled steak. Hope you're hungry."
As you followed him, the reality of the situation settled in. This was the first time you'd been here since the breakup. No Jaehyun. Just you and Hongjoong.
He pulled out a chair for you like a gentleman, then disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with two glasses of wine. Hongjoong sat across from you, his warm gaze never leaving your face.
"So..." he started gently, voice low and careful. "Do you want to eat first and relax... or do you want to tell me what really happened between you and my son?"
He leaned forward slightly, eyes full of quiet concern and something deeper you couldn't quite name.
"I'm here to listen to everything. No judgment."
You sat quietly for a moment, staring at the glass of wine in your hands. The warmth of Hongjoong's home and his gentle presence made the walls you'd built over the past two months feel dangerously thin.
"I... I'll tell you," you whispered. Hongjoong nodded, giving you his full attention. He stayed silent, patient, as you started talking.
You told him everything.
How Jaehyun had been distant for weeks. The constant excuses. The lies about being at his house. How you baked his favorite cake and went to his dorm with a spare key, hoping to fix things. How you walked in on him fucking another girl. How he had the audacity to lie and say it was a mistake.
The more you spoke, the more your voice shook.
"I kept myself busy for two months straight," you continued, tears already blurring your vision. "Studies, practice, rehearsals... anything just to stop thinking about it. The whole campus knew. Everyone was looking at me with pity and I hated it. I'm supposed to be strong, supposed to be in control... but he made me feel so stupid."
Your throat tightened painfully.
"I trusted him. I never doubted him even once. And he played me like I was nothing. He told that girl he was single the whole time. He lied to both of us."
The dam finally broke. A sob ripped from your chest. Tears streamed down your face as all the anger, humiliation, and pain you'd been holding in came rushing out at once.
"I feel so pathetic..." you cried, covering your face with both hands. "I'm supposed to be better than this. I hate that he still has this much power over me."
You couldn't stop sobbing.
Suddenly, you felt strong, warm arms wrapped around you. Hongjoong had moved from his seat and pulled you into a tight, comforting hug. One hand gently rubbed your back while the other cradled the back of your head.
"Shhh... it's okay," he whispered softly against your hair, voice deep and soothing. "Let it all out, sweetheart. You don't have to be strong right now. Not here."
He held you closer, letting you cry into his chest as your body shook with heavy sobs.
"You're not pathetic," he murmured firmly. "You're incredible. My son is the idiot who couldn't see what he had."
Hongjoong didn't let go. He kept holding you, rocking you gently, his warmth and steady heartbeat slowly calming you down as you cried out months of pent-up pain.
"Just so you know," Hongjoong said softly, still holding you close, "I didn't raise my son to be like that. I thought I taught him well."
His voice was low and heavy with disappointment. One of his hands kept rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other gently cradled the back of your head.
"I don't know where he got the idea that cheating is okay," he continued, almost to himself. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. You didn't deserve any of this. Not a single second."
You stayed buried against his chest, your sobs slowly quieting into shaky breaths. His shirt was damp with your tears, but he didn't seem to mind. He smelled comforting, like warm cologne, fresh laundry, and something distinctly him.
Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face. His thumb gently wiped away the tears still clinging to your cheeks, his touch incredibly tender.
"Well..." you whispered shakily against his chest, voice still thick with tears, "just by how you're treating me right now... maybe it's only the looks that Jaehyun inherited from you."
Hongjoong let out a soft, surprised chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest. He pulled back slightly so he could look at you properly, his hand still gently cupping your cheek.
"Is that so?" he murmured, a small, handsome smile tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed another stray tear from your skin. "I'll take that as a compliment then."
Hongjoong watched you with quiet intensity, his dark eyes never leaving your face as you pushed the pasta around your plate. The warm lighting in the dining room cast soft shadows across his sharp jawline and the open collar of his black shirt.
He set his wine glass down slowly, the quiet clink breaking the silence.
"What do you want to do with Jaehyun now?" he asked, voice low and velvety.You stared at your plate for a long moment, the hurt and rage you'd buried for two months rising back to the surface like poison.
"I want him to learn his lesson," you said bitterly, your voice cracking. "I want it to hurt. I want him to feel even a fraction of the humiliation and betrayal he made me feel."A heavy silence filled the room.
Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, studying you carefully. Then the corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a dark, dangerous smile. He stood up and walked around the table until he was standing right beside you. His tall frame towered over you as he gently tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"Then let me help you teach him," he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly across your bottom lip. "We can film ourselves in bed. You and me. I'll fuck you the way you deserved. I'll make you moan my name so loudly the camera catches every desperate sound."
Your breath hitched.
Hongjoong leaned down closer, his lips hovering near your ear as his voice dropped into a husky whisper.
"Imagine it, sweetheart... My hands all over this beautiful body. My cock buried deep inside you while you're falling apart. And then we send that video straight to Jaehyun. Let him watch his own father ruining the girl he was stupid enough to cheat on." He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own burning with lust and something dangerously possessive.
"You'll be screaming for me... and he'll be forced to watch every second of it."
His fingers slid from your chin down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat on your skin."It's your decision," he said softly, but his eyes were anything but soft. "If you want real revenge... I'll give it to you tonight. I'll make sure my son never forgets what he lost."
You stared at Hongjoong, heart hammering wildly in your chest.
He was undeniably attractive. The way his black shirt stretched across his broad chest and muscular arms, the sharp line of his jaw, and those intense eyes that seemed to see right through you. At 42, he looked better than most men half his age. But this... this was crossing a dangerous line.
"I... I don't know," you whispered, voice shaky. You looked down at your hands, fingers twisting together nervously. "Mr. Kim, he's still your son. This feels... wrong."
Hongjoong gave you a warm, understanding smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle gently. His hand slid from your thigh to your back, giving you a soft, comforting pat as if he could sense the storm of emotions inside you.
"It's okay," he said softly, voice gentle and reassuring. "I don't like pushing things on people, sweetheart. Especially not you."
He straightened up and moved back to his seat across from you, though his eyes never really left your face. The tension in the air slowly eased, but the heat of his earlier words still lingered.
"Go ahead and eat," he added with a small nod toward your plate. "Then you can rest if you want. No pressure at all. I'm just happy you're here."
You nodded quietly and picked up your fork again, though your appetite had mostly vanished. The carbonara tasted amazing, but your mind kept replaying his proposal, the image of you and Hongjoong in bed, filming everything, sending it to Jaehyun.
For the next few weeks, Hongjoong's offer refused to leave your mind.
It lingered like a parasite burrowing deeper every quiet moment. Late at night while you tried to study. During band practice when your mind should've been focused on counts and formations. Even in your dreams, his low voice would whisper the filthy promise again and again.
You told yourself it was wrong. Disgusting, even. He was your ex-boyfriend's father for heaven's sake. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thought away, it always crawled back, hotter and more tempting each time.You decided to ignore it. Bury it. Move on.
Until one sunny afternoon.
You were walking past the football field when you saw them.
Jaehyun was sitting on the bleachers with the same girl, the one you had dragged off his cock that day. She was laughing at something he said, leaning into his side while his arm was casually draped around her shoulders. He looked... completely unbothered. Like he hadn't shattered your trust and humiliated you in front of the entire campus.
Something ugly and sharp twisted violently in your chest.Your feet stopped moving. Your fists clenched tightly at your sides.All the pain, the anger, and the humiliation came rushing back in full force. And right behind it, Hongjoong's voice echoed clearly in your head.
"If you want real revenge... I'll give it to you."
That's when you stopped hesitating.
The sight of Jaehyun laughing with that girl on the bleachers had ignited something feral inside you. No more crying. No more burying the pain. Tonight, you were going to make him regret ever laying eyes on anyone else.
Later that evening, you stood in front of the his father's house with fire in your eyes and steel in your spine. Your fist knocked firmly on the wooden door.
The door opened, and there was Hongjoong.
He looked devastatingly attractive in a simple black button-up with the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest. His dark hair was slightly messy, and the moment his eyes landed on you. Standing there with flushed cheeks, furrowed brows, and clenched fists.
Before he could even speak, you looked him dead in the eyes and said with absolute conviction. "Let's do it."
The air between you instantly thickened. Hongjoong's gaze darkened with raw hunger as he stepped aside, silently inviting you in. The moment the door closed behind you with a soft click, it felt like the outside world had been shut out completely.
Your head started to spin.You didn't know if it was because of Hongjoong's strong, woody perfume, deep, masculine, and intoxicating, that kept flooding your senses with every breath, or if it was the sudden wave of nervousness crashing over you all at once.Your heart hammered violently in your chest. Your palms felt clammy. The reality of what you just agreed to hit you like a freight train.
"Come with me," he said softly.
His hand slid down to yours, at the flat as he guided you upstairs. The house was quiet except for the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. Every step up the stairs made your stomach flutter harder.He led you down the hallway and pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The room was spacious and masculine, dark wood furniture, a large king-sized bed with crisp black sheets, and soft ambient lighting from the bedside lamps. The air smelled faintly of his cologne, the same intoxicating scent that had made your head spin earlier.
Hongjoong gently pulled you inside and closed the door behind you with a soft click. Without saying a word, he guided you toward the bed, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.
"Sit down, sweetheart," he murmured.You obeyed, lowering yourself to sit at the edge of the large bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight. Hongjoong stood in front of you, tall and commanding, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes.He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly tender.
"Nervous?" Hongjoong asked softly, his voice low and gentle as he stayed crouched between your parted thighs.You could only nod, not trusting your voice. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you couldn't deny it. Your heart was racing so fast you felt lightheaded, and the way he was looking at you, so intense, so patient, yet so hungry, made everything feel overwhelming.
Hongjoong gave you a small, understanding smile. He rose slowly from his crouch and sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his thigh pressing warmly against yours. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his side while his other hand came up to gently cup your face.
"It's okay to be nervous, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. "This is a big step. But I promise... I'll take care of you."
He leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, then another on your temple, letting his lips linger there. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you again, making your head spin in the best way.
"I'm not going to rush you," he whispered against your skin. "We can go slow."
His hand slid down from your face to your neck, then lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with feather-light fingers. He tilted your chin up so your eyes met his again.
"Tell me what you want," he said softly, eyes dark but patient. "Do you want me to kiss you? Touch you? Or do you just want me to hold you until the nerves settle down?" His thumb brushed slowly over your bottom lip as he waited, giving you full control even while his body radiated heat and barely contained desire.
The sigh that left your lips was soft and shaky the moment Hongjoong's lips met yours.It wasn't rushed or demanding. It was slow, warm, and devastatingly gentle, like he was savoring the first taste of something he had wanted for a long time. Your head instinctively leaned into him, eyes fluttering shut as a rush of heat spread through your body.
Hongjoong hummed approvingly against your mouth, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other stayed firmly on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips moved against yours with experience, deepening the kiss gradually until you parted your lips for him. When his tongue slipped inside, tasting you, a quiet whimper escaped your throat.He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, deep, sensual, and thorough. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thighs press together instinctively.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was slightly heavier, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire as he looked at you.
"Still nervous?" he whispered, voice husky. His thumb brushed tenderly over your now slightly swollen bottom lip.You barely managed a small shake of your head.
"There we go." Hongjoong smiled, slow and predatory, before capturing your lips again, this time with more hunger. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he guided you further onto the bed until your back gently met the soft mattress.
He hovered over you for a moment, drinking in the sight of you lying in his bed, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and eyes hazy with nerves and arousal. Then, without breaking eye contact, he sat back on his knees and reached for the buttons of his black shirt.
One by one, he undid them slowly, deliberately, revealing his toned chest and defined abs inch by inch. The shirt slid off his broad shoulders and strong arms, exposing his muscular upper body. He was even more impressive than you had imagined, years of quiet discipline showing in every line of his torso. He tossed the shirt aside without care.
Your breath caught.
Hongjoong leaned down again, capturing your lips in another slow, heated kiss. His bare skin radiated warmth as he pressed closer, one hand sliding up your side.
His fingers found the hem of your sundress. He sat up slightly and gently tugged the fabric upward, eyes locked on yours the entire time, giving you every chance to stop him. You lifted your hips instinctively, and he pulled the dress up and over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties.
Hongjoong let out a low, appreciative groan as his gaze roamed over your body.
"Fuck... look at you," he murmured, voice rough with desire. His hands traced your waist, then moved up to cup your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over the fabric. He leaned down and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then lower, between the valley of your breasts. His fingers skillfully unclasped your bra and slid the straps down your shoulders, freeing your breasts.
"Perfect," he breathed, eyes dark.He tossed your bra aside and returned to kissing you — deeper this time, while his hands explored your now mostly bare body with slow, reverent touches.
Hongjoong kissed you like he was starving for you, his mouth claiming yours in deep, slow strokes while his hands explored your body with growing hunger. He trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, until his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking gently.
A soft moan slipped from your lips.
He continued downward, pressing wet kisses along your stomach until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric and started slowly pulling them down your thighs, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.
As the lace slid down your legs, Hongjoong looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. His voice came out low and rough, slightly breathless.
"Where's your phone, sweetheart?" His hands never stopped moving. He finished pulling your panties off and tossed them aside, then ran his palms up your bare thighs, gently spreading them wider so he could settle between them.You could barely think straight, head spinning from the sensation of being completely naked under him.
"In... in my bag," you managed to whisper, voice shaky. "By the door..."
Hongjoong hummed in acknowledgment. He leaned down and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss right above your mound, dangerously close to where you were already aching for him.
"Stay right here," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. "Don't move."
He stood up for a moment, giving you a full view of his sculpted torso and the obvious bulge straining against his pants. He walked over to your bag, retrieved your phone, and returned to the bed.
Hongjoong gave you one last deep kiss before pulling back, then handed you your phone with a dark, heated look in his eyes.
"Here, sweetheart," he said, voice low and commanding. "You're going to record this."
He helped you sit up and lean back against the plush headboard, propping pillows behind you so you were comfortable. Then he moved down the bed, settling his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His large hands gripped the back of your knees and pushed your legs wider apart, fully exposing your glistening pussy to him.
Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the camera app on of your phone and switched it to video mode. You hit record.
Hongjoong looked straight into the lens for a moment, a wicked smirk on his lips, before his gaze dropped back to your dripping core. Without another word, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit in one long, filthy stroke. A broken moan immediately spilled from your lips.
"Oh my god..." you whimpered, hips twitching.
Hongjoong groaned at your taste, the vibration sending sparks through your body. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every drop before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit and sucking gently.
"Fuck—!" you cried out, your free hand flying down to grip his hair.
He ate you out like a man possessed, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, more hungry. His tongue circled your clit, flicked it, then dipped down to push inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on your pussy filled the room, clearly captured by the camera.
You struggled to keep the phone steady, your hand shaking as pleasure coursed through you. "Joong— ahh!" you moaned loudly, eyes rolling back. "It feels so good..."
He looked up at the camera again, eyes almost rolling at the back of his head, while you watched his face contort through the screen of your phone. He then slid two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them perfectly against that sensitive spot. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tried your best to keep recording, legs trembling around his head, hips grinding against his talented tongue.
His tongue worked your swollen clit with expert precision, licking, sucking, and flicking in perfect rhythm while two thick fingers pumped deep inside your soaked pussy. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room, all of it being captured clearly on the phone you were desperately trying to hold steady.
"Ahh—! Hongjoong... fuck!" you moaned loudly, your voice cracking.
Your head fell back against the headboard, but you forced your eyes to stay on the camera. Your thighs trembled violently around his shoulders. The pleasure was building fast, coiling tight and hot in your lower belly.
Hongjoong groaned against your pussy, the vibration making your back arch sharply.
"You taste so fucking good, baby," he growled, lips shiny with your juices. He curled his fingers harder, stroking that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "So wet for me already."
"I— I can't—" you whimpered, hips grinding desperately against his face. "It's too good... I'm— I'm so close!"
He sucked harder on your clit, flicking his tongue rapidly while his fingers fucked you faster, deeper. Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably. Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and commanding.
"Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum on my tongue." He dove back in, sucking your clit into his mouth with intense pressure while his fingers curled relentlessly against your g-spot. The coil inside you snapped.
"Oh my god— Hongjoong!" you screamed, your back arching violently off the bed. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs clamped around his head as you came hard, pussy pulsing and gushing around his fingers. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through your body, making your vision blur and your legs shake uncontrollably. You kept moaning his name brokenly, loud and shameless, as the orgasm went on and on. You didn't even know if you properly recorded the way he made you cum. It was too much for you to think about it.
Hongjoong didn't stop. He kept licking and fingering you through every pulse, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were a trembling, whimpering mess against the headboard. Only when your moans turned into weak, oversensitive whimpers did he finally slow down. He pressed one last gentle kiss to your throbbing clit before pulling his fingers out and looking up at you with a satisfied, predatory smirk.
Hongjoong huffed a heavy, shaky breath against your soaked pussy, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Your orgasm had clearly affected him just as much. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and his lips glistened with your release.
He slowly crawled up your body like a predator, hovering over you on his forearms. His muscular frame caged you in completely, his hard cock pressing hot and heavy against your inner thigh through his pants.
Without a word, he snatched the phone from your trembling hands. He quickly tapped the screen a few times, saving the video with a satisfied hum, then tossed the phone onto the far side of the bed where it landed safely on the pillows.
Now there was nothing between you two. Hongjoong looked down at you with pure hunger, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes. His bare chest brushed against your breasts with every breath he took.
"Enough recording for now," he rasped, voice thick and rough. "I want to feel you properly."
He leaned down and captured your lips in a deep, messy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands gripped your thigh, pulling it up around his waist as he ground his clothed erection against your bare, sensitive pussy. You moaned into his mouth, still twitching from your orgasm. Hongjoong broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.
"Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" he asked, voice low and husky, barely holding back his hunger. You didn't answer with words. Instead, you looked straight up into his eyes, fiery, determined, and needy all at once, and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck as you gave him the clearest answer you could.
Hongjoong's eyes darkened even more. A low, pleased groan rumbled from deep in his chest.
"That's my good girl." He reached down between your bodies and quickly freed himself from his pants. His hard cock sprang out, thick, heavy, and flushed. He wrapped a hand around the base and rubbed the swollen head up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your wetness.
You gasped softly at the feeling, your arms tightening around his neck.
Hongjoong pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he lined himself up with your entrance.
"Eyes on me, baby," he whispered roughly. Then, with one slow but firm thrust, he pushed the thick head of his cock inside you.
A broken moan escaped your lips as he stretched you open. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, groaning at how tightly your walls gripped him.
"Fuck... so tight," he hissed through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to slam all the way in. "You feel even better than I imagined." He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin as he gave you time to adjust to his size, his hips twitching with the effort of holding back.
The moment you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes, something in Hongjoong snapped.
He didn't hold back anymore.
With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward hard, burying his thick cock deep inside you in one powerful stroke. A loud, broken cry tore from your throat as he stretched you wide open, filling you completely.
"Fuck—!" Hongjoong growled, voice raw with years of pent-up desire. "Finally..."
He didn't give you time to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in, setting a brutal, desperate pace right away. The bed creaked loudly beneath you as he fucked you like a man who had been starving for this moment for years.
"Been waiting so fucking long for this," he rasped against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he pounded into you. "You have no idea how many nights I imagined fucking you raw in my bed."
Every thrust was deep and punishing, his hips snapping against yours with raw power. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with your loud moans and his heavy grunts filled the room.
Hongjoong grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his waist, driving even deeper. His rhythm was relentless, almost animalistic, like he was claiming you completely.
"Mine now," he groaned, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks while the other braced beside your head. "This pussy is mine."
He kissed you messily, all tongue and teeth, swallowing your moans as he fucked you harder. His hips rolled with every thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him dragging against your walls.You could barely think, only feel the way he was ruining you so perfectly. Hongjoong buried his face in your neck again, sucking hard on your skin as he growled.
He fucked you like a man possessed, hips slamming against yours with raw, years-long hunger.
He suddenly shifted his angle, hooking your leg higher around his waist and driving deeper. He thrust hard a few times, searching, adjusting, until he found it. Your whole body jerked violently.
"Ahh—! There—!" you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders.
Hongjoong's lips curled into a feral smirk against your neck.
"Right here?" he growled, voice dark and satisfied. He immediately started targeting that sweet spot mercilessly. Every thrust was precise, deep, and devastatingly fast, slamming directly into the spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. The wet, filthy sound of his cock pounding into your soaked pussy echoed loudly in the room.
"Fuck yes— take it, baby," he groaned, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he railed you without mercy. "This is what you needed, isn't it? A real man who knows how to fuck you properly."
His pace was brutal now, deep, fast, and relentless. The headboard banged loudly against the wall with every powerful thrust. Your breasts bounced wildly between your bodies as he drove into you again and again, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
You were moaning shamelessly, almost sobbing with pleasure, your arms locked tight around his neck.
Hongjoong buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking on your skin while he fucked you even harder, hips snapping with pure desperation.
"That's it," he panted, voice rough. He angled his hips again, making sure every thrust dragged perfectly against your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer to the edge at an overwhelming speed.
"You're getting so fucking tight again," he groaned, almost snarling. "Gonna cum for me already, sweetheart? Cum all over my cock like the good girl you are."
Hongjoong kept slamming into that perfect spot with ruthless precision, his hips moving in a fast, deep rhythm that left you completely undone. Your eyes suddenly rolled to the back of your head, mouth hanging open in a silent cry as the overwhelming pleasure reached its peak. Your entire body tensed violently beneath him.
"I'm— I'm cumming—!" you sobbed brokenly, voice cracking.
Your walls clamped down around his thick cock like a vice, pulsing and fluttering wildly as your second orgasm crashed through you even harder than the first. A loud, shameless moan tore from your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed while your legs shook uncontrollably around his waist.
The way your pussy squeezed him so tightly, almost begging him to cum with you, finally pushed Hongjoong over the edge.
"Fuck— baby!" he growled loudly, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate. With a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself as deep as possible inside you and came hard. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your spasming pussy, filling you up completely as he kept grinding into you, riding out both of your orgasms.
His body trembled above yours, hips twitching with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, groaning your name against your neck like a prayer. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed. Hongjoong stayed buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting and covered in sweat.
"Shit..." he whispered hoarsely, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. "You feel so fucking good milking my cock like that." He gave one last slow thrust, pushing his cum deeper into you, then stayed there, savoring the warmth of your body wrapped around him.
Both of you stayed locked together, breathing heavily in the quiet aftermath.
He let out a long, satisfied sigh and gently collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His face nestled into the crook of your neck, lips brushing softly against your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the faint beating of his heart against your chest.
Hongjoong was the first to move. He pressed slow, lazy kisses along your neck and jawline, then finally lifted his head to look at you. His hair was messy, cheeks flushed, and his eyes were softer now, warm, almost tender.
"You okay, sweetheart?" he whispered, voice hoarse from exertion. One of his hands came up to gently brush strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead.
You could only nod weakly, still dazed and trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. Your arms remained loosely wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at his nape.
Hongjoong smiled softly, a small, genuine smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He leaned down and kissed you, slow, deep, and full of affection this time, completely different from the raw hunger earlier.
Hongjoong stayed buried inside you for a few more moments, savoring the warmth and the way your walls still fluttered around him. He pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out with a low groan.
A thick trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your swollen pussy onto the sheets. He watched it for a second with dark satisfaction before looking back at your face.
"Stay still, sweetheart," he murmured softly, brushing a kiss on your forehead. "Don't move. I'll get you a glass of water."
You nodded hazily, still floating in a blissful, post-orgasm daze. Your body felt heavy and boneless against the mattress.
As Hongjoong got up and walked out of the room, completely naked, you reached over to the other side of the bed where he had thrown your phone. Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up.
The video was still there.
Without giving yourself time to overthink, you opened your messaging app, found Jaehyun's contact, and attached the video. Your thumb hovered for only a second before you hit send.The message delivered.
You stared at the screen, heart pounding. A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared... then stopped. Then appeared again.
Finally, a message came through.
Jaehyun: What the fuck is this?
Another message followed almost immediately, his panic clear even through text.
Jaehyun: Is that... my fucking dad?!
Jaehyun: Are you seriously fucking my DAD?!
You didn't reply. You smiled .A slow, satisfied, almost wicked smile spread across your lips as you scrolled through the flood of texts Jaehyun had sent in the last few minutes.
Jaehyun: What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!
Jaehyun: You're seriously fucking my DAD just because I made one mistake?!
Jaehyun: This is so fucked up. You're disgusting.
Jaehyun: Delete that shit right now. I can't believe you'd stoop this low.
Jaehyun: Answer me you fucking bitch.
Every angry, desperate message made the smile on your face grow wider. You could practically hear him shouting through the screen, the panic, the rage, the disbelief.
You were still smiling when Hongjoong returned with a glass of cold water in his hand. He paused at the doorway for a second, taking in the sight of you, naked, flushed, and glowing, sitting up in his bed while scrolling through your phone with a satisfied little smirk on your face.
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Did you already send it?" he asked, walking over to the bed. You looked up at him and nodded slowly, biting your lip to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face.
Hongjoong let out a low, rich chuckle, clearly pleased. He sat on the edge of the bed beside you and handed you the glass.
"Here, drink up," he said softly.
You took the glass and drank the rest of the water slowly while he watched you with dark, affectionate eyes. When you finished, he took the empty glass from your hand and set it on the nightstand.
He leaned in, cupping your jaw gently as he pressed a slow kiss to your lips.
"Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, voice laced with satisfaction. "Now come here."
Hongjoong pulled you back down onto the bed, wrapping his strong arms around your body and tucking you against his chest. He kissed the top of your head, one hand lazily stroking your back.
"Rest now, sweetheart," he murmured, holding you close. As you drifted off in his warm embrace, your phone buzzed one last time on the nightstand. You smiled against Hongjoong's chest and closed your eyes. Revenge had never felt so good.
ღ pairing: non-idol! jongho x afab! fem reader
ღ word count: 6k
ღ genre: smut
ღ rating: MDNI
ღ warnings: honestly this is basically porn with no plot. dom! jongho, unprotected sex (wrap up), nipple sucking, fingering , rough sex, creampie, pet names (baby)
ღ networks: @cromernet @k-vanity
ღ summary: it only took one night for months of tension to finally snap between you and jongho
Jongho was impossible to read. That was the problem.
You could sit across from him for hours and still not know what was going on behind those dark eyes. He’d stare at you with that calm expression, say something teasing in that low voice of his, then act like your heart wasn’t currently trying to claw its way out of your chest.
“You’re staring again.” You snapped your head toward Wooyoung, who sat beside you on the couch with an obnoxious grin stretched across his face.
“I am not.”
“You literally look at Jongho like he hung the moon.”
Across the room, Jongho leaned against the kitchen counter nursing a drink while talking to San. Even from here he looked unfairly pretty. Black hoodie pushed up at the sleeves. Hair messy from running his hands through it all night. His laugh rumbled softly through the apartment and your stomach betrayed you immediately.
Wooyoung made a disgusted noise beside you “Oh my god, there it is again.”
You shoved him hard enough to nearly spill his drink. “Shut up.”
“You like him.”
“I don’t.” You answer too fast.
“You do.” He protested beside you, not believing whatever you said.
“I don’t.”
“You so do.”
Before you could argue again, Jongho’s eyes flicked over. Straight to you, like they always did.
Suddenly the room felt too warm. His gaze lingered for a second too long before he pushed off the counter and started walking over. Your pulse immediately picked up.
Wooyoung noticed too. “Oh, this is getting good.”
“Leave,” you hissed.
“Not a chance.”
Jongho stopped in front of the couch, looking between the two of you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like I’m being talked about?”
“You are,” Wooyoung answered instantly.
“Wooyoung.” You snapped at him a bit, not having the patience.
“What?” He shrugged innocently. “I’m helping.”
“You’re making it worse.”
Jongho’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Making what worse?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly.
Wooyoung stood abruptly, patting Jongho on the shoulder as he passed. “Good luck, brother.”
Then he disappeared into the kitchen before you could kill him.
Silence settled immediately. Jongho dropped into the now empty seat beside you, one arm stretched across the back of the couch. Close enough that your shoulder brushed his.
“You look nervous,” he murmured.
“I’m not nervous.” Your voice was finally softer with him.
“You’re playing with your rings.”
Your hands immediately stilled. Jongho huffed out a quiet laugh, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Did Wooyoung say something?”
“He says a lot of things.” You shrugged, not wanting to talk about your mutual friend too much.
“Usually true things.”
You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. Mostly because Jongho was looking at you like that again.
Eyes soft, curious even as they moved around you to scan you. It made your chest ache.
“You know,” he said slowly, “for someone who claims not to like me very much, you get flustered around me a lot.”
“I do not.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re insufferable.” You fake whined, trying to be bothered.
“And yet you keep sitting next to me.” Your breath caught when he leaned a little closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to make you aware of every inch between you.
“You know what I think?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“I think you like me.”
You let out a nervous laugh immediately. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Then look me in the eye and say you don’t.”
That should’ve been easy. Except Jongho was watching you so intently that your brain stopped functioning entirely. Your mouth opened but nothing came out. His lips curved slowly, clearly feeling victorious.
“There it is,” he murmured.
“I hate you.” You mumbled yet your burning cheeks betrayed you.
“No, you don’t.”Jongho shifted closer until your knees brushed. Your entire body went rigid when his hand slid against the couch cushion beside yours, pinky barely touching yours.
“So stubborn,” he said softly.
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were convinced he could hear it.
“You’re annoying,” you whispered weakly.
“But you still like me.” He taunted.
“You’re very confident.”
“I have reasons to be.”
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. That tiny movement shattered whatever composure you had left. The room suddenly felt distant, muted, as if everyone else had disappeared. It was just him. Just Jongho
leaning closer and closer until your breathing stalled completely.
“Just admit it,” he whispered, lips barely inches from yours. “You like me.”
You should’ve denied it. Instead, your eyes flicked down to his mouth. Jongho noticed, of course he noticed. His hand moved first, fingers lightly brushing your jaw before he kissed you. Soft, careful. It felt like he’d been wanting to do it for a while. Your brain short-circuited instantly. You grabbed the front of his hoodie without thinking, kissing him back before you could get embarrassed about it later. Jongho made the quietest sound against your lips. Something pleased and surprised all at once and suddenly he was kissing you properly. Warm hands, mouth slow on yours. The entire world melted away. That was until a voice cut off the sweet butterflies in your stomach feeling.
“OH MY GOD FINALLY—” You both jerked apart violently. Wooyoung stood in the kitchen entrance looking ecstatic while San doubled over laughing behind him.
“I TOLD YOU,” Wooyoung shouted to literally everyone in the apartment. “I TOLD YOU THEY WERE IN LOVE.”
You covered your face immediately. Jongho, somehow, looked more annoyed than embarrassed. “Can you shut up?” he deadpanned.
“No actually,” Wooyoung said proudly. “This is the best day of my life.”
San pointed at the two of you, still laughing. “You guys were staring at each other for like six months. It was painful.”
“You interrupted on purpose,” you accused.
Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “And miss the climax of the slow burn? Never.”
Jongho sighed beside you, but when you peeked at him through your fingers, he was smiling. Actually smiling. “So… now can I say I was right?” He mumbled quietly.
You groaned, even though you were smiling too.
Jongho stared at Wooyoung for a long second. Then he laughed. His head tipped back slightly, shoulders shaking while Wooyoung pointed between the two of you like he’d just won the lottery. “I knew it!” Wooyoung shouted. “San owes me twenty bucks.”
“Worth every penny,” San muttered through his laughter.
Your entire face burned hot enough to melt through the floor. “Can you guys not—”
“No actually,” Wooyoung interrupted, “this is a monumental occasion. The sexual tension in this apartment was becoming a public health concern.”
Jongho groaned, dragging a hand down his face while you hid yours in your palms. “You’re all annoying.”
“But we’re right,” San grinned.
Jongho glanced at you. That softened look returned immediately. His amusement faded into something heavier. Something warmer. Something that made your stomach flip. “Alright,” he said simply, standing up.
Wooyoung blinked. “Alright what?”
“Get out.” The entire room went silent.
San barked out a laugh. “Wait...you’re serious?”
Jongho grabbed a couch pillow and threw it directly at Wooyoung’s face. “Out.”
“WOW.” Wooyoung clutched his chest dramatically. “You kiss one person and suddenly you forget your friends.”
“You interrupted me.”
“And I’d do it again.”
Jongho pointed toward the door. “Leave.”
“You’re insane,” Wooyoung muttered, though he was already dragging San toward the entrance. “This man has been waiting for this moment his entire life.”
“Goodnight!” San yelled.
“Use protection!” Wooyoung added.
“Wooyoung!” You shouted.
The door slammed seconds later followed by loud cackling in the hallway. Silence settled over the apartment again. A very different kind this time. You slowly lowered your hands from your face only to find Jongho already looking at you. Now there was nobody interrupting. Nobody teasing. Just the two of you and the thick tension hanging in the room. Your heart started racing all over again.
Jongho exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Sorry about them.”
“It’s okay.”
The silence filling the room was different now. It felt slightly dangerous all of the sudden. Because now you were noticing everything again. How close he was standing. How pink his lips looked after kissing you. How his chest rose slowly with each breath while his eyes stayed fixed on yours. Neither of you moved and neither of you spoke. Like if either one of you acknowledged what this actually was, it’d ruin it somehow.
Then Jongho took one step closer. Your breath caught instantly. “You know,” he murmured softly, “I had a whole thing planned.”
You blinked. “You did?”
“Mhm.”
“What happened to it?”
His mouth twitched. “Don’t really feel like talking anymore.”
Heat flooded your stomach. The look in his eyes nearly took you out completely.
You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His hand slid around your waist. His hold on you firm. You were pulled against him so fast you barely had time to gasp before he kissed you again. This one wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant. It was weeks, maybe months of tension finally snapping.
You kissed him back immediately, fingers tangling in the front of his hoodie as Jongho backed you toward the couch without breaking the kiss once. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt just enough to make you shiver. The sound he made against your mouth was low and wrecked. Like he’d been holding himself back for way too long.
“God,” he muttered breathlessly between kisses, forehead falling briefly against yours. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Your face burned hotter. But before embarrassment could settle in, Jongho kissed you again. Slow at first. Then deeper when your fingers slid into his hair. The tension between you dissolved into something warm and dizzying, all stolen breaths and soft laughter when your teeth accidentally bumped. Jongho smiled against your lips before kissing you again like he couldn’t help himself.
His hands slid fully beneath your shirt now, palms warm and rough against your skin as they traced up your sides with agonizing slowness. The calluses on his fingertips caught slightly on your skin, sending shivers racing up your spine. You arched into the touch instinctively, and Jongho groaned, a deep, desperate sound that went straight through you.
"You're so soft," he murmured against your mouth, hands spanning your ribcage, thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts. "I've wanted to touch you like this for so long."
Your breath hitched. "Jongho—"
He kissed you again before you could finish, one hand sliding up your back while the other stayed at your waist, holding you against him. His touch was reverent, exploratory, like he was mapping out every curve and dip of your body through sheer determination to memorize it all. When his fingers traced along your spine, you shivered hard enough that he pulled back slightly, eyes dark and searching.
"Cold?" he asked, voice rough.
"No," you managed. "The opposite."
Something flickered in his expression. A mixture of heat and satisfaction and barely restrained want. "Good," he breathed, and then his mouth was on your jaw, trailing slow kisses down to your neck.
The first press of his lips against your pulse point made you gasp. Jongho hummed in response, the vibration sending sparks through your nervous system. He kissed there again, then lower, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
"Fuck," you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair.
Jongho made a sound that was almost a laugh, but too breathless to be anything but desperate. "You have no idea what those sounds do to me," he muttered against your throat, punctuating the words with another kiss. "I've been imagining this imagining— you—"
"Yeah?" Your voice came out shakier than intended.
"Yeah." His hands slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs. "Can I—" He paused, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Can I take this off?"
"Please," you breathed.
Jongho's pupils dilated even further. He moved slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt and lifting it inch by inch. His knuckles brushed your skin as the fabric rose, and he paused halfway to press a kiss to your sternum, then another just above your navel.
"You're killing me," you gasped.
"Good," he murmured against your skin, smiling. "You've been killing me for months."
Your shirt finally came off, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and Jongho just looked at you for a long moment. His gaze traveled over your face, your shoulders, down to where you were still wearing your bra, and the expression on his face was so raw it made your chest ache.
"You're so beautiful," he said quietly, almost like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Heat flooded your cheeks. "Jongho—"
"I mean it." His hands settled on your waist again, thumbs stroking slow circles against your skin. "I've thought so since the first time I saw you. Drove me crazy that I couldn't tell you."
Before you could respond, he kissed you again. Deep and slow and thorough, like he had all the time in the world. His hands roamed your back, tracing the line of your spine, the curve of your shoulder blades, the dip of your lower back. Every touch felt deliberate, worshipful.
You tugged at his hoodie impatiently. "Your turn," you managed between kisses.
Jongho pulled back just enough to yank the hoodie over his head, and the brief moment of separation felt like too much. The second the fabric cleared his arms, you were pulling him back, hands finally able to touch bare skin. He was warm and solid under your palms, muscles shifting as he moved. You traced the lines of his shoulders, his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your fingertips.
You kissed his collarbone, then his shoulder, emboldened by the way he shivered. His skin tasted faintly of salt and something uniquely him, and you wanted more.
"You're not the only one who's been thinking about this," you admitted against his skin.
Jongho's hands tightened on your waist. "No?"
"No." You kissed along his collarbone again, feeling his breath catch. "I've wanted you for so long I thought I'd go crazy."
"Fuck," he muttered, and then his mouth was on yours again, kissing you harder now, more desperate. His hands slid up your back to the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling slightly. "Can I—"
"Yes," you gasped, head nodding quickly. "Yes, please—"
The bra came undone and Jongho eased the straps down your shoulders slowly, pressing kisses to each inch of newly exposed skin. When it finally fell away, he pulled back to look at you again, and the naked want in his expression made heat pool low in your stomach.
"Perfect," he breathed. "You're perfect."
Within seconds his mouth was on your neck again, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin while his hands came up to cup your breasts. The first brush of his thumbs over your nipples made you gasp and arch into the touch.
"Jongho—"
"I know," he murmured, doing it again, watching your face intently. "I know, baby."
The name made something flutter in your chest. You pulled him closer, needing more contact, more of him. Your hands slid down his chest to the waistband of his jeans, fingers tracing the line of his abs.
Jongho's breath hitched. "You're going to kill me," he muttered, but he didn't stop you when your fingers dipped just beneath the waistband.
"Good," you echoed his earlier words, smiling against his mouth.
He laughed breathlessly and kissed you again, walking you backward until your legs hit the couch. You sank down onto the cushions and Jongho followed immediately, settling between your thighs with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache. His weight pressed you into the couch as he kissed you breathless, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced down your side, over your hip, along your thigh. Every touch sending sparks through you.
"You feel so good," he murmured against your lips. "So fucking good."
Your hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly, and Jongho groaned. He kissed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, taking his time with each spot like he was trying to catalog every place that made you gasp. When his mouth closed around your nipple, you arched off the couch with a broken moan. Jongho hummed
in satisfaction, tongue swirling as his hand came up to palm your other breast.
"Jongho," you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. "Please—"
"Please what?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide.
"I need—" You couldn't finish the sentence, too overwhelmed by sensation.
"Tell me," he urged, pressing a kiss to your sternum. "Tell me what you need."
"You," you managed. "I need you."
Something in his expression cracked open at that. He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense, while his hand slid down your stomach to the button of your jeans.
"Can I?" he asked against your mouth.
"Please," you breathed. "Please, Jongho—"
He worked the button open with shaking fingers, then slowly dragged the zipper down. His knuckles brushed against you through your underwear and you both gasped at the contact.
"Fuck," Jongho muttered. "You're—" He pressed his palm against you more firmly and you whimpered. "So wet already."
Heat flooded your face but you couldn't bring yourself to be embarrassed, not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were something precious and desired and his.
"Only for you," you whispered.
Jongho's eyes darkened impossibly further. He kissed you hard as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, fingers finding you without hesitation. The first direct touch made you gasp into his mouth, and Jongho swallowed the sound greedily.
"God," he breathed, fingers moving with careful precision, learning what made you gasp and shiver. "You're so perfect. So responsive."
His finger teased your slit as he coated it in your slick. His finger moving and working to circle your clit in painfully slow circles. You couldn't form words anymore, could only hold onto him as he touched you, building the tension higher and higher. He watched the way you moved beneath him carefully, his finger finding your entrance and pushing it in. You gasped at the feeling, his finger pumping in and out of you until he had a second one join. He curled his digits inside of you, making your hips jerk as you could feel him hit the spot that made you see stars. "Jongho—" You moaned out his name in a wrecked whine.
"There?" he asked, voice wrecked by just the sight of you.
"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, right there—"
He kept the pressure steady, watching your face intently like he was memorizing every expression. The intimacy of being touched like this while he looked at you like you hung the moon was almost overwhelming.
"Jongho," you managed, reaching for him, needing to touch him too. Your hand found the bulge in his jeans and palmed him through the denim.
Jongho's hips jerked forward involuntarily and he cursed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Wait—wait," he panted, catching your wrist gently even as he thrust into your touch. "I need—if you keep doing that I'm going to—"
"I want you to," you whispered.
He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "Not yet," he muttered. "Not until I'm inside you."
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. Jongho pulled back just enough to hook his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and underwear to finally rid you of the rest of your clothing.
"Lift up for me?" he asked, voice rough.
You did, and he eased both garments down your legs slowly, pressing kisses to your hip, your thigh, your knee as more skin was revealed. By the time he'd pulled them off completely and tossed them aside, you were trembling.
Jongho sat back on his heels between your legs, just looking at you. His chest was heaving, hands flexing like he was restraining himself from touching.
"You're staring," you whispered, fighting the urge to cover yourself.
"Can't help it," he said roughly. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Before you could respond, he was leaning down to kiss you again. His lips soft, sweet and reverent. His hands stroked up and down your sides, your hips, your thighs, like he couldn't stop touching you now that he was allowed.
"Your turn," you managed, tugging at his jeans.
Jongho pulled back just enough to fumble with his belt, fingers shaking slightly. You helped him, both of you working together to get his jeans and boxers down and off. When he was finally bare, settling back between your legs, you both just looked at each other.
The weight of the moment hung between you. Months of wanting, of waiting, of being afraid to cross this line. And now here you were, nothing between you anymore, and it felt like everything was about to change.
His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving as he looked down at you. His cock was hard and flushed, already leaking, and the sight of him completely undone before you even touched made heat pool low in your belly.
"You're sure?" he asked, voice rough and strained.
"I've never been more sure of anything," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "I need you, Jongho. Please."
That was all the permission he needed. Jongho kissed you hard as he settled between your thighs, the weight of him pressing you into the couch. You could feel him hot and hard against you, and when he rocked his hips slightly, the head of his cock dragged through your wetness.
"Fuck," he groaned against your mouth. "You're dripping already. Is this all for me?"
"Yes," you gasped. "All for you. Only you."
His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding you slick and ready. He circled your clit once, twice, making you whimper and buck against him.
"I need to be inside you," he muttered, positioning himself at your entrance. "I can't wait anymore."
"Then don't," you breathed. "Take me. I'm yours."
Jongho lined himself up and began to push inside. He moved slow and careful despite the desperation written all over his face. The stretch was immediate and intense, your body struggling to accommodate him even as wet as you were.
"Oh god," you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. The feeling of him entering you, spreading you open inch by inch, was almost overwhelming. "Jongho—"
He paused, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. "You okay?" he asked roughly, voice strained with the effort of holding still. "You're so tight—fuck—"
"Keep going," you managed, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Don't stop. I need all of you."
Jongho groaned and pushed in further, the thick length of him stretching you wider. You could feel every ridge, every vein as he sank deeper, filling you completely. The burn of the stretch mixed with pleasure until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"So good," he panted against your neck. "You feel so fucking good. So perfect around me."
He pulled back slightly and thrust forward again, seating himself fully inside you. Both of you cried out at the feeling of him buried to the hilt, your body clenching around him like you never wanted to let go.
"God, you're taking me so well," Jongho groaned, staying still for a moment to let you adjust. "Look at you, stretched around my cock. So beautiful."
The filthy praise made you clench involuntarily, and Jongho cursed, hips jerking forward.
"Move," you finally whispered, nails dragging down his back. "Please, Jongho, I need you to move—"
He pulled back slowly, the drag of his cock against your walls making you both moan, and then thrust forward again. The angle made you see stars, finally feeling him so deep inside of you.
"Like that?" he asked, voice wrecked.
"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, just like that—"
Jongho set a rhythm that was deep and steady, each movement deliberate like he was trying to memorize exactly how you felt around him. Every thrust pushed deeper, hit harder, until you could feel him everywhere.
The couch creaked beneath you with every movement. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, obscene and perfect. The sounds eliciting from your pussy making him groan.
"Listen to that," Jongho groaned, picking up the pace. "Listen to how wet you are for me. How perfectly you take my cock."
Your hands slid into his hair, tugging hard, and Jongho moaned your name like a prayer. The sound of it made you clench around him, your walls fluttering and gripping him tighter.
"Fuck," he cursed, hips stuttering. "Don't do that or I'm going to—"
"I want you to lose control," you gasped, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. "Please...stop holding back. I can take it." You begged.
Something in him snapped at that. Jongho's control shattered completely. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, the force of it making you cry out. He did it again, and again, setting a punishing rhythm that had you gasping and moaning with every thrust.
"God, you feel—" He couldn't finish the sentence, just buried his face in your neck and fucked into you harder, deeper, like he was trying to crawl inside your skin. "So tight. So perfect. Mine."
"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. "All yours, Jongho—"
Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. The new angle made him hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars, and you couldn't stop the broken moan that tore from your throat.
"There?" Jongho panted, adjusting slightly to hit that spot again. "Right there?"
"Yes!" you cried out, back arching off the couch. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop—"
He didn't. Jongho kept the same angle, the same devastating rhythm, driving into you over and over while you fell apart beneath him. Every thrust sent pleasure sparking through your entire body.
"You're so beautiful like this," he groaned, pulling back to watch your face. "Taking my cock so well. Making such pretty sounds for me."
The praise combined with the relentless pace had you climbing higher and higher. You could feel your orgasm building, tension coiling tight in your core, but you weren't ready for this to end yet.
"More," you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for. "Jongho, please, I need—"
"I know," he murmured, one hand sliding between your bodies. "I've got you."
His fingers found your clit and circled it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made you cry out, hips bucking up to meet him desperately.
"That's it," Jongho groaned, watching you writhe beneath him. "Let me see you fall apart. Want to feel you come around my cock."
The tension built higher, tighter, until you were trembling with it. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. Jongho's cock filled you perfectly, stretched you wide, hit every spot that made you see stars.
"I'm close," you whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. "So close—"
"Not yet," he panted, slowing his pace slightly even though you could tell it was killing him. "Want to make this last. Want to feel you like this forever."
He rolled his hips in a slow, deep grind that had you gasping. You could feel every inch of him, thick and hard inside you, stretching you open. The slower pace was more intense, more intimate, making you feel everything.
"Jongho," you whimpered, clenching around him. "Please—"
"Please what?" he asked, voice rough. "Tell me what you need."
"Harder," you begged, past the point of shame. "Fuck me harder. I need it. Need you."
Jongho groaned like you'd punched him and immediately complied, snapping his hips forward with renewed intensity. The force of his thrusts pushed you up the couch, and he had to grab your hip to hold you in place.
"Like this?" he panted, driving into you relentlessly. "This what you need?"
"Yes!" you cried out, nails dragging down his back. "Yes, just like that, don't stop—"
The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room mixing with both of you moaning and gasping. It was filthy and perfect and everything you'd been dreaming about for months.
"You're so wet," Jongho groaned, looking down to where you were joined. "God, look at you taking me. Look at how well you take my cock."
You followed his gaze and the sight of him disappearing inside you over and over made you clench hard around him. Jongho cursed and thrust harder, chasing the sensation.
"I'm not gonna last," he panted against your skin, rhythm starting to falter. "You feel too good. Too perfect. I can't—"
"Don't care," you gasped, pulling him closer. "Want to feel you come inside me. Want you to fill me up."
Jongho made a sound that was almost broken, hips snapping forward desperately. His fingers worked your clit faster, more insistent, determined to bring you over the edge with him.
"Come for me," he demanded, voice wrecked. "Want to feel you come around my cock. Please, baby, I need it—"
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you and his fingers on your clit was too much. The tension that had been building finally snapped.Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending. You cried out his name as your body clenched around him rhythmically, walls fluttering and gripping his cock like a vice.
"Fuck, yes," Jongho groaned, feeling you come apart beneath him. "Just like that. So perfect. So good for me."
He fucked you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were shaking and oversensitive. Your walls were still clenching around him when his rhythm finally broke completely.
"I'm—" he gasped, thrusts becoming erratic. "I'm gonna—"
"Do it," you whimpered, legs tightening around his waist. "Come inside me. Want to feel it."
Jongho buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a guttural moan, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you. You could feel the warmth of it, feel him throbbing as he emptied himself completely.
"God," he panted, hips still moving in small, involuntary thrusts as he rode out his orgasm. "So good. You feel so fucking good."
He collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling and gasping for breath. You could feel him still inside you, softening slowly, and the intimacy of it made your chest tight. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just stayed tangled together with hearts pounding in sync while you both tried to remember how to breathe.
Jongho shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Holy shit," he whispered.
You laughed breathlessly. "Yeah."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the tenderness in his expression made your chest tight. Like he couldn't quite believe this had actually happened.
"Worth the wait?" you asked softly.
Jongho smiled. His soft smile that belonged only to you now. "So worth it."
Eventually, Jongho pulled out carefully, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before standing, offering you his hand.
"Come on," he murmured, voice still rough. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable than my couch."
You took his hand and let him pull you up, legs a little unsteady. Yet he steadied you immediately, one arm wrapping around your waist while his thumb traced absent circles against your hip.
"You okay?" he asked softly, searching your face.
"More than okay," you whispered.
Something in his expression softened even further. He grabbed his discarded hoodie from the floor and helped you slip it on, the fabric warm and smelling like him. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it made your chest ache.
Jongho laced his fingers through yours and led you down the hallway to his bedroom. You'd been in here before for movie nights and the occasional late conversation but it felt different now. Intimate in a way it hadn't been before. He flicked on the small lamp on his nightstand instead of the overhead light, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. The bed was unmade from this morning, sheets rumpled and inviting.
"Here," Jongho said quietly, grabbing a clean shirt from his dresser and gently wiping away the evidence of what you'd just done. His touch was careful, reverent almost, like you were something precious. When he was done, he tossed the shirt aside and cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks.
"Hi," he whispered, smiling slightly.
"Hi," you breathed back, unable to stop your own smile.
He kissed you again, slow and sweet this time, without the desperate urgency from before. Just soft and lingering, like he had all the time in the world now. When he finally pulled back, he tugged you toward the bed. You both climbed in, and Jongho immediately pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you like he'd been doing this forever. The sheets were cool against your overheated skin, and you could hear his heartbeat still racing beneath your ear.
His fingers traced lazy patterns up and down your spine while you tangled your legs with his. The room was quiet except for your breathing gradually evening out, the distant hum of the city outside, and the rustle of sheets as you both settled into each other.
This felt like coming home. His forehead rested against yours while both of you caught your breath, hands still tangled together like neither of you had realized it yet. Your cheeks hurt faintly from smiling so much, and Jongho looked just as gone as you felt. It made something warm settle deep in your chest. For once, neither of you rushed to fill the silence.
You traced your thumb absently over his knuckles. “So… Wooyoung was right.”
Jongho groaned immediately. “Don’t ever say that again.”
You laughed softly, and the sound seemed to undo him a little. His expression gentled as he looked at you like he was still trying to process that this was real. That you were real.
“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured.
“What?” You barely whispered, voice soft.
“I think I would’ve kept waiting forever.”
Your smile faded slightly at the honesty in his voice. Jongho glanced down at your joined hands before continuing quietly, “I kept thinking if I crossed the line and you didn’t feel the same, I’d lose you completely.”
“You wouldn’t have.”
“I know that now.”
Something tightened painfully in your chest. Because the truth was, you understood exactly what he meant.
All those months of almosts, the lingering looks, all the jealousy hidden behind teasing, your hands brushing for half a second too long. Both of you waiting for the other person to break first. Somehow, despite all of it, you still ended up here.
You smiled softly. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”
Jongho huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Probably.”
Then his hand lifted to your face again, thumb brushing your cheek with impossible care.
“But at least we’re idiots together.”
The words should’ve sounded teasing. Instead they landed somewhere deep. Your throat tightened unexpectedly, and Jongho noticed immediately. He always noticed.
His expression softened further before he leaned down to press one slow kiss against your forehead. A quiet promise wrapped inside something simple.
When he pulled back, you looked at him for a second before asking softly, “So what now?”
Jongho smiled then. The kind that only belonged to you now. “Now?” he murmured, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “Now I stop pretending I don’t belong to you.”
genre: non idol!au, college!au, fluff, kind of a slow burn with a very happy ending, mutual pining!!!!!!!! he falls first and hard, she too falls hard and fast :)))
word count: 25k, deadass.
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warnings: acquaintances to lovers, economics jumpscare, reader is a tutor and mingi is your not so average frat dude that does an athletic scholarship, eventual smut, praise kink!!!!!, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dry humping, lowk breeding kink mingi freaky, switch!mingi & reader, softdom!mingi, spanking (?), possessive!mingi, cockwarming (a lil!) / lmk if i missed any!
author's note: guys i finally locked in!!! this story has been such a bitch to write but i'm finally happy with it lmfaoaoo. the only reason why it took so long its cause i deadass remembered all my econ concepts from my first year at uni and i got flashbacks sooooo. if its inaccurate don't come for me. also ngl mingi ain't even that much of a fratboy, he is but he's a little nerd!! you'll see - i hope you guys enjoy!!
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
You hear him before you see him. The sound is impossible to miss—someone’s torn the universe open and stuffed it with a live wire; the room buzzes, vibrates, orbits around a single axis. Song Mingi is that axis, black hair messy from hands that are never his own, smile bright enough to reflect off the bottles lining the kitchen counter. It’s the kind of house party that exists more as myth than reality until you’re standing in the middle of it, your feet sticky with last weekend’s spilled vodka, your ears ringing from bass and laughter and the high-pitched screeching of people who either want to be him or be with him.
You don’t want either. In fact, you don’t really want to be here, but your roommate insisted—a rare Friday night without any assignments due—and now she’s traded you for a swarm of sweaty college kids in the living room. You’re left clutching a warm can of seltzer, surveying the landscape like a tourist on safari: here, the drunken pack of freshman girls hunched over a phone for a group selfie; there, the duo of varsity rowers relishing about morning practice, each trying to outdo the other’s misery; everywhere, the constant, inescapable gravitational pull of him.
He’s posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. She’s whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. It’s a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingi’s eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that he’s already bored. He’s hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.
You’ve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but he’s never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.
But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.
You don’t realise it at first; you’re half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the university’s new housing policy for the department group chat. There’s a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guard—the pure concentration of it, as if he’s seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.
Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe it’s the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingi’s mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.
Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, “Didn’t think this was your scene.”
You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. “It really isn’t, my roommate dragged me out.”
He grins, all teeth and promise. “I have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someone’s Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if you’re still talking to Mingi. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. He asks what you’re studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.
“If this soccer thing doesn’t work out, I’ll intern at some start-up company,” he explained. “Or I’ll sell feet pics.”
You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you.
By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back again—at your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.
You leave before he does. There’s no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitations—just a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You don’t look back. By the time you’re out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like it’s starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.
Inside, though, Mingi doesn’t. He’s still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesn’t move—drink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.
A shoulder bumps into his.
“What’s with that look on your face?”
Mingi blinks, like he’s just been pulled back into the room. “What look?”
Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. “That look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.”
Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.
══════════════════
Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kim’s Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and you’ve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, you’re already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.
Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.
He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t his class, or at least it hasn’t been for the past six weeks. You’ve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if it’s magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday night’s—smaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until he’s standing right next to you.
“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.
You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. “So, how’d you find the party?”
The question is casual, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than he’s letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway?
“It was... something,” you reply, deliberately vague. “Though I’m surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.”
He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. “What, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?”
“The evidence suggested a statistical probability.”
“Maybe I’m an outlier.” He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—smelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. “Or I just needed the right motivation to show up.”
Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.
“Hey,” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying it’s unstable in the long run?”
The question catches you off guard—not because it’s difficult, but because it’s astute. “Because expectations adjust,” you whisper back. “Workers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.”
He nods, considering this. “So it’s only reliable as a short-term predictor?”
“Yeah, you got it.”
Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questions—thoughtful ones that reveal he’s not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though that’s undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.
“The Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,” he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t that contradict what we’re seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.”
You stare at him for a beat too long. “That’s... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.”
A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if he’s won something. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, you’ve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. He’s taken actual notes. He’s asked intelligent questions. He’s made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. It’s disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what you’re saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.
“So,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?”
The invitation is transparent—he doesn’t need your help understanding the Phillips curve—but there’s something almost endearing about his attempt.
“Is that your go-to line?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. “Pretend to need academic help to get a date?”
“Only with the smart ones.” His grins unapologetically. “Is it working?”
You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. “No. Nice try, though.”
Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.
“You know what this means, right?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Now I have to come up with something better for Wednesday’s class.”
“Wednesday’s class?” You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. “You’re coming back?”
Mingi looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Of course. I paid for this course, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, “I’ve got a new reason to show up now.”
Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, he’s backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.
“See you Wednesday,” he calls. “Maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered that coffee date.”
You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know you’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, you’re already wondering what he’ll come up with on Wednesday.
══════════════════
True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like you’re the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.
At first, you’re suspicious—waiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.
You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. He’ll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformation—how he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.
It’s Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. You’ve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.
“I need to ask you something,” he says, no preamble, no charming smile.
You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. “Okay?”
He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “I need a tutor.”
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesn’t come, you set down your pen. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been getting the material just fine.”
“No, I haven’t.” His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. “I’ve been barely keeping up. The midterm’s in two weeks, and I’m—“ He stops, jaw tightening. “I need to pass this class with at least a B+.”
“You’ve been answering questions in class,” you counter, confused by this sudden admission. “You made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.”
Mingi’s laugh is hollow. “Yeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Look—“ He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.”
You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. “Why are you telling me this now? And why me?”
“You’re the smartest person in this class. I–I don’t know who else to ask…” His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. “I think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.”
Something doesn’t add up. You’ve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. “I don’t understand–”
Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. “I’m on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.” He runs a hand over his face. “My advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I don’t get at least a B+ on this midterm, I’m screwed.”
The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didn’t expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, you’ve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny him— to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask, softer now.
“Because it’s embarrassing?” He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. I’ve been fighting it since high school.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.
“I can’t afford a professional tutor,” he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “Most of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.”
You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But there’s something about seeing him like this—defences down, pride set aside—that makes it difficult.
“If I do this,” you say slowly, “there would be conditions.”
Hope flickers across his face. “Name them.”
“First, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the cost—this is work, not charity.” You hold up a finger. “Second, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.” Another finger joins the first. “And third, no messing around. This isn’t a backdoor way to—I don’t know—whatever it is you might be thinking.”
“You think I’m using this as an excuse to hit on you?” For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. “That would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.”
“I’m serious, Mingi.”
“So am I.” The smile fades. “I need this scholarship. Please.”
You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. “Fine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.”
The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.
As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isn’t just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was real—you’re almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. You’ve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if you’re falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, you’re already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.
Surely, this little arrangement you have going on won’t be a mistake… Right?
══════════════════
You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. You’ve been overthinking this all day—wondering if he’ll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.
At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. He’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “The line at the café was insane.”
You eye the coffee sceptically. “Is this a bribe?”
He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. “No, it’s a thank you. Here, try this.” He slides one cup toward you. “Oh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because I’m starving.”
The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.
“S’alright, I wanted to.” He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. “So, where do we start?”
For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal he’s been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for.
“So if technological progress is exogenous in this model,” he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, “then what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?”
“Exactly.” You can’t help the surprise in your voice. “That’s one of the model’s main limitations. It doesn’t explain where technological progress comes from.”
He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. “Which is why we need endogenous growth theory.”
You stare at him. “You’ve been reading ahead.”
A hint of his usual smirk appears. “Don’t sound so shocked. I told you I’m locked in for our sessions.”
“Reading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,” you point out.
“Maybe I’m trying to impress my tutor.” He winks, but there’s something different about his teasing now—less performative.
You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Focus, Mingi.”
“I am focused,” he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. “See? I’m being a model student.”
“A model student wouldn’t have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,” you counter, but there’s no bite to your words.
“True.” He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.”
You ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Haha. Very funny.”
As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. He’s attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesn’t get frustrated—instead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.
“Like this?” he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.
Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.
“That’s...actually perfect,” you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. “You got it exactly right.”
His smile is different from any you’ve seen before—not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. It’s smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.
“I have a good teacher,” he says simply.
You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. “Let’s try another one.”
Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.
“See? Not just another dumb jock,” he says, but the joke doesn’t land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.
“I never thought you were dumb,” you say carefully. “Unmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.”
He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. “Most people don’t make that distinction.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” he agrees, studying your face. “You’re definitely not.”
The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. You’re the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.
“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “We should probably wrap up.”
Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. “Same time Friday?”
You hesitate. You hadn’t planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress he’s made in just one session is undeniable.
“You don’t have practice on Friday?”
“Not until seven.” He zips up his backpack. “Unless you’re busy.”
“No, I’m not busy.” The admission comes too quickly. “Friday works.”
As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.
“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he says quietly, shouldering his bag. “Most people would have.”
The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. “You didn’t give me a reason to.”
You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.
“I can walk you home,” he offers. “It’s dark.”
“I live in the opposite direction from you,” you point out. “It’s fine, I’ve been walking home alone for two years now.”
He grins. “Just being a gentleman.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Ouch.” He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”
You laugh at his dramatic act. “Goodnight, Mingi.”
“Goodnight, Miss tutor.” He takes a step backward, still facing you. “Dream of fiscal multipliers.”
“That’s your homework, not mine,” you call after him.
His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. It’s only when you’re halfway home that you realize you’re still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.
You tell yourself it’s just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.
As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Friday’s session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if he’ll bring coffee again, if he’ll sit as close, if he’ll look at you with that same focused intensity. It’s purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you don’t quite believe it.
Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. “So? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?”
“It was just tutoring,” you say, setting down your bag. “He’s actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.”
Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. “That’s it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?”
You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.
“Nope, nothing at all,” you deadpanned at your roommate.
As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions you’ve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.
══════════════════
The following Friday, you’re setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.
“Okay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.” He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.
You eye the offerings suspiciously. “Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be a bribe?”
“Hm? For what?” He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.
“I don’t know. Extra help? A better grade?” You push the coffee slightly away. “I can’t accept this, you’ve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.”
Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. “It’s just coffee, don’t sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.”
You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. “Fine.”
His smiles. “If I wanted to bribe you, I’d need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.”
The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingi’s eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. It’s still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldn’t have expected.
“Thank you,” you hummed, setting up your materials. “Don’t think this earns you any leniency on today’s session.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, already pulling out his completed homework—all of it done correctly, you note with surprise.
Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.
“No liquid bribery today?” you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.
His face falls. “The line was insane, and I didn’t want to be late.” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “I can go get some if you—“
“I was joking,” you interject quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll make it up to you next week,” he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.
The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.
“Wha— Mingi, this is…” you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. “That place is twenty minutes from campus.”
He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. “My morning run took me that way.”
“Your morning run took you four kilometres out of your way?”
He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I’m an athlete. You could say that I’ve got excellent... endurance. A little detour doesn’t bother me.”
You roll your eyes, you want to press the issue but are distracted when he pulls out the work you assigned him the previous session. He’s not only completed all the assigned questions but has tackled the bonus problems you included as an afterthought. His work shows an elegant approach to the material that makes you pause.
“This solution,” you point to his work on comparative advantage models, “where did you learn this method?”
“Oh,” he looks almost embarrassed. “I was reading this paper by Stiglitz that mentioned a similar approach, so I adapted it. Is it wrong?”
You blink at him. “You’re reading Joseph Stiglitz for fun?”
“God no, not for fun,” he says, looking uncomfortable with your scrutiny. “I was trying to understand why the models in class weren’t clicking for me. Sometimes I need to see the bigger picture.”
“You know,” you say slowly, “you might actually enjoy Behavioural Economics next semester. It challenges a lot of the classical assumptions.”
His eyes light up. “That’s the unit with Professor Ryu, right? I’ve been wanting to take that.”
“Wait, seriously?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That class is notoriously difficult.”
“So am I, apparently,” he scoffed, but there’s no bite to it. “At least according to my tutor.”
The sessions continue, and with each one, your perception of Mingi shifts. When discussing economic inequality, he brings up points about systemic barriers that show he’s thought deeply about privilege—including his own. During a session on game theory, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of strategic thinking that surpasses most of your other students that you tutor.
“It’s like poker,” he explains when you comment on his grasp of Nash equilibrium. “Everyone thinks it’s about the cards, but it’s really about understanding people’s patterns and incentives.”
“You play?” you ask, imagining loud frat house games with red cups and shouting.
“My grandfather taught me,” he mumbled, something softer in his expression. “He was an economics professor, actually.”
The revelation hangs between you, another piece of the puzzle that is Song Mingi. You want to ask more but sense his reluctance to elaborate. Maybe another day, you hope.
══════════════════
As your midterm approaches, your sessions intensify. You meet three times in the final week, once in the campus coffee shop when the library study rooms are all booked. Mingi still insists on paying for your drinks and snacks.
“Okay hear me out, I’m applying economic concepts for when I order us coffee,” he announced before you can comment. “You’re providing a service, I’m compensating you beyond our agreed terms because the value exceeds the price.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I said two sessions ago,” you point out.
“I told you, I pay attention,” he corrected, and something in his tone makes you look up from your notes.
He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher—something more complex than what he shows the rest of the world. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. The night before the exam, you receive a text from him. Multiple actually.
The night before the exam, you receive a text from him: If monopolistic competition exhibits zero economic profit in the long run, why do firms bother entering the market?
You smile despite yourself and type back: Non-monetary incentives. Brand loyalty, market positioning, the satisfaction of seeing their competitors throw a bitch fit.
His response comes immediately: So spite is an economic motivator? They just like me fr.
You laugh out loud, drawing a curious look from your roommate.
“Is that Mingi?” she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Just a last-minute economics question,” you answered, trying to sound casual.
“Mhmm,” she hums skeptically. “Smiling over econ, right…”
You ignore her, sending Mingi one final message: Get some sleep. Economics rewards the well-rested. His reply makes your heart do something complicated.
I will, doll. Thank you.
On exam day, you spot him across the lecture hall. He catches your eye and gives you a small nod—no flashy smile, no charming wink, just quiet determination. For some reason, this affects you more than any of his rehearsed moves ever did that you observed in the past.
When Professor Kim calls time, you watch him hand in his exam with confidence in his posture that wasn’t there six weeks ago. As students file out, he makes his way to your seat.
“How’d it go?” you asked as you slowly gathered your things.
“I think,” he hums, “that Professor Kim might actually have to give me an A.”
“Don’t get cocky,” you scoff at his delusion, a small feeling of pride swells in your chest.
“Never,” he agrees solemnly, then ruins it with a grin. “I did crush that section on market failures. Turns out my experience with failed relationships was finally useful for something.”
You roll your eyes, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. “And here I thought we’d made progress beyond that frat boy persona of yours.”
“Old habits,” he nudges you with his elbow, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom. “Seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”
You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of how his stride has adjusted to match yours. It’s these small, unconscious accommodations that you find yourself noticing more and more lately.
“So,” he clears his throat, breaking the quiet as you cross the quad, “My frat is hosting our end-of-semester bash this weekend.” His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. “Saturday night, starting around nine.”
You keep your eyes focused ahead. “I’m sure half the campus is already going and planning their outfits.”
“Probably,” he agrees with a light laugh. “But I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come?”
When you don’t immediately respond, he adds quickly, “As a thank you for helping me ace this exam. I mean, I’m pretty sure I aced it.”
You slow your pace, finally turning to look at him properly. “You’re inviting me to your party? Me?” The disbelief in your voice is unmistakable.
“Is that so hard to believe?” His expression is somewhere between amused and offended.
“Mingi, I don’t do parties.” You adjust your bag strap, uncomfortable with how this conversation is veering into territory you’ve carefully avoided. “You of all people should know that.”
He frowns, “Don’t you want to celebrate? You helped me pull off a minor academic miracle here.”
“I think you’re exaggerating your previous academic despair,” you hesitated. “Besides, I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd.”
“My crowd?” He scoffs. “You’ve never even met my friends.”
“I’ve seen enough from a distance, I know enough.” You start walking again, faster now. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll pass.”
His long strides enable him to keep up with your pace. “Come on, just for an hour. You can leave if you hate it.”
“Mingi—”
“One hour, doll” he repeats. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll personally ensure no one spills anything on you and tries to bother you the whole night.”
Despite yourself, you laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I know my crowd.” His smile is softer now, more genuine. “Please? I want you to see that there’s more to us—to me—than the stereotypes.”
You study his face, searching for the manipulation, But all you see is sincerity and hope.
“Fine,” you groaned, not quite believing the words coming out of your mouth. “One hour. That’s it. I’m leaving the second someone tries to get me to play beer pong.”
His face lights up. “Deal. I’ll text you the details.”
As you part ways, you wonder what exactly you’ve just agreed to. You’ve spent nearly three years avoiding exactly this kind of social situation. Loud music, drunk students, the messy intersection of alcohol and attraction. Yet somehow, when Mingi asked, your carefully constructed refusal crumbled.
Your roommate squeals when you tell her your weekend plans.
“You’re going to the end of sem party? With Mingi?” She clutches your arm dramatically. “This is basically getting an invite from the MET gala!”
“It’s just a thank you for the tutoring,” you explain, trying to sound casual as you sort through your closet. “I’m only staying for an hour.”
“Sure,” she drew out the word with obvious disbelief. “That’s why you’re trying on your fourth outfit.”
You drop the dress you’ve been holding up. “I just want to look appropriate.”
“Appropriate for what? Or is it for making mister Song Mingi realise what he’s been missing?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“For not looking like I’m trying too hard,” you correct her, settling on dark jeans and a simple top that manages to be both casual and flattering. “This isn’t a date.”
“Whatever you say.” She flops back on your bed. “By the way, you should know that Mingi doesn’t personally invite just anyone to these things. Especially not someone he’s been staring at across classrooms for months.”
“He hasn’t been—“ you begin, but stop when you remember all those times you felt his gaze on you in the library and the lecture hall.
“Oh honey,” your roommate giggles, “for someone so smart, you are so stupid.”
══════════════════
On the night of the party, you and your closet have declared war. What began as a gentle sifting through hangers two hours ago has devolved into a cyclone of black crop tops, frayed denim, and shoes you forgot you owned. Your roommate’s voice, pitch-perfect for the college musical she never auditioned for, belts a running commentary from the bed: “You look hot in that, but hotter in the other,” and, later, “If you don’t wear that skirt, I will.” For every option you parade, she offers a one-woman panel’s worth of praise, criticism, and lewd suggestions, but when you finally emerge from the pile in a black singlet and the aforementioned denim mini, she sits up so abruptly the bedsprings squeal.
“Yes,” she hollered, pointing both index fingers at you as if firing a pair of pistols, “That’s the one! Fuck you look good.”
You tug at the hem, self-conscious. The skirt is so short your thighs feel like they might spontaneously combust with the friction of walking, and the top is cut low enough to leave no room . The outfit is, by college standards, conservative. By your standards, the edge of a personal revolution. You pace, boots heavy and loud. You layer on a thrifted blazer, then throw it off, then drape it over one arm for insurance. You sit on the edge of the bed, stand again, cross the room to the mirror, assess your reflection from the most punishing angles. You practice smiling in a way that suggests effortless fun rather than “I’m in hell and wish I were home in the comfort of my bed.”
Your roommate paints your lips red, then wipes it off with a tissue, then reapplies in a shade closer to your natural colour.
“There,” she beams, “like you rolled out of bed looking like this.”
You try not to look at the clock, but it’s everywhere—on your phone, on the microwave, in the stomp of boots hitting the tile as you stalk the kitchenette looking for a cup to fill, then abandon. Your hands shake when you pour yourself a glass of water. You spill some on your wrist, wipe it away, then notice your palms are already slicked with sweat.
“Stop fidgeting.” Your roommate’s tone is gentle, but there’s a note of command you recognize from years of friendship.
She takes your hands in hers, holds them steady, and says, “You’re just going to a party. With a boy. Not even a date.” She squeezes your fingers and grins. “You should be more excited! There might be hook-ups, or at least drama. At the very least, there’ll be free food.”
You want to laugh, but your stomach is a tight fist. You’ve spent the last three years avoiding exactly this scenario—rowdy house parties, the unwritten social contract of collegiate fun, the humiliation of standing awkwardly in a crowd of people who all seem to know exactly how to move, talk, flirt. You’re not anti-social, not truly, but your preferred company is to be alone with your trusted circle of friends. The thought of plunging into a frat house, even for an hour, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
And yet. There’s Mingi, the wild card. He’s never made you feel like a project, or an obligation, or a checkmark on a list of collegiate experiences. When he smiles at you, it isn’t the rehearsed, camera-ready grin you see him use on campus tour guides or in group photos. It’s something softer, quieter, reserved for moments when he thinks no one else is watching. You remember the way he said “please” when he invited you, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours even after you tried to look away. He made it sound like this party wasn’t just another party, but an extension of the strange, fragile thing growing between the two of you. You’re not sure you trust it, but you want, for once, to try.
You stall in the doorway, hand poised on the knob, running through possible disasters. Your roommate senses your hesitation, materializing at your side with a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.
“Remember,” she says softly, “you’re not obligated to like it. Just survive the hour, and if you hate it, I’ll be waiting with post-party ramen and a debrief.” She presses the blazer into your hands and shoves you gently toward the elevator.
You take the stairs instead, one flight, then another, legs trembling with anticipation. The campus is alive with spring: the air is thick with the cloying perfume of flowering trees, the distant thump of bass from speakers, the migration of students in clusters, each group moving toward its own temporary destiny. You keep your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary conversation. You find yourself counting steps, then counting heartbeats, and by the time you reach the block of houses that host the Greek life ecosystem, you’ve rehearsed twenty variations of how to say hello without sounding desperate. You pass a group of girls in matching pastel tank tops, their laughter ricocheting like pinballs off the sidewalk. You duck your head, wondering if they recognize you from Intro to Business Law, but they breeze past without a second glance. In the darkness, your reflection glances back at you from every window: a stranger, confident and composed, even as anxiety gnaws at your insides.
You approach the frat house, the lights already blazing, music leaking from every crack in the siding. In the front yard, a couple makes out with the desperation of people who know they’ll regret it in the morning. A boy in a toga sprints past, pursued by a girl wielding a pool noodle. The porch is a wall of bodies, some familiar, most not, and for a moment you consider walking straight past, circling the block, and returning to your dorm in defeat.
You almost do. You’re on the verge of turning around when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mingi: Where are you? I’ll come out front.
Your thumb hovers over the screen. Before you can reply, the front door swings open and there he is—Mingi, framed in the doorway like some ridiculous cologne advertisement. He’s wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your mouth go inexplicably dry. His hair is styled differently tonight, swept back to reveal his forehead in a way that transforms his entire face.
He scans the yard, eyes skipping past you once before snapping back, recognition dawning. When his gaze lands on you properly, something shifts in his expression—his confident smile faltering, eyes widening slightly.
“Oh,” he says, just that one syllable hanging in the air between you. He clears his throat. “I—you—“ He stops again, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.
You feel heat creeping up your neck, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. “Is something wrong?” you ask, tugging self-consciously at your skirt.
The question seems to snap him out of his daze. His trademark smile returns, but there’s something different about it—something genuine that settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite name.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he finally blurts out. “You just look... different.” He takes a step closer. “Good different I mean– Like really good different.”
You duck your head, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just a skirt and top. Nothing special.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your blush deepen. His confidence seems to grow in direct proportion to your bashfulness, and he extends his hand to you. “Come on. Let me introduce you to some people who aren’t total disasters.”
You place your hand in his, telling yourself it’s just to be polite, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends a current up your arm. He guides you through the crowded doorway, his body naturally creating a buffer between you and the jostling partygoers. You’re fully aware of his proximity, the cologne he’s wearing, the way his hand occasionally brushes against the small of your back as he leads you deeper into the house.
The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls to make space. The kitchen beyond is crowded with people mixing drinks and laughing over red cups. Mingi steers you away from both, toward a slightly quieter corner where a group of guys are engaged in animated conversation.
“Hey,” he calls out, and seven heads turn in perfect unison. “This is my econ tutor, the one I’ve been telling you guys about.”
You’re suddenly faced with an assembly of some of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in one place, each with a distinctive style that somehow works in harmony with the others. They regard you with varying expressions of curiosity and amusement.
“So you’re the one who got our Mingi to actually open a textbook,” a guy with sharp features and an even sharper smile walks up to the both of you. “I’m Hongjoong. House president.”
“Co-president,” Mingi corrects, rolling his eyes.
“Pfft whatever dude,” Hongjoong waves dismissively. “This is Seonghwa—“ he gestures to a tall, elegant-looking man who offers you a polite nod, “—Yunho—“ a friendly giant with dark hair raises his cup in greeting, “—Yeosang—“ a guy with delicate features and knowing eyes gives you a small smile, “—San—“ an energetic man with dimples deep enough to drown in waves enthusiastically, “—Wooyoung—“ a mischievous-looking guy with red hair winks at you, “—and Jongho.” The last member, compact but powerful-looking, gives you a respectful bow.
“Nice to finally meet the person who’s been occupying all our friend’s time,” Wooyoung whistles.
“And thoughts,” San adds, earning him a death glare from Mingi.
You shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze, but their smiles are genuine, lacking the judgment you expected from Mingi’s inner circle.
“Don’t believe anything they tell you about me,” Mingi says, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your ear. “Especially Wooyoung. He’s a pathological liar.”
“Nuh uh, that’s just not true!” Wooyoung protests. “I only lie on Tuesdays and public holidays.”
The group erupts in laughter, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing along. There’s an easy camaraderie among them that feels inclusive rather than exclusive, drawing you in despite your reservations.
“Mingi says you’re top of the econ department,” Seonghwa mentioned, his voice calm and measured. “That’s impressive.”
Before you can respond, Yunho chimes in: “He wouldn’t shut up about how you explained game theory using poker analogies. Said it was ‘revolutionary’ or some shit.”
“I did not say revolutionary,” Mingi denies, but the pink tinging his ears tells a different story.
“You did,” Jongho confirms flatly. “Multiple times. Over breakfast.”
You glance at Mingi, oddly touched that he’s spoken about your tutoring sessions to his friends. “It wasn’t anything special. He’s actually really quick to grasp concepts once they’re explained properly.”
Mingi grins at the group. “See? I told you guys I’m not just a pretty face.” He sticks his tongue out at them, more out of habit than real offence.
“No one said you were just a pretty face,” Hongjoong replies, tone even. “We said you’re a pretty face that just so happened to be a little bit stupid.”
Mingi scoffs under his breath, but he’s smiling anyway. “That’s not better.”
“It’s accurate,” Hongjoong snorted.
The banter continues, and you find yourself relaxing into it, surprised by how comfortable you feel among them. They’re not what you expected—not the stereotypical frat boys you’ve spent years avoiding. They’re smart, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful in their questions to you.
After a while, Mingi leans in again. “How are you feeling? Do you want a drink? Or maybe some air?”
You nod gratefully. “Fresh air would be nice.”
He places his hand lightly on your back again, guiding you toward a set of French doors that lead to a back deck. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat of bodies packed inside. The deck is strung with fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden boards, and surprisingly, it’s empty except for a few potted plants.
“The secret balcony,” Mingi explains, seeing your questioning look. “Off-limits to regular party guests. One of the perks of being house leadership.”
“So I’m not a regular party guest?” you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the railing.
“Of course not, you are far from it,” he mutters under his breath that makes your breath falter.
You both fall silent for a moment, the bass from inside creating a muted heartbeat beneath your conversation. You can’t quite decide what’s more surprising—that you’re here like this, or that it’s with Mingi of all people. You settle on not thinking too hard about either.
“Your friends are nice,” you finally break the silence. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He leans next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
“Loud, obnoxious frat bros talking about the typical one night stand and having the collective IQ of a houseplant.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, they can be loud and obnoxious too. But they’re also the best people I know.”
He pauses, looking out over the dimly-lit yard. “We all have our reasons for being here, you know? Hongjoong’s parents expected him to join their firm right after high school, but he wanted to go to college first. Seonghwa supports his younger siblings through school. Jongho’s on a full academic scholarship.”
You turn to look at him, surprised by this glimpse behind the fraternity façade. “And you? What’s your reason?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its usual confident edge. “My grandfather, the one I told you about, He was the first person in our family to go to college. He wanted to see me graduate more than anything.” His fingers tap against the railing, a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “He passed away during my senior year of high school.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but...” He went on. “I promised him I’d make the most of college. Not just academically, but the whole experience. The brotherhood, the leadership opportunities, all of it.”
“Is that why you’re so determined to keep your GPA up? For your scholarship?”
“Partly,” he admits. “Mainly because I don’t want to just be the party guy, you know? I want people to realise I’m capable and somewhat intelligent.”
Without really thinking about it, you close the remaining distance just enough for your hand to brush his. It’s tentative at first, almost accidental. When he doesn’t pull away, your fingers curl lightly around his. Mingi stills. For someone who’s always in motion, always talking, always performing, the sudden quiet in him is striking. His gaze drops to where your hands are joined, like he’s trying to process it, like this—you—is the one thing he never quite learned how to anticipate.
“It’s not a bad thing,” you say softly, your thumb brushing once, unconsciously, over his knuckles. “Wanting people to see more than what meets the eye.”
His hand shifts in yours, not pulling away—settling. Grounding.
“I know what it’s like,” you add, quieter now. “Being reduced to something simple. Convenient. Even if it’s… impressive on paper.”
That earns a small huff of laughter from him, but malice behind it. Just something tired, something honest.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess we’re both victims of stereotyping huh.”
You smile faintly. “I guess we are.”
And then it hits you. The warmth. The contact. The fact that your hand is still wrapped around his. Your fingers twitch slightly, awareness crashing in all at once, and you pull back—just a little too quickly to be entirely casual. The absence of him is immediate, the cool night air slipping into the space where his warmth had been. Mingi notices. Of course he does. Something flickers across his face, it was subtle but you saw it there momentarily. A small dip at the corner of his mouth, a hesitation like he almost reaches for you again before stopping himself. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced by something lighter, easier, like he’s filing the moment away instead of questioning it. He clears his throat, glancing out in the distance.
“Careful,” he teases. “Keep doing that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
You scoff, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Tragic,” he sighs dramatically. “Here I was, planning our future.”
“In your dreams.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re not already there.”
You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway, the tension dissolving into something softer, more familiar. For a moment, you simply stand together in comfortable silence, watching the party unfold below. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the angles you’ve studied during countless tutoring sessions.
“Can I ask you something?” he says finally, turning to face you.
“You just did.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why did you agree to tutor me? I asked some other people in our class and they said you turned them down.”
You consider the question, surprised by his awareness of your other rejections. “Honestly? You seemed desperate. Plus you actually pay me on time.”
“Ouch,” he winces, but his smile remains. “At least you’re honest.”
“Why did you ask me?” you counter. “There are plenty of other tutors on campus.”
He looks down at his hands, suddenly serious. “You were the only one who looked at me and didn’t see what everyone else saw.”
“And what’s that?”
“You know the usual stereotypes,” He shrugs, a gesture that carries more weight than it should. “Everyone thinks they know me because they hear all about my reputation.”
Something in his tone makes you pause, recognizing a sentiment that echoes your own experience. “I get that,” you say quietly. “People are like that with me too. They think what we are at face value is what we truly are.”
“Isn’t it?” His question is gentle, not challenging.
You shake your head. “No more than you’re just a frat boy who happens to look good in a button-down.”
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet yours, “You think I look good?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” you scold as you bite back a smile. “Your ego is big enough already.”
“There you go again, humbling me.” His gaze softens as he steps closer. “I like that about you. You never let me get away with anything.”
You tilt your head, crossing your arms loosely. “Yeah? I know there’s a lot of things you like about me.”
His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you continue, feigning nonchalance. “My intelligence. My work ethic. My incredible patience for difficult students—”
“—woah, woah,” he cuts in, laughing. “When did this turn into a self-evaluation?”
“You asked,” you shoot back. “I’m just being thorough.”
He steps closer, close enough now that the teasing edge softens into something warmer. “You missed a few.”
“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
“The way you pretend not to care,” he responded quietly. “But still show up anyway.”
Your breath catches slightly, but you recover. “That’s not a quality. That’s just… basic decency.”
“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “And the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
You freeze. “I do not—”
“You do,”
You swallow, your voice coming out just above a whisper. “What does that look mean, according to you?”
He studies you for a moment, like he’s debating whether to say it.
“Like you’re trying really hard not to like me.”
Your heart stumbles over itself.
“That’s a bold assumption,” you manage.
“Is it, doll?”
There’s barely any space left between you now. You’re aware of everything. How close he was to you, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Your own breath feels too loud in your chest.
“This feels like you’re fishing for compliments again,” you say, but your voice lacks its usual bite.
“Maybe,” he admits easily. “Only from you, though.”
The honesty of it lands heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your side, like they remember what it felt like to hold his hand. Like they want to again.
“Mingi—” you start, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say.
He leans in slightly. Not rushed. Not cocky. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t. Your eyes flick down to his lips for just a second—long enough for him to notice—and that’s all it takes. The air shifts, something unspoken settling between you as you both lean in, slow and almost hesitant—
“Yo! Mingi!”
The moment shatters. You both jerk back slightly as the deck door swings open. Wooyoung steps out, slightly breathless, eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate recognition—and absolutely zero subtlety.
“Oh shit,” he says, smirking. “Am I interrupting something?”
“What do you think?,” Mingi says flatly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Tragic,” his red haired friend replies, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Hongjoong’s looking for you. Something about the DJ setup dying and you being ‘useless but still required.’”
Mingi closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “Of course he is.”
Wooyoung gaze shifts back to you, smile softening. “Hey, you’re staying, right? It’s just getting good.”
You hesitate. And Mingi notices.
His attention snaps back to you, something apologetic in his expression. “I—give me ten minutes? I’ll come find you.”
You glance toward the house, the noise, the crowd, the overwhelming swirl of everything you’ve been holding at bay all night. Then back at him. At the almost-kiss still lingering in the space between you. By the way your chest feels too full, too tight, like you don’t quite know what to do with everything you’re suddenly feeling.
“I think…” you start, then pause, shaking your head slightly. “I should probably head out.”
His expression drops, just a fraction. “Already?”
“I stayed longer than I planned,” you say, offering a small smile. “I have an early morning.”
It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he nods slowly, stepping back just enough to give you space—even if he doesn’t seem to want t
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming. I can walk you–”
“No need, I can see myself out,” you reply softly. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a really good time.”
There’s a beat. Something unfinished is hanging between you.
“Get home safe,” he adds, quieter now.
“I will.”
You turn before you can overthink it. Before you can look at him again and change your mind and make your way back through the house. The music feels louder now, the lights harsher, the press of bodies more suffocating than before. By the time you step outside into the cool night air, your head is spinning. Not from the party. From him. From the way he looked at you like that. You exhale slowly, starting down the path back to your dorm, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.
Your key turns in the lock with a sharp click that echoes through the empty hallway. The walk back to your dorm passed in a blur. Your mind replaying those moments on the deck over and over, his face so close to yours, the almost-kiss that’s now branded into your memory as a question mark.
Your roommate looks up from her laptop, eyes widening when she sees you. “You’re back early! I thought—“ She pauses, taking in your expression. “What happened?”
You drop your bag and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I just made a huge mistake.”
“What did he do? Babe I swear if he tried anything—” She’s immediately on alert, sitting up straighter.
“No,” you shake your head, pressing your palms against your eyes. “The opposite. He was... perfect. His friends were really nice, funny too. The party wasn’t terrible. And we almost kissed, and then I—I ran away.”
“You what?” She scrambles off her bed and sits next to you. “Back up. You almost kissed him and then you left?”
“We got interrupted, and then I just... panicked.” You sit up, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Your roommate studies your face, her expression softening into something you haven’t seen before—concern mixed with understanding.
“Holy shit,” she mumbled. “You like him.”
“No,” you protest automatically, then trail off. “Maybe. Shit. I don’t know?” Your voice muffles as you bury your face in your hands. “This is so stupid. I’ve spent years avoiding guys exactly like him.”
“Except he’s not exactly like anyone, is he?” She nudges your shoulder gently. “Not if he’s got you this fucked up.”
You groan. “That’s the problem. He’s supposed to be this shallow frat boy who only cares about parties and hookups, but then he goes and talks about his grandfather and his friends and looks at me like—like—“
“Like what?” she prompts.
“Like I matter,” you cried out, wiping away the tears from your face. “Not just as a tutor or someone to boost his grade. Like he actually enjoys my company.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”
“That’s because I’ve never felt like this before,” you admit, the words coming out in a rush. “I’ve probably ruined it by running away like some character in a bad rom-com.”
“You don’t understand.” You get up, pacing the small space between your beds. “I had this whole image of him in my head…this whole narrative about who he was and what he wanted. It was so much easier when I could just dismiss him as just some guy. But he’s not, and now I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Maybe you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to him?” Your roommate suggests, her tone gently teasing you as she hands you a tissue.
“And say what? ‘Sorry I ran away when we were about to kiss, I’m just terrified because I might actually like you’?”
“That sounds like a start.”
You collapse back onto your bed with a groan. “I fucked up so bad.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, “but not irreparably.” She picks up your phone from where you dropped it and holds it out to you. “Text him.”
You stare at the phone like it might bite you. “Like now?”
“Yes, now. Before you overthink it even more than you already have.”
Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitant. “What do I even say?”
“The truth,” she says simply. “Or at least part of it.”
You take a deep breath and start typing, deleting, typing again. After what feels like an eternity, you hit send on a simple message: Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Ty for tonight.
The response comes faster than you expected, your phone buzzing in your hand almost immediately: All good. Did u get home safe?
Something in your chest loosens just slightly. He’s still talking to you, at least. You type back: Yea, made it back like 5 mins ago.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again: Can I call you tomorrow?
Your heart does a strange little flip. “He wants to call me tomorrow,” you tell your roommate, your voice sounding strange even to your own ears.
She grins. “See? Not ruined.”
You type back a quick ‘Sure’ before you can second-guess yourself.
His response is just as quick: Good. Sleep well, doll.
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at the nickname. Your roommate peers over your shoulder, reading the exchange.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she says jokingly. “From the looks of it, so does he.”
“This is such a mess,” you sigh, but there’s less despair in it now. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who doesn’t get caught up in... whatever this is.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you need this,” she suggests, returning to her own bed. “When was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good, not because it was the smart, practical choice?”
You don’t have an answer for that. As you lie in bed, sleep eluding you, you replay the night in your head. The way Mingi looked at you on that deck, the warmth of his hand in yours, the honesty in his voice when he talked about wanting to be seen as more than his reputation. You think about how easily you could have stayed, how different the night might have ended if you had just stayed with him.
══════════════════
Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through half-closed blinds and the persistent buzz of your alarm. The day crawls by in a strange haze. You go through the motions—catch up on any missed lecture notes, meet with your friends, grab lunch at the campus café—but everything feels slightly off-kilter. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket, conspicuously silent.
“He said he’d call,” you mutter to yourself during lunch, checking your notifications for the fifth time in an hour.
By mid-afternoon, anxiety has settled into a knot in your stomach. Was leaving the party abruptly really such a dealbreaker? Or worse—was the almost-kiss just another moment for him, easily forgotten once you walked away?
Your roommate finds you hunched over economics papers in your dorm, highlighter poised but motionless over the same paragraph you’ve been staring at for twenty minutes.
“Still nothing?”
You shake your head, trying to appear more focused on your work than you actually are. “It’s fine. He’s probably busy with frat stuff.”
“He’s nursing a hangover,” she mused, flopping onto her bed. “Those parties don’t exactly end early.”
“Yeah, probably.” You force your attention back to your notes, determined not to care.
The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your desk. You’ve moved on to grading papers for the professor you TA for, a task that usually requires your full concentration. Tonight, however, each essay blurs into the next as your mind wanders back to the deck, to Mingi’s face inches from yours. At 7:38 PM, your phone finally rings. You nearly knock over your coffee reaching for it, heart leaping into your throat when you see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answer with what you hope is casual nonchalance.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice comes through warm and slightly hesitant. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, just grading some papers.” You lean back in your chair, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he admits with a soft laugh. “Had to deal with some post-party clean up that was... not ideal.”
“Sounds rough,” you say, picturing the chaos that must have followed after you left.
There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d want to grab some ice cream? There’s this place near the science building that stays open late.”
You glance at your half-finished work, then at the clock. “Now?”
“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. I just...” He hesitates. “I think we should talk. In person.”
Your stomach drops. Those words never precede anything good.
“Oh,” you manage. “Sure. I could use a break anyway.”
“Great.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “Meet you there in twenty?”
“Make it thirty,” you say, already mentally cataloguing what you’re wearing—sweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, not exactly what you’d choose for whatever conversation is coming.
After hanging up, you change quickly into jeans and a sweater that’s slightly more presentable, running a brush through your hair and dabbing on lip balm before you can question why you’re bothering. Your roommate watches with barely concealed amusement.
“Just ice cream, huh?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, grabbing your keys. “He probably just wants to clear the air so tutoring isn’t awkward.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”
The walk to the ice cream shop takes exactly twelve minutes—not that you’re counting. When you arrive, you spot Mingi immediately, leaning against the wall outside. He straightens when he sees you, his expression brightening in a way that makes your heart stutter.
“Hey,” he greets you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks for coming.”
“For free ice cream? I’d be an idiot if I refused.” You aim for lightness, but your voice comes out slightly strained.
Inside, the shop is nearly empty, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the corner. Mingi insists on paying despite your protests, and soon you’re seated at a small table by the window, a scoop of chocolate chip melting slowly in your cup. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You focus intently on your ice cream, hyperaware of his presence across from you.
“So uh,” he finally breaks the tension, setting down his spoon. “About last night.”
You look up to find him watching you, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. “What about it?” you ask, playing for time.
He leans forward slightly. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t... misread things.”
Heat rises to your cheeks. “You didn’t,” you admit quietly.
Relief flickers across his face. “Then why did you leave?”
The directness of the question catches you off guard. You consider deflecting, making a joke, but something in his eyes—an earnestness you’re not used to seeing—makes you opt for honesty.
“I got scared,” you say simply.
His brow furrows. “Of me?”
“No.” You shake your head. “No this. Whatever is happening between us.” You gesture vaguely, as if that could dissolve it. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“The plan?” he echoes.
“My plan,” you clarify. “Graduate top of my class, get into a top-tier MBA program, no distractions.” You poke at your melting ice cream.
The words come easier than they should, like you’ve said them enough times to believe they’re ironclad. You scoop a fragile curl of choc chip into your mouth, watching it soften instantly, the chill doing nothing to settle the rest of you.
Mingi doesn’t look away. But something shifts in his expression—subtle, unreadable.
“You think this is a distraction,” he says quietly, like he’s testing the shape of the idea. There’s no bitterness in it, just a blunt apprehension that makes you want to fold in on yourself.
The words thud between you, heavier than any textbook you’ve ever carried. You set your spoon down, forced to confront the truth you’ve been working so hard to avoid: it would be much simpler if you could blame him. If the whole thing could be chalked up to a fluke in your otherwise disciplined trajectory: a blip, a party, a night on a deck that would fade with the semester. However, the real distraction is the way your mind keeps circling back to him even when he’s not there, the way your heart does that ridiculous stutter every time you see his name on your screen, the way—sitting here with him now—you feel some distant tectonic plate in your chest begin to shift. You hesitate. Then, because you’ve already started, you let it spill anyway.
“It’s not just that,” you admit. “I never planned on… this happening at all. And I definitely never thought you’d—” You stop yourself, exhaling a short, humourless breath. “Like, someone like me.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Someone like you?”
You gesture faintly, as if the words make sense on their own. “You know. You. Me. I just— I always assumed you wouldn’t go for someone like me. That you wouldn’t even look twice.”
The admission sits between you, heavier than you intended. Mingi leans back slightly, hands folding together, but not in his usual relaxed way. More like he’s trying to steady something. Then he lets out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief.
“I’ve been trying so hard to get you to notice me.” He says, shaking his head once.
You blink. “What?”
He looks at you properly now, like the answer should’ve been obvious all along. “You think I’m out of your league,” he says, almost incredulous. “I thought you were out of mine.”
That makes you go still. Before you can respond, he continues, voice softer now.
“You’re—” He stops, like the word itself isn’t enough. “You’re genuinely one of the most interesting people I’ve met. And you’re not just smart, you’re…” He exhales through his nose, like he hates how obvious it is. “You’re really fucking beautiful. And your brain? That’s honestly the most attractive part of you. I thought people were dramatic when they said intelligence was sexy, man I was so wrong.”
Your breath catches, and you hate that it does.
“I like what we are,” he adds, a little quieter. “The banter, the way you talk back to me, the way you don’t just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fold. It’s fun. It’s different. It’s… real.”
The honesty lands clumsily, unpolished in a way that feels impossible to fake. You look down at your ice cream before it fully melts.
“That’s… not what I expected you to say,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he says, a small, self-aware smile tugging at his mouth. “Join the club.”
“I know it’s unfair to judge you based on campus gossip, but...” You take a deep breath. “I’m scared of being just another story people whisper about in bathroom stalls.”
Mingi reaches across the table, his fingers hovering near yours without quite touching. “Can I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, and his warm hand covers yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and serious. “I won’t pretend I haven’t made mistakes. I have. But I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” His eyes hold yours, unwavering.
“How can I know that?” you whisper, voicing the fear that’s been lodged in your chest since the moment on the deck.
“Let me prove it to you,” he says with such conviction that your throat tightens. “Not with words or promises, but with time. With consistency.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly. “I’m not asking you to trust me completely right away. I’m asking for a chance to earn that trust.”
You study his face, searching for any sign of the practiced charm you’ve seen him deploy across campus. All you find is raw sincerity that makes your heart race.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Let me show you who I really am,” a small, vulnerable smile touches his lips. “I promise I’ll put all those stupid rumours to rest. No pressure, no expectations.”
“If it doesn’t work out?” The practical part of your brain needs to know there’s an exit strategy.
“Then we go back to being tutor and student, friends if you want,” he says, though something flickers in his eyes that suggests it wouldn’t be that simple for him. “I think we at least owe ourselves the chance to find out.”
You look down at your joined hands, feeling yourself wavering on the precipice of something that terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.
“Okay,” you find yourself saying, the word slipping out before you can overthink it. “I’ll give us a chance.”
The smile that breaks across his face is nothing like his usual confident grin. It’s wider, brighter, almost boyish in its genuine delight.
“Yeah?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.
“Yeah,” you confirm, a small smile forming on your own lips. “But I have conditions.”
He laughs softly, squeezing your hand. “Of course you do. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t have any.”
“We take it slow,” you say firmly. “For now, this is just between us. I’m not ready to tell everyone about us just yet.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees immediately. “What else?”
“If at any point I feel like this is becoming too much—“
“We reassess,” he finishes for you. “I understand.”
You nod, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. “One more thing.”
“Name it.”
“No more surprise coffees during tutoring,” you let out a laugh, you hope that he doesn’t take this rule too seriously.
He clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Mind you, those were gifts from the heart.”
“The heart doesn’t need caffeine to function properly,” you counter.
“Debatable,” he grins, then grows serious again. “I promise to uphold all the boundaries that you have. If at any point you want outs, just say the word and we can call it off.”
There’s something in his voice—a quiet determination—that makes you believe him, despite all your carefully constructed defences.
“So,” he wonders, leaning forward slightly, “now that we’ve established the ground rules... Can I walk you home?”
“That would be nice,” you smile, finishing the last of your now-soupy ice cream.
Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. Your campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at the library or locked in their rooms studying. Mingi walks beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brush, sending little sparks of awareness through you each time. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence as you walk side by side through the moonlit campus. Your mind races with everything that’s just happened—the confessions, the promises, the beginning of something neither of you had planned. Mingi’s hand occasionally brushes against yours, each contact sending little jolts through your system, but he doesn’t try to hold it. True to his word, he’s letting you set the pace.
“So,” he says as you approach your dormitory, “I was thinking maybe we could get dinner? Whenever you’re free… O-of course.”
The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. “I’d love to.”
You stop at the entrance to your building, turning to face him. The lamplight catches in his dark eyes, making them shine with something that looks suspiciously like hope.
“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly.
His brow furrows slightly. “For what?”
“For being patient and understanding.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling shy.
A smile curves his lips. “I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. A breath where you both stand looking at each other, the air between you charged with possibility. You make a decision, stepping forward before you can overthink it. Rising slightly on your toes, you press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight, Mingi,” you murmur, pulling back to see his eyes wide with surprise.
“Goodnight,” he coughs out, voice slightly rougher than before.
You turn quickly, swiping your keycard and slipping through the door before you can change your mind. Once inside, you can’t resist glancing back through the glass panel. Mingi stands frozen for a moment, hand raised to the spot where your lips touched his skin. Then, when he thinks you’ve gone, a transformation takes place. The cool, confident frat president dissolves into something entirely different. He pumps his fist in the air, does a little spin, and breaks into what can only be described as a victory dance—all limbs and unbridled joy, like a kid who just got exactly what he wanted for his birthday. He runs his hands through his hair, grinning so wide it must hurt, before composing himself and walking away with an extra bounce in his step. You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. Something warm blooms in your chest at the sight of him—campus heartbreaker, fraternity president, supposed player—celebrating a simple kiss on the cheek like it’s the greatest achievement of his life.
Maybe there’s more to him than you ever allowed yourself to see.
══════════════════
The following weeks unfold in a series of moments that feel stolen from someone else’s life. Mingi keeps his promise about taking things slow, but he finds other ways to show you he’s serious.
It starts with little things. A sticky note on your economics textbook when you leave it unattended for two minutes in the library: “Study Well!.” A cup of tea waiting for you before an early morning class, with honey already added the way you mentioned you like it once in passing.
Your tutoring sessions continue, but there’s a new undercurrent to them now. You maintain professionalism—mostly—but sometimes his fingers brush yours when you’re explaining a concept, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Sometimes you catch him watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way.
“Focus,” you scold during one such session, tapping your pencil against his notebook. “Our midterms are in coming up soon.”
“I am focusing,” he protests, eyes never leaving your face. “Just not on economics.”
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Looking at me isn’t going to help boost your GPA.”
“If it means looking at the prettiest girl in the room, it’s worth it,” he shrugs and the sincerity in his voice makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Walking with him after your brain numbing study sessions become so integral to your guys’ routine. It feels a little strange at first but when Mingi’s hand tentatively finds yours, all the stress melts away at his touch.
“You know,” he says during one such walk, “keeping you secret is killing me. The guys think I’ve gone celibate or something.”
You elbow him gently. “Your reputation could use the hit.”
“True,” he laughs, squeezing your hand. “For the record, this is the longest I’ve gone without posting on social media in ages.”
Mingi has been careful about keeping your relationship private. No Instagram stories featuring your coffee dates, no posts of your study sessions that sometimes devolve into conversations about everything and nothing. Just the two of you, learning each other in private moments stolen between classes and responsibilities.
One rainy Tuesday, he shows up at your dorm with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a stack of economics flash cards he made himself.
“I figured we could multitask,” he beams, setting up the food on your desk.
Your roommate, who’s been watching this unfold with barely concealed delight, grabs her jacket. “And that’s my cue to give you two some privacy,” she announces, winking at you on her way out.
Once she’s gone, Mingi turns to you with a sheepish smile. “Too much?”
You shake your head, oddly touched by the gesture. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just not used to anyone doing this for me.”
His expression softens. “Well that's too bad, doll, start getting used to it.”
The study session is productive—mostly. At first, the two of you really do focus, perched shoulder to shoulder with a blanket across your knees, pencils poised as you quiz each other from the stack of flash cards. For a solid twenty minutes, you run through concepts, definitions, and theoretical graphs, congratulating each other with exaggerated fist bumps for every correct answer. Mingi is sharp, more so than you expected, but he keeps getting tripped up on the same three formulas, and each time he stumbles, you make him recite them from memory until he gets it right. By the fourth round, you’re both dissolving into laughter at his increasingly creative mnemonic devices.
Eventually, the flash cards are abandoned in favor of pad thai and mango sticky rice. You eat cross-legged on the floor, passing the container back and forth, chopsticks clacking as the conversation drifts from academics to childhood memories, to music, to the merits of various ramen brands. Mingi tells you a story about getting locked in a janitor’s closet during a fraternity scavenger hunt, and you laugh so hard you nearly spill sweet chili sauce all over your leggings. He grins, watching you with open affection, and you feel your defenses slipping a little more with each shared story, each easy silence.
You mean to get back to studying, really you do, but by the time your plates are empty, you’re both sprawled out on the rug, heads tipped together, trading lazy jokes and favorite movie quotes. The stack of flash cards lies forgotten somewhere behind you. Mingi stretches his arm behind your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. You’re acutely aware that you said you wanted to take things slow, but now, in the soft glow of your desk lamp, with rain pattering gently against the window, slow feels less like a rule and more like a suggestion.
At some point, you roll onto your side to face him. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. He catches the look in your eyes and grins, that same vulnerable curve of mouth you saw outside your dorm, and you realize you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for anymore. The next hour is a blur of tangled limbs, whispered jokes, and the kind of laughter that leaves your ribs aching. You don’t kiss—at least, not on the lips—but you end up with your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tracing idle, feather-light circles on your back as you drift in and out of half-sleep. The textbooks are forgotten, the only thing that matters is the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath and the way it syncs perfectly with yours.
You don’t let him stay the night but you walk him to the door at midnight, both of you lingering in the hallway far longer than necessary.
“Tomorrow again?” he asks, voice low.
“Tomorrow,” you echo, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
You close the door behind him and press your forehead to the wood, equal parts giddy and terrified at how easy this is starting to feel.
That’s how it goes, week after week. Study sessions that turn into late-night conversations, walks that stretch on for hours, endless cups of tea and takeout and inside jokes that no one else would ever find funny. You find yourself looking for him everywhere: in the crowd of the dining hall, in the hush of the library at midnight, in the flicker of lamplight outside your window when you can’t sleep. Every time he appears, it feels like a secret only the two of you share. You start to notice the little ways he tries to care for you. The umbrella he brings when the forecast calls for rain, the pack of your favourite pens he leaves in your backpack before a big test, the playlist he makes for your morning runs, even though he can’t stand three-quarters of your “motivational” music. You tell yourself not to read into any of it, but you do. You’re hopelessly, helplessly reading into every tiny thing.
The night before your economics midterm, you meet up in the library’s quietest corner, both of you vibrating with nerves. He brings snacks and a fresh stack of flash cards, all hand-written in his messy scrawl, and the two of you settle in for a marathon review. For once, you manage to stay on task, quizzing each other with increasing intensity until you’re both exhausted. When the clock chimes one in the morning, you start to pack up, but Mingi hesitates, his hand hovering over the pile of books.
“You’re going to ace it,” he says, voice unexpectedly earnest.
You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you don’t distract me during the exam.”
“That’s going to be impossible,” he laughs, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “I’ll try my best.”
You snort, shouldering your bag. “I sure hope so.”
As you walk him out into the silent quad, he reaches for your hand—not tentative anymore, not asking permission, just doing it. You let him. The campus is empty, the sky ink-black and starless, and it feels like the entire world has narrowed to just the two of you, hands entwined, hearts beating a little too fast. He stops at the steps of your dorm, pulling you in for a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than normal. You memorize the feeling: the way his arms wrap around you, how he smells like detergent and the faintest hint of aftershave, the way his cheek fits perfectly against your temple. He reminds you to get some sleep, even as he lingers like he has no real intention of leaving just yet. You echo the sentiment back to him, a quiet reminder about his final. There’s a brief pause—something unspoken stretching between you—before you part with a soft, almost reluctant goodbye, the kind that feels less like an ending and more like something paused.
══════════════════
The morning of the midterm arrives with an electric tension in the air. You walk into the lecture hall, scanning the rows of nervous students until you spot Mingi. He’s hunched over his notes, frantically reviewing formulas, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. When he sees you, his face brightens momentarily before anxiety clouds his features again.
“Doll, I can’t remember anything,” he whispers as you slide into the seat beside him. “It’s all just... gone.”
You reach over and gently close his textbook. “Hey, breathe. You know this material better than you think.”
“Easy for you to say.” His voice cracks slightly. “What if I blank? What if everything we worked on just disappears the moment I see the test?”
You take his trembling hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look at me. You’ve put in the work. You understand the concepts. Trust yourself.”
He exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “I just... I can’t mess this up. Not after everything.”
“You won’t,” you say with such conviction that he almost seems to believe you. “Remember what you told me about game theory? It’s not about the cards, it’s about—“
“—understanding the patterns,” he finishes, a small smile forming. “The incentives.”
“Exactly. And you’ve got this. I know you do.”
Professor Kim enters the room, silencing the anxious chatter. As she distributes the exams, Mingi gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go. You mouth “good luck” to him before turning to your own test.
The exam is challenging, even for you. Two hours of intense concentration, complex problems, and theoretical applications that make your brain ache. Occasionally, you glance at Mingi. His brow is furrowed in concentration, pencil moving steadily across the paper. No panic, no hesitation. Just focused determination that fuels your own.
When time is called, you feel drained but satisfied. Mingi looks up from his paper, meeting your eyes across the room with an expression of cautious optimism.
“How’d it go?” you ask as you both file out of the lecture hall.
“I think... I think it went okay,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “That section on monopolistic competition? I nailed it.”
“See? I told you.”
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky just because you were right. Again.”
Three days after the exam, your phone lights up with his name: Grades are posted, lock in.
Your fingers fly across the screen as you log into the portal. There it is: Econ1000 - Final Grade: A+. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. You’re about to text him back when another message comes through: Can we meet? I’m outside your building.
Your heart races as you rush down the stairs. Mingi is pacing outside, face unreadable. When he sees you, he stops, and for a terrible moment, you think he’s failed.
“Mingi? What happened? Are you—“
His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “I got an A, I did it!”
Relief and joy flood through you as he picks you up in a spinning hug that lifts your feet off the ground. “I knew you could do it!” you laugh, arms wrapped around his neck.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist.
“Hey give yourself some credit, you did all the work,” you counter, unable to stop smiling. “I just provided occasional guidance—“
“—And motivation, patience, and belief when I had none.” His expression grows serious despite his smile. “Thank you.”
You feel your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “You’re welcome.”
He takes a deep breath, a flicker of nervousness crossing his features—something you’ve rarely seen from him. “So, I was thinking...” he begins, his hands sliding from your waist but not completely letting go, fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Maybe we could celebrate properly? Tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?” you ask, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.
“Dinner,” he says simply. Then adds, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “At an actual restaurant with fancy ass menus and shit.” His eyes meet yours, surprisingly earnest. “A date. Just you and me.”
The word “date” hangs between you, weighted with meaning. These weren't the standard study sessions or casual hangouts anymore. He wanted to take you out to dinner.
“A date,” you repeat, testing how the words feel.
“Yes.” He nods, watching your face carefully. “I want to take you somewhere nice. To celebrate, but also because...” He pauses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just want to treat you to a good meal, feels like the right thing to do.”
You laugh, the tension in your chest dissolving into something warm and bright. “In that case, yes. I’d love to go to dinner with you tonight.”
The smile that breaks across his face is incandescent. “Great! I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Seven works,” you nod, already mentally cataloguing your closet, wondering what constitutes appropriate attire for an official date with Song Mingi.
As if reading your mind, he adds, “Wear something nice. I made reservations at Stellina.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. Stellina is easily the most upscale restaurant near campus—the kind of place parents take their children when they visit, or where professors celebrate tenure. Definitely not somewhere college students typically go for casual dinners.
“Stellina?” you echo. “That’s... wow.”
“Wait, do you not like Stells?” he asks, suddenly uncertain.
You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just surprised.”
“Good surprised?”
“Very good surprised.”
He beams, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. You text your roommate the news, which results in her immediately abandoning whatever plans she had to help you prepare. By six o’clock, your room looks like a boutique exploded—clothes strewn across both beds, makeup scattered across the desk, and your roommate critically assessing every option.
“This one,” she declares finally, holding up a simple black dress you bought for a cousin’s birthday last year but haven’t worn since. “Classic, elegant, but still says ‘I’m not trying too hard.’” You slip it on, the silky fabric settling against your skin. It’s more fitted than you remembered, hugging your curves before flaring slightly at the hem. Nothing flashy, but undeniably flattering.
“Perfect,” your roommate nods approvingly. “Now, shoes...”
By 6:55, you’re pacing nervously in front of the mirror. The dress looks good, your hair is cooperating for once, and your roommate has worked minor miracles with minimal makeup. Still, anxiety flutters in your stomach like trapped butterflies.
“What if this changes everything?” you ask, chewing your lip. “What if it’s weird or awkward or—“
“Or what if it’s amazing?” your roommate cuts in, adjusting a strand of your hair. “Stop catastrophizing and let yourself enjoy this. The man is taking you to Stellina, for god’s sake. He’s clearly serious about you.”
Before you can respond, your phone buzzes with a text: I’m outside.
Your roommate practically shoves you toward the door. “Go! And I want all the details when you get back!”
You take one last deep breath, grab your small purse, and head downstairs. The moment you step outside, you spot him immediately standing beside his car, looking almost unrecognizable in a tailored navy suit. His hair is styled away from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes widen slightly as they take in your appearance, moving from your face to your dress and back again with an appreciation so obvious it makes your skin warm.
“You look...” he starts, then shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “I had a whole line prepared, but now I can’t remember it. You look incredible.”
“So do you,” you manage, taking in how the suit fits his broad shoulders perfectly. “I didn’t know you owned clothes like this.”
“Special occasions only,” he grins, stepping forward to offer you his arm. “Ready?”
The drive to Stellina is short but charged with a new kind of tension—anticipation mixed with awareness. Mingi keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you catch yourself doing the same. When you arrive, he insists on opening your door, offering his hand to help you out of the car with an old-fashioned gallantry that would seem affected from anyone else.
Inside, the restaurant is everything you expected and more. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the gentle clink of expensive silverware. The hostess greets Mingi by name and leads you to a quiet corner table partially secluded by a decorative screen.
“This is...” you begin, looking around at the elegant surroundings.
“Too much?” he blurted out in a panic, studying your face carefully as he pulls out your chair.
You shake your head, settling into your seat. “No, it’s beautiful. I’m just not used to... all this.”
“Neither am I,” he admits with a small laugh, taking his own seat. “I wanted tonight to be special.”
The waiter appears with menus and a wine list, addressing Mingi with practiced deference. You watch, slightly amused, as he navigates the wine selection with surprising confidence, asking questions about vintages and pairings that you wouldn’t have expected him to know.
“Since when are you a wine expert?” you ask after the waiter leaves to fetch your selection.
He grins, slightly sheepish. “I’m not. I spent an hour yesterday watching YouTube videos about how to order wine without looking like an idiot.”
The admission is so endearingly honest that you can’t help but laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I wanted to impress you,” he shrugs, no trace of his usual bravado. “Is it working?”
“Maybe a little,” you concede, smiling.
The wine arrives—a crisp white that pairs perfectly with the appetizers Mingi suggests. As you sip and sample delicate bites of food you can barely pronounce, the initial awkwardness melts away. Conversation flows as easily as it always has between you, ranging from classes to childhood stories to dreams for the future.
“So,” he says as the waiter clears your appetizer plates, “now that we’ve conquered economics, what’s next on your academic hit list?”
“Advanced Econometrics,” you grimace slightly. “Not exactly light reading.”
“Sounds intense,” he nods. “Do you think you’ll need a tutor for that one? If so, I know a guy…”
The teasing question makes you smile. “I think I can manage. What about you? What are you taking next semester?”
He hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Actually, I registered for that Behavioural Economics class you mentioned. And...” he pauses, “I’m thinking about adding a minor in Business Analytics.”
“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That’s a pretty intensive program.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, trying to look casual but not quite succeeding, “someone made me realize I might actually be good at this stuff. When I’m not being a, what did you call it? ‘Stereotypical frat boy with the collective IQ of a houseplant?’”
You wince, remembering your harsh assessment from months ago. “I was wrong about that.”
“Not entirely,” he laughs. “I can be that guy sometimes. It’s easier, you know? To be what people expect.”
The honesty in his voice touches something deep in your chest. “You don’t have to be that with me.”
His eyes meet yours across the table, warm and sincere, “I know.”
The main courses arrive—seared scallops for you, steak for him—momentarily pausing the conversation. As you eat, you notice how Mingi keeps finding excuses to touch you: his fingers brushing yours when reaching for the wine, his knee pressing gently against yours under the table. Each contact sends little sparks along your skin, building a current that hums just below the surface.
“Can I ask you something?” he says after a comfortable lull in conversation.
“Of course.”
“When did you start liking me?” The question is direct, curious rather than cocky. “I mean, I know you couldn’t stand me at first.”
You consider this, taking a sip of wine. “I think... it was during our third tutoring session. You spent twenty minutes arguing with me about income inequality and its effects on consumer behaviour.”
He looks surprised. “That’s what did it? An economics debate?”
“You were passionate,” you explain. “And knowledgeable. And you didn’t back down just because I disagreed. I was impressed.”
His expression softens. “For me, it was the party. That first night. When you looked at me and didn’t seem impressed at all.”
“Really? That early?”
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “You have no idea how refreshing that was. Everyone else was... I don’t know, wanting something from me. You just looked annoyed that I existed.”
“I wasn’t annoyed,” you correct him. “I was... intrigued.”
“Intrigued,” he repeats, smile widening. “I’ll take it.”
As dinner winds down, the restaurant gradually empties around you. Neither of you seems eager to leave, conversation flowing from topic to topic, punctuated by laughter and moments of surprising vulnerability. When the waiter discreetly brings the check, Mingi insists on paying despite your protests.
“This was my idea,” he says firmly. “My invitation, my treat.”
“At least let me cover the tip,” you argue.
He shakes his head, sliding his card into the leather folder. “Next time. You can plan the whole thing if you want.”
“Next time,” you echo, liking the sound of it more than you expected to.
Outside, the night air is cool and clear, stars visible despite the campus lights. Mingi takes your hand as you walk back to the car, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.
“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “It was perfect.”
He stops walking, turning to face you under the soft glow of a streetlight. “Thank you for saying yes.”
There’s a moment where neither of you moves. Then, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, Mingi leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades away—the restaurant, the streetlight, even the nervous flutter in your chest. His kiss is gentle at first, almost reverent, like he’s been waiting for this moment and doesn’t want to rush it. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
You smile, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. “What took you so long?”
Instead of answering, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re pressed against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. Something shifts in the air between you—the careful restraint you’ve both been maintaining giving way to something more urgent, more honest.
Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, messing up his carefully styled look. He makes a soft sound against your mouth that sends heat rushing through you, his fingers digging slightly into your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss turns hungrier, months of tension finally finding release as his tongue brushes against yours, tentative at first, then with growing confidence when you respond in kind.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils wide as he looks at you with undisguised want.
“I should’ve done this at the party ages ago,” he whispers, voice rough. “That night on the balcony. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
You laugh softly, feeling dizzy and light-headed in the best way. “Better late than never.”
He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips like he can’t help himself. “Do you want to go somewhere more... private?” The question is careful, giving you an out if you need it.
The responsible part of your brain reminds you of early classes tomorrow, of the boundaries you set, of taking things slow. But the part of you that’s been dreaming of this moment for longer than you care to admit is already nodding.
“Your place?” you suggest, surprised by the boldness in your own voice.
His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to agree so readily. “You sure?”
In answer, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your actions speak louder than words. When you pull away, his smile is almost dazed.
“My place it is,” he says, taking your hand and leading you back to his car with renewed purpose.
The drive to his fraternity house is charged with anticipation, the air between you electric with possibilities. His hand finds yours across the center console, thumb stroking over your knuckles in a way that seems both soothing and maddening at once. At a red light, he can’t resist leaning over to kiss you again, quick but deep enough to leave you breathless.
“If you keep doing that, we might not make it to your place,” you warn, only half-joking.
His laugh is low and warm. “Worth it.”
══════════════════
When you arrive, the house is mercifully quiet—most of his frat brothers either out or already asleep. He leads you through the common areas with your hand firmly in his, up the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside, he closes the door softly behind you, and suddenly the reality of where you are—in Mingi’s bedroom, alone, after the most perfect date—hits you all at once.
His room is larger than you expected, and surprisingly neat. A double bed occupies one corner, made with actual matching sheets and pillows. Bookshelves line one wall, filled not just with textbooks but novels, economics journals, and what looks like a collection of vintage records. A desk sits beneath a large window, offering the promised view of campus, lights twinkling in the distance.
“So,” you say, turning to face him, “this is where the golden boy lives.”
He pushes off from the door, crossing to stand before you. “Disappointed that there's no mattress on the floor and it’s not covered in beer pong trophies?”
“A little,” you admit with a teasing smile. “Though I do see at least one trophy.” You nod toward a shelf where a single golden cup sits next to a framed photo of Mingi with an older man, both smiling widely.
“Economics award from freshman year,” he explains, following your gaze. “That’s my grandfather, the day I got my acceptance letter.”
You move closer to examine the photo, aware of Mingi following you, the space between you shrinking with each step. When you turn to face him again, he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Something shifts in his expression—the playful fraternity president giving way to something more raw, more honest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip.
His fingers tremble against your cheek as he exhales shakily. “I’ve never been this terrified of messing something up,” he confesses, voice cracking slightly.
“Every time I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.” His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “I keep pinching myself that you’re actually here, with me. You’re not just another person to me—you’re my person.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, reverent. “I adore everything about you. The way you laugh, how you challenge me, even how you roll your eyes when I’m being ridiculous.” He swallows hard. “I’m serious about us. So serious it scares me.”
The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You see it in his eyes, the battle between desire and fear. Fear that he’ll scare you away, that he’ll move too fast, that you’ll retreat behind those walls he’s spent weeks carefully dismantling. Your hands, almost of their own volition, drift upward to press against his chest. Under your palm, you feel the erratic thrum of his heart, each frantic beat echoing your own.
“Mingi,” you whisper, and the sound of his name—so soft, so certain—shatters the fragile barrier he’s been holding between you. For a suspended moment, your gazes lock, electric and trembling, and then he moves with a sudden, desperate clarity.
Mingi’s restraint snaps like brittle glass. He surges forward, kissing you with an intensity that’s as bright and blinding as a detonated star—no preamble, no hesitance, just pure want. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, arms banding around your waist so tightly you feel like you might dissolve into him. There’s nothing tentative in the way he holds you; he’s all-in, every muscle taut with reverence and longing. The kiss is a reclamation, a promise, and the culmination of every unspoken thing that’s hung between you for weeks.
You can only cling to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the seismic shift in energy. Your breath is stolen, your senses alight, your mind gone white-noise blank. The room could be on fire and you wouldn’t notice. Mingi kisses like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets up for even a second—like you’re the last oxygen left on earth and he’s learning how to breathe. And yet, underneath the urgency, there’s a trembling tenderness, as though every pass of his mouth is asking, Is this okay? Am I too much? Do you want me, too?
You answer with your body, arching into him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, jaw tilting to deepen the kiss. His hands slide up your back, mapping the length of your spine; one finds its way into your hair, cradling your head, the other splayed possessively at your hip. He tastes like citrus and hope and the sharp, metallic shimmer of anticipation. There’s nothing careful about it—your teeth clash, your lips bruise, and when you gasp for air, he only uses the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, the delicate hollow at your throat. This is messy, urgent, but it’s also so fiercely sincere you’re left raw by the force of it. When he draws back, just long enough to search your face, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with wonder and disbelief.
“God, This might be better than the first time we kissed,” he pants, chest heaving as he regains control of his breathing. He brushes your hair away from your face, fingers gentle where his grip had been bruising. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You shake your head, already chasing his mouth again, needing to erase the words and replace them with more—more of him, more of this. He laughs against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones. You feel untethered, weightless, every nerve ending singing. You’re dimly aware of your back pressing up against the closed door, Mingi pinning you there in a cocoon of warmth and want. Every inch of you is alive, hypersensitive to the slide of his hands, the brush of his breath against your skin.
He kisses you again and again, in greedy, overlapping intervals, his self-control disintegrating the longer you let him. But even as the kiss turns molten, there’s nothing careless in the way he touches you—no sense of entitlement, just awe and gratitude, as though he still can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re choosing him. When he finally slows, his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, foreheads and noses pressed together, steadying yourselves against the aftershocks.
His lips find the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then your ear. “Sorry,” he whispers, not sounding sorry at all. “I got carried away for a second.”
You laugh, shaky and breathless. “It's okay, it was kinda cute.”
He smiles, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“I learned from the best.”
He laughs again, quieter this time, and it morphs into something softer, more vulnerable. “The student becomes the master now, huh?”
You step back, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies, and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there’s hesitation there too—a question. You answer by taking his hand and leading him toward the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, you place your palms on his chest and gently push. He sits immediately, looking up at you with such reverence that it steals your breath. For a moment, you simply stand between his parted knees, admiring how beautiful he looks like this—waiting, wanting, completely focused on you.
“Can I?” you ask softly, fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.
He nods, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Of course. Whatever you want, doll.”
You take your time undressing him, savouring each new inch of skin revealed. His breathing grows more ragged with each button you slip free, with each brush of your fingertips against his heated skin. Your hands drift lower, finding the buckle of his belt. His eyes never leave yours as you work it loose, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. There’s something intoxicating about the way he watches you—patient yet desperate, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. When you pop the button of his pants, his hands grip the edge of the mattress, anchoring himself down.
“Lift your hips,” you instruct softly, and he complies immediately, allowing you to slide his pants down his thighs. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he kicks them away, leaving him in just his boxers.
You take a moment to admire him like this—the strong lines of his thighs, the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Mingi has always seemed larger than life, but here, partially undressed and vulnerable before you, he’s beautifully human. When you trace a finger along the waistband of his underwear, he shivers, a small sound escaping his throat. He tries reaching for you, but you catch his wrists.
“Not yet,” you murmur, and he immediately stills.
“‘M Sorry,” he breathes, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I’ll be good.”
Something about the way he says it—like he’s never had to wait before, like he’s never been the one following someone else’s lead—makes the heat pool low in your belly. You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rewarding his patience.
“Lie back, let me take care of you,” you instruct, and he complies without hesitation, shifting up the bed until his head rests on the pillows.
You take your time undressing yourself, hyperaware of his hungry gaze tracking every movement. When you finally stand before him in nothing but your underwear, he lets out the sweetest whimper that’s graced your ears.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “You’re so beautiful. I—“
He cuts himself off, holding back a moan as you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands hover uncertainly at your waist, waiting for permission.
“Go ahead, you can touch me,” you grant, and his hands are on you instantly. Feeling the warmth of his hands as they trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.
You lean down to kiss him properly, deep and slow, savouring the taste of him. His lips part eagerly beneath yours, letting you set the pace, following your lead with a pliancy that’s intoxicating from someone normally so in control. You begin grinding against him for friction and he reciprocates. He groans into your mouth, mumbling curses under his breath. You felt his boner poking your ass while you both humped each other so so desperately. His bedroom is filled with the harmony of your heavy breathing, his whines, and the wet sounds of your lips crashing.
“Please,” he gasps. “I need—I want—“
“What do you want, Mingi?” you ask, pulling back slightly to watch his face.
“Need to feel you,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “Don’t want to—haah—cum in my pants like a fucking virgin.”
You giggle at his admission, you slowly reach behind you to squeeze his bulge, feeling it twitch in the palm of your hand. Mingi’s head tips back in bliss, growling at the sensation. The rawness in his voice makes your chest tight. You press soft kisses down his throat, across his collarbones, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair, but he doesn’t push or pull—just holds on like you’re his anchor in a storm.
When you finally strip away the last barriers between you, his whole body trembles with anticipation. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin slide beneath your touch as you position his flushed tip at your entrance. His eyes lock with yours—dark pools of need and surrender. You lower yourself with deliberate patience, savouring the stretch as his thick length fills you, watching his full lips part and his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks.
Mingi whines the second you ease down on him completely, hips trembling beneath you. His hands fist in the sheets, as if he’s physically restraining himself from thrusting up into you.
“Fuck, baby—“ he gasps, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful as he struggles for control. “Feels so good around my cock, shit—“
You lean down, hushing him gently, both palms cradling his flushed face. You treat him like something precious, something to be cherished as you press your lips to his in a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue curls against his languidly, unhurried, as if you have nowhere else to be but here, joined with him in this perfect moment.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you murmur between kisses, your voice soft and sweet and infinitely patient. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath. “You’re doing so good for me.”
He moans at your praise, his entire body shuddering beneath yours. He’s all muscle and barely contained strength under you, his powerful frame completely at your mercy. You can feel how desperately he wants to move, to take control, but he surrenders to your pace instead, letting you have him exactly how you want him.
You remain still, just sitting there with him buried deep inside you, feeling the way your cunt pulses around his length. The sensation must be overwhelming for him because his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing ragged and uneven.
“Is it too much?” you cooed, reaching to brush damp strands of dark hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing
He shakes his head frantically, his grip on your waist tightening. “N-no,” he whines with a soft, shattered sound. “Just—fuck, just need a s-second—feels too fuckin’ good—can’t think—“
Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes squeezed shut in some primal effort to hold himself together, chest heaving under your hands like he’s afraid his ribs will break apart from the force of it. You melt a little at the sight of him—a six foot force of raw sex appeal—now reduced to a mass of shaking limbs and shattered breath, undone and writhing beneath you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he trusts you to see him like this, about the way he lets himself be taken apart so openly, without armour or artifice. You savour it, every trembling, helpless second, and you want to draw it out forever.
You lean down, brushing your lips to his cheek in a soft, featherlight kiss. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he turns his head, chasing your mouth with a need so naked it nearly undoes you. You let him catch you, let him press his lips to yours—not in a kiss, exactly, but a silent plea, a lifeline. You answer by kissing him deeper, slower, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him open, coaxing him back to the surface. His hands slide up your back, frantic but reverent, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you by touch and touch alone. His heart beats wild under your palm, a frantic semaphore that reads: I want you, I want you, I want you. You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down the delicate line where his pulse hammers beneath thin skin. He shudders, his whole body rigid and shivery. You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his face
“Hey,” you murmur, voice as gentle as you know how to make it, “Relax, I’ve got you. Can you do that for me?”
He nods, so obedient and desperate it makes something deep in your chest ache with tenderness. One breath, then another, and you feel the tightness in his body begin to unravel—incremental, but real. You rock your hips slowly, experimentally, watching his face for every flicker of sensation, every micro-expression. His lips part in a helpless moan, but his eyes finally flutter open, dazed and shining. He tries to say your name but it comes out as a whimper, half-beg, half-blessing.
“That’s it, baby” you praise, kissing him again, softer this time. “You’re doing so well.”
The words seem to go straight to his core—he clings to them, drinking them down like water in the desert. You keep up a steady stream of encouragement, every whisper and touch meant to anchor him, to let him know you want him just like this: open, needy, trembling with the effort of holding back.
You draw the next movement out deliberately. The slow, aching drag of your hips, the way you squeeze around him with every tiny shift. Mingi’s hands grip your thighs like lifelines, fingers biting into your skin, but he doesn’t dare take back control—the restraint is exquisite, painful to watch. He’s at your mercy and loving it, if the way his eyes keep darting to your mouth, your chest, your hands, is any indication.
“Gonna let me do what I want, yeah?” you crooned, savoring how your voice makes him flinch with anticipation. “Keep being good for me.”
He nods, lips trembling as he struggles to keep his composure “Fuck. Yes—pl-please, ‘m yours.”
You build your rhythm, slow and steady, each grind calculated to wring the maximum shudder from him. Sometimes you pause, letting him throb helplessly inside you, watching his jaw flex and his throat work as he swallows the urge to move. Sometimes, you bring yourself up just enough that only the tip of him is inside, and let him feel the loss, the emptiness, right before you sink down again in one slow, molten pulse. Every time you do it, Mingi’s head tips back, a sound escaping his throat that’s closer to a sob than a moan. You let the building friction wind both of you higher, but you don’t let yourself get lost in it; you want to see him come apart, to savour every second of his surrender.
You pick up the pace, just enough to make it impossible for him to stay silent. The bed frame squeaks softly beneath you, his hands finally dragging up your ribs, desperate for anything to ground him in this sinful reality. He reaches up and cups one of your tits, rolling and squeezing your nipple until it hardens against his warm touch. Your eyes shut at the sight, your body starts to falter under his grasp. Every inch of him is trembling too, his body strung tight as wire. His thrusts are growing more desperate, cockhead now slamming into your weakest spot, ripping a pornographic moan from you.
“Please, doll,” he rasps, voice gone rough and wild. “Please, can I—?”
You lean in, your lips at his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. “You want to cum?” you hum, rocking down hard and slow, grinding your hips just the way he likes. “You want to fill me up?”
He makes a strangled sound that could be your name, or a prayer, or both. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he says again, as if the word is being pried out of him, as if he’s never begged for anything in his life.
You decide he’s earned it.
“Do it,” you cooed. “Cum for me, Mingi. Wanna feel you cum inside me.”
The effect is immediate. He bucks up into you, helpless, his face contorting with pure, blissful pleasure. His hands drag you down against him, holding you in place as he comes deep inside you, the force of it making his whole body shudder. Your juices drip down his balls and your gummy walls clamp down hard on his sensitive length, throwing into his orgasm and washing his vision white. You feel his warmth spreading in your insides, creamy ropes of cum making you feel fuller than before. You ride him through it, slow and greedy, squeezing him with your cunt until he’s wrung out and gasping, eyes rolling back as he drowns in sensation. His chest trembles under his shaky breaths as he pulls his half-hard cock out of your sticky heat, looking up at you through dampened lashes. You press your lips to his damp temple, stroking his hair until the aftershocks fade. For a moment, the world goes silent save for the hammering of both your hearts, the heat of your bodies, the sweat cooling on your skin.
All of a sudden, the equilibrium tilts.
Mingi comes back to himself by degrees, eyes still glazed but mouth already curling into a grin that’s all sharp canines and mischief. You’re still trembling, the aftershocks ricocheting through your bones, but the way he’s holding you now—possessive—is different from before. There’s a shift in the air, a gathering of purpose behind the lazy drag of his palm up your spine.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he rasps, voice rough with spent desire, “my turn.”
Suddenly he’s moving, rolling you onto your back in a single, fluid motion. His hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, your thighs, greedy in their hunger. His body covers yours, heat and weight and muscle, and you realise that he’s been biding his time, letting you have your way only so he could give it back to you tenfold.
“Did you really think you had all the control, doll?” he drawls, the words fiery and playful at once, goading you with the memory of your earlier dominance—all while letting you know it was only ever on loan.
His hands bracket your hips, fingers splayed and greedy, and you feel the faintest quiver in his arms as he holds himself over you, like a predator savouring the moment before the pounce. His eyes never leave yours as he takes himself in hand, his cock already hardening again. You feel the blunt head of him brushing against your sensitive folds, teasing at your entrance. He drags it slowly up and down your slit, still slick with his cum and your arousal, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he continues to tease you, tapping his tip against your cunt with feather-light touches. “Look at how eager you are f’me.”
You moan as he continues his torturous teasing, rubbing his hardening length against your swollen lips, gathering your shared wetness along his shaft. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the fullness you crave. Mingi just chuckles, keeping his movements shallow, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside before retreating. The emptiness is maddening.
“Use your words,” he commands softly, continuing the torturous tapping against your entrance. “Tell me what you need.”
“I— ohmygod... I need—,” you try to answer, but the question melts on your tongue.
His smile is triumphant as he finally, finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one smooth thrust. He buries himself deeper, hips rolling with a languid, relentless power. Every inch of him fills you, presses you open, makes you ache. He fucks up into you with a slow, devastating grind that leaves your toes curling and your nails digging into his biceps for purchase.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, nipping at your pulse point, tongue flicking over sweat-salted skin. “So wet for me. You like being stuffed by my cock don't you?”
“Oh fuck.. yes!” You whimper, and he grips your jaw, thumb pressing into your lower lip, enticing you to be louder.
“Let me hear you,” he growls, eyes burning into yours. “Fuck—let the whole dorm hear how good I’m making you feel.”
He fucks you like he has nowhere to go and nothing else to do but ruin you, each punishing thrust deliberate and deep, perfectly tuned to hit every trembling, oversensitive sweet spot inside you, drawing out increasingly desperate sounds that seem to fuel his hunger. The room is a riot of sensation: the slap of skin on skin, the obscene squeeelch of your own arousal, the sweat that drips from his brow onto your collarbone as he leans in to bite at your shoulder.
He laces his fingers through yours, pinning your hands above your head, and the new angle is exquisite—he’s so deep you can barely breathe, so intense you can’t manage a sound. He’s watching your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and pain, cataloguing the way your body arches and clenches around him.
“Look at you,” he pants, fucking you harder now, the headboard rattling with each thrust. “You look so pretty like this—spread out for me, fuck. This is what you wanted, right?”
You feel the weight of him first, that heavy press of Mingi’s body pinning you down against the sheets, his hips grinding slow and deliberate as he sinks deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you wide, the burn mixing with that sweet ache that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the scarred skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just growls low in his throat, pushing harder, stuffing himself in until there’s no space left between you. All you can feel is him, that thick length buried deep, pulsing against your walls as he drives in again and again. a whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy, your body arching up to meet him even as the overload makes you want to pull away. Mingi notices immediately. his hand shoots up, fingers tangling rough in your hair, yanking your head forward with just enough force to make you gasp.
“Look at me,” He rasps, voice strained like he’s fighting through something sharp and brutal.
His grip tightens, holding you steady so your eyes lock onto his. Yours are wide now, pupils blowing out wide and dark, swallowing the colour until there’s just that hazy black stare reflecting back at him. He watches it happen, the way they dilate under the dim light, pulling him in like you’re lost in the haze of it all. His sounds get louder, desperate almost, grunts turning into these deep, guttural moans that vibrate through his body into yours.
“Fuck—I'm gonna lose my mind,” he groans, the word dragging out low and pained, like the pleasure is edging on torture. his free hand digs into your hip, bruising as he pulls you closer, slamming in one last time. “Your perfect cunt was made for me wasn't it?”
You nod, frantic, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. He slows, just enough to let you catch your breath, then leans in, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that’s as much a challenge as comfort. His tongue is rough, demanding, and he swallows every helpless sound you make.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, he pulls out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching at nothing. Before you can beg, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, hands manhandling your hips up until you’re on your knees for him, face pressed into the pillows. He lines himself up behind you, the heat of his cock nudging at your entrance, and you whimper in anticipation.
“You're gonna let me fuck you sooo good, right baby?” he promises, voice gone dark and needy, and then he slams back into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke. The sound you make is sweet, involuntary, a sob torn from deep in your chest. He gives you no quarter, hips pistoning relentlessly, the flat of his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends you clenching around him.
“So beautiful,” he purred, running his palm over the stinging flesh.
With every thrust he drives the point home, each one punctuated by a filthy litany—mine—until you can feel the word burning into your skin. He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerks your head back so you’re forced to arch, to present yourself to him, to let him see how utterly, beautifully ruined you are.
“Say it,” he orders, voice raw. “Tell me who you belong to.”
You gasp, barely able to form words. “You! Mingi. I’m all yours—“
He rewards you with devastating thrusts, so deep your vision starts turning white.
You can feel yourself unraveling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He’s relentless, fucking you through your first orgasm and into a second, not stopping even when you collapse boneless onto the mattress. He kisses your spine, your shoulder blade, every vertebrae, as he keeps you pinned and takes you, over and over, until your vision blurs and you forget your own name.
“M-mingi! M’ so close, gonna cum—“
“Gonna cum inside you again,” he promises, voice shaking with how close he is, hips stuttering. “You gonna take it for me? Gonna let me breed this perfect pussy?”
“Yesyesyes—fuck!”
The words rip something out of you. You nod, desperate, grinding back against him, greedy for his release.
“That’s my girl, c’mon cum with me baby.”
He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and fucks you through his own climax, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up again, so much it slicks out around the edges and paints the inside of your thighs, messy and obscene.
You collapse together, his arms locked around your waist, breath ghosting warm across your neck. He stays inside you, softening only a little, like he can’t bear to let you go yet. You lie there, bodies tangled and sticky, sweat cooling on your skin, and you feel the heat of him still throbbing inside you, a silent claim.
Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, your breathing gradually slowing to match each other’s rhythm. Mingi’s weight on top of you is heavy but comforting, his cock still nestled deep inside you despite having softened slightly. The gentle pulsing of him against your walls sends occasional aftershocks through your system, little reminders of the intensity you just shared.
“Stay like this,” you whisper when he finally stirs, your hand reaching back to keep him in place. “Just a little longer.”
He makes a soft sound of agreement, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. “You like feeling me inside you, don’t you?” His voice is a gentle rumble against your skin.
You nod, feeling strangely vulnerable in your admission. There’s something deeply intimate about this—more so, somehow, than the passionate sex you just had. Mingi seems to understand, adjusting his position slightly so he’s not crushing you but remains connected, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped possessively across your waist.
“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.
“Perfect,” you sigh, melting into the mattress beneath his weight.
The room falls quiet except for your mingled breathing and the distant thrum of music from downstairs. The party continues without you, but at this moment, the world outside this room might as well not exist. Mingi nuzzles against your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to the marks he left earlier.
“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly.
“What, sex?” you tease, knowing full well that’s not what he means.
He laughs softly, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. “No, smartass.” His arm tightens around you. “This,” he clarifies, fingers drawing gentle patterns on your skin. “Having someone stay over.”
You twist your neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? But you’re—you’re you. How—”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah I know…I don’t bring people here. Ever.”
“Ever?” You shift slightly to face him better, wincing as you feel him slip out of you. The loss is immediate, leaving you empty in a way that makes you want to chase the connection again. He reaches for tissues from his nightstand, cleaning you both with surprising tenderness before settling back beside you. His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable.
“Never,” he confirms, voice soft. “This room is... I don’t know. It’s mine. My space. I don’t share it with just anyone.”
The implication hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You’re not just anyone. You’re someone he wants in his private world, someone he’s letting see parts of himself that others don’t.
“But all those stories about you...” you begin, confused.
He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “Not saying I’ve been a saint. But those hookups? They happened elsewhere. Never here. Never in my bed.” His fingers trace your cheekbone with careful precision. “Never like this.”
Something warm blooms in your chest, spreading outward until your whole body feels flushed with it. You’ve been the exception to so many of his rules already—the girl he studied for, the one he took to Stellina, the one he waited patiently for. And now this—being the only person he’s ever brought to his most personal space.
“I didn’t know,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.
“How could you?” His smile is small but genuine. “I’ve spent a lot of time making sure everyone sees exactly what they expect to see.”
You reach up, touching his face with gentle fingers. “And what am I seeing right now?”
“The real me,” he says simply. “The one who’s terrified of messing this up. The one who thinks about you constantly. The one who...” he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, “the one who wants you to be his girlfriend. Officially.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. Despite everything that’s happened between you—the tutoring, the dates, the incredible sex you just had—hearing him say it out loud makes it suddenly, overwhelmingly real.
“Mingi...” you start, uncertain how to respond.
His face falls slightly, but he quickly masks it. “I’m rushing things, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not that,” you say quickly, not wanting him to misunderstand. “It’s just—this is all happening so fast. A few months ago I couldn’t stand you, and now...”
“And now?” he prompts when you trail off, eyes searching yours.
“Now I can’t imagine not having you in my life,” you admit. The truth of it surprises even you. “I just need a little time to process everything. Can I... can I give you an answer tomorrow?”
Relief washes over his features. “It’s not a no?”
You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Definitely not a no.”
He pulls you closer, wrapping you in his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. “Tomorrow it is. I can wait.”
You fall asleep like that, tangled together in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm on your neck. For the first time in years, you don’t worry about your schedule or your plans or what comes next. You just let yourself exist in this moment, with him.
═══════════════════
Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slowly, your body pleasantly sore as consciousness creeps in. For a moment, disorientation clouds your mind—this isn’t your dorm room. All of a sudden, rapid flashbacks enter your mind from the events of last night. Mingi is gone, the sheets cool where he should be. For one terrible moment, panic seizes your chest—did he regret last night? Did he change his mind about wanting you as his girlfriend?
Then you hear footsteps in the hallway, the door handle turning. You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart pounding.
Mingi backs into the room, hands full. He’s balancing a tray of coffee cups, a small box of chocolates tucked under his arm, and—your breath catches—a bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas cradled against his chest. He hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet, too focused on not dropping anything as he nudges the door closed with his foot.
When he turns and sees you watching him, his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Morning,” he says, suddenly looking shy. “I was hoping to be back before you woke up.”
“What’s all this?” you ask, unable to keep the smile from your voice.
He approaches the bed, carefully setting down the coffee cups on the nightstand. “Well, I figured your answer might depend on how convincing my case was.” He hands you the flowers, the stargazer lilies’ pink-speckled petals unfurling beside clusters of blue hydrangeas that catch the morning light. “These reminded me of you.”
You bury your nose in the blooms, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “They’re perfect.”
“There’s more,” he says, offering you the box of chocolates. “Your favourite, right? The ones with the salted caramel centers?”
You blink in surprise. “How did you know?”
“You mentioned it once, when we were studying for the midterm. Said they were your stress food.”
The fact that he remembered such a small detail makes your heart swell. He passes you one of the coffee cups, the rich aroma of your preferred brew wafting up as you take it.
“And this…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. “This is the most important part.”
You set the coffee aside and take the card with trembling fingers. The envelope is simple, your name written on the front in his familiar handwriting. Inside is a handmade card, decorated with what appears to be hand-drawn economic graphs and formulas. You open it, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest as you read the message:
According to my cost-benefit analysis, being with you yields the highest returns on investment. Our relationship has increasing marginal utility—the more time I spend with you, the more valuable each moment becomes. Will you be my girlfriend and help me maximize our happiness and love function?
It’s nerdy and sweet and so perfectly him that tears spring to your eyes. When you look up, he’s watching you nervously, waiting for your response.
“Soooo?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You set the card aside carefully and reach for him, pulling him down until he’s sitting beside you on the bed. “You're so stupid,” you say, cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I'll be your girlfriend”
The relief and joy that wash over his features are almost painful to witness. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both gentle and fierce, like he’s trying to pour every emotion he’s feeling into this one perfect moment.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if he’s committing this to memory.
“You know,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “for someone who was failing economics a few weeks ago, that was a pretty impressive application of the principles.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of you. “What can I say? I had an excellent tutor.”
“Damn right you did,” you tease, pulling him in for another kiss.
Outside, the campus is waking up. Students are heading to class, professors are preparing lectures, life is continuing as it always has. But in this room, wrapped in each other’s arms, you and Mingi have created something new—a world that belongs just to the two of you, built on unexpected connections, shattered assumptions, and the courage to see beyond the surface. As his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, you let yourself sink into the certainty that some economic theories are universal: the most valuable things are often the ones you never saw coming, and the greatest returns come from the investments you make not with your head, but with your heart.
Yunho didn’t have a type, per se, but he found himself always drawn to girls like you. His friends made fun of him, telling him that he had a lolita complex, but that was definitely, completely, 100% not true, especially because he was not at all attracted to underaged girls. No way. Absolutely not. He just liked dainty little women with soft facial features and short statures— what she could be wearing doesn’t matter to him at all (because, honestly, he would rather they wear nothing at all).
“Five bucks says he hits on her by the end of the night,” Yunho heard Mingi whisper to San.
“There’s no fucking way I’m taking that bet because we already fucking know he’s going to do it,” San, already completely wasted, conveyed his opinion along with his sailor mouth.
“Boo, you’re no fun,” Mingi frowned.
Yunho rolled his eyes. As Mingi and San continued to bicker in the background, Yunho’s eyes followed your every movement. He watched as your hair swayed gracefully while your short legs carried you around the room, making you seem like you were almost gliding. For someone so short, he was surprised to see you carrying multiple trays of beer, and his eyes flew wide open when he saw you effortlessly carry a huge bottle of champagne that could very well be three times your size— the bottle was bigger than your head for crying out loud.
“You know it’s going to be impossible to hit on a bottle girl of all people. Let’s be real, Yunho, she probably gets rich bastards hitting on her all the time, and she doesn’t even need that since she’s making so much in tips,” Seonghwa brought his voice down as he talked to the man.
“Yeah, just give up, dude,” Wooyoung added. “It ain’t never gonna happen.”
Clenching his jaw, Yunho was determined to prove them wrong. He walked away from the table and immediately up to you.
Now looking at you a little closer, Yunho didn’t realize that you were practically naked. You were wearing nothing but a cropped tank top and high-rise shorts, your red underwear peaking out whenever you bent down or moved your shoulder. Fuck, it just made the tall man want you even more.
“Hey,” he started, thinking that the line by itself would be enough.
“Hi, darling. Would your table like another round?” you, on the other hand, were in sales mode. You had no time to be flirting with this man.
“Actually, I—”
“Hey, Y/N! One more round for me and my boys!” another customer yelled from afar.
“You got it, darlin’!”
Yunho gaped as you immediately got back to work. He slunk back to his table and stood with a frown, the boys silent for a hot second before immediately bursting out into laughter.
“You’re an idiot, Yunho!” Hongjoong roared as he clapped the man on the back.
“San, you should’ve taken the bet,” Jongho pointed out.
“No, because the bet was on whether or not he would go and flirt, not whether or not he would be successful. If you said get her by the end of the night, I would’ve happily taken that bet,” San snickered.
“You guys suck,” Yunho grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Yunho wasn’t able to really focus on much after that. He wanted you even more.
You stepped out for a smoke. God knows you needed it. Yes, the tips were really fucking good, but dealing with sleazy businessmen and frat bros spending all of their daddy’s money was less than ideal. Truth be told, there was only one table there that night that you didn’t mind serving. They all seemed like a bunch of well off dudes with enough money to spend but none of the pretentiousness. Especially that one super tall guy who approached you. He didn’t seem so bad.
“Just get over it. It’s not going to happen.”
Your ears perked up when you heard a man with the lowest voice on Earth speak from around the corner. You peeked your head around to see the tall man and another one of his friends from that table.
“You really suck, Yeosang,” the tall man pouted— God, he looked so cute with a pout on his face.
“She’s working, Yunho. Don’t bother the poor thing. Let her pay her bills,” the other man, Yeosang, lectured Yunho.
A curious smile emerged on your face. Were they talking about you, perhaps?
“If we leave her a big enough tip, then she could leave work early, and everything would be fine!”
“At the risk of her losing her job! It’s one thing to just want to sleep with her, but another if you’re willing to sabotage her life just to get some pussy tonight. Also, knowing you, you’re going to fucking murder her because you’re so big and she’s so small.”
There was only one short girl on your team, and that was you. So, yes, they had to be talking about you. Killing the rest of your cigarette, you sprayed breath freshener in your mouth and smoothed out your hair before walking around the corner and sashaying back into the establishment, making sure you gave Yunho a good view. Right before you went back inside, you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him briefly, leaving him with a rock-hard boner.
“Fuck…” you barely heard Yunho groan as he desperately tried to calm himself down.
A smirk lingered on your face knowing that you got the man all sorts of hot and bothered. Good.
“So, Y/N, what’s it like to be a bottle girl?” Seonghwa asked you.
It calmed down in the establishment quite a lot after about an hour, allowing you to dedicate your time to the table that you were most excited to serve. You stood with them, the eight men towering over you. Originally, that would intimidate you, but given the information you knew about the tallest man of the group crushing hard on you, the height disparity didn’t bother you in the slightest.
“I mean, you can really see for yourself,” you responded with a smile. “It’s like being a stripper at times, but it definitely beats being a stripper since I don’t have to give lap dances to wasted men. I just serve them alcohol.”
“So you used to be a stripper?” San smirked— not at you, though; he was just trying to get a rise out of Yunho.
“Yeah, I did that for a couple of years before moving to the city and getting this job.”
“That’s so fucking sexy of you, Y/N,” Mingi, who was standing closest to you, stood the tiniest bit closer and ran his finger along your arm. You could see Yunho’s jaw clench when he saw what Mingi did to you.
With an exasperated smile, you grabbed Mingi’s hand and pushed it away while saying, “Buddy, you can look, but you can’t touch.”
“Not even if I tip you well?”
“She just said she’s not a stripper anymore, Mankgi,” Hongjoong swatted the back of the boy’s head. “Don’t do something stupid.”
You saw Yunho’s jaw relax, nearly making you laugh. Yunho was definitely subtle with his reactions, but you were keeping such a close eye on him that every single action and reaction of his did not go missed by you. He was such a cutie, and you were here for it.
“So, Y/N, what time do you have to stay and work until?” Yeosang, who seemed to be wingman-ing Yunho, asked you.
“We close at 3 AM, so 4 AM,” you sighed. “Gotta enter the tips and help the busboys clean up.”
“You would think as a sexy bottle girl, you wouldn’t have to do menial labor like that,” Wooyoung mused.
“We’re still employees,” you laughed. Then, bringing your voice down, you said, “But I like helping because sometimes we find loose bills around the venue. Free money.”
The place was practically empty by the time 3 AM rolled around. You realized that as you talked to the eight men, you talked to all of them except the man that you were actually interested in. Bummer. You couldn’t expect him to wait for you after work, so when they all left for the night, a light sigh left your lips, and you half-heartedly finished your work for the night.
Yet, at 4 AM, you left the building to see Yunho standing outside. It was a little chilly out, so you could see his breath in the air as he exhaled and looked up at the sky. He looked so sexy standing there with his hands in his pockets, his jawline and neck accentuated in the city lights as he held his head up high.
Of course Yunho was going to wait for you. You weren’t as subtle as you’d like to think— he noticed your sly looks in his direction when you were talking to his table, and he knew that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. Fuck, you were so perfect for him, and he told himself he would do anything if he got to spend the rest of the night with you, even if that meant waiting outside for you for an hour. At least that gave him time to sober up slightly more (not that he had much to drink in the first place).
“Yunho, right?” you asked as you approached the man.
“Oh! Y/N,” Yunho, surprised, turned around to face you, a light blush appearing on his face. “H-hi…”
“Hey.”
Yunho was speechless for a split moment— you weren’t in your work clothes anymore, and you definitely had a lot more on than before, but your long coat just accentuated your short stature, making the man thirst for you even more. Your hair tumbled around lightly as the wind pushed it back, revealing the playful glimmer in your eyes. Yunho was smitten. Completely and utterly smitten.
“Sorry, I know it must be creepy for a man to be waiting for you after work— I’m sure it happens all the time, and I don’t mean to be one of those men, but I just—”
Yunho, rambling out of sheer nervousness, cut himself off when you approached him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. You gave him a half-flirty, half-appreciative smile as you looked at him. You didn’t need to utter a word for Yunho to feel reassured that the feelings were mutual. Thank God.
“Would you like to go somewhere with me?” you asked him, your voice barely audible over the rushing wind.
Yunho couldn’t keep his hands off you. In the car ride to the hotel, he had his large hand on your thigh, rubbing slowly and sensually, but not going further than that. And then, in the elevator, he pinned you against the wall and grabbed the back of your head, immediately pulling you in for a rough kiss. You clutched and grabbed at his forearms as he fully overtook you, his lips completely devouring yours. He only got more rough from there when he shoved his hand down the waistband of your pants and panties, his fingers stroking your dripping folds.
“Yun— Ah! Yunho, w-wait,” you moaned, your words muffled against his lips.
“What do you mean “wait”, doll? You’re so fucking wet for me,” Yunho teased as he murmured against your lips. “I think you’re just as impatient as I am.”
“M-my legs,” you whimpered before inhaling sharply. “If you don’t wait, I won’t be able to stand…”
“If that’s the case,” Yunho growled before withdrawing his hand so he could lift you, his large hands grabbing and squeezing your ass as he suspended you in the air.
You laced your fingers through his hair and held tightly as you brought your lips to his once more, his tongue diving deep into your mouth as he resumed eating you alive. The elevator doors opened, and you for sure thought he was going to let you down, but instead, he continued to carry you down the hall, his lips still locked in a frenzy with yours. Soft moans and sighs left the two of you as you got to the room. Yunho unlocked the room and immediately rushed inside so he could pin you on the bed and rip your clothes off you.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” Yunho murmured as he gazed at your slick, his tongue sensually running along his lower lip. “Gimme a taste, why don’t you?”
You nodded shyly. Yunho’s hands went under your thighs and pushed your legs up, his tongue meeting your cunt. You cried out in pleasure when you felt his tongue slither inside you, his nose brushing against your clit as he ate you out. It was when Yunho lifted you up while continuing lick and slurp up your arousal fluid did you yelp, the man holding you up in the air as his tongue violated you. You held onto the roots of his hair and gripped for dear life, the fear of you falling sending blood rushing through your body but also filling you with excitement.
Before you could cum, Yunho let you down. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and looked down at your tiny, helpless body, a smirk forming on his face as thought about you looking torn to shreds because of his monster cock. You watched him with trembling eyes as the man slowly stripped down for you, your eyes widening as you saw his firm cock trembling and waiting to burst forth from his underwear.
“Y-yunho… I— I don’t think you’re going to fit,” you said with slight fear.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Yunho responded nonchalantly as he revealed his massive cock and tapped your waist lightly, his cock the literal length of your stomach.
Rolling on a condom that he had taken out from his wallet moments prior, Yunho got on the bed and rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds. You were terrified that he was going to just push his way right through you, but instead, Yunho merely pushed the head into your cunt, then pulled out. He did this several times, frustration starting to build inside you as he teased the everloving shit out of you.
“For someone who was so afraid, you seem to want me inside you,” Yunho chuckled.
“Fu-uck! Yunho, do something, please,” you begged him, the fire in your loins burning a hole within you.
“Alright. Just relax for me, okay?” Yunho said, his voice hushed and calm as he caressed your face.
You nodded and did your best to relax, your head pushing into his hand as he finally pushed more than just the tip into you. You felt him fill you up, and you felt like he was tearing you as his cock spread you wider than you had ever been spread. You reached for his arms and held on tightly as he pressed his hands onto the bed right above your shoulders, a groan rumbling in the back of his throat.
“Shit, you’re so tight,” Yunho grunted. “Loosen up.”
You inhaled and exhaled deeply, Yunho shoving his length all the way inside you when you exhaled. You flung your head back and cried loudly as you felt his cock throb uncontrollably inside you, his cock brushing against your cervix. Yunho remained in place as he let out an erotic sigh while you, on the other hand, were panting and trying desperately to blink the stars out of your vision.
“See,” Yunho told you, a cocky smile on his face. “I do fit.”
“Mmmhmmm,” you couldn’t even formulate words— all the man did was push his cock in you, and you already felt like you were fucked out simply because of how much he filled you up.
He only thrusted into you a singular time, but your entire body lurched and moved backwards with said thrust. The sound of his waist hitting your ass echoed loudly in the room, and the sound only got more repetitive as he began to properly move. His cock was so massive that you felt like he was going to pull out your insides.
“Doll, you feel so fucking good,” Yunho grunted out, his head dropping down to your neck. “So fucking good. You’re so tight and small— Fuck!”
Yunho flipped the two of you so that he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him. When you sat all the way down, you felt like his cock shot straight through you, hitting your cervix with such force that you came immediately. You cried loudly as you creamed and clenched, making the man flinch and nearly cum himself.
“Shit, don’t go squeezing me like that,” Yunho grunted with a little chuckle. “You nearly snapped my cock off.”
“Do-Don’t act like you— Hnngh— Didn’t like that,” you panted out, little groans leaving you as you continued to ride his fat cock.
Yunho smirked. He propped himself up on his elbows and thrust into you at an angle that made you completely fall apart, your hands resting on his abs to keep you steady. You could barely keep your hands in place, though, because he brought his lips to your breast and started sucking hard, his mouth completely overtaking your nipple. You entire body trembled when you felt his tongue flick and swirl around your nipple, and it certainly did not help that he sucked super hard on your breast as if he was trying to get something out of it. Your toes curled as he switched from one to the other, and his waist refused to let up as he thrust powerfully from underneath you.
“‘m c-cumming again!” you moaned loudly as your cunt convulsed, making you squirt all over Yunho’s waist.
He, however, refused to give you a break. Your head was still in the cloud when he sat up entirely and moved so that he was kneeling and you were still sitting on his cock, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you continuously. You clung to him and moaned loudly as his thrusts did not slow down in the slightest. He continued to drill into you over and over again, his force so immense that he ended up pinning you down on the bed again.
His cock kept rubbing along your G-spot and hitting your cervix, and the louder you cried, the more intense that feeling got. You could barely see through bleary, teary eyes that his eyes were dark and his jaw was tense as he fucked you into the mattress.
“You’re tightening up again, doll— are you gonna cum again?” Yunho could barely laugh as he groaned his question.
“Ye-es, I’m c-close,” you whined. “I’m gonna—”
Yunho interrupted you with a kiss, his grip on your waist tightening. You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, the blood rushing to your ears as you barely heard him said, “Wait for me. I’m al-almost there— Shit!”
Suddenly pulling out, Yunho removed the condom and came all over you, his seed spreading from your chest all the way down to your convulsing pussy as you, too, came. Yunho sat back on his heels and jerked himself off as more of his hot cum spurt out and landed on your skin.
“Jesus Christ,” you hissed as you flung your head back into the sheets, your hands covering your face. “That was insane.”
“In a good or bad way?” Yunho asked with a slight laugh, his body hovering over yours as he brought himself to look at your fucked out face.
“Good— That was too fucking good, Yunho,” you sighed out. “Too fucking good…”
“I’d say let’s go again, but I’m afraid I’ve only got the one condom,” he whispered.
“…Are you clean?”
“Yes, are you?”
You nodded then reached for his neck, pulling him into your embrace. Your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “Then I don’t see why we can’t go again.”
Yunho shivered, and his cock firmed up almost immediately. He grabbed you and flipped you over so that you were on your hands and knees, his cock immediately rubbing along your ass crack.
Summary: Wooyoung is your dealer, you were only meant to pick up the goods but you got more than what you signed up for.
Pairing: Dom!Wooyoung x Fem!reader x Dom!San x Dom!Mingi
Warnings: Drug dealer woosanmin 18+ MDNI, smut, slowburn. porn, foursome, nasty. drug use, cheating, blowjob, menace wooyoung , many more. just proceed at your own risk lol THIS IS PURE FILTH WRITTEN DURING EASTER SUNDAY.
Word count: 7,106 k. (fuck im sorry)
A/N: not proof read but I really just wanted to get this out there. might've switched between 'her' and 'you' im too used to 3rd pov.
The Seoul night air was thick with humidity, clinging to your skin like a second layer as you make your way down the narrow, dimly lit alley. This was the part of the city that thrived in the shadows, a place where the neon from the main streets bled into the murky puddles and the only sounds were the distant thrum of bass from the nearby club.
You knocked on the unmarked steel door, the sound echoing slightly. It was a rhythm you knew by heart. Three short taps, a pause then one more. A moment later, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.
Wooyoung stood there, a silhouette framed by the warm, low light of his apartment. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair loose-fitting grey sweats that hung dangerously low.
His hair was damp like he just stepped out of the shower, dark strands falling into his eyes. A silver chain rested against his collar bone. and the smell of wood and trouble clinging onto his skin.
You were greeted by a stoic face before changing it into a shit eating grin.
"you're late" Wooyoung smiled, voice sweet it was sickening. You leaned one shoulder against the door frame, face contorted in annoyance. "not like you got anything important to do."
A beat passed between you two. The bass from somewhere deeper in the building pulsed faintly through the walls, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat. He stepped aside without a word, you slipped past him.
The apartment was dim, lit by the faint LED strip under his couch. His apartment reeked of za and a mixture of something warm- vanilla, maybe. Familiar. Intimate. a mistake waiting to happen.
The door shut behind you with a soft click.
Wooyoung didn't move closer right away. Instead, he leaned back against it. His arms folded loosely across his chest as he watches you walk further inside like you owned the place. His gaze dragged over your figure, slow and almost assessing.
"Could've sworn that I just gave you a cue last week." he said quietly.
You turned with your brow lifted. "I ran out quick"
That earned the fainted twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Wooyoung pushed off the door, walking towards the dining table set in the middle of his apartment. he glanced over his shoulder as he opened the box. Inside, nestled in velvet lining, were several neat little baggies of well preserved buds. "You gotta slow down with this baby" baby.
"I'm starting to think that you just want to see me" He turned around, leaning against the table after he retrieved her usual order. Your face contorted again in annoyance, choosing to not entertain his little games.
"But you know" He began, instead of handing the bag to her. His tone shifted slightly. "You're my best customer, always making sure I'm fed, never any trouble. And I believe in rewarding loyalty."
He set her usual baggie aside and reached deeper into the box, pulling out a smaller, unmarked one filled with tightly packed, dark green buds dusted with crystalline sheen.
"New arrival" He said, holding it up. " 'Starlight' is stronger than what you usually get. Smooth as fuck though, with a little kick to it. I want you to try it. On the house"
You raised a brow in surprise. "Free? Are you feeling generous tonight Woo?"
A small hum escapes from his lips. "Always, when it comes to you" He replied, his smirk returning. "But you gotta try it with me, right now"
Before you could say anything, he was already moving to grab his rolling tray, papers and a grinder. Your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness. You've been alone with him countless times, but for some reason. This felt different.
Wooyoung worked with a focused precision, his long fingers skillfully breaking apart the fragrant buds, grinding them to the perfect consistency. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his hands—the way they moved, the veins that stood out against his skin. God you needed to leave as soon as possible.
He caught you staring, and his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Like what you see?" he teased, not looking up from his task. You scowled and whipped your head to the other direction. "fuck off woo" You breathed out. He chuckled.
"Alright try this" He finished rolling the joint with practiced ease, twisting the end perfectly. He brought it to his lips, eyes locking with yours as he lit it, the flame casting a warm glow on his features. He took a slow, deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling a plume that curled and dissipated into the air.
then, he held it out to you. "Try it"
You leaned forward, your fingers brushing against his as you took the joint from him. The contact was dangerous, electric, and a jolt of awareness that shot through you. You brought it up to your own lips, mimicking his slow drag, the smoke filling your lungs with a sweet potent haze.
As you exhaled, you felt it — a heady rush that your limbs feel heavy and your senses sharpen. The world seemed to slow down, the low hum of the city outside fading into a distant buzz. Wooyoung took the joint back, your fingers brushing again, and this time, his touch lingered.
You both passed it back and forth in silence, the only sounds the soft crackle of burning paper and your quiet breathing. The tension in the room grew thick, palpable , a living thing that coiled in the space between the two of you. Your skin tingled, pulse thrumming in your ears. You could feel Wooyoung's gaze on you, heavy and intent, and when you finally met his eyes, you saw something dark and hungry but he masked it in his boyish grin.
He knew. He knew exactly what it was doing to you, and he was enjoying every second of it. The teasing glances, the subtle brushes of his fingers, the low rumble of his voice — it was all a carefully orchestrated game, and you were willing to play.
"Feeling it?" he asked, his voice husky, the words hanging in the air between the two of you.
You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. "Yeah."
"Good" he murmured, leaning back against the couch with eyes on you.
Then, he leaned in closer.
You could feel the heat of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder. The joint burned low between his fingers, forgotten for a moment as his attention settled entirely on you.
"Your pupils are blown" he laughs lowly, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at your face. "hits fast dont it?"
You swallowed at the proximity, backing away a little. "Y-yeah.. You said it was stronger"
He hummed softly, amused. "Sure did."
he leaned back against the couch again, the low lighting carved shadows along his torso, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen, the V-line dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats. His knees brushed against yours. Too close! need to leave now!
He took another slow drag, eyes never leaving your face this time, then he reached forward. Not with the joint.
With his free hand.
His knuckles brushed lightly along your jaw, tilting your chin upward just enough to hold your gaze. The touch wasn't forceful. It didn't need to be.
"I finally got to smoke with you, been waiting on when you're gonna let me roll for you" He grins.
Your breath felt heavier in your lungs, the room softer around the edges. "You never give free shits before so."
His thumb slid just barely under your chin, warm and steady.
"Well, you never stayed this long before" his voice was slow. A slow smile curved his lips.
You hum softly, then shaking his hold off you.
The air between the two of you felt charged, heavy with smoke and something far more dangerous and risky.
"You're okay. I got you. just relax" Wooyoung exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes dropping.
The high was settling into your bones, a warm, syrupy feeling that made the plush couch feel like it was swallowing you whole. You shifted, the fabric of your dress whispering against your skin. Everything was heightened now, the low thrum of the bass from a distant club.
The silence was killing you.
"So," You spoke, voice a little softer than you intended. "What is this again? Starlight?"
"mm," Wooyoung hummed, taking another slow dragged from the joint that's almost finished. He passed it back to you, fingers deliberately brushing against her palms. "New strain, Supposed to be special"
Your brows rose, feeling a bold curiosity fueled by the haze in your mind. "Special how? what's the side effects?"
Wooyoung leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. Instead of answering, he picked up his phone next to him, his thumb swiping across the screen. "Let's see what the pot heads says"
he squinted at the bright screen, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he let out a low chuckle, a sound was both amused and dangerous. He looked up from his phone, his eyes locking directly at you. The air crackled.
"Well, first on the list is doozy. check." He said, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that made your thighs clench. "Next is... and the primary effect is.. aroused."
The word hung between the two of you, stark and undeniable. Your breath hitched. A hot flushed crept up your neck, blooming in your cheeks. You blamed the weed, of course its the weed! but you knew it was more than that. It was him. It was the way that he's looking at you, like he knew every dirty thought tracing through your head.
"...Right" You managed, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. You need a distraction until this shit wears off. Anything to break the intensity of his gaze. You reached out for the remote resting next to the ash tray. Your fingers fumbled with it as you pointed it at the massive , black screen mounted on the wall. You pressed the button.
The screen flickered to life, but it didn't return to a streaming service menu. It resumed exactly where it had left off. On the screen, a woman with her head thrown back in ecstasy was being thoroughly pleasure by a man whose face was mostly buried between her legs. The sound were vivid, slick and unapologetic. A litany of breathy moans and dirty talk filled the stunned silence of the room.
You froze, the remote clutched in your hand like a lifeline. Your face burned with a humiliation so acute it was almost arousing. "Oh my god, I—"
Wooyoung's laughter cut her off. It wasn't mocking; it was deep, genuine and completely unbothered. He didn't even flinch.
"I was watching porn before you arrived, sorry" He admitted with a casual shrug, as if he'd just confessed to leaving a dish in the sink. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his gaze flicking from the screen to your mortified expression. A slow smile played on his lips before taking the remote from your hands. He pressed play before you could say anything.
"Woo! you're fucking insane" Your mouth hang open as your eyes naturally drifted to the screen. You should've stood up and left but he sank deeper into the couch next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
For a while, You two just watched in silence. The sounds from the TV filled the space, a rhythmic, explicit soundtrack to the tension coiling tighter and tighter between the two of you. You tried to keep your eyes glued to the screen or your phone but you were achingly aware of him beside you.
Then, to the corner of your eye, you saw it. A subtle movement. Wooyoung has shifted, slouching down into the cushions. He wasn't touching himself. Not overtly. But his hand had come to rest on his upper thigh, his long fingers languidly tracing the thick, hard line of his erection straining against the fabric of his sweats. He wasn't hiding it. He wasn't being aggressive. He was just... existing in his arousal, letting it sit there, a silent, powerful invitation. and that made it more dangerous.
Your own body responded instantly. A wave of liquid heat pooled low in your belly, your clit pulsing in time with the moans from the television. You squeezed your thighs together, a futile attempt to alleviate the sudden, desperate ache. You tried not to look, you wanted to leave but your body was heavy. You really tried but your eyes kept betraying you, darting back to the slow teasing circle his thumb was making, so close to where she suddenly, desperately wanted him to touch.
Wooyoung knew. Of course he fucking knew. He could probably smell your arousal from where he is. He let out a soft hum, a sound of deep satisfaction, and finally turned to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
"See?" he whispered, his voice low.
"Told you it was special"
The porn on the screen faded into distant, irrelevant hum. The only thing in your universe was the man next to you and the thick, pulsing tension that was making it hard to breathe. Your eyes were now glued to the prominent bulge straining against the soft grey cotton of his sweatpants. It was a blatant, confident display, and it was doing things to you that you couldn't control.
You felt his gaze on you , hot and heavy, but you couldn't meet it. You were too caught up in the sight, in the ache throbbing between your legs. Unconsciously, your thighs rubbed together, a desperate, silent plea for friction you knew he could only provide. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest; Got you.
He held out the last of the joint, the paper now short and singed. "Here, finish it" He murmured, his voice thick with smoke and satisfaction.
You took it, you shouldn't have. You should've left. You brought it to your lips, your eyes still fixed on his lap as you inhaled deeply. The smoke was potent, laced with an aphrodisiac quality that melted the last of your inhibitions. It coursed through , a warm, permissive wave that told you to stop fighting, to just take what you wanted.
And what you wanted was right beside you.
As you exhaled a low, unsteady stream of smoke, your hand moved with a will of its own. It dropped from your lap to his thigh, the skin warm and firm beneath your touch. He didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle. He just let you explore, his body a silent, willing canvas.
Your fingers inched higher, tracing the seam of his sweats until they brushed against the hard, thick ridge of his cock. The fabric was soft, but beneath it, he was rigid steel. You curled your fingers, wrapping it around him through the pants. He was bigger than you imagined, thick and heavy in your grasp, and a jolt of pure unadulterated lust shot through you.
Wooyoung let out a soft hiss of air, his head falling back against the couch. He still didn't touch you, his hand resting loosely on his own thighs, offering you complete control. The power was intoxicating.
You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly through the fabric. The friction wasn't enough. It was a frustrating tease. You needed more. You needed to feel him. skin on skin.
Your fingers found the waistband of his sweats. With a soft decisive tug, you hooked your thumb under the elastic and pulled it down just enough. His cock sprang free, slapping heavily against his lower abdomen. The sight stole the air from your lungs. He was perfect— long, thick, and flushed a deep, angry pink, the tip already beaded with pearly precum.
The joint now forgotten, was crushed out in the ash tray. There was only one thing left to do.
Leaning over, you lowered your head. The scent of him, clean and masculine and uniquely Wooyoung, filled your senses. You stuck out your tongue, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around the head, lapping up the salt drop of precum. He tasted as good as he looked.
Wooyoung's sharp intake of breath was the only reaction you needed.
Then, you parted your lips and wrapped them around the head, sinking down slowly, taking him into the heat of your mouth. He groaned, a low guttural sound of pure pleasure that vibrated straight though you, settling deep in your core. You began to move, your tongue swirling, your slips sliding, taking him deeper with each pass, the television moans now a pathetic echo of the real thing happening on this couch.
The world has narrowed to the wet slide of your lips, the heavy weight of him on your tongue, and the deep rumbling groans he was letting out. You lost yourself in the rhythm, in the raw, primal act of pleasuring him. Every flick of your tongue, every hollowing of your cheeks, was met with a sharp intake of breath or a muttered curse from above. You were so focused, so consumed by the taste and feel of him, that you didn't notice the shift in the room's atmosphere.
Wooyoung, however, did. He was a creature of his own environment, always aware. And right now, his environment was about to be breached.
While you were occupied, his hand moved from his own thigh to yours. He didn't ask, didn't hesitate. He simply gripped the hem of your dress, the soft fabric a stark contrast to his rough, assertive touch, and pulled it up, baring your legs and the thin lace of your panties to the cool air. he didn't yank or tear; the motion was dominant but deliberate, claiming.
His fingers ghosted over the soaked fabric, and he chuckled, a low, dark sound of his triumph. "Fuck baby, You're dripping for me, aren't you?" He murmured, his voice a husky caress. He pressed the heel of his palm against your clothed core, the pressure a delicious torment that made you moan around his cock. He was in control, dictating the pleasure even though your mouth was around him.
Just as his fingers hooked the side of your panties, ready to grant you the pleasure you've been desperate to have, the front door clicked open.
You froze, your mouth still full of him. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the haze of arousal. You tried to pull back, to scramble away, but Wooyoung's hand was suddenly firm on the back of your head, holding you in place. It wasn't a rough gesture, but a silent command: Don't move.
Two figures walked in, their laughter and casual conversation dying mid-sentence as they took in the scene. It was San and Mingi. Wooyoung's friends.
They stopped just inside the doorway. For a split second, there was a stunned silence. San's eyes widened slightly, a slow, appreciative smirk spreading across his face. Mingi just blinked, his gaze flicking from your flushed face, to Wooyoung's relaxed, dominant posture, to the very obvious act happening on the couch.
There was no shock, no outrage. Just mild surprise and amusement.
San was the first to speak, his voice casual as he shrugged off his jacket. "Well, that's fucking hot"
Mingi just snorted, shaking his head with a grin as he toed off his shoes.
They didn't stop and stare. They didn't gawk or make a scene. As if it were the most normal thing in the world to walk in on their friend getting head on the couch, they simply continued their path. They walk right past them, heading for the staircase that leads to the upper floor.
"Hey Woo" Mingi called over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. "Just grabbing Gedd's order. Don't mind us."
"Yeah," San added, following him up. "Carry on. Don't let us interrupt the ... this"
Their footsteps faded away, and then the sound of a door closing upstairs.
The silence that followed was deafening. You were mortified, your entire body rigid with embarrassment. But Wooyoung, still holding you gently but firmly, just tilted his head back and laughed. A real, deep, /pissed/ genuine laugh.
"Those dickheads..." he said, his voice vibrating through his chest and into your mouth. "Has zero fucking boundaries" He finally released his hold on your head, his fingers stroking through your hair softly. He looked down at you, his eyes dark with lust and something else— something like pride.
"Now.. where were we?"
The laughter died in Wooyoung's throat, replaced by a low growl of pure need. The interruption, far from breaking the spell, has only sharpened it, adding a dangerous, thrilling edge to the atmosphere. He looked down at you, your lips swollen and your eyes wide with a mixture of lingering shock and renewed hunger, and a slow dangerous smile spread across his face.
"get up" he commanded, his voice a husky whisper.
Before you could even process the order, he was already moving. His hands were on you, strong and sure, as he effortlessly flipped you over. You landed on your back on the soft plush cushions with a soft gasp, your dress still bunched around your waist. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and with one fluid decisive motion, pulled them down your legs and tossed them aside.
Now you were completely exposed to him, your glistening cunt open and waiting. he didn't give her a moment to feel self conscious. he lowered his head, not giving any warning before he dove in.
The first touch of his tongue was electric. A broad , flat stroke against your slick folds that made your back arch off the couch. He wasn't gentle or tentative; he was ravenous. He ate you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling and probing, finding your clit with a sickening accuracy that made you see stars. He alternated between sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves and fucking his tongue deep inside you, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for his assault.
You were so lost, your fingers tangling in his hair, your hips rolling against his face as he drove you higher and higher. The sounds from the TV were gone, replaced by the wet , lewd sounds of his mouth on you and your own breathy moans.
You were so close, teetering on the edge, when you heard footsteps again.
Your eyes fluttered open, your hazy vision focusing on the figure descending. It was San. He has come back down. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes fixed on the scene on the couch, on Wooyoung's head buried between your shaking thighs.
A fresh wave of heat, potent and dark, washed over you. This was wrong. This was filthy. And it was the hottest thing you have experienced.
San watched for a moment, his own arousal evident in the tight line of his jaw. he walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was standing right behind the couch. he didn't look at Wooyoung. He looked at you.
"Wooyoung" San's voice was low and rough that vibrated through the room. "You're gonna make her pass out before I get a turn"
Wooyoung lifted his head, his chin and mouth glistening with your arousal. He gave him a menacing grin, a feral possessive thing. 'Fuck off San"
"Just a taste" San bargained, his gaze still locked on you. His eyes were dark and intense, a silent question in their depths. "Come on, she looks so fucking delicious"
The decision wasn't Wooyoung's to make. It was yours. San was asking you. The power shifted back into your hands, and the thrill of it was immense. You looked from San's burning eyes to Wooyoung's challenging smirk. A part of you should've said no, but the weed, the lust and the sheer audacity of it all won.
You gave a slow nod, ashamed and embarrassed.
This was all the permission San needed. Wooyoung surprisingly didn't object. He just shifted to the side, making room. San knelt on the floor by the couch, leaning in. He didn't hesitate either, his head dipping back down.
And then it happened.
Two tongues, two sets of lips, working in tandem. It was a dizzying, overwhelming assault on your senses. Wooyoung was more aggressive, his movements focused and demanding as he lapped at your clit. San's was exploratory, his tongue delving, curling inside you, tasting you deeply. They share you, passing you back and forth between their mouths like a joint, their occasional brushes against each other only adding to the thrill.
Your mind went blank. You could only feel. The dual sensations, the sight of them between your legs, the sound of their shared appreciation. Your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tidal wave, a blinding, shuddering release that left you gasping and weak, your body twitching with the aftershocks. They didn't stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were a whimpering, oversensitive mess, completely and utterly theirs.
You were still floating in the hazy aftermath, your body limp and pliant, when you heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs again. A third person. Your heart gave a little flutter of anxious anticipation. You didn't have to wait long to see who it was.
Mingi appeared at the bottom of the steps, his tall frame filling the space. He took in the scene instantly; Wooyoung kneeling on the floor, San's head still between your thighs, your legs splayed wide and still trembling. Unlike San's initial pause, Mingi's reaction was one of immediate understanding and a grin that was pure sin.
"Oh That's what we're doing" He announced, his voice a deep, amused rumble. "Let me get a turn"
He strode over, his confidence radiating off him in waves. While San finally lifted his head, his lips shiny and his expression satisfied, Mingi was already hooking his thumb into he waistband of his own sweats. He pushed them down just enough to free himself, and your breath was caught. He was long and thick, a heavy, imposing weight that he held in his fist.
He didn't ask. He didn't wait. He positioned himself by your head, tapping the thick head of his cock against your swollen, sensitive lips. The gesture was both a question and a command. You were caught in a dizzying spiral of submission and lust. You parted your lips willingly, inviting him in.
He slid into your mouth with a low groan, his hand tangling in your hair to guide you. The sensation was overwhelming— the weight of him on your tongue, the musky , clean scent of him filling your senses.
Just as you find the rhythm, you felt Wooyoung shift. He rose from the floor, his body moving over yours, caging you in. His eyes, dark and possessive, bored into yours as he notched the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. He paused for a fraction of a second, a silent moment of connection, and then he pushed inside.
A guttural moan was muffled by Mingi's length as Wooyoung filled you completely. He didn't start fast. He set a punishing, deliberate pace, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in, deep and hard. Each thrust forced you further onto Mingi's cock, creating a perfect, overwhelming rhythm. You were the centre of their storm, a vessel for their shared pleasure.
San , now a spectator, watched the whole scene with an avid, hungry gaze. his eyes eyes tracked the way Wooyoung's hips snapped against yours, the way your body arched to take him deeper, and the way you hollowed your cheeks moved as you suck off Mingi. He palmed himself through his jeans, a look of intense concentration on his face.
Then, he calmly pulled out his phone, He unlocked it, his thumb moving lazily across the screen. You could hear the faint click of the keyboard as he typed, his eyes still glued on the sinful scene in front of him. He held his phone to his ears.
"Yo Gedd, Yeah listen, I'm gonna have to raincheck tonight.." he said, his voice completely normal, as if he was discussing the weather. He paused, listening. " Nah, I'll deliver tonight or tomorrow.. laters."
He hung up, tossing his phone onto the armchair across with a soft thud. He looked back at you, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
"Wouldn't wanna miss this"
The world was a blur of sensation, a symphony of overwhelming pleasure. You were completely at their mercy, caught between the two men using your body, their movements a perfectly timed, intoxicating rhythm. The air was thick with the smell of sex and smoke that made your head spin.
While Mingi's cock filled your mouth and Wooyoung's pounded into you, San was silent, appreciative audience. He moved in a languid grace, completely comfortable in the role of being the observer. He settled on the armchair across, rolling up another joint with practice eased just like Wooyoung. He lit it, taking a slow drag as he watched them, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, Wooyoung's thrusts began to slow. With a final, deep groan, he pulled out of you, leaving you achingly empty. Before you could even process the loss, Mingi was already withdrawing from your mouth.
"My turn" Mingi rasped, his voice laced with lust.
He didn't give her a chance to move. With a strength that was both thrilling and a little terrifying, he gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your hands and knees. the position was lewd, exposing you completely. He wasted no time, gripping his cock and sliding it in one swift, powerful stroke.
A sharp cry tore out of your throat. Mingi was rougher than Wooyoung, his thrusts harder, more demanding. He sent a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. But it wasn't cruel. His hand roamed on your back before finding the lose strands of your hair, he gathered in a pony tail for him to hold.
He reached out one of his arms towards San, who passed him the lit joint without a word. Mingi took it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply as he continued to fuck you from behind. The sight of him, tall and powerful, smoking calmly as he drove into you. It was pushing you over the edge.
But Wooyoung wasn't done either.
he sat back on the couch next to her, his legs spread. His cock, still hard and glistening with your arousal, stood at attention. He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding your face back towards his lap.
"Open up, Sweetheart" He says with mockery. "We're not done with you yet"
You willingly obliged, your lips wrapping around him once more. The new position was even more intense. Mingi's hard thrusts from behind forced your mouth down onto Wooyoung's length, creating a perfect, synchronised rhythm of being filled from both ends. You were their toy, their plaything, and the thought sent a fresh wave of gushing wetness down your thighs.
That's when the talking started, a low filthy phrase that pushed you to the edge.
"Look at you" San's voice heard from across the couch, thick with smoke and satisfaction. "Taking it so well. Such a good girl.."
"fuck, your mouth feels so good baby" Wooyoung groaned, his hips bucking slightly, pushing deeper. "Just like that, take it all"
Mingi, Holding the joint in one hand, used the other to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. The sharp smack made you clench around him. "You like that huh?" He growled, his voice rumbling against your back. "Like being fucked by both of us huh? While San watches? Nasty bitch"
The combined stimulation, the relentless pounding, the fullness in your mouth, the stinging pleasure on your ass, and the degrading words that was also praising her. was all too much. Your orgasm crashed through you, violent and consuming. Your body convulsed, your scream muffled by Wooyoung's cock as your walls clenched uncontrollably around Mingi's length.
They didn't stop, riding out your orgasm, drawing it out until you were a trembling, whimpering mess. Yet you craved for more.
You were a limp, quivering mess, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your last orgasm. You were barely conscious, floating in a haze of blissful exhaustion. But the night was far from over.
San had enough of watching.
He stood up from the couch, his patience worn thin. With a possessive growl, he moved to the couch, his eyes burning. He didn't ask, he didn't negotiate. He hooked his hands under your arms, yanking you back from Mingi with a rough, decisive pull that made you gasp.
"My Turn" San snarled, His words raw with declaration of intent.
he manhandled you onto the couch, positioning you so that you were straddling his lap. your back pressed on his chest. He lined up cock against your slick entrance. He didn't give you a moment to prepare before gripping your hips and slamming you down onto him.
A piercing scream tore from your throat, the sound instantly muffled as Mingi stood in front of you again, grabbing the back of your head and guiding your mouth back onto his slicked cock. San's pace was brutal, a ruthless, punishing speed that stole your breath. He used your body like a toy, lifting you up and slamming you back down , each powerful thrust driving you deeper onto Mingi's cock. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on painful , a while hot, blinding force that consumed you.
After a few moments of his merciless assault, San's movements changed, He stilled his hips, his hand gripping on your waist. "Ride me" He commanded. " Show me how much you want it"
Your muscles screamed in protest, but your body was desperate and it obeyed. You planted your hands on Mingi's waist for support and began to roll your hips, bouncing on San at the pace that he wanted.
Your eyes, blurry and hazy, landed on the forgotten joint smoldering on Mingi's hand. You reached for it, you needed the haze, the sweet smoke to dull the edged of this overwhelming feeling that's consuming you. Your movements clumsy as you continue to ride San, you brought the joint to your lips, inhaling a deep, shaky drag as you sank deeper on his length.
The three men watched you, utterly captivated. The sight of you riding one of their cocks while the other is stroking Mingi's, was the single most erotic thing they've ever seen if not experienced. Their gaze was heavy with lust, dark, possessive with pride.
Mingi stroked your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear of overwhelmed pleasure. "So fucking perfect"
Wooyoung took the joint off you from behind the couch, taking a drag off it while reaching to grope one of your tits. You exhaled the thick cloud of smoke, head falling back on San's shoulder as a sudden sharp clarity cut through the fog of lust. You looked at them, a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips.
"You guys are fucking insane.." you breathed out, voice hoarse from screaming and moaning.
San just chuckled, he nipped at your ear. "You love it"
He tightened his grip, a possessive, final claim. He held you still for a moment, his chest heaving against your back, his cock buried deep inside you. Wooyoung who was watching from behind the couch saw the opportunity, eyes locked at the way you were stretched around San. Your clit swollen and begging for attention. A menacing grin appeared on his lips as he made his way around.
“Gotta make sure she’s full right?” He spat on his hand, stroking his cock to make it slick, and then moved forward, positioning himself at your already occupied entrance.
Your eyes widened, a jolt of panicked excitement shooting through you. ‘W-wait! I- I can't!”
“Yes you fucking can, don’t be weak” San’s voice was low but reassuring, his arms tightening around you to hold you still. “Take a deep breath, I got you baby”
Wooyoung started to push. The pressure was immense, a burning, stretching sensation that teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain. You cried out, your hands unsure where to hold, body tensing instinctively.
“That’s it baby.. You’re doing so well” Wooyoung coaxed, his voice calming you down.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. He looks so fucking good. He pushed again, a slow relentless pressure, and then with a sudden, sharp pop, the head of his cock slid in along San’s
A scream was torn from your throat, the sensation of being so impossibly, unbelievably full sending your senses into overdrive. It was a feeling of complete and utter surrender, of taking you to your absolute limit and then pushed beyond it.
They gave you a moment to adjust, a precious second to breathe through the overwhelming stretch. Then, they began to move.
It was a clumsy, perfect rhythm at first, learning to move together. One would pull out slightly as the other pushed in, creating a constant, maddening friction. Then they found their pace, a synchronised, powerful rhythm that stole the air from your lungs.
Two cocks, stretching you, filling you, owning you. The pleasure was immense, a white-hot, all consuming fire that burned away every rational thought. Your head fell back against San’s shoulder. Your body limp and pliant in his arms as they used you, their shared grunts and groans sending you into another world.
“So fucking perfect” San whispered in your ears, “Such a good little slut”
“Made to be stuffed full” Wooyoung chimed in, his eyes locked on the sight of your cunt stretched around them. Then, he looked up and straight past your shoulders. He leaned in, over your shoulders where San’s face resides and claimed the older male’s lips. Like, they’ve done this before.
You could feel the two move their heads as they locked their lips, it was the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed.
The dirty words, combined with the relentless, dual stimulation, were your undoing. Your orgasm didn’t build; it detonated. A violent, explosive force that ripped through you, your body convulsing and clamping down around them as you screamed their names into the charged air. You were gone, shattered into a million pieces of pure, humiliating ecstasy, lost in the sensation of being filled by two men at once.
The world had dissolved into pure sensation, Your mind went completely blank as Wooyoung and San found a devastating rhythm inside of you. Each twin thrust sent a shockwave through your system, a perfect, agonizing pleasure that was too much and not enough all at once.
Mingi, who had been stroking himself with a slow, deliberate patience as he watched, finally decided it was his turn to join the symphony. He moved to the couch, his tall frame towering over yours from the side. He tapped his leaking cock against your cheek, no words were needed, your mouth complied.
You parted your lips, he slid into your mouth that followed a groan from his own lips. The slick heat distracts you from the painful stretch between your legs. Now you were completely full, three cocks, three men all focused on you.
They all work in tandem, a perfect coordinated machine of pure filth. San’s hips thrust up from below, Wooyoung’s drove down from above, and Mingi slid in and out of your mouth. They moved in a rhythm that was both brutal and beautiful, a shared ecstasy that consumed you whole. Your muffled whimpers and the slick, lewd music of their music of their bodies joining together.
You could feel it coming. The change in their breathing, the way their movements grew more erratic, more desperate and sloppy. They were all reaching their peak.
“Fuck I’m gonna cum” Mingi groaned, his hand tightening around your hair as he began to fuck your face in earnest. “Swallow it all– fuck.”
With final, deep thrust, he buried himself in your throat. His cock pulsed, and hot, thick ropes of cum filled your mouth. You swallowed instinctively, your throat working to take every drop as he groaned his release.
The sight of it, the feeling of you swallowing around Mingi, was the last straw for the two.
“Gonna fill you up” San snarled in your ear, his teeth grazing your neck as his hips slammed up into you one last time.
“Take it” Wooyoung groaned, his eyes wild as he drove deep.
They came together, a perfect, synchronized explosion. You felt the hot, powerful spurts of their release flooding your insides, two distinct pulses of heat that seemed to merge into one, filling you to the brim until their combined essence trickled down your thighs. The feeling was so intense, so absolute, that it triggered one final, shattering orgasm that ripped through what was left of your consciousness.
They stilled, the only sounds in the room their heavy, panting breaths. Mingi slowly withdrew from your mouth, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping you. Wooyoung and San remained inside you for a moment longer, their bodies trembling from the aftershocks, before they too pulled out, leaving you empty and dripping with their cum.
You collapsed forward onto the couch, used, quivering and a satisfied mess.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy, sated breathing of four people. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of sex, sweat and smoke.
Then, a sound cut through the haze.
It was your phone, buzzing and skittering across the coffee table. The sharp, insistent chirp of your custom ringtone– a cheerful, upbeat pop song– was scarily out of place. The screen lit, illuminating the name in bold, glowing letters Yunho.
The air turned into ice. Wooyoung who broke the silence, a slow wicked grin spreading across his face.
“Well, Well” He drawled, his voice a low purr against your ears.
“Looks like Boyfriend’s checking in”
You yanked your dress on, grabbing the baggies on the table as panic washes over you.
what if the boys were just obsessed with your boobs? like how would they each be??
NSFW LINKS AHEAD. NO MINORS.
Hongjoong: He’s obsessed with how your nipples look and likes to watch you squirm when he teases them. He makes you sit on your hands to prevent yourself from stopping him, wanting you to feel the anticipation. It always makes you go crazy when he finally touches you on the sensitive tips after such a long wait.
Seonghwa:he worships your boobs and thinks they’re so sexy. Every time you sit down to watch a movie with him, he ends up pulling your top down and giving them a massage, pulling on your nipples and making you wet. He plays with them through the whole movie, never getting tired of squeezing them.
Yunho: every makeout ends up the same: Yunho getting turned on and pulling your top down to grab your breasts. He loves how soft they are and can’t help it. Once you’re nice and wet, he pushes his finger inside of you and makes you cum while his tongue licks at your hard bud.
Yeosang: knows how sensitive your nipples are and makes it part of a lot of casual hang-outs. He wants you needy at all times. He loves pushing your neckline down and taking out your tits to tease you. It leaves you grinding on him and ready for him at any moment.
San: his tongue always finds you, lapping at your nipple while you squirm. He loves how you react to his tongue every time he dragged it across your hard nub. His hand squeezing your soft breast as he works on your nipples with his mouth.
Mingi: he can’t cum unless he’s sucking on your nipples. You make sure you always treat him right, letting him suck and play with them while you jerk him off. You’ve conditioned him to always need it.
Wooyoung: is so obsessed with them he will reach over the table at your dinner date and play with them in your private booth. He loves how they harden even when you’re telling him to stop and making no effort to actually stop him.
Jongho: he spends so much time at your breasts, his tongue and lips playing with your exposed nipple. The sexy nightgown he bought for you pulled under the curve of your chest. He’s so romantic and gentle, and finds it comforting when you stroke his hair while he plays with them.
What happens when Yunho is far away for work but he misses you like crazy?
Just a smaller one because I’m taking too long to write what I’m working on
Yunho props his phone against the mirror of the hotel bathroom, toothbrush between his lips. Mint foam curls at the corner of his mouth when your face appears on the screen.
“There you are,” he mumbles around the toothbrush, eyes softening, as if the distance shrinks just because you exist on the other side.
Your smile widens as you rub your eyes.
“You look ridiculous,” you say with a sleepy voice.
He raises a brow in mocking offence, then deliberately puffs his cheeks, exaggerating it just to make you smile wider.
He rinses, leans closer to the mirror, forearm braced against the counter.
“I hate that we can’t do this together,” he admits with a small pout. You tell him it still counts, trying to ease your own longing.
His smile turns slow and you know you’re in danger.
“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping. “But imagine this…” He lifts the phone slightly, angling it right point at the place you’d be standing, right next to him. “You’d be leaning on me. Arms around my waist.”
Your body instinctively goes warmer and he knows you well enough to know what you’re feeling. He grins and goes to his bed.
He props the phone against the pillow, the screen illuminating his face. The sheets rustle as he shifts, his gaze never leaving yours.
"Since we can't be together," he murmurs, voice dropping to that husky tone that makes your thighs clench, "we'll have to make do with what we have."
His free hand slides beneath the covers, and the subtle movement of the fabric tells you exactly where it's going. Your breath catches.
"Are you touching yourself?" you ask, already knowing the answer, as your own hand travels down your body.
His eyes flutter closed for a moment. "Just thinking about you does it sometimes," he admits, a faint flush coloring his cheeks despite his boldness. "But tonight I need more."
He adjusts himself and the camera angle slightly, giving you the perfect view.
"Tell me what you'd do if you were here," he whispers, his hand stroking slowly.
You swallow, your voice shaky as you begin.
"I'd push you back against the pillows first," you whisper as your fingers find your wetness. "I'd straddle your hips, and I..." you demonstrate with your own body, rolling your hips against your hand as if it were him.
Yunho groans, his hand speeding up beneath the sheets. "God, yes. Ride me just like that."
His breath hitches as he strokes himself to your rhythm. What a beautiful sight, Yunho with his big and perfect cock in his hand, jerking off while thinking of you.
"I'd lean down," you continue, "kiss that spot on your neck that makes you shiver. I'd bite it just enough to leave a mark."
His eyes roll back. "Fuck, I'd be so deep inside you. You so wet and tight around me." His hips buck upward into his fist. “I’d hold your hips steady, making you beg for more.”
Your fingers circle your clit faster now and you feel your juices already soaking your inner thighs.
"I'd already be begging for you," you admit. "I'd ride you hard, baby. Take you so deep I’d feel it for days."
"God, I miss your hands," Yunho groans, arching slightly. "Your mouth... the way you..."
The sound of his quickening breaths fills your ears.
"I'm close," he gasps. "Tell me you're close too."
"So close," you moan, your body arching. "I'd look you in the eyes when I cum. I'd squeeze around you so tight..."
"I'd fill you up so much, watch it drip out of you when I'm done."
A choked sound escapes him, his body tensing.
"Fuck!" he cries out, as he spills over his hand.
The image sends you over the edge. Your back arches off the bed as waves of pleasure crash through you.
"Yunho!" you cry out, your fingers working you through your orgasm.
When you finally open your eyes, he's watching you with a sated smile.
"Next time," he murmurs, "we're doing this in person."
You laugh, still catching your breath.
"Promise?"
"Promise," he says, already looking forward to it.
"Go back to sleep now, princess," he says softly, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "I'll come back to you soon."
And when the call ends, the mirror reflects only him again, but his smile stays lingering on his lips even as his eyes close and he falls asleep.
pairings: bf!Hongjoong x fem!reader, slight bf!Hongjoong x fem!reader x bsf!Seonghwa
⭑은서: dedicated to the 1 n only @belongjoong come get yo man
also planning something looonger for the last headcanon<3 also prob last post of 2025 thank you for all of the support and love
requested! reqs open!!!!
Seonghwa | Yunho | San | Mingi | Wooyoung
bf!Hongjoong who - is a dry texter. He can’t help it. Usually he is focused on something. A hundred different things run through his head as he is texting you back from the studio or practice, but he always replies fast - he’s just not expressing his emotions well via text.
bf!Hongjoong who - would rather call you than text. His calls are random and it could be any time of day, you’re at work he pretends not to care but he does and actually apologizes a lot during the call if he disturbs you but due to his unpredictable schedule he calls whenever he can.
bf!Hongjoong who - doesn’t use a lot of nicknames, just a few but there is one that is your and his favourite that is something personal coming from your first memory or date together.
bf!Hongjoong who - brings you keychains from everywhere around the world. He’s always choosing it himself or with the help of Seonghwa but he never asks you or tells you that he’s bringing you one, he loves to surprise you with stuff like these and somehow some dresses slip in also, whenever he has time to go to a shop, he just overall loves spoiling you.
bf!Hongjoong who - has that little passport photo of your in his phone case, smiling proud whenever someone notices
bf!Hongjoong who - lives for the edits you send him. He quietly notes what you like and uses it as reference for future hair colours, outfits, and concepts.
bf!Hongjoong who - makes an at-home studio just so he can spend more time with you, even if you’re just sitting nearby doing your own thing.
bf!Hongjoong who - loves working with you close to him or sitting in his lap. Your presence alone helps him focus.
bf!Hongjoong whose - love language is words of affirmation. He praises you constantly and knows exactly how to make you melt with his voice alone.
bf!Hongjoong who - always sends you snippets of his current project, asking for your opinion how he could make it better even if you have no idea about music he just needs to know your thoughts and it always gives him motivation
bf!Hongjoong who - gives amazing advice, always there whenever you call him frustrated about something, “calm down princess it’s okay” he listens to your problems and always comes up with a plan “okay jagi this is what i think you should do..”
bf!Hongjoong who - couldn’t live without taking naps together. That man loves naps in general but when you’re also home, he crashes on the couch behind you with his arms wrapping around your waist, face in the crook of your neck and he’s sleeping in seconds. His favourite is backstage after practice but before he gets in makeup, on a random couch laying your head on his shoulder as you sleep.
bf!Hongjoong who loves seeing how well you get along with his members, smiling fondly until someone gets a little too close and he suddenly gets quiet.
bf!Hongjoong who - loves when you let him dress you, even more when you let him use his own clothes and accessories. And you let him do it for every anniversary and most of the dates, he always has the biggest smile while he’s planning them out. Usually when he’s coming home from work the day of the date he’s hyped and already telling you about what he planned out for you to wear today.
bf!Hongjoong who - secretly loves how domestic you look in his space, especially when you make yourself comfortable like it’s always been yours.
bf!Hongjoong who - loves kissing you. His hand is firm on your throat or jaw holding tight as he kisses you. It’s a ritual at this point, whenever he comes home his mouth is on your before you know it, tongues fighting for dominance, it’s all teeth and tongue.
bf!Hongjoong who - used your moan in In Your Fantasy, never telling you outright but smirking every time the song plays.
bf!Hongjoong who - is loud in the bedroom, he’s whining, moaning and talking dirty in your ear, completely unfiltered, letting every sound and thought spill out without restraint.
bf!Hongjoong who - lets you take control, when he’s tired from practice. He’s under you whining, trusting you completely and melting under your attention. His head thrown back as you bounce on him, your thighs sore but the sounds he makes make it worth.
bf!Hongjoong who - is very open to trying out new things in the bedroom. Every act is totally different ranging from very intense trying out bondage, gags or anything you’re both open to - to intimate slow love making, he’s big on eye contact through it
bf!Hongjoong who - had sex with you in every part of your house. When you moved together the first thing was to test every surface and room. From the kitchen, bathroom, his studio, the living room to the balcony..
bf!Hongjoong who - notices how you and Seonghwa look at each other after an unexpected visit from you at his studio and teases you both until you finally cave for a threesome..
pairing - bf!Yunho x reader slight bsf!Mingi x bf!Yunho x reader if you squint at the end
⭑은서: my first ask bfrjfhvsrjlfh i hope you'll like it loved making this!! also it starts cute n fluffy n then we go more of bf!Yunho here
Hongjoong | Seonghwa | San | Mingi | Wooyoung
bf!Yunho who - as soon as he comes home, wraps his arms around you, lifts you off the ground, spins you around, your giggles echoing through the apartment as he covers your face in kisses.
bf!Yunho who - tries to help when you cook, taking the job of cutting vegetables very seriously, but beams with energy as he shares stories from practice, smile wide, sometimes stopping to show you a new dance move he’s excited about.
bf!Yunho who - comes home to you cleaning and listening to music, grabs the broom from your hands, twirls you around, and then slow dances with you to whatever song is playing.
bf!Yunho who - bought you a ring just a few months into your relationship, with J.Y. engraved on the inside.
bf!Yunho who - insists on paying for all of your hair, nail, or esthetician appointments, even after you fight him on it.
bf!Yunho who - drives you everywhere he can, your hands intertwined on the gear stick, fully invested in your workplace drama, saying things like, “There’s no way Tiffany did that though,” shaking his head - or, “She did not cheat on him,” eyes wide as he searches your face for any hint that you’re joking.
bf!Yunho whose - first instinct when something gossip-worthy happens is to flee the scene and call you, like a gossiping grandma - and you love every moment of it.
bf!Yunho who - keeps you on schedule by sending random pictures of him and the boys throughout the day.
bf!Yunho who - has flown you out to all of his concerts because he doesn’t feel confident enough when you’re not there waiting for him backstage or cheering in the audience.
bf!Yunho who - dances to every sad song they play at a concert because he knows you’ll cry if he doesn’t.
bf!Yunho who - puts his jacket over your head when it rains, and if you forgot an umbrella, he’ll dance and kiss you in the downpour instead.
bf!Yunho who - teases you for not being able to reach the higher shelves, coming up behind you to help, one hand on your waist as he reaches for whatever you were trying to grab.
bf!Yunho who - knows exactly what his hands and neck do to you, and teases you with it shamelessly. The Slide to Me MV? Completely dedicated to you - born from your own words.
bf!Yunho who - gives you the worst baby fever whenever you’re around kids. He’ll play with them, lift them up in the air, let them braid his hair - every single one of the youngest kids in your family adores him.
bf!Yunho who - once caught you dancing one of their choreos and immediately made it his mission to teach it to you properly, and has a full grin on his face when you dance it to him.
bf!Yunho who - hates leaving your side when he’s off, but if he really wants to play Valorant, he’ll smother you in kisses when you tell him you don’t mind.
bf!Yunho who - doesn’t mind some motivation throughout the game, his cock nestled deep into your cunt, cockwarming him, but his focus fully on the game.
bf!Yunho who - will pull you into his lap without an explanation in public if he’s hard, and the way his cock presses against you cuts you off mid sentence, but he is still turned to whoever he’s talking to unbothered by all of this.
bf!Yunho who - loves marking you, may it be from his hands on your neck, redness on your ass, bites or hickies on your thighs or neck, you will be marked by him always, making your makeup routine a few steps longer than needed.
bf!Yunho who - loves when you have tights on, you can’t leave the house with them on without him destroying them first.
bf!Yunho who - takes a pic every time he finishes on or in you, his phone has a locked album of that, and puts those pretty pictures of you to use when he’s on tour and you’re not there with him.
bf!Yunho who - loves when you are fucked dumb to the point only incoherent words leave your mouth. Eyes rolling back to the back of your skull, mouth open from the moans and some saliva escaping it dripping onto the pillow.
bf!Yunho who - will tell everything about you and your relationship to Mingi, they have no boundaries, so sometimes meeting his best friend is awkward for him, because you don’t know how he knows exactly how noisy you are or how you like getting fucked.
i was made for lovin’ for you (even in a galaxy far, far away) (PSH x reader)
part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.
PAIRING: seonghwa x mechanic!reader.
GENRE: established relationship, halloween special! sort of. kind of. idk, it's fluffy and there's romantic and a little kinky smut in here, happy halloween guys.
WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI), this doesn't have a shit to do w star wars guys i'm sorry lmao but they are dressed as padmé and anakin so there's that, poor star wars references (i need to rewatch), makeouts, mentions of drinking, fights, they're in love but they're not idiots for the first time in one of my fics WE CHEERED, reader uses fem pronouns and has fem body parts, descrip of fem anatomy, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), messy kisses (yay), grinding/frotagge/sumata (tried to look for an actual term for it, not sure if that's it lol), they say the L word for the first time here folks.
WORD COUNT: 9.6k
NOTES: hiii guys! I HAD TO LOCK IN THIS WEEK AND GIVE YOU GUYS A HALLOWEEN SPECIAL (because nothing is scarier than saying I love you for the first time am I right). not sure if we should count it as part two of i was made for lovin' you but it does follow the moments after part one ended, at least for a bit. i hope you guys enjoy it! THIS IS PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH series, which you can find the link for above or in my masterlist. as usual, this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3
story masterlist / general masterlist / main story.
It took about ten minutes of you and Seonghwa making out the morning after your first night together to panic.
Only if you introduce me as your girlfriend and not as your mechanic, though.
What the actual fuck was wrong with you?
He did tell you, like five minutes prior, that was not interested in getting to know anyone else but you. That, and the fact that he only smiled wide before giving you the kiss that started this whole make out session in the first place, let you know that your major fuck up was nothing to worry about.
You still think about the feeling that ran through your veins the second the sleep and whatever spell his lips got you under, when the words came back to you, your impulsiveness biting at your ankles like a puppy, not a rabid dog.
It still hurts when a puppy bites your ankles, though, so you pushed him away a little. It must've showed in your face, the panic you felt, because he immediately grabbed it and let his thumbs caress the skin of your cheeks in an attempt to calm you down, maybe.
“What's wrong?”
And you couldn't help but spill out your worries right away “Was that okay?” you asked and he frowned, confused, so you went on. “W-what I said, I mean. About the girlfriend thing, I d-don't actually… What I'm trying to say is that you don't have to, um, introduce me that way. I m-mean we only just met and so—”
“Darling…”
“I don't know why I said that in the first place. Oh, my god, I…”
He stopped you with a shake of his head.
“Don't apologize.”
Okay, you were able to breathe again after word vomiting your insecurities all over the place.
“I don't actually care about the label we put on each other as long as you're comfortable with it,” swallowing hard, you thought to yourself about how your heart was in his hands already. “If you want me to say you're my girlfriend, I'll say you're my girlfriend, it's okay. And if you don't want to be called my girlfriend right now? That's okay too.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“I just think it's a little too soon,” you breathed out and he nodded, smiling a little and lowering his hands in a soft trace until they claimed their place on your hips, pulling you towards him and his opened legs. It took little effort for him to rearrange the position and for you to be seated on his lap, with his lips kissing the skin of your neck once again. “And I don't think your friends would—”
“I don't care about what they think,” he whispered there, kissing your jaw and your chin and pecking your lips sweetly. “I care about what you think, hm? We have plenty of time to figure that out.”
“Yeah, I guess, I just… I mean, just tell me if that made you uncomfortable or if anything I do or say does,” and we're so confident the night before, touching him like you knew exactly what you were doing, that it didn't surprise you when he frowned at your accusation.
And it clicked for him, the exact reason behind your panic.
“I'm not him,” he said and you nodded fast, opened your mouth to say that you knew that but his next words made your words disappear from the tip of your tongue. “Also, I kind of already told them that you are my girlfriend—"
“Seonghwa!”
“What?” He ignored your panic, only smiled and leaned back a little to fetch his phone and unlock it. He searched for a second and then turned the screen for you to see. “I have a few positive reactions already.”
The message reads: Sure, let's hang out tonight so you can meet my girlfriend.
And then there’s a thumbs up reaction and a heart reaction from a dude saved as Joong.
“You got one positive reaction, Ghost.”
“Yeah, from Hongjoong, he's probably the only one awake besides from Yunho,” he scoffed, turned the screen back at himself and read through the thread of messages again. “I'm not sure what's going on with him. Either way, Hongjoong already knew about you, so…”
“He what?”
Locking his phone and throwing it in the bed beside you two, he only turned to you with a not-so-innocent smile.
“Yeosang, too. I… Listen, that night, when I left my bike with you guys?”
“Two nights ago, yeah, I recall.”
Laughing, you felt his hands tightening up on you and you swallowed hard at the feeling. Intoxicating, delicious feeling.
“Yeah, two nights ago,” he rolled his eyes. “I told them because I couldn't stop staring at my phone like an idiot waiting for you to text me anything. Day one of meeting you, by the way,” he pointed out and it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Day one of meeting you and I already wanted to scream out of the window how much I like you. Because I like you, Y/N, you know that I'm not ashamed to say it right?”
Your cocky, feign annoyed attitude died down a little and you let out a tiny yeah under your breath, because you couldn't quite believe it yet.
“I don't care if it's too soon, I don't really care about what is going to happen once my friend Gyuri wakes up and read that message and, trust me, if I don't care what they think, I don't care about what anyone else might say,” he took in a breath and let it out slowly. “Except you. I care about what you think, about what you want, but, and correct me if I'm wrong… You seem to like me as much as I like you, no?”
Caught red handed.
You were probably smiling like an idiot too, to be honest.
He looked at you funny when you didn't say anything and then he smiled, a proud grin, one that said that you had stroked his ego just right with your reaction.
“Judging by the fact that you look like you want to eat me, I—”
Laughing as his back connected to your mattress and the messy sheets, Seonghwa didn't let go of you one second. Not when you pushed his shoulder without any strength, and certainly not when you leaned down to kiss him with want, with need, with gratefulness at the fact that he was able to read your emotions so well in so little time together.
“I like you, Seonghwa.”
Next thing you know, you felt the sheets and the corner of his phone under your back. Hovering over you, with both hands on either side of your head supporting his weight, Seonghwa gave you one more look of complete understanding before whispering.
“Then that's all that matters to me.”
And then he kissed you until the rain outside stopped and his responsibilities and your responsibilities called.
That was months ago.
You've been seeing him since them and after a week or two labels went to shit. He introduces you by your name, when they ask him what you both are he says that you're his girlfriend and the word it's no longer scary.
Because he's actually loud and proud to be with someone like you.
And you can say the same thing about him.
What you can't be too proud of, however, is this costume you put together last minute. It's a surprise for him and you see the original one you planned to wear, the cheap fabric of it, almost falling off your bed.
Hongjoong and his band have this Halloween gig and you were all invited to the party as a consequence and so you planned a couples costume with Hwa last minute, but you're not too comfy with a dress on and although the yellow, flowy one in your bed looks decent enough, you had to turn to the other, even more recognizable outfit this character wears in the films you've grown to love these past few months.
Those are his favorite movies after all. You love everything he loves.
You love him.
Maybe you'll tell him tonight that you do.
Looking at the reference picture, you try to figure out what went wrong when ordering this one online. You must've clicked on the wrong thing, but now you're low-key glad that you did.
You look pretty, all dressed up like this. You don't really do that often, not when most of your clothes end up greasy and car motor dirty after a while.
He still likes you like that, though. That's why you're a bit nervous when you hear a knock on the door. Seonghwa got ready in the living room because you wanted the end result to be a surprise.
Now you have to take a deep breath before adjusting the beige belt in front of the mirror.
You fall to your knees, pretending to be searching for something when you tell him to “Come in, Ghost!”
The door creaks and you hear him take a deep breath, probably when he understands what your costume is supposed to be.
“Holy fuck, Y/N.”
The nonchalant act lasts like thirty seconds before you're looking up at him through the mirror and…
Holy fuck indeed.
Now, listen, Padmé and Anakin are not the best example of a couple out there. They're questionable, with an unnecessary age gap and they ended up really, really wrong but they're also the hottest Star Wars couple out there.
And so when you look up at Hwa and he's wearing the Anakin Skywalker costume you ordered together with Padmé's yellow meadow dress that's unworn, in your bed, you can't help but to curse under your breath.
He looks stunning, like straight out of the movie.
And you're wearing something that goes along with his costume still, but a bit different than planned.
You're dressed in all white, in the outfit Padmé wore in the Battle of Geonosis, in Attack of the Clones. The version with the perfectly cut and styled top to show her midriff, which wasn't what you originally planned, but alas it's what you got.
And you feel good in it. You feel sexy, you feel desired when he scans your body a second and third time and then gulps down whatever nasty thoughts came bubbling up and almost came out of his mouth because of it.
There's never a day where Seonghwa makes you feel undesirable. Even with grease on your face and bags under your eyes at how tired work has made you these past few weeks, he's right there reminding you how beautiful you are.
Even now, when he slowly but surely shortens the distance between you two and gently cups your face, he's already telling you all you need to hear without actually saying anything out loud.
It feels good when he does, though.
“You're so fucking beautiful I'm afraid we're going to be late for the party.”
You scoff, a puff of air that turns into a laugh. “We can't, Hongjoong would kill—”
He won't let you finish the sentence, he's grabbing your waist and pressing your chest flush against his before you get the chance to, his lips on yours shutting you up perfectly.
You love when he does that, but you've learned how to be a good friend, a better friend, over the past few months, so it takes one stumble back into the mirror and his hand traveling from your waist to your ass to break the kiss.
Pushing on his chest a little, you savor the smile on his lips and the glint on his eye before turning around in the mirror and unclasping the fake hair from the bun you have at the back of your hair.
“I need to re-do my hair, it doesn't look right.”
He wastes no time in stepping close again, his chin resting on your shoulder, his lips peppering kisses there as soon as you tilt your head to the side a little, unconsciously, used to it.
“Why?” He asks with a breath that lands right on your neck as his lips travel there. “It's getting messy in five minutes anyway.”
“Ghost,” you warn, but do nothing to push him away. Defeated by the amazing feeling his affection brings, you let your arms fall to your side with a sigh. “There's a haunted house and it's going to close before we get there.”
Your argument is bullshit. You don't actually care about the haunted house (okay, maybe you care a little just because you've never been in one) but it is true that you don't have enough time to stay a few minutes and enjoy him in the costume like you want to.
Maybe later.
“Also, my brother is waiting for us.”
“He's too distracted with Siren to notice.”
Now that brings a laugh out of you. Siren is Hongjoong's main vocalist. She's pretty, witty and sings like a literal siren, so you can see why both Hongjoong and your brother have a crush on her.
None seem to realize that, though, so it's been a fun year waiting to see how that's going to turn out. You don't want to see a heartbroken Ian, but it's been forever since he had an actual crush on someone so you let it be.
Even if you can see that she doesn't really like him back. She likes Hongjoong, of course, but you can't really outright tell the both of them to get their shit together and date already.
Even if everyone is expecting it.
Everyone except your brother, maybe. Or maybe he already knows and doesn't care.
Well, that's his business. Right now, you have bigger things to worry about, to focus on.
Like on the fact that if you let out the moan that's on the tip of your tongue, you won't be getting to that party at all. Seonghwa loves kissing your neck and you love having him get away with it, but you don't exactly want to show up at the party late and with a hickey.
“Ghost.”
“Hm?”
“Help me with this?” You hand him the clip with the fake do and he drops his forehead against your skin, defeated. It makes you laugh and the smile remains on your face when he pulls away, ready to please you.
Like he always is.
“I don't really care if it looks too fake, I just want it to be right,” you tell him, because when he moves the thing in his hand you can literally hear the bad quality of it.
“Everything you put on looks right,” he encourages, frowning in concentration. “You look perfect and this does look more like you. Oh!” He stops right after putting the hair clip in place and you look at his excited face through the mirror, like he just remembered something. “You know what we should do next year?”
And it's like you can read his mind, because the idea pops up in your head immediately and you both say it at the same time:
“X-wing pilots.”
“Yes!” He practically jumps in excitement and you laugh, fixing the belt of your costume one more time before fully turning at him. He hugs your waist one more time and you let out a soft noise when he turns you around, mouth hovering dangerously close to yours. “Mm, I can picture you in the suit now and—”
“Late,” you remind him and he groans in frustration.
“Okay, okay.”
As you start to walk away, it's hard to pretend you don't notice him not doing the same. The smile that lifts on your lips is a knowing one, the way he walks two steps and pulls you towards him again is only a confirmation of what you already knew.
He's not letting you walk away that easily. Honestly, you were counting on it.
You can't help but want him as well.
“I think we can squeeze in a ten minute make out, don't you think?”
Still, you play hard to get. “Five minutes.”
“Eight.”
“Seven,” you counter with a tiny smile that he kisses. “Last offer.”
He laughs, sighing when your nails trail up the side of his neck.
“Damn, okay.”
—
Seven minutes turn into fifteen and you do end up being a bit late, actually, but not as late as to miss Hongjoong's performance.
It's an important one, you're told by your brother as soon as you find him nervously resting his back against a side wall of this very weird, rich house.
Not rich as in Yunho rich, a different type of rich.
It doesn't seem homely at all but you can tell there's rooms upstairs and that things got moved to accommodate a big crowd. The stage is in the backyard, which is also just ridiculously huge and you can see the band moving things here and there, getting ready to perform.
You don't ask your brother why exactly it's an important performance, but you do your best to support them when they start singing. It's easy for everyone to get lost in the music and they even cover more pop hits this time around since the party seems to be full of people who enjoy that type of music.
You do, too, but you like them more when they're fully in their rocky alternative element.
They're all dressed up, too, in costumes you don't fully recognize but can't wait to hear an explanation for. They do great, perfect even, but the energy seems a bit off.
You tell Seonghwa this and he agrees with a worried nod of his head before you both come to the unspoken agreement of letting it go for tonight. This is supposed to be a date and you're going to enjoy it as such.
You dance, you drink, you kiss in the middle of the stuffy crowd and you laugh when your brother pretends to puke his guts out because of it.
And then you lose track of time and track of Ian because the performance ends and he’s off to try and gain points with his friend and his crush. The thought escapes you completely, because Seonghwa is kissing down your neck again, locked away in a tiny decorated bathroom you two managed to squeeze yourselves in.
He bites down on your skin, making you moan loudly, unexpectedly and you pinch his side in protest, making him laugh. “This is the average college experience you missed out on, darling.”
“Yeah?” You smile, pulling him closer to you and letting your head fall back so he can properly kiss the expanse of your neck and into the valley of your breasts, even if the shirt with the uneven sleeves gets in the way. “Bet it was fun, sneaking into… Small spaces with a lot of people and whatnot.”
He pauses, pulls back and squints his eyes at you with fake offence. “Are you slutshaming me?”
“I would never!” You say right away but your tone is too offended to be taken seriously and he ends up laughing. “Why? Did you do something back then worth of slutshaming? Not that I’m saying anything is worth it, but…”
“You're so mean, Y/N!” But he clearly doesn't mean it either.
It's been months of you two flirting this way, like you're both teenagers hiding from your friends or your parents or your classmates, giddy and giggling like idiots when doing so. It's all harmless, but it does feed the love in your heart, like water filling up a jar.
The jar’s been on the brink of spilling out and time and time again you've concealed it by doing something else, changing the conversation topic, or, in this case, kissing his lips hard and fast and passionate in a way that distracts you from the tug at your heart every time you hold back on telling him how much you love him.
You're never sure when the appropriate time is and it's not like you've never said to someone else before, but no one has meant what Seonghwa means to you.
“Are you okay?”
“Hm?”
When you open your eyes and put some space in between the both of you, he has worry painted all over his expression.
“You were gone for a second, are you okay?”
He can feel that?
You nod at his question, then take in a breath before fully answering. “I was just thinking.”
“About?” His tone is soft and teasing, even if the nudging is clearly out of concern and nothing else.
Is it now? The right time to say it?
I think I love you, Ghost.
No, no. Not like that.
I love you, Seonghwa.
It's easy enough in your mind, why can't you just say it out loud?
Swallowing hard, you open your mouth and think you're about to. You're about to let out, you have to.
But then there's a loud bang outside that you can hear all the way from where you are and it startles both of you. He pulls you in closer instinctively, protectively and you do the same, with your hands grabbing the fabric of his costume like it would save you both from any potential attack.
If there's one to begin with.
“What the hell was that?”
Faintly, you can hear someone screaming stop it and you wonder why the voice sounds so familiar, so… loud even if it's not fully reaching the space you both are sharing.
And then it downs on you and him at the same time.
A microphone, that's how it's reaching you two and if someone is speaking a microphone it must be.
“Shit.”
And because your intuition and timing sucks, you don't realize your brother might be involved in whatever is going on until you reach the backyard again.
Your face is hot and so the cold breeze hits you like a wake up call, sobers you up even if the faint buzz from the drinks disappeared like half an hour ago.
Heart beating like crazy, you move past Seonghwa and take his hand in yours so you can move through the crowd faster. There's people, not many but a few, gathered around in a circle and you can hear a grunt that it's familiar and unmistakable.
And then Seonghwa drops your hand.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?!”
You have never heard him so upset, but there's no time to worry for him or his emotions when your brother's nose is bleeding and he's laying on the floor winded and blinking to stay awake.
Briefly, you catch from the corner of your eye a very angry Hongjoong and you put two and two together, so now you're worried, conflicted and very angry because who the fuck does he think he is?
“Are you good? Can you get up?”
You're sure you don't seem like it, angry or conflicted or worried even because your voice comes out flat but then you remember your brother knows you better than anyone else, since he's already apologizing with his eyes.
He doesn't get to say it, though. A lot of not getting to say things tonight.
“What are you thinking, Christian?!” Now you sound angry and yet, you help him get up to his feet.
“He started it!” He yells back at you and then panics, raising his hands in pledge for peace with you specifically. “He swung at me first, I swear.”
“Well did you have to punch him back?!” You hear Hongjoong's band main vocalist, your brother's crush, ask in fury. She's upset.
When you look back at them, you can tell why: Hongjoong is probably going to have a very bad bruised cheek for a bit. His nose is also bleeding and Seonghwa is helping him tilt his head back, holding the back of his neck for support.
“Are you… Drunk?” You hear Seonghwa ask his friend and then the main vocalist looks like she's two seconds away from sobbing but it doesn't really move you.
Here's the thing, right? You love Seonghwa.
But you don't owe any loyalty to his friends. So when this girl, who has been nothing but kind to you so far, looks at your brother with utter disgust, you see red.
You turn fully, walk towards them with a scowl on your face and imaginary smoke coming out of your ears.
“Y/N…” Seonghwa warns, but you're not listening.
“What the hell was he supposed to do?! Not defend himself?!” She recoils a bit at your tone and Seonghwa sighs, frustrated, besides you. “I don't know what the fuck happened but I need you two to get your shit together and tell him. He's clueless, he likes you so just be honest with him or never, and I mean never,” you look directly at Hongjoong this time and he has tears in his eyes, he also stumbles back and almost falls, “contact him again.”
They owe each other an apology, him and your brother, but not tonight.
You had enough for tonight.
But you're not upset at Seonghwa a bit, so you turn to him. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”
“No, Y/N, wait—”
“What happened?” Yunho comes out of the fading crowd, sweating his makeup off, with his girlfriend right behind him and a dude you've never seen before after her.
Hongjoong's main vocalist scoffs when she sees the dude and then when the rest of her bandmates come running into the scene, you actually hear her sob. “Where were you, I swear to God—”
“Okay!” The dude says, clapping his hands in a very damage control manner. It pisses you off, so you grab your brother's arm and start tugging him towards the exit.
You stop actively listening when the dude grabs the microphone and says something along the lines of every good party has a fight, am I right?
He's so wrong.
He doesn't know where you and Ian come from, he doesn't know what he had to endure before ending up in the place where you two met and eventually got adopted, he doesn't know that if anything, he's not a violent man.
And that you can see guilt eating away at him as you walk the street and try to find a taxi to take him home. He's drunk too, you can tell, maybe a little high.
But he's never behaved like this before.
“H-he, I mean we were… W-we—”
“Explain it to me tomorrow, okay? You want to get that checked out?” You point at his nose and he shakes his head. He's trembling, like a child, like used to when you two were kids. “Okay, then I'll buy you some medicine and then we can go home.”
“N-no, no, I just… I want to go home.”
And as soon as he says that, the headlights of an incoming taxi up the street blind you. You extend your hand, wish for it to be empty and let out a relieved sigh when it stops in front of you both.
So you ask the driver to take you home, your father's house and let your second breath of relief come out of your mouth when you get to your living room and your father is already passed out in front of the tv.
In the bathroom, as your brother washes his face and you stare at him intensely to try and find any other hidden wounds, you feel a little more at ease.
And slip out the controlled, non-impulsive persona you stepped into when you saw your brother with his defenses down.
“I should've just fucking kill Hongjoong.”
“Y/N!” He whispers-shouts the reprimand at you, turns to you fast to see if you're joking, probably, but you're as serious as ever. “He was drunk and sentimental and upset. I figured out he's in love with her, he got upset and I probably didn't word it the right way, you how I can be.”
“Oh, so you're not completely blind to it, good.”
He rolls his eyes, “Of course you knew.”
“Everyone knows. Everyone but Yunho, probably, but besides him… It's not really hard to tell.”
“I know,” your brother closes the faucet after splashing water in his face one last time and then tilts his head at you. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, but he's had enough drama for tonight and you don't think he wants to explain his feelings. Still, he nods. “Out with it.”
“Why did you still pursue her if you knew? Isn't Hongjoong your friend?”
He nods again, a knowing smile lifting his lips upwards, almost in a cocky grin that's too much for someone who just got knocked to the floor by someone half his height.
“Because she's pretty, she sings like a fucking angel and Hongjoong likes to pretend nothing will ever happen between the both of them, so I took my chance. I felt like… I don't know, maybe I could've got her to like me too, eventually?”
“Ugh.”
“You know I love to follow a path of crumbs when I can, Y/N. So yes, I knew and I did it because I wanted to,” he shrugs. “So maybe I deserved to be beat up, I don't know.”
“Don't excuse his actions. Or yours.”
A bit passes and he huffs, turning to the mirror again and staring at himself on it.
“You did.”
Oh, that.
“Well, she started it,” you shrug at the excuse, using his own words against him and he fully laughs now.
You join, the laugh echoing in the bathroom and before you can scold him any further he grabs your shoulders and hugs you tight.
“Thank you for… Getting me out of there.”
“You were shaking, Ian. Like fully shaking, the only other time you did that was when—”
“I know, I hated it. I don't want to fight with anyone, I don't know why I punched him back.”
“Hm,” you let him go, step out of the bathroom and wait until he does the same to turn the light off. You rest your back against the wall next to light, groaning when the clip with the Padmé hairdo presses against your already aching head and your brother makes a worried sound, so you turn to him. “I hope I don't cause you any trouble with Seonghwa because of this, I swear on everything that I'm apologizing tomorrow morning and—”
“We're good,” you interrupt and he gives you a confused look. “Me and Ghost, we're good. We'll be fine, we… I mean, I love him.” And the words come out of your mouth for the first time tired, easy, like you said it a thousand times before. “So we'll be fine.”
“You… You love him,” Ian says more than asks and then smiles widely at your nod. “My little sister is in love… Never thought I'll live to see the day.”
“I've been in love before—”
“But Seonghwa is a good guy!”
A good guy who stays and helps his best friend out after a fight. A good guy who you left with that problem alone, after hearing him almost sob at the fact that Hongjoong was drunk. Or so it seemed like.
Yes, you had your priorities, and those priorities got into bed and you checked one more time on them before leaving for your room in this house that will always be yours but doesn't feel like it anymore.
And since Ian ended up being fine. Like, no broken nose or anything really bad happening to him fine, around two thirty am, just fifteen minutes after you left his room to yours, you start to feel fully calm.
So you finally check your phone.
There's some texts from Seonghwa’s friends asking if you're okay and then his chat in particular has, well, thirty unopened messages. Smiling a bit as you read through them, the guilt of just leaving without an explanation settles in but they don't read angry at all.
So you send him your location and he texts back not even thirty seconds later.
I'll be there in ten.
Okay.
Good.
This is okay. You can handle this first fight you feel coming, it's fine.
God damnit.
When you go downstairs and take the remote from your father's hand to turn the tv off, it startles him awake.
“Y/N?”
Sitting beside him, you smile. There's light coming from the street and into the living room so you can see him perfectly even now.
“Hey, dad.”
You saw him yesterday or, well, technically the day before that now but as your life has shifted away from your family dynamic and more into Seonghwa and his chaotic friend group, you have started to see him less and less.
He doesn't seem bothered. In fact, whenever you tell him about your plans or your life over dinner or a beer he always seems proud. Ian, too.
“What in the world are you doing here?”
“Well, this is still my house, so…”
Laughing and still a little sleepy, your father signals you to hug him and you give in immediately. After whatever the fuck happened last night, you needed this.
It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he can still comfort you like when you were a child. The growing pains and just the growing up in general burns in your chest painfully but you know it's a necessary part of life.
Right now though, you hold him tight.
“Had to bring Ian’s drunk ass home. He got into a fight,” you explain when you pull away and you sniffle a little, emotional after the hug. “My boyfriend's picking me up in a few minutes.”
“Seonghwa?”
“Yeah, dad, Seonghwa.”
“Alright,” he clears his throat before getting up and you stay seated, looking up at him. His hand falls to your head, clumsily and you make an annoyed sound that he laughs at. “Text me when you get home?”
“Okay. We're still on for dinner on Sunday?”
“Always, kid.”
He does stay with you, sleepy and drifting off while trying to keep up small talk with you, until Seonghwa texts you he's right outside.
Whatever happens after he takes you home, you know that you can always look back and find your family ready to catch you if you fall.
You just hope the words you told Ian were true. Because when you open the door and don't even see him staring at you but at the street, with his helmet and the bike still on, you're for sure thinking the worst.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says back and his tone is more tired than anything else but it still hurts you a bit. He takes the spare helmet, your helmet and unclasps it, still taking the time to put the helmet on you, for you. It takes five seconds of eye contact for him to fully pull you in, hands around your shoulders, helmet bumping into yours. “Don't ever just fucking leave like that.”
Tears burn in your eyes but you can't cry, not here in the middle of the street, not when this entire tension is pointless, useless, the truly bad end to what was supposed to be a fun night.
“Is Hongjoong okay?” You ask instead of answering him, or even apologizing.
He pulls back, taking a second to decide if insisting is a good idea or not.
He decides it's not.
“He'll be fine, he's just… My place or yours?”
Yeah, talking about it like this, with the helmets on in the middle of an empty street… Not really it.
Getting on the bike and holding onto his waist, you let out a heavy sigh. “Yours, mine's a mess.”
“And if we make any noise at this hour, that neighbor of yours is going to complain again.” He jokes and the tension dissipates just a bit, you laugh into the fabric of his costume.
“And when they kick me out of the apartment because of you…”
Relief floods you for the third time tonight when he laughs back.
You hug his waist tighter the entire ride home. Because yes, that apartment is also your home now. You know your way to the elevator, you know the name of the building's doorman and the security guard, you know his door combination.
There's a pair of slippers by the door that belong to you and you only and two drawers dedicated to your things, a toothbrush and other hygiene products in his bathroom countertop and a box of your favorite tea on his kitchen cabinet, a cup with your initial right next to it, right next to a matching one for him.
That's why it's easy to dismiss the weird energy, the flavour this entire night left on your tongue and reach for him for a kiss when the door closes behind him. He reciprocates, holds you close and walks you backwards to his living room. It's gentle and forgiving and sweet and all you needed to know that, yeah…
You two will be alright.
“Come here,” he says after a minute or two of mindless kissing and you oblige when he takes his hand and tugs you towards the bathroom. “Let's go to sleep and we can—”
You interrupt, your hips knocking against the sink and you feel so, so tired all of the sudden.
“I don't need to know what truly happened if it's too personal for Hongjoong. I just need to know that he'll be okay.”
“He will be,” he repeats and you bite your tongue instead of asking what you truly want to ask.
Seonghwa takes the makeup wipes off the shared counter and, instead of offering you one, he moves close. The wipe is cold and you wince a little, but you acclimatize to it soon enough.
“You looked like you wanted to swing at him next,” he says and you smile, you catch the corners of his lips lifting up a bit too. “I get it. They needed some yelling, both of them.” He says and you know he's referring to the main conflict point between Ian and his best friend.
The main vocalist.
“He shouldn't get drunk. I'm usually there trying to… Prevent it, you know? He… His father was an alcoholic and he usually drinks socially, never alone, never because he wants to escape something or someone or his feelings. I'm not fully sure of what triggered this but,” Seonghwa stops, he breathes one time and then two times to try and regain his composure. He looks exhausted, too. “The band, her and us. That's all he has.”
You hum. “Do you think he might've felt… Threatened when Ian tried to squeeze himself in the picture? With her, I mean?”
“Maybe, but he's not… I feel like there's more to it and it won't get explained to me until he comes back out from whatever hole he dug himself in.”
Damn, it's worse than you thought, then.
“Well, Ian isn't a victim here either,” you roll your eyes and Seonghwa nods, making you smile again.
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he just… He needs to find someone who's not in love with anyone else, man, he's just so…”
“Stubborn?” He asks, teasing tone and all. “It's a family trait, I fear.”
“Oh, shut up,” he laughs and it echoes and your heart beats fast when you realize you both could probably go to sleep without apologizing for the way it was handled between the two of you, but you can't in clear conscience do that. “Ghost, I'm sorry. I… I was so angry at her and Hongjoong and at you…”
He raises a questioning eyebrow, taking another wipe out and passing it under your eyes. Your tearing up must've smudged the very complicated eyeliner you did to pull off the fierce look in the first place.
“Briefly,” you clarify and he nods. “I can't make you choose between Christian and Hongjoong but I do hope you know I will put him first. I will always put my family first.”
“I know, I won't ask you to do that, ever.”
You raise your hand, your palm covering the one that's assisting in removing your makeup and you bring it to your lips. You leave a kiss there, on the back of his hand and smile.
“And I know Hongjoong is like your family, so I won't ask you to choose either.”
“They're grown, they have their own shit going on and we are… Well, we're a completely different thing.”
You nod. “Whatever happens there it's our problem…”
“But it won't affect us,” he tosses the wipe on the counter with the other one and then steps closer again, hands going around your waist. “I'm not going to lie—”
“Don't start.”
He laughs. “You look so hot when you’re angry, maybe I should piss you off more.”
“Ghost, oh my…”
You push him away with a laugh and he obliges, taking the dirty wipes and fully tossing them in the trash now. Walking towards the bedroom next, with him following close behind, you both fall into a night routine that feels too familiar, too recurrent and too good.
You love having this with him. Only this time, you just rest your hip on the doorframe and stare at your boyfriend as he moves around the room, taking off layers of his costume.
Feeling the jar spilling, and in your completely exhausted state, you don't believe the words that come out of your mouth and make him still his movements for a few good seconds.
You just say it, it just… Spills. Your love for him spills and…
“Seonghwa, I love you.”
And it's not whispered, it's not premeditated or rehearsed or laced with any doubts of him not loving you back because you know he does. He's loud and clear with his actions and him not saying the words all this time, the same way you didn't say them, means nothing because he does.
You can see it in his eyes when he turns to you, half dressed, with the long strand of his hair falling from the tiny ponytail securing it at the back and framing his face.
He stops and it feels like forever but he smiles, drops the bedsheet he was working on tugging under the mattress to make the bed perfect for the both of you and practically jogs to cross the room to get to you.
Grabbing your face with his hands, his eyes are shiny and his smile is wide before he takes in a breath.
“I love you too. So, so much.”
And you smile wide before giggling at the thought of you being afraid of saying the words out loud. It's been months of you feeling this way for him, but tonight just…
There's no perfect moment to say them, because perfect is not real and what you have with him is.
You don’t know who moves first, only that one moment you’re standing there, still laughing like a dumbass, and the next you’re closing the distance. And it's soft at first, because the moment is cute and romantic and you're both tired but when Seonghwa exhales against your lips and you drink it, something in the air shifts.
It becomes charged, charged with desire and affection and nothing too crazy because, again, it's been a long night but you can't phantom the thought of not touching him and let him touch you right this instant.
Lips parting yours, his tongue swipes against yours again and again, slower each time, making you hum in satisfaction and arch against him. His hands go down, his fingers unclasp the beige belt that goes with your costume and then they move back up, finding their place in your waist, pressing until your hips knock into his.
When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours. “Say it again,” he whispers.
“I love you,” you breathe, voice trembling for reasons that have nothing to do with fear. No more fear. Instead, the jar spills even further until it fills the entire room.
His answering smile is small, almost shy, before he kisses you again, deeper this time. There’s nothing hurried about it: it’s all warmth and quiet need, the kind that makes everything feel unreal, like you're floating in a sky full of him and what he makes you feel.
You savor the noise he makes when you hide his hands to your ass and he smiles against your mouth when you moan at the contact, like you weren't the one who just made it happen.
Moving away from the door, you move in practiced steps. His hands take your clothes off, yours caress the skin already exposed and fall down to the pants he didn't get the chance to take off. When you fall into the sheets together, it isn’t about need or apology anymore, it's not even about the negative emotions of the night.
It's about loving and you love him so much.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes search your face like he’s memorizing it. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his lips finding his favorite spot on your neck next and making you breath ragged, hard, close your eyes at the mere contact. “I don’t even remember what life felt like before you.”
“You know, some people will argue that that's a bad thing,” and you don't know why you say it, but you do. “I feel like it's worth remembering how I felt before I met you.”
He pulls away from the skin of your sternum to pay attention to what you have to say.
“Yeah?”
“I want to remember because it makes this and you and everything you make me feel even more worth it.”
He smiles but you immediately cringe at your own words, looking away.
Romanticism not being your forte is a fucking problem.
But he seems to enjoy it. He laughs under his breath, his eyes still shining bright when you look at him again, and then his lips return to your skin and you forget.
“I fucking love you,” he says there, lips trailing down and down and down until they ghost your mount and you raise your hips to meet his mouth in response. “I'm going to show you how much I love you now.”
Oh. You hope he keeps repeating it forever, how much he loves you. The showing it to you this way is not really that necessary but if he can keep eating you out this way forever, you won't complain either.
He doesn't bother taking your underwear on at first, he trails a path over it with his mouth, his nose lightly pressing down and then he pretends he's going to taste you but he turns his head to kiss your thigh. Then, he goes for the other one.
You moan as his teeth sink a little on the skin there, fingers getting lost in his dark locks a second later. Tugging, you count that as a warning and he breathes out a laugh that lasts all but three seconds. When loops his fingers under your panties and takes them off with ease, you let your legs part for him to finally lap at your wetness.
It's not rushed, but his movements are equally as hungry as they are calculated, slow, lazy. It's just what you needed, though. The tension leaves your system in sighs, groans, moans and you close your eyes to let yourself get lost in the feeling of his tongue parting you open, sinking in your entrance and then going back up to your clit, just the way you like it.
When the sense of urgency for chasing that high takes over you, your grasp on his hair tightens and he moans right into your core, taking the heat, leaving the lazy lapping behind and eating you out like a man starved.
“Fuck, Hwa, don't stop.”
Hips moving instinctively to meet his tongue, he lets you take what you need for him.
It doesn't take much for you to come undone with a curse and a short scream that resonates around the room, his mouth and chin glistening when he pulls away as you come down your high. Your hips meet the bed again and your grasp on his hair loosens as you try to recover your breath.
You take a second, but you feel his cheek resting against your leg and you can basically feel the smile on his wet lips when he leaves a kiss there.
When you open your eyes again and look down, you can't help but think that he looks beautiful.
And that he deserves a good orgasm after everything he probably went through tonight.
“Come here, Ghost.”
He wastes no time in hovering over you, in letting his chest meet yours and in kissing your mouth messily, sloppy, hungrier than before, letting you taste yourself in his tongue.
“Was it good?” He asks and you push him down, his back meeting the sheets next and you smile at the question.
“So good,” you confirm, kissing his jaw before diving into his neck. Your hand goes under his briefs, your nails softly going up his shaft for a second and making him hiss before you grasp him firmly. He's hard and leaking already. “I love you.” You repeat as your lips meet the skin right under his ear and he moans softly when your hand starts moving.
“I love you,” he says back and your heart flutters like it did the first time he said it, a couple of minutes ago.
You go up his neck again only so you can see him, see the shift in him whenever he steps out of his soft dominant persona and into this pliant man in front of you. He's always doing this, leaving it to you fully when it comes to pleasing him and you enjoy every little sound he makes when you're in that position.
He turns to putty in your hands and it's beautiful and it steals your breath away everytime. He grabs the back of your neck when he notices you staring and your hand moves with more intention now, more drive. His forehead connects with your cheek and his mouth parts open when your thumb presses down on his slit, gathering wetness to jerk him off with more ease.
You enjoy his breathing getting more and more ragged, you revel in the feeling of his hand tightening on the back of your neck, of his forehead pressing more firmly against your skin. It takes a particular stroke for him to fully moan, for the sound to bounce off the walls. You do it again, and you literally see him biting down the pleasure spilling out of his mouth.
“Yeah? You're so sensitive tonight, Hwa.”
He smiles, opening his eyes and pulling you down so that your forehead meets his instead of your cheek.
“A-and you're so mean.”
You laugh at him, at the tiny tint of desperation in his voice. “Don't act like you don't enjoy it.”
Every time this happens, there's that resistance that shows in his eyes, like he wants to turn it on you and make you the one to beg, the one to succumb to his touch instead, but it never happens. It just glistens there and then you do something, like slowing down the pace suddenly like you just did, that sends the idea to the back of his mind.
“P-please,” he begs, when you keep the slow movements for a minute or two and you can tell he's tired, willing to come, don't clean anything up and just fall asleep right after. His hips twitch a little when you give in a bit. “Please make me come, babe, I… Oh, fuck.”
He takes in a sharp inhale when you fully let go of him, your mind settled and made up in the fact that you want to see him in all his glory when he does come. You move on your knees on the bed, signal him to raise his hips so you can take his underwear off and your mouth waters when you see the state of his leaking length.
“Can I try something?” You ask softly, even though you already know the answer is a yes. When he nods and extends his arms to reach for you, you smile widely. “Stay put, Ghost.”
When you climb into his lap, you do something you've never done before: Instead of fully sinking into him, you let his length rest against his stomach and then fix your position so that your core rests against it, your still sensitive clit catching friction immediately and making you curse.
You're wet enough so that when you start moving it's easy, it's sleek, it's delicious and you see his eyes roll to the back of his head when you catch wind of the position, when you rest your hands on his chest and waste no time in keeping up the pace.
“Oh my god.”
“Good?” you ask, because you're not sure this is giving him enough stimulation to come just from it alone but then he nods, quick, desperate and you know it's not the case.
“S-so good, please don't stop, please.”
It feels really good for you too, so you keep going. You keep going and you fight the need to close your eyes because Seonghwa is twitching and squirming under you, his hands on your hips as he helps you grind into him and your moans eventually bleed into each other. As you get closer and closer to reach your peak again, your body folds over and Seonghwa wastes no time in kissing you, hard, needy, with no care for the shared spit coating both your chins.
Your clit catches on his tip perfectly and it tilts you over the edge but you keep going, keep pushing until you feel his movements still and he moans loud into your mouth. Pulling away from his face, you see him tilt his head back until he spills the last of his cum on his stomach and yours.
And even though you're so, so close, you slow down your movements so it doesn't overstimulate him.
He has other plans, though, his hands grasping your hips firmly and making you grind into him at the same fast pace as before. You moan, your eyes closing and you have to hold onto his shoulder to not put your body weight fully on him.
“Keep going, baby, don't stop,” he's breathless, breathing hard and still shining a little at the friction, but he doesn't let go. “Come again for me.”
For him. Not that you would come for any other reason right now, but that's the motivation that you need even if your thighs hurt a little already from the position and the tiredness you felt before returning, you do it for him.
“That's it.”
And when you come it’s not as hard as the first time but your body locks and releases in a delicious way that makes you feel like you're floating. Your forehead rests on his chest a second after and you chuckle into his skin, leaving a kiss there before rolling over to your side of the bed.
He laughs as well but wastes no time in pulling you into his arms and the sweat and the fact that no one has cleaned up yet doesn't bother you at all. This moment is necessary, because when you look into his eyes and see nothing but adoration the realization of what this means for your life downs on you.
Is it bad that you don't picture anyone but him in it now? You haven't for months, but there's truly no one who can connect with you the way that he does. If this were any other person, you would still be in your childhood bedroom, fighting with your pride to ask to see them, to apologize, to fix things.
With Seonghwa everything's easy, as it should be. The challenges mean nothing because, if you're ever going to have a mishap like tonight, it'll be argued with love instead of anger.
That's so valuable and so rare to find, you can't help but reciprocate the adoration for him.
You love him completely, and he loves you just the same.
“We didn't go to the haunted house, Ghost.”
He groans, tired, and pushes you away without any force only to pull you back in again for a kiss.
“I'm sure there are some that'll be up for a few days still. I'll take you,” he promises and you smile. “Make it up for the weird date we had tonight?”
“Okay,” you agree in a whisper, pecking his lips once more before fully pulling away and standing up. “But we're dressing up as low budget ghosts.”
“Are we ruining my bedsheets for it?”
“Yup.”
And as you walk towards the bathroom to get wipes to clean both of you up, you hear something that makes your entire being shake with excitement, because Seonghwa thinks you're not hearing him at all, but the streets are quiet and the apartment is quiet as well and it's impossible not to.
“... The love of my fucking life.”
Yeah.
He's the love of your life too.
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